Mirror of My Soul Joey Hill (best books to read for women txt) 📖

much. She tried to move away but couldn’t. He was ruthless, stroking, working, dipping into her. Her wetness flooded his hand, as intense as the reaction of a man. It went on and on, as if the mere handful of days since she’d seen him at her place and the session at the Club tonight had all been foreplay, building and building. He was inside her now in every way but one and that was a formality. A formality she needed like a faith.

She was convulsing, jerking against his hand with aftershocks when he withdrew his touch. He untied her legs and arms and removed the scarf. She curled her arms underneath her, like a bird folding in its wings. When his hand loosened the tie, began to tug it free, she twitched, made an involuntary noise of protest before she could stop herself. His fingers stilled, paused over it, then left it. He tied it so it was snug but with a knot that would prevent any dangerous slippage around her neck, then he had his arms around her, turning her.

25

Joey W. Hill

She was still hungry, still aching. As he turned her to her back, she gazed up at him in the dim light of her bedroom. His shirt was open partway down his chest, still tucked into the dark slacks. The serious, unsmiling mouth and dangerous eyes that were weighted with desire. She couldn’t think beyond the elemental reaction, couldn’t edit the thoughts that came to her lips.

“Your cock, in my mouth… Please.”

A whispered plea, a desire to sate something hard and burning in her as well as him, something beyond the need of the roaring orgasm he had just given her.

When he put a knee on the bed, she could see the turgid shape of his arousal, proof of his need. For her. But he eased an arm under her, turned her again. Stunned her by stretching out on the bed next to her, curving his body around the back of hers, bringing his heat and hardness against her hips, thighs, her feet tucked between his calves, the linen of the slacks against her soft skin. He pulled her even closer with a hand around her waist, her wetness rubbing against his crotch as he cupped her breast in his hand, his thumb following the line of the tie at her throat. He settled his head just above hers, his breath ragged on her neck.

“Just sleep, angel. I’m here.”

* * * * *

And she did, in a remarkably short time. Tyler stroked her hair, her slender form.

Tracing every rib, the point of her hip and the length of thigh, he called himself a fool for not straddling her neck and shoulders and driving himself between her lips. It was the right of every Master to be served in such a fashion by a willing and eager sub. And she’d been willing, the desire in her eyes unmistakable. But intuition had held him back. That and the way her body had come to orgasm, again that brutal tearing

response, as if a monster had to be slain to earn the right to just a small treasured release. And in her case, she’d learned that choking the monster was what worked but he knew it was more than a manipulation stemming from physical response.

She made a sub’s every dark fantasy come true, then she came back to this room.

Carrying all the arousal she’d stored from the experience, she brought it to fruition by restraining herself the way she restrained subs. The rope was to wrap around her wrists, the belt and scarf for the throat restriction. His gaze rested on the bedpost in the dark. Though he kept stroking her hair, his gaze burned on the place. He wouldn’t tolerate it. Couldn’t even think past the haze of fury and fear he’d felt when he’d realized it. She was a grown woman. There was nothing he could do to stop her from pursuing a practice that could kill her in a handful of heartbeats if done incorrectly.

Except tonight he’d shown her how much more intense it was to be collared by a Master. Experimenting, he plucked at the tie, tugged it against her throat. She murmured in her sleep, moving against his hips in a way that made him stifle a guttural growl.

26

Mirror of My Soul

She sought the restraints for satisfaction but more than that she sought the feel of a collar. The ratcheting up of her desire at his touch on the tie at her throat, the protest she made at it being removed… If it was possible, those two things alone had nearly made him explode.

The idea made him even harder but it was balanced by the fear that if he could not find his way permanently into her heart, he might lose her to life altogether. Every step of her life, every desire appeared to be tormented by demons of her past, demons that took that desire and twisted it into an addictive and hazardous death wish.

It was time to stop relying on pride. In the morning, he would call in some favors.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about Marguerite Perruquet.

He pulled the tie away. As she moved restlessly he replaced it with his hand,

bringing his warmth and strength over the fragile bones and windpipe, the pulse. She settled in with a soft noise, her hand coming up to lie over his, falling into a deeper sleep with a quiet sigh.

“I’m here, angel,” he murmured.

And I’m not going to let hell take you, so whoever the fuck is trying to drag you down into it, you deal with me. Because she’s not alone anymore.

He curved more tightly around her, giving her his warmth and all of his protection.

Staying awake to watch over her, he waited for the dawn to drive the night from the sky and her nightmares from the corners. And ignored his own