Hostile Takeover (47 page)

Hack, hack, hack. No, forget the meat cleaver. She’d use a power saw.

He’d told her he was her Master, which meant he held the reins. So she had to wait on him. He was testing her. She was trying, but God, she was going to go crazy.

On the flip side, Ben was making no secret of the fact he considered her his. There was no emotional uncertainty anymore. With every passing day, she became joyously more confident of his feelings. The night he’d prepared that dinner, Talia, as precocious a teenager as Marcie had ever been, had tracked every time Ben grazed his fingers over Marcie’s hip, or brushed his lips against her temple when he handed her something to bring to the table. When her younger sister was helping her clear, she’d leaned in, whispered to Marcie, “Are you Ben’s girlfriend now?”

Before Marcie could answer, Ben had come by with a stack of plates, pulled Talia’s ponytail. “Yes, she is.” And that was that.

She saw the exchanged looks between the other men and their wives that night, but she had a feeling it wasn’t only because of the new dynamic between her and Ben. Something was easier about the K&A lawyer. The jokes he made, the fact he smiled a little more often…it was obvious that something was uncoiling inside of him, turning him in a better direction. Thinking she might have something to do with that was a good feeling, but just seeing him happier made her heart swell to bursting. It also touched something in her deeply, seeing him casually bypassing his normal whiskey, even abstaining from wine.

As remarkable as that was, other things were going on as well. They’d had other get-togethers, not just at Ben’s house, but at Jon and Rachel’s, and a concert at Audubon Park. During those events, she’d noted a distinct change in her relationship with the others. When Peter passed behind her chair at Jon and Rachel’s, he’d playfully put his large hands on either side of the seat, his knuckles brushing her hips as he scooted her closer to the table so he could get his massive bulk in the narrow area between wall and chair. As he straightened, he’d laid his hands on her shoulders. The wide neckline of her cotton top had made it a simple, casual thing to hook his thumb under her bra strap, and he’d idly stroked her there as he exchanged a few remarks with Jon about a subject she couldn’t possibly remember, not with that happening and Ben watching, leaned back in his chair, his green eyes intent on her reaction.

Later that same evening, when Matt was sitting on the couch with her and Savannah, he had his arm around his wife, but he also had his arm stretched behind Marcie. A couple times he stroked his strong fingers casually through Marcie’s hair, tracing the shell of her ear. She’d stayed still, nerves tingling along her spine, everything coiling up tight at the touch, which couldn’t be called anything but sexually proprietary. Once again, Ben had his eyes on her, his expression telling her that their subtle enjoyment of her had his full approval. When she leaned across him to accept Savannah’s invitation to feel the baby kick, Matt’s hand dropped to her waist, fingers wrapped over her hip bone. As the conversations continued, it was both more comfortable and titillating than expected, to stay leaning against him.

Of course, the big surprise was when Lucas demonstrated some of the same type of behavior. At the Audubon concert, Marcie had been sitting on her hip on the picnic blanket next to Cass. When Lucas asked them if they wanted more wine, he brushed a kiss along his wife’s throat, taking a nip with teeth, but as he moved around Marcie to go get them both a glass, he let his fingertips trail up the inside of Marcie’s thigh in what was undeniably a sexual caress. She felt a tingle all the way up her groin muscle.

She knew what this was. Dana had spoken of it once during those tea parties. Before Peter initiated her into the group, they’d done things like that to get her used to their touches, their scent. Ben was getting her ready, and it made her crazy with lust and anxiety, all the more because it was so subtle.

The same night, Ben left her with a kiss where he pressed her up against the car door, and she was ready to claw his clothes off him. When he called her at midnight, he was stretched out in front of his flat-screen, watching one of the latest offerings from an erotic filmmaker. Ben casually described the scene he was watching, of a woman on all fours being fucked from behind while she gave oral service to her Master. Ben asked her if she fantasized about such a scenario, made her tell him her reactions in detail, physical and emotional. Before long, she was sweating through her nightshirt.

“You’re trying to make me into a lust-crazed lunatic,” she accused.

“Lie down on your back,” he said.

The switch from teasing seduction to command flipped a switch inside of her. She lay down immediately, aware her limbs were shaking.

“Legs spread. Arms to the headboard.”

Everything stretched to snapping in another heartbeat. That dark, insidious edge to Ben, the edge he’d been holding back, was in his voice now. In an instant, she wanted to be punished, wanted more than that firm pat. She wanted to be gagged, roped down, beaten within an inch of her life and then fucked in the ass, into unconsciousness.

“Close your eyes.”

She did, and bit her lip, hard, to keep herself still. She imagined his hands on her ankles, the sound of a cuff being wrapped around one, then the other, the tension as they were fastened to the end of the bed. He’d do the same to her wrists.

She hadn’t worn any panties under the nightshirt, because she couldn’t handle the friction. She wanted to be good for her Master, but she just couldn’t be anymore. She imagined him bending over her in the dark, his green gaze intent, that mouth stern, uncompromising. As kind and romantic as he’d been these past few days, she knew that transition, when the sadist in him would rise to the top. He wanted to make her suffer, wanted to make her scream with pleasure, beg for mercy that he wouldn’t give. He’d run his hand down her sternum, tug on her nipple piercing, and then his hand would go lower, lower.

Her hips jerked, imagining his hands there, his fingers sliding into her soaked pussy, pushing, stroking. He’d hook the clit ring, tug on it, sharp enough to send a pain through the tissues. Then he’d lift her up, lie beneath her, and put his cock in her ass.
Take all of me, baby. That’s it, squeeze down on me. You keep coming down on me, lifting up…down. There you go. And every time you go up or down, you squeeze on me like your life depends on it.

He was murmuring it to her, his voice a sexy rumble over the phone. She was gasping, telling him she was doing just that. Doing it to empty air, believing it was his cock, and the constricting of the muscles in her rectum were contracting her pussy, rippling along her clit.

“Ben…Master…” She whispered it, whimpered it. She needed him, needed him. She couldn’t wait another moment for him. She loved him. She needed to serve him, which meant she needed to be good, she needed to wait. But she couldn’t stop moving her hips up and down, up and down, imagining his cock deep inside her, his fingers working in her dripping cunt. “Please…oh God…”

Stretched out on the bed, nothing touching her but air, her imagination and his voice, she climaxed, a hard pull on her lower abdomen, thighs thrumming with the sensation, pussy spasming. “Oh God…Master…”

The words he spoke to her didn’t matter. She clung to his voice, the rough edge of it that told her he was working his cock, listening to her come for him. When she came down, far too soon, needing more than just the empty imagining, she held the phone tight, quelling an odd desire to press it against her pussy, the closest she could get to him.

“You came without permission. I’ll be taking care of that soon.”

“How soon?” she demanded.

He gave a low, dangerous chuckle. “Careful what you wish for, brat.”

* * * * *

Now it was day twenty-one. While he was merciless, the timeline had given her a blissful light at the end of the tunnel. The note had arrived yesterday, in a box containing a shimmering forest green short robe and matching slippers.

When you get up Friday morning, you won’t be going into work. Do not shower. Wear only what’s in this box and your nipple and clit jewelry. Unless you get dizzy from it, no food for twelve hours. Sips of water as needed. Whenever you sit or lie down today, your thighs will stay open. When your pussy gets wet (what I’d expect from a shameless slut like yourself), you will not clean your cream off your thighs.

A limo will pick you up at seven. Make no special preparations. Bring nothing but yourself and this robe. Leave your hair down, no clips or ties. Once you get into the limo, you will not speak unless asked a direct question. Until you see me, no male should touch you. No incidental brush against Lucas at the house, no taking the driver’s hand to get into the limo. Every inch of your soft skin is mine to touch, mine alone. Your Master

A gardenia tied with a ribbon lay on the top of the robe. She’d brushed the petals over her cheek as she fingered the fabric. The silk was so thin it clung to her hips and breasts like skin. The kids had school, and were going to be picked up afterward by Rachel to go to the movies. With Cass and Lucas at work, Marcie had the house to herself all day.

She’d planned so hard for this day, had thought about it so long, that she found the reality dizzying. As the clock ticked so slowly toward seven, everything seemed dreamlike. She’d lain out by the pool, watching the clouds move overhead, and held the thought to her like a cherished doll. Ben O’Callahan was in love with her. He was going to claim her as his. Formally, as his submissive, his property. His lover. She knew what that meant to those five men who were an integral part of her blood family.

She’d refused to let the possibility of failure enter her mind until that dreadful night had forced her to confront the unthinkable. Until then, her certainty that she was meant to be his had driven her forward. With the goal achieved but not consummated, it left her oddly unbalanced, that part of her empty and waiting to be filled with something more substantial.

Returning to the present, she decided she felt like a harlequin, one half focused as a laser, steady as a rock, the other like nitro trapped in a bottle, ready to explode.

Putting her hand on her heart, she tapped out that song,
I’ll Stand By You
, remembering their dance together. It made sense that it came to mind now, because she was standing on the same footbridge. She swayed, replaying the words in her head, so appropriate to everything she’d hoped and dreamed about when it came to Ben.

“You amaze me.”

Opening her eyes, she saw her sister at the entrance to the bridge, watching her. She was glad to see Cass a little less tired today. She, Lucas and the others had tried their best to balance her natural need to grieve with distractions, things to keep the ache from being unbearable. It was going to take time, they all knew that, but it was hard to see her sister with that sadness in her eyes so often. Marcie had shed her own tears over Jeremy, but no matter how guilty she felt about it, the truth was Ben’s behavior toward her these past several weeks had kept her preoccupied. She wouldn’t put it past him to have taken into account that side effect. Ruthless Master, merciful lover. Good friend.

She went to Cass now, held her sister close. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Don’t you want to know why you amaze me?”

“Because I’m an incredible sister in all ways and you worship me?”

“Still not loaning you my Jimmy Choos.”

“Bitch.”

Cass grinned, as Marcie had hoped, and eased back. “This is beautiful.” Cass fingered the hem of the robe. “The man does have good taste in clothes.”

“I know. He’s probably a repressed homosexual.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Cass snorted, then sobered. “You amaze me because you had such determination, such conviction. You didn’t doubt yourself, or the way you felt for him, no matter how much it looked like an adolescent crush. You knew.”

Marcie shrugged. “There were times I was afraid I was wrong, from his end of things. But the stories you’ve told me…each of them knowing which woman was the one? There was another side to that. Even though each of you had reasons to resist or doubt the inevitable, it was already inside you too, such that he was able to convince you of it pretty damn quickly. I remember how Dana put it. ‘One look into Peter’s gray eyes and I knew I was fucked. Literally and figuratively.’”

Cass’ blue eyes twinkled. “Well, the soldier’s as much a part of her as the minister.” Then she grew somber again. “We should have supported you more. It wouldn’t have been as difficult.”

“No.” Marcie shook her head. “That was part of it. You challenged the premise, tested it, Ben most of all. That’s the way any deal is supposed to go, to make sure it’s solid. And these past three weeks…he’s been wonderful.

Her sister gave her that penetrating look. “There’s a but in there.”

“It sounds terrible.” Marcie laughed at herself. “I’m just kind of going crazy, because he’s keeping it to all romantic stuff. Most women complain about guys wanting to have sex and nothing else, but…”

“I’ve seen some of the romantic things he’s doing.” Cass lifted a brow. “Yes, it does fulfill emotional needs, but at the same time, it keeps a fire going under the physical. They’re very good at that. He wants you worked up to the point you’d jump him on a public street corner if he told you to do so.”

Marcie blinked at the bald assessment. “He’s doing it intentionally?”