Breathe (34 page)

“I want you. I want all of you.” Bending, she pressed a tender kiss over his heart. The fierce heat in his blue eyes blazed as she righted herself, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest.

“Take me, then,” he said. His fingers found her hips and dug into her flesh, hard enough to bruise, and Samantha thrilled to the bite of pain. “However you want.”

“Like this.” Reaching down, she took his erection in her hand. Pressing it to the heat of her entrance, she slowly took the head of him inside.

“Goddamn it, Samantha.” Elijah’s body was tense with the effort of keeping still, of letting her have control.

The big, bad Dom was hers, and she never wanted to let him go.

Silently she sank down on him, taking his cock fully inside her. She cried out as he filled her, feeling overwhelmed, though she was the one in charge.

Below her Elijah trembled, moving his hands from her hips to tangle their fingers together.

“Mine,” Samantha said as she began to move, sliding up just a fraction, then back down. Elijah raised their entwined hands, each of them leaning into the touch as Samantha rose and fell, just enough to create friction, but never so much that she wasn’t completely full of him.

Elijah’s eyes went wide a moment before he stilled beneath her.

“What’s wrong?” Leaning over, she searched his face. “Am I hurting you?”

“I’m not wearing a condom.” Elijah’s voice was strained.

Samantha didn’t break the connection that drew hot and tight between them.

“I know.” Her words were taut with emotion. “I trust you.”

The sound Elijah made then was full of possession, rumbling from the depths of his chest. Before Samantha could even inhale, he had flipped her back over and was looming above her.

His eyes blazed into hers fiercely.

“Mine.” He echoed her earlier words before plunging as far inside her as he could go.

Samantha cried out, then lost herself in the sensation as Elijah took over her body. Pleasure drew hard and fast, and her cries became incoherent when he reached a hand between her legs and rubbed over the hard nub of her clit.

She lost herself seconds before he clasped her by the hips, lifting her off of him just before he came, savoring the sensation of his heat lashing over her belly and thighs, marking her in the most primal of ways. It felt different—so much more intimate.

And then, before she knew what was happening, he slid his fingers between her legs and pulled a second, harder spasm of bliss from her body, and she couldn’t think about how she was feeling at all.

•   •   •

“I
was married once.” Elijah’s voice could have been coming from anywhere in the room. They lay in the pitch-black darkness, her frame sprawled on top of his, his hand stroking idly over her back.

She stilled, waiting.

“Her name was Tara. She was beautiful, fun, and best of all submissive. Alex and Luca wanted her too, but she chose me.”

Samantha felt as though she should be jealous, but strangely felt nothing but calm.

“What happened?” she asked quietly. She didn’t want to break the spell.

“We were both young, and we thought that love was enough.” Elijah seemed to be lost in thought. “It turned out that we weren’t as well matched as we’d thought. I can see now that she wasn’t really interested in submission at all, and it turned out that I needed . . . more.”

“Which is why you were so concerned that I wouldn’t be able to fully submit.” Samantha’s throat suddenly felt tight. “Elijah, I’ve told you what I want. I want a man who will take control without asking for it. I want a man who will take care of me, feminism be damned. But I don’t know if I can run around thinking of you as my Master.”

“I can’t deny something that’s so much a part of me. I’m dominant. It’s who I am.” Elijah traced the lines of her shoulder blades with one hand while the other cupped the back of her neck. “But I think I was wrong about you. You make me work harder for your submission than I’ve ever had to work with a sub before. But it’s so much sweeter when you do submit to me. A strong woman giving herself to me is the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced.

“When I said that I needed someone who was truly submissive, I didn’t mean that I needed that kind of relationship twenty-four/seven.” His fingers worked the knots of tension at the base of Samantha’s skull, and she arched beneath the touch. “I think we can find a way to make it work together. As long as we trust each other.”

And that, Samantha knew, was her cue. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she steeled herself to tell the tale that she hadn’t spoken of since she’d told her mother, who had then turned around and used her daughter’s trauma to gain money.

“My mom was—is—a professional mistress.” Samantha grimaced at the sound of the words. “She has a taste for expensive things, but has no desire to get an honest job to work for them. So she trades sex for financial support, for jewelry and clothing and cars.”

Beneath her Elijah was silent. Though it hurt, she continued.

“Some of the guys were okay. Most of them ignored Beth and me. We’re pretty sure that we have different fathers, but neither of us has ever met our dads, not that we can remember.”

The more she told, the easier it got.

“My mom started . . . seeing . . . Stanley when I was fifteen and Beth was twelve. He made me uncomfortable from the start, the way he’d watch us. But he didn’t do anything until I was sixteen.”

She’d been counting down the days until she was old enough to take Beth and leave.

“They came home one night, both drunk as hell. I could hear them having sex, couldn’t sleep over the noise. When they were done, I was relieved, and finally went to sleep.

“But I woke up a couple of hours later and found him in my room.”

Closing her eyes against the visual, Samantha reached out blindly for Elijah’s hand. He laced his fingers in hers and held tightly.

“You can imagine the rest,” she said quietly, willing the pain to fade from memory. “It happened a few more times. He took pictures.”

“How did you get him to stop?” Elijah’s voice was full of repressed fury. Samantha felt a wave of satisfaction that someone was so angry on her behalf.

“I took a kitchen knife and caught him with his pants down in the bathroom one afternoon.” Grim pleasure accompanied the recollection. She would never forget the look on his face as she’d held up the butcher knife, determination and desperation in her every muscle.

“I told him that if he ever touched me again, if he ever even
thought
about touching Beth, I’d sneak into their room while he was sleeping and cut his cock off. I meant it, too.” She gnashed her teeth just thinking about it. “That afternoon I tried to tell my mom. She denies it now, but I know she believed me. But instead of trying to protect me, she used it to get money out of him. Money and the pictures. He left, and she started drinking more. He’s popped back up now and again—I think because he likes tormenting her. The pictures . . . I didn’t know she’d held on to those. Another bargaining chip, I guess.”

The whole story out, Samantha fell silent. Instead of terror that Elijah would think less of her, though, she felt relief.

It was out. She couldn’t control it anymore.

She squeaked when Elijah rolled her onto her side, facing him. In the blackness she could just make out the stubborn line of his jaw.

“I think even more of you now that I know this.” Strong fingers traced over her jaw, her lips, and Samantha nuzzled into the touch like a kitten. “You survived, and you made something of yourself. And now you’ve faced your fears. You’re the bravest woman I know.”

Samantha closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Yes, she was brave—so brave that she spat out her next words before she could chicken out.

“So, are we . . . okay?” She trembled as the hand tracing over her cheek stilled. “I’m so sorry I left. So sorry.”

Elijah was silent for a long moment, less than a minute, but enough for Samantha’s mind to head down a dark, winding path.

When he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her in close, her heart began to beat double time.

“I know you’re sorry, Sammie Cat.” His hand was splayed out over the small of her back, and she arched into the touch. “So this is what we’re going to do.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
he last four weeks had been the longest month of Samantha’s life.

“Three weeks and six days,” she muttered to herself as she parked her new previously owned sedan in front of In Vino Veritas and slid out of the driver’s seat.

She was there a day early. She couldn’t wait anymore, and she didn’t care what Elijah said about it.

“Miss Samantha.” Julien grinned at her as she approached the front door, her palms slick with nervous sweat. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks, Julien.” Samantha looked down at the red miniskirt and bustier that she’d chosen specifically for their color. “Uh . . . is everything set up?”

“The crate is in the entryway, and I’ve kept him busy for the last hour.” The man’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’re sure you’re set on him? Because I’d be more than happy to step into his place.”

“I’m absolutely sure.” Samantha’s nerves hummed with anticipation. She’d seen the sense in Elijah’s proposal that they spend a month apart, even as she’d protested. Loudly.

He’d wanted her to take time away from him, away from sex, to make sure this was what she wanted.

She’d used the time to pack up her things in Mexico and move both herself and Beth to Las Vegas. She and Elijah had spoken, texted, and e-mailed, but it was all a pale substitute for being with him in person.

“You’re ready?” Julien pulled his phone from his pocket, and Samantha nodded as butterflies began to dance in her stomach. “I’ll text him, then. You go on in.”

Swallowing past her nerves, Samantha pushed through the heavy front door of Veritas. In the place where she’d once told Elijah that they needed a piece of art stood a wooden crate, the nails pulled out, waiting for the sides to be pulled off.

The lobby was otherwise empty. She’d asked Julien to discourage people from loitering around there right then.

Tugging at the hem of her bustier, she walked to the crate, her impossibly high heels echoing on the stone floor. She tugged one of the wooden sides away, letting it fall to the floor with a crash.

The crash muffled the first of Elijah’s footsteps. As soon as she recognized the sound, she whirled, eyes wide, desperate to lay eyes on him again.

“Sammie Cat.” God, the man looked good. Rather than one of his more laid-back polo and jean ensembles, he was dressed in a fancy custom-tailored suit. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and he was missing his tie.

He looked good enough to eat.

“Hi.” Of all the things Samantha had expected to feel, shy wasn’t one of them. But after a month of phone calls, she wondered if his feelings had changed, now that she was here in the flesh.

“Come here to me.” His voice was gruff. He held out his arms as she hesitantly crossed the space between them.

And then she was enfolded in his powerful strength, the smell of him in her nostrils, and nothing had ever felt more right.

“Fuck.” Elijah pulled back, looked her in the face, then claimed her lips in a fierce, hot kiss. When he finally released her, she laughed, slightly out of breath.

“It’s good to see you, too.” Grinning up at him, she tapped her fingers on the side of the wooden crate and waited.

“Is this . . . ?” Elijah’s worlds trailed off with anticipation as he stepped back to look at the crate. With the one side that Samantha had removed, the wooden box stood open, the sculpture upright and draped in cloth, waiting to be revealed.

She tensed, suddenly terrified, as Elijah tugged on one end of the cloth. His opinion mattered more than anything.

“Oh, Samantha.” Elijah’s voice was full of awe. She watched, still nervous, as he raked his fingers through his hair and circled the sculpture to take it in from all sides.

She looked with him, trying to see it as he did.

The glass was similar in shape to that first sculpture at his exhibit, the one that had brought them together. That sculpture had been packed up and shipped to Elijah’s home, and was presumably upstairs right then.

This one was more suited to be displayed at Veritas. It had the same contrast of masculine and feminine, the same burning sensuality.

But where the first sculpture had been made with Samantha’s unexplored desires in mind, this one . . .

This one was submission fully realized. A deep, passionate red, the swirls of glass spoke of the beauty of a strong woman giving control to the man who had earned it.

“It’s called
Submission
,” Samantha said quietly, her words nonetheless echoing off the high ceilings.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Elijah turned to her, eyes burning.

After a month of mental practice, Samantha sank to her knees with far more grace than she once had. Settling on the cold floor, she waited, her eyes on the stone, her palms facing up.

The gesture said what her words could not.

“Stand up.” There—
there
it was, that total dominance. God, how she’d yearned for that over the past few weeks.

She hurried to obey his order, wobbling only a bit on her heels. The fierceness that she saw on Elijah’s face when she looked up took her breath away.

“I bought this the day you flew back to Mexico.” Digging in his pocket, Elijah pulled out a braided white gold necklace, the chain as thick as one of her fingers. “I’ve carried it with me ever since, hoping that you would come back.”

“There was never any doubt.” Samantha stared at the necklace greedily. It was beautiful, and exactly, uniquely her, with the large pendant made of the palest green glass. But it wasn’t the object itself that drew her so much as what she hoped it represented.

“If I put this on you, it means that you’re mine. In every single way. Is that what you want?”

Samantha reached surreptitiously for the skin on the inside of her elbow and pinched.