Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room) Page 40
Touch me, she thought, and he put his hands on her back, sliding down to her hips and up again, as if he was trying to touch her everywhere at once.
“I need to be inside of you. Please.”
Don’t ask, show me. Make me feel how badly you want me. Don’t just melt the ice. Turn me into a fucking tropical ocean.
Again, she spoke not a word, but within the first second of the thought, he was out of the chair, holding her by the waist with one arm, his hand plunged into her hair. He held the strands so tightly they pulled against her scalp while he dove even deeper into the kiss. He dropped to one knee and she kept her legs around him. When he shifted, for one breathless moment he was holding her parallel with the ground, her body wrapped around his torso, his one arm and his knees holding them both. Then he’d laid her down beneath him.
She hadn’t dressed up, merely donning her last set of work clothes, a modest skirt and blouse combo, a pair of low-heeled boots. He tore open her blouse, doing the same to the bra beneath in one powerful motion.
He descended on her bared breasts, licking and biting, then fell to a deep suckling, as if he was nourishing himself from the contact. She bucked up against him, scoring him with her nails, drawing blood. He put his other hand between them, found her panties beneath her rucked-up skirt and yanked the crotch aside, tearing the seams as he drove into her.
He was rutting stag hard, and she squeezed her legs tight around him, welcoming the deep pain and pleasurable agony as he plunged, thrusting so hard he was moving them on the tile floor. She would hurt tomorrow, but it wouldn’t matter. It would be the best kind of aching.
“Don’t go away…mine…Mistress…”
“No. I won’t. I won’t.” She made the whispered oath against his flesh, her tears pressed against his skin. He felt them, because he slowed down. Seating himself even deeper, he lifted up enough to frame her face and kiss each tear away with slow, tender precision. Which caused more tears for him to kiss away. Those gray eyes gazed upon her in a you’re-everything-to-me way that could melt even a Dragon Lady’s heart.
He was finding his center again, that rock steadiness she needed. She was part of that center now. He’d made that clear, and yet he’d become the same for her. She couldn’t have found her way out of the ice without him. He’d done it in a shocking, quick and brutal way, exposing himself to this, but that wasn’t the miracle. It was how seeing him under another woman’s touch, how the first grip of his hands on Janet’s body, had simply smashed that ice as if it would never have the power to hold her again. Not against her need for him. She was reeling from it. Reaching up, she touched his face.
What happened when two sides surrendered everything to one another, when the love became more important than anything else? Maybe they found their own special paradise, peace in a sometimes ugly, scary world. She held that thought to herself, even knowing he’d probably agree with it. She didn’t hold her next thought to herself though.
“I love you, Max. Endlessly, totally, completely.”
As he pressed his face against her neck, a great sigh raised his shoulders. It settled his weight upon her, but she didn’t mind. He didn’t let it become too much, anyway, lifting up within a few breaths to begin moving inside her again. As he did, he slid an arm around her waist, palmed her buttock so that he handled most of the movement, most of the effort. His eyes glowed with heated pleasure as her cries became more insistent, her body arching to his, her hands gripping his biceps.
“Come with me, Mistress.”
She did, going over that edge with him. Even as they fell, she knew they’d find that peace and paradise they’d never expected to find alone. But together, the impossible became possible.
When they got their breath back, were ready to fly again, she was going to kiss every inch of his wonderful muscled skin, every inch she thought she might have lost, and she wouldn’t stop until…
Fuck it. She wasn’t ever going to stop.
Epilogue
One month later
“So if he chickens out of this thing, do I still get to keep the gifts?” Marcie eyed the pile of opened packages for her and Ben’s engagement party. “That single-cup coffeemaker alone is worth marrying him.”
“I can get it for you at a discount, then you don’t need him at all,” Lucas advised. Ben shoved at his shoulder.
“Way to have a brother’s back.”
Janet smiled at them as Ben brought Marcie to his side. The engaged couple enjoyed a warm kiss, followed by a moment of intent adoration. The two of them were so obviously wrapped up in one another it was bound to incite reaction from Marcie’s younger brother.
“I am so going to puke,” Nate said, emulating a gag.
The family gathering was assembled out on the large sun porch at Lucas and Cass’ house. Sitting on the foot piece of a lounge chair, Janet felt Max’s hand brush between her shoulder blades. She glanced back at him. He straddled the chair right behind her, his knees splayed to accommodate her hips. Her hand rested on his knee. He had a beer balanced on the other one, but his eyes on her were warm, promising.
He knew exactly what he did to her when he looked at her like that.
“Behave,” she murmured, trying to look stern. “Or I’ll make you go sit in the car.”
“Yes ma’am,” he chuckled. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her shoulder. She turned her face to his forehead as he did it, held there, even realizing the two of them looked no less besotted than the guests of honor. And it hadn’t escaped notice.
“Oh God, it’s contagious. Now I’m going to puke too!” Ben made the same noises as Nate. The teenager barked with laughter as the K&A lawyer pretended to throw up behind Marcie. She shoved at him and aimed a slap at Nate, which he dodged.
“Keep it up, boys, and I’ll take back that single-cup coffeemaker,” Janet threatened.
As laughter swept the room, Janet looked around at all of them. Matt and Savannah sat across from them on a loveseat, Angelica asleep at Matt’s foot in her portable cradle. Jon and Rachel were next to them, Jon on a chair, Rachel sitting at his feet, ostensibly to stroke and coo at the baby, but also because Rachel enjoyed subtle signs of her submission to him, something that brought her peace.
In fact, in this room, Janet saw many examples of how peace had been found, demons had been laid to rest. Ben probably fought the most in that regard, and yet she’d never seen him look so happy. Lucas and Cass could see it as well, such that the worry Marcie’s older sister had held about Ben was decreasing. Ben was going to be okay. Love could do that.
Her gaze shifted to Peter and Dana. The big man who bore a distinct resemblance to Max was sprawled in a large easy chair and Dana was balanced on the wide arm. She’d pulled her bare feet up onto it and crossed them at the ankles, Peter’s arm snug around her hips, keeping her steady. It was hard to believe not too long ago Dana had come back from Iraq broken in body and mind, wishing she’d died in the explosion that had taken her sight. Now she was a fully ordained minister, already beloved by her congregation, and of course she did the impossible—reconciled that identity with her need to be Peter’s hardcore brat submissive, challenging and loving his Mastery of her.
Janet’s gaze went back to Matt, to find her boss’s attention on her. She expected his mind was on something similar, because those dark eyes smiled. He lifted his drink in a subtle gesture of affection to her. He was pleased with her happiness, and his regard for her, his care, was obvious in his expression. She swallowed. Thank you.
He shook his head at the silently mouthed words and rose, leaving Rachel and Savannah overseeing his daughter. When he bent to Janet, he brushed a kiss over her mouth. His murmured words to her were covered by the animated discussions of the others.
“You deserve happiness, Janet. You both do.” When his attention shifted, including Max, her man pressed against her back, his hands lingering on her hips.
“We’re all your family here,” Matt said. “Don’t ever forget that
, and you’ll never be lost again.”
* * * * *
After they left Lucas and Cass’ house, Max drove her out to a deserted road that gave them a vantage point to watch planes taking off at the New Orleans airport. Amused, she saw him pull a cooler out from the back of the truck. Flipping it open, he offered her a wine chiller and popped open another beer. Then he laid out a generous display of truffles, cheese and other treats from the party.
“Does Marcie know you made off with these?”
“Only if you tell. And if you eat any, you’re an accomplice.”
“Hmm. Blackmailer.” She picked up a truffle, tasted it, closed her eyes. “My God, Ben can cook. He really should run a restaurant.” Then she leaned over, eyes still closed. Max slid the food out of the way so he could bring her up against his side, give her the kiss she was wanting. She tasted the flavor of the beer, enjoyed it with the truffle, the scent of Max wrapping around her.
“So why do you come out here?”
He settled back against the windshield, shifting her between his thighs, cradling her. She rested her hand on his belt, idly tracing it, tugging at his dress shirt. Her ribs were pressed against his groin, and she liked the interested reaction she was getting there. It might be nice to make love here, while the planes went overhead. She wondered if the pilots would be able to see them, though she expected they weren’t close enough.
“Sometimes when I close my eyes, I imagine I’m up in the sky, about to do a HALO jump,” he said. “I remember the way it felt, leaping out of that plane, seeing the curve of the earth for a few seconds… It’s a lot like I feel when you climax around me, when I see you get lost in it.”
She tilted her head to look up at him. He had his eyes closed now. “You think about it?” he asked.
“Jumping out of a plane? Or climaxing with you? Hell no to the first, all the time to the second.”
He smiled. “Getting married.”
She hadn’t expected that, and something tilted in a not-so-unpleasant way at the thought. Still, she kept her tone casual. “Sometimes. If some ancient Saudi sheikh asked me, and I could figure out a way to off him pretty fast and take all his money.”
He cracked an eyelid, considered her. “You’d probably need an accomplice to pull that off. I’d take a fifty-fifty cut. We could go hide out in Belize together.”
“Sixty-forty. I’m the one that has to sleep with him.”
“Can I have fifty-fifty if I agree to sleep with him too?”
“Idiot.” She looked up as the next plane passed overhead, found his hand. When his fingers curled around hers, she turned her head, let it rest on his shoulder. “Yes. I’ve thought about it. But only recently. Which means I need a lot more time to think about it.”
“I’ll be around. But just so you know, for you I might even endure a cold shower. You can ask Dale—to a SEAL, that’s the ultimate sacrifice.”
“I will be asking him, so you better not be lying.”
His lips brushed her temple then he touched her jaw, tilted her face up so that he could put his mouth on hers, a slow, deep, drugging kiss that had her sinking into the hold of his arms as he slid both around her. Cradled in his arms, held between his thighs, his heart thumping steadily against hers where she lay against his chest…there was no better place to be.
When he at last broke the kiss, she stared up into his gray eyes, so serious and intent on her face.
“I’m already yours, Mistress. You want to make it formal, today, tomorrow or when I’m as old as that sheikh, I’ll be here. You ever want to cut me loose…”
Her fingers were on his mouth in an instant, stopping his words.
“No. I never do. I never will.”
His lips curved in that sexy, slow smile. She wasn’t one for rash or impulsive declarations, and while this felt like both, the rarity of it reflected her true, deepest feelings. She would marry him. They both knew it, though neither one said it.
She lay back down in his arms. They watched the planes come and go, both of them content to be silent, holding the precious weight of truth…and each other.
About Joey W. Hill
I’ve always avoided interviews of favorite personalities because so often the person doesn’t measure up to the beauty of the art they produce. Their politics are distasteful, or they’re shallow and self-absorbed, a vacuous mophead without a lick of sense. From then on, though I may appreciate their craft, it has somehow been tarnished. Therefore, when I’m asked to provide personal info for readers, a ball of anxiety forms in my stomach as I think: “Okay, my next words may forever change the way someone views my stories.” Why does a reader want to know about me? It’s the story that’s important.
So here it is. I’ve been given more blessings in my life than any one person has a right to have. Despite that, I’m a Type A, OCD phobic paranoiac who worries I’ll never live up to expectations. I don’t like talking on the phone, I dread social commitments. Living in monastic solitude with my husband and animals, books and writing, is my idea of paradise. I love chocolate, but with that irrational female belief that weight equals worth, I keep it to a minor addiction. I adore good movies. I’m told I work too much. Every day is spent trying to get through the never-ending “to do” list to snatch a few minutes to write.
Despite all these mediocre and typical qualities, for some miraculous reason, these wonderful characters well up out of my soul with stories to tell. When I find that precious “stillness”, which calms all the competing voices in my head, I can step into their lives, hear what they are saying, what they’re feeling, and put it down on paper. It’s a magic beyond description, akin to believing my husband loves me, winning the trust of an abused animal, making a true connection with someone or knowing I’ve given a reader something special through those written words. It’s a magic that reassures me there is Someone, far wiser than myself, who knows the permanent path to that garden of stillness, where there is only love, acceptance and a pen waiting for hours and hours of uninterrupted, blissful use.
If only I could finish that darned “to do” list.
Joey welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Joey W. Hill
Chance of a Lifetime
Choice of Masters
If Wishes Were Horses
Knights of the Board Room: Afterlife
Knights of the Board Room: Board Resolution
Knights of the Board Room: Hostile Takeover
Make Her Dreams Come True
Nature of Desire 1: Holding the Cards
Nature of Desire 2: Natural Law
Nature of Desire 3: Ice Queen
Nature of Desire 4: Mirror of My Soul
Nature of Desire 5: Mistress of Redemption
Nature of Desire 6: Rough Canvas
Nature of Desire 7: Branded Sanctuary
Snow Angel
Threads of Faith
Virtual Reality
Print books by Joey W. Hill
Behind the Mask anthology
Enchained anthology
Faith and Dreams
Hot Chances anthology
If Wishes Were Horses
Knights of the Board Room: Afterlife
Knights of the Board Room: Hostile Takeover
Nature of Desire 1: Holding the Cards
Nature of Desire 2: Natural Law
Nature of Desire 3: Ice Queen
Nature of Desire 4: Mirror of My Soul
Nature of Desire 5: Mistress of Redemption
Nature of Desire 6: Rough Canvas
Nature of Desire 7: Branded Sanctuary
Virtual Reality
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
> www.ellorascave.com
Willing Sacrifice
ISBN 9781419943607
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Willing Sacrifice Copyright © 2013 Joey W. Hill
Edited by Briana St. James
Cover design by Syneca
Cover photography by Artem Furman/Shutterstock.com and iStockPhoto.com
Electronic book publication May 2013
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