Truly Helpless: A Nature of Desire Series Novel Read online

  “When she stopped crying, she said she was sorry, too. I noticed how soft her mouth looked, so I leaned down and kissed her. She socked me in the gut and left me wheezing.”

  Regina chuckled. “Another lesson in the capriciousness of women—and the cluelessness of the hormonal male.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He flicked her knuckles with his captured hand. “But she was never mean to me again. When she’d see me in the halls, sometimes she’d nod to me. I guess I figured some of it out, then. That it didn’t matter that she was so much bigger and stronger physically than I was, or the way she acted… All of us have vulnerable moments, but there’s this special quality to a strong woman’s, in that rare second when she’ll let a guy…help. Make it better. I liked being the guy who helped. It’s there even when the woman’s not so obviously vulnerable. The diamond in the center of a ring, if that makes sense. A gift.”

  Yet he regularly shit on that gift in his sessions with Mistresses, the puzzle she had yet to figure out. She could have probed, but she’d told him she’d leave it there. Even though she knew as well as he did they were walking a tightrope over that pool.

  He was silent, and she honored that for a time. A whole conversation was going on between their fingers, tangling and untangling, stroking.

  “Do you have an opinion about me, Marius?” she asked at last.

  She adjusted her head so she was gazing into his face. It made having his arm around her closer to an embrace, increasing her awareness of the press of his biceps against the side of her throat. The flicker in his gaze said he’d noticed, but the crease in his brow said he was puzzling over her question. She explained further.

  “I’m not fishing for a canned answer or compliments. It’s an exercise I do with my engineers to help them step out of their heads and evaluate human behavior. When we meet someone, we form an opinion. In every subsequent encounter, that opinion is reinforced or changed. However, at any point in time, you’ll have one opinion that defines that person for you, like a label or tag. It’s how we classify and structure our relationships. Well, not entirely, but engineers can be such linear thinkers, it’s a good way to help them learn how to integrate social skills with tech-speak.”

  She gestured to the people walking by. “Like that man over there with the cigar and the beer belly? Statement: Health crisis waiting to happen and doesn’t give a shit, because he’s at the age he wants to enjoy his pleasures in life—until a heart attack happens. Then he’ll clean up his act for a few months before going right back to the same behavior because he wants what he wants.”

  She nodded in a different direction. “That teenager at the smoothie vendor? Pretty but doesn’t know it. Insecure but stronger in her individuality than she realizes.”

  She glanced at Marius. “So, what’s your opinion of me? Good or bad; doesn’t matter.”

  He shook his head. “That’s a female trap if ever I heard one. If you don’t like what you hear, you’ll pitch me over the rail.”

  She chuckled. “I’m not like most women. Your opinion of me isn’t going to change mine about myself. You don’t have that kind of power over me. It’s an exercise. So tell me.”

  He settled back more, a sprawled pose that made letting her hand fall into a resting position on his thigh a natural decision. His fingertips curled against her shoulder, an arrested caress.

  “Could I ever have that kind of power?” He spoke quietly, keeping his gaze on her hand.

  He wasn’t as concerned about her question as the qualifier. It touched her. Even as she warned herself to stay on topic, she had to give him an honest answer. “When you stop abusing it, anything’s possible.”

  “I think you’re attracted to lost souls.” His gray eyes became more opaque, and she sensed tension in his leg. “That’s my opinion.”

  “Does that bug you?” she asked.

  He lifted his shoulder, a non-answer, but he dropped his head back and looked up at the sky. “Angels are attracted to lost souls. To guide them. Guess that’s their job, if you believe in angels.”

  She was amused. “Honey, I’m no angel. And with no aspirations in that direction.”

  His eyes swiveled to her, his head still resting in its recumbent position. “Lucifer is an angel. And he does take care of lost souls.”

  She faced him again, her hip on the bench and her cross-legged position allowing her to run her foot teasingly down his shin. Because she propped her elbow on the back of the bench, inside the span of his stretched-out arm, she felt his biceps flex against her when he captured some of her locs in his hand. “I think Mrs. Grant was right about those un-Christian thoughts of yours,” she said.

  “Maybe.” He did something with a small handful of her locs, released them, then did it again. She realized he was winding them around his wrist. Her Domme cravings, already on low simmer with such an intriguing submissive under her fingertips, sparked to flame.

  “Sometimes I wonder if it’s not as bad as people think,” he said. “Maybe Hell’s for those who feel good stuff is too bright. They couldn’t figure out how to let that kind of light in during their lives, so Lucifer’s job is to help them out. In Hell, they can let in light a little at a time, until it doesn’t hurt so much or make them angry. Then it can burn all the bad stuff away.”

  His brow still had that thoughtful crease she wanted to tease with her lips. She let her fingertips slide across it, under the strands of his dark hair. “Why would good things make people angry?”

  His opposite knee, the one she wasn’t touching, twitched as if tapped by a doctor’s mallet. “I don’t know. But it does. Maybe because they can see it but not feel it. The sun is like fluorescent light, no heat or substance to it. They don’t feel the qualities everyone else says are there. So those people need hellfire for light to seem real, and to finally feel warm.” His lips tugged. “Even if it hurts like hell.”

  “You don’t feel any heat from the sun, hmm?” Despite the emotions his words raised inside her, she said it teasingly, reminding him with the pointed comment what she’d said about being the sun.

  “You’re different. I did compare you to Lucifer, after all,” he said. Removing his arm from behind her, he grasped her hand on his thigh. A well-trained sub like Rob would have waited for her to approve contact each time, unless she gave him a specific, open-ended directive. Whereas once encouraged to do so, Marius hadn’t hesitated to continue to make that kind of contact.

  She’d given him tacit permission to treat this like a date. Yet she didn’t think it would have mattered. It was a core difference in the type of subs they each were, and it didn’t displease her. She appreciated Rob, but was admittedly quite drawn to some of Marius’s less disciplined qualities. Except when they led to him being more self-destructive.

  She also noticed Marius either hadn’t caught or had let pass her decision to make his analogy more personal, referencing him as one of those who had trouble feeling the light…and dealing with anger.

  As their fingers interlaced, she felt the coarseness of his knuckles and palm, the heat and strength of his grip. He nodded to the ice cream stand. “Ready to tell me I’m dreamy?”

  “With fluttering lashes, clasped hands and everything.” Managing the wiseass remark was an effort, given how much was going through her head. He hadn’t been bullshitting her with his unexpected evaluation of Hell. Yes, he was clever and manipulative, but when he was giving her total honesty, he spoke slower, in a more measured way.

  Truth wasn’t easy or quick for him.

  She chose a scoop of chocolate. He went with root beer, a hideous combination in her opinion. Until he put the two flavors together on a spoon and convinced her to taste. Then she was sure of it.

  She ate every bit of hers, avoiding the connecting point between the two scoops so he could have that distasteful part. She noticed his amusement when she licked the spoon clean.

  “I have to pay for every calorie with blood and sweat in Lyda’s insane fitness class. Which should
be called the You-Are-Paying-Me-To-Kill-You work out. I torture myself there three times a week.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard about it.” He took cup and spoons from her and threw it all away before they wandered back toward the rail. “She doesn’t like me much.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  “No. Not really. What I said that day, in Tyler’s office, about it not being my fault that Mistresses get in over their heads. She’s not one of those. But I shouldn’t have said that anyway.”

  It was an unexpected admission, but she accepted it with a neutral expression. “No, you shouldn’t have. But you were still pretty wound up from the scene. Makes a person stupid. You needed more aftercare to calm you down.”

  He picked up on the direction of her thoughts with unsettling accuracy. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “No. But if I could do it again, I would have stepped in and told Alex that you needed more defusing time before seeing Tyler.”

  “You would have had to be my Mistress to have that authority.”

  “Yes, I would have,” she agreed, meeting and holding his gaze.

  “I don’t know if that would have made any difference,” he said, looking back out at the water. A shrimp trawler was trundling past, coming in from a late night out on the ocean. “I don’t really need a lot of aftercare. Just toss me a towel and a bottle of water. Not really into the cuddling, nurturing shit.”

  “That night, hair of the dog would have been my choice,” she said. “Tie you down to a spanking bench, take you with a strap-on. Give you a brisk rub down after you’d come a couple times. Your testosterone was running way too high and you still had too many knots inside you. Just because you put off the tough guy vibes doesn’t mean you don’t need extensive aftercare. It probably means you need more, when the session’s done right.”

  She made the words casual, matter-of-fact, but felt his intent stare come back to her as they leaned against the rail together, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. When he didn’t say anything, she turned to look at him. He didn’t smile, studying her hard enough to pierce blood and bone. His eyes reflected a need so strong she wanted to reach out and touch him, but she quelled it, especially when he straightened, his expression shuttering.

  “I don’t want to be put under a microscope, by you or anyone else.”

  He pivoted and walked away from her. He didn’t seem in a hurry; he just needed to be away. Even though it was an effort, she let him go. She went back to studying the movement of light on the water, crossing her arms on the rail and propping her upper body against them to make her viewing more comfortable.

  He might leave her there. She had a phone and knew how to call a cab, so that didn’t concern her. She wouldn’t get in a car with him if he was making a shift to a more volatile mood anyhow. Disappointment lurked in her lower belly, but she pushed it away. Whatever happened, happened.

  It took him about five minutes. As he’d progressed down the Riverwalk, his movements became more jerky and angry, as if he was having a fight with himself. She didn’t watch him for long, preferring instead to enjoy the night scenery and listen to the brief snatches of conversation from people strolling along behind her.

  She’d closed her eyes and lifted her face to the touch of the breeze, when she felt the rail vibrate from his weight settling against it.

  “I can’t be what you want,” he said, his voice wooden.

  “Yes, you can.” Opening her eyes, she lowered her chin. This time she put every bit of a Mistress’s challenge in her expression and voice. “I can prove it. Give me something real, Marius. Tell me something you want, from your gut, your balls and your heart. Better yet, show me. Put all the bullshit aside and just show me.”

  She saw the flash in his irises, a storm lit by lightning. Then he straightened, pinning her against the rail. She closed her hands over the metal bar on either side of her; he locked his hands over her wrists, holding her there. Her eyes never left his as the two of them stayed motionless a few charged moments. His groin pressed against her pelvis, his erection growing harder with every breath she took.

  Since she hadn’t worn heels, she had to raise her chin about an inch. It made her aware of how close their mouths were. She didn’t flinch or retreat, letting the energy build. His gaze swept down, where her breasts were against his chest, the position giving him a more revealing look down into the lace cups of her bra.

  As he studied the flesh cradled there, something flashed across his expression. For a second, she was almost sure he would bend and put his head there, nuzzle and lick. If she’d been sitting, he would have knelt between her spread thighs to do it, cradling the curves, handling them with gentle fingers and a relentless grip.

  But he lifted his gaze and fastened his attention on her mouth. Her lips would be full and wet-looking, thanks to her gloss.

  “Something real, Marius,” she said, a husky whisper. “Don’t drag your ass.”

  “I’m not even kissing or fucking you, but I feel like I am.” His voice was husky. As if he expected her to fight him, his hands slid up to her biceps and gripped. He used his strength to bring her up on her toes and his mouth to hers. He did it like an avalanche, deceptively slow and ponderous, and then all that brutal power, the ability to bury everything in its path with its weight, was upon her.

  Careful what you wish for. Wasn’t that the saying?

  This embrace was raw, animalistic, like the night of the fight. It was as if he was locked in combat with her, though she was giving herself to his embrace, her hands sliding up his abdomen to his chest, pressing against the hold on her biceps until he let her reach his neck. She gripped and held on, feeling his pulse hammering against her palm. He didn’t let go of her upper arms, though. If anything, his grip became more bruising.

  Hard, hungry, painful. He needed to make it hurt, because he was hurting. It was too much light for a denizen of hell, as he’d said. When she parted her lips under the demand of his, his tongue slid in as he tried to dominate the kiss. She evaded him with slippery, wet heat, tangling and embracing his mouth instead of letting him fight with hers. His body was pressed as insistently against her as was possible with them both clothed. He hiked her up on the rail, her feet leaving the ground as he pushed himself between her legs, grinding against her core and banding his arms around her, one hand gripping her ass and the other flat against her back.

  Her back was to the water and they were in a brace of shadows, but there was no mistaking this was over the line of socially acceptable PDA.

  He didn’t care. She could feel it, and a reaction shuddered low in her belly, strumming through her upper thighs. He wanted to take her down and fuck her right here. The thing that lay at the core of Duncan Marius Walczek was untamed and uncivilized. Rabid.

  The night of the fight, she’d seen a lot of men don personas to add to the drama. He had unmasked himself. By doing so now, he resurrected a primal throb she’d been carrying deep inside her, ever since seeing him fight.

  He wanted her to fight him. She refused, for entirely selfish reasons. She was too busy enjoying all that male heat, unleashed and uncontrolled. Not practiced or charming at all, praise God and Goddess both.

  But in time, she did start to soothe the beast with a quiet noise against his mouth, with the stroke of her fingertips along his neck and shoulders, and by easing her body off the rail so she stood against him. She wasn’t sure what helped him power down, but if she had to make an educated guess, she’d say the unbelievable potency of that kiss had freaked him out.

  Gradually, control of the kiss moved back into her court, though the weakness of her knees and a million feathers brushing inside her thighs and stomach said his aggression hadn’t been unwelcome. When she broke the kiss, she kept her mouth close, brushing it against the corner of his, along his cheekbone. His fingers flexed on her hips.

  “Let me take you somewhere and fuck you.” He said it in a hoarse growl. “That’s as real as I know how to be.”

  �
��This is enough. This is everything.” She stroked his jaw and drew his eyes to hers. Still wild and filled with animal heat, but he was getting a grip on himself.

  She’d like to take a grip—of the hard, impressive shaft pressed against her pelvis. She’d guide it into her cunt and let him pleasure them both, but it was all too soon. She had to rein herself back as much as he did.

  “I want you to know something, something that might trigger your asshole reflex,” she said softly. “But I’m saying it anyway so you can think about it later. I wasn’t kidding at the concert. This is the best date I’ve ever had.”

  He stared at her with that searching look that was confusion and anger, and so many mixed up things. He parted his lips to speak, but he was interrupted.

  “Some spare change for a flower, son?” A wizened, dark-skinned man carrying an old fishing bucket had stopped behind them. The flowers in the bucket were created from the type of reeds used to make baskets. He’d twisted them into spiral roses. “You can have two if you want,” he added. “They’re not hard to make.”

  He wore clothing in a nondescript meshing of colors and which had a loose fit on his aged frame. His thin face was cloaked by a shaggy beard, and his fishing cap had seen many better days. If he wasn’t homeless, he was close to it.

  “Live flowers are pretty,” he told Regina. “But they fade. These never do.”

  Regina managed a smile. Marius dropped the rest of his change into the man’s hand, chose a flower and nodded. “Thanks, old timer,” he said.

  “Hang onto her,” the man said, moving on down the Riverwalk, the bucket clasped in one hand. “Else you’ll be like me, even if you’re in a fancy suit and office somewhere. Alone is alone, no matter where it is.” He turned the last comment into a blues riff and scatted it out, earning smiles from other people as he passed them doing soft shoe.

  “Curious bastard,” Marius commented. Meeting her gaze, he offered the flower. “I had a good time tonight, too.”