Cries of Penance (12 page)

I grab her and pul her into a hug she can’t escape. “I don’t want you seeing him.”

“I love him.”

Meeting her gaze, I know she believes she does.

I want to tel her he’s dangerous. I want to ground her and lock her in her room, but I’m wise enough to know that it wil take more than me standing between them to keep them apart. The most I can hope for is that Thomas’s brother bores quickly. I kiss her forehead. “Be careful, sweetheart.”

My heart is heavy as I return to The Oasis. Knowing he wants his brother to lay low, I’m going to have to cal Thomas. He certainly doesn’t want him to leave the premises. I’m going to have to al ow Morgana to stay in The Attic with her lover. It’s only a matter of time before anarchy reigns.

I go back to our table and find Kitten right where I left her. At least I can count on her to obey my wil . Patting my knee for her to climb into my lap, I censor myself for being so imperialistic. Am I being too hard on Morgana?

I push my nose against the back of Kitten’s neck, inhaling the scent that is distinctly her. With her pregnancy, holding her is made slightly awkward, but I pul her closer. She breaks house rules when she whispers against my face, “Is everything al right?”

I kiss her nape. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

She angles her face so that she can gaze deeply into my eyes. She thinks I am lying.

I take a deep breath and force myself to relax even more, pushing away the emotion I am feeling. I assure her, “It had nothing to do with Thomas.”

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She nods and sighs, obviously relieved, and al ows herself to relax against me.

I whisper against her neck, “I’m sorry I missed the rest of the performance.

Was it enjoyable?”

I’m surprised when she tenses in my lap. I wrap my arms around her waist so she can’t escape to the pil ow at my feet. I squeeze her breasts. “They’re getting bigger. They’re going to fil with milk soon.”

I know she was made uncomfortable by the scene between Jako and Panda, and I find it exciting that there is something new for me to trigger an emotional response to. I look forward to taking her home and discussing her discomfort at length, but then I see Joshua in the elevator with Morgana. He is on his knees, she holds his leash. I al ow Kitten to move to her pil ow, displeased Morgana has chosen to flaunt her behavior.

Later, at home, in bed, holding Kitten tightly, I try to think what recourse I have with Morgana. I’l just have to draw the line in the sand, forbid her from seeing him, but immediately remember the desperation Kitten responded with when I forbade her from seeing me—the kitten antics, the phone cal s, the computer sabotage—and wonder if Morgana would go to such great lengths to try to keep seeing Joshua. I don’t think she would, but then Morgana has never professed to loving anyone.

“Where are you tonight?”

“Morgana said that she’s in love with Joshua.”

Pul ing away from me, Kitten sits up and turns on the bedside light. She is pale and worried. “That’s not good. She has to stay away from him.”

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“He’s been wel behaved. There hasn’t been a single complaint about him.”

“He’s dangerous!”

Her hands are fisted tightly into the sheets. I don’t even think she likes Morgana, and yet she’s obviously worried about her. Sitting up, I stroke her face.

“Yes, he is.”

“Forbid her from seeing him.”

“I tried. If I force her, she’l leave.”

Kitten shakes her head. “Morgana would never leave Lewd Larry’s.”

I blink at her, remembering when I let her go with Thomas, remembering al owing Thomas to take over ownership of her for three months and knowing he was a dangerous man. The only difference between Thomas and his brother is that I trust Thomas. I don’t know what Joshua would have to do to gain my trust, but I don’t trust him now. I can only pray he doesn’t do anything to hurt Morgana.

Pul ing Kitten into my arms, I kiss her forehead. “You asked what was on my mind, I told you, now I think you should help me forget my concerns.”

She doesn’t look happy that I’ve deemed the conversation over, but she complies with my request. Pushing on my shoulders, she presses me back against the pil ows and licks a slow, sensual trail down my body.

As she circles my nipple with her tongue, I close my eyes and wil myself to relax and forget the day. Joshua. Morgana. Thomas. Their faces flash through my mind unwanted. I crack my eyes open and focus on what Kitten is doing to me.

Soft licks over my ribcage.

Damn it, Morgana, what are you thinking?

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“Bite me.”

Our gazes meet. I’ve never asked Kitten to hurt me, or top me, though she’s topped me often enough from below. She knows I’m not always dominant. With Thomas, I’m almost always submissive. I like the pain, the head games. As I watch her, she grazes her teeth over my ribs, not biting, not yet. I shudder, the sensation not soft enough to tickle or hard enough to hurt, but the look she has in her eyes definitely holds me stil and ready.

When she sinks her teeth into me, I hold my breath not wanting the inhale or exhale to cause more damage than she has already caused. I think she doesn’t have enough experience, probably no experience, inflicting pain, and I’ve made a mistake. She’s obviously broken skin. It isn’t so much the pain, but the warm slide of liquid over my flesh. Blood. My blood. There’s something so special about knowing I am bleeding, about knowing I have al owed someone to draw my blood.

She watches my face intently, not pressing harder, or tearing free, or even releasing my flesh from her grip. I consider commanding her to release me, but don’t. I want to see what she does.

When she does soften her bite, she licks the wound. She holds my gaze as she licks. There is something in the depths of her eyes, need, savage and unspent. I think she could tear me to shreds. Moving only inches away from my ribs into the soft part of my bel y, she bites down again. I moan, the intensity of the pain greater at this spot.

She holds me in her mouth, not biting harder, nor relaxing her grip, and I wonder where she learned this from. I can feel her breath fanning across my 110

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skin, across the stinging field of pain she’s created with her teeth, and I realize my body is tensed, ready for more pain, hungry for more pain.

Her hands slide over my skin, so softly it tickles, and I jerk against her mouth.

Her fingers slide over my pelvis, over my thighs, lower to cup my scrotum. She squeezes, hard enough to make my breath catch and while she is squeezing, she bites deeper, harder, leaving me writhing and moaning against her.

“Enough?” she asks softly, and I look to see her licking my blood off her lips.

“Do I have your attention now?”

I nod, unable to take my eyes off her as she moves to straddle me. She’s completely and utterly mesmerizing as she pushes herself down onto my erection. She closes her eyes as I fil her. She commands, “Hold my shoulders.”

I push against her shoulders, holding her up as she fal s forward. I hold her steady as she starts to rides me. She kisses my forearm, licks, and then bites as she increases the pace of her hips.

I push more deeply into her as the pain holding my thoughts captive, scatter my pleasure. She rides me harder, faster. She bites deeper.

“Oh God, Kitten.” I cry out as she pul s my orgasm out of my scrotum. “Holy fucking God.”

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“Man is only truly great when he acts from the passions; never irresistible but when he appeals to the imagination.”

Benjamin Disraeli, Coningsby

After two months in Washington DC I’m a different person, and the life I left behind in San Francisco seems like a dream. The world of politics is al -

consuming, especial y the one I’ve joined. There are agendas within agendas and every meeting is scheduled around a meal, breakfast meetings, luncheons, dinners, cocktails.

Abigail is in high demand and we go to wherever the interest is highest, decided by projected contributions.

Tonight finds us in New Hampshire, and she is expected to walk away with mil ions in donations for her campaign. I think we’re al in for a long night as I estimate her half-hour speech taking more than two to deliver. After a while she launches into the speech, knowing the clapping isn’t showing signs of dying down. As she talks the room grows completely silent, because everyone wants to hear what she’s saying.

Trained in public speaking, she knows just when to project and when to speak softly for effect. She screams into the microphone, “It’s time to bring our jobs back home.”

Enthusiastic applause fol ows the statement and she speaks over it, knowing the clapping won’t die down. She continues shouting into the microphone. “How can we support a global market when our local economy is failing?”

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I realize I’m smiling. I’m proud of her. I’m even glad I’m here during what I believe wil become a defining moment in history. I know that neither Garrett or Celia would want to hear such sentiment, but my bond with Abigail runs far longer and deeper than what I have with either of my lovers. That isn’t to say I love Abigail, but I do respect her and I do believe she is the right person for the job. If my being here helps her to succeed in winning the election, my time and energy have been wel spent.

Her speech ends and my clapping joins that of those standing on their feet.

I’m stil scanning for trouble, watching hands, facial expressions, but for now I feel like she is safe and when she final y comes off stage, I pat her back, professional y, and congratulate her.

Eyes wide, smile bright, she demands, “I want a clean getaway.”

I hurry her away from the chaos, leaving her security detail trying to keep up.

It is a long drive back to the hotel. She is shaking with nervous energy and flushed with excitement. She is high on adrenaline and success. It is a dangerous mood, that could make her reckless, and I want to get her behind the safety of her hotel room door as quickly as possible.

“I want to celebrate,” she says breathlessly. “Before the numbers come out, before I see any news report or any speculation, I want to enjoy how this feels.”

The SUV hits a bump and our knees touch. It is like a lightning bolt shooting down my spine, and I know if I felt it, she felt it. There has always been an almost uncontrol able sexual tension between us, and it has only been the boring monotony of daily tasks that have helped us rein in our need in public spaces. I can feel her desire rol ing off her in thick waves.

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I shake my head in warning. Pouncing on the personal assistant in a jam packed security vehicle would not be a smart move. Thankful y, she glances out the window.

I look out the window on the other side of the vehicle, counting telephone poles, basical y the equivalent of a cold shower but it does little good, and by the time I drop her off at her suite, I am ready to rip her clothes off, but that wouldn’t do, not at al .

Two bodyguards are posted in the hal way and I go to my own suite, unescorted.

I take a deep breath, stepping inside. Waiting in the dark. Hearing everything.

Soft voices in the hal , the two guards talking about today’s big game, an interior door opening and closing on the other side of the wal I know is Abbie’s room. A second later the sound of her turning the deadbolt to the door that connects our rooms seems as loud as a gunshot. Crossing the dark room to meet her there, I turn the deadbolt on my side and open the door. We col ide, both of us needing to get to the other desperately. We are a tangle of limbs, mouths connected, kissing with intensity I have rarely experienced.

I had thought to go to her in her room, but as she pushes me back like a gale force storm, I am fine staying in my suite. Wrapping my arms around her, I slide the zipper to her dress down her back and start to pul the fabric off her shoulders but her hands are wrapped in my hair, holding me tight and preventing the move.

I pul my mouth away from hers. “We have al night. Let me help you out of your dress.”

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Bright light shines into my suite from hers and through the doorway, I see her room is lit up, every light on, enough il umination for us to not break anything in the dark and for me to see the primal need reflected in her eyes. She whispers, “I need you now.”

I pul back from her, grabbing her forearms and holding her tightly, but gently away from me though she tries to move forward, wanting back in my arms, wanting to control. I chuckle when she pouts. “Slow down, my love. That is al .”

But it wasn’t al I wanted.

I’m too long from Lewd Larry’s and the way of life I have there—dominance and submission in al of its glorious perfection—at my wil . I’ve never considered myself a sadist, dominant yes, curious about what makes humans so wil ing, so needy, to be control ed, but finding joy in causing another pain? No. Although sometimes, it is necessary.

God, I miss it. At first I thought I was only longing for my lovers, Garrett and Celia, but as the weeks have passed…I need more than just a lover’s caress…I need to control. And although I have shared a few scenes with Abbie, those amount to nothing more than bedroom games and compare little to what I want to do to her tonight.

I’m not at al certain how she’l respond, and the mystery itself is al uring.

I gaze upon her face. Cast in shadows she appears much younger, more vulnerable. Perhaps it is her widened eyes, her parted lips, or the quickened pulse in her throat. I wonder if she can feel my need or my restraint.

Her eyes hold questions and though only seconds have passed, it feels much longer. I close my eyes, enjoying the pulsing throb of time. I feel caught in the 115

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moment, and it feels much the same as the heart-stopping second before I pul the trigger. My target is in sight and then…