Micah's Calling (17 page)

Sam nodded. "And you can relax."

"Yes."

No wonder he was tired. It sounded like he spent most of his
time tied in stressful knots until he endured a scene such as the one Micah had
just put him through. With all the tension dissolved, he would probably sleep
like a baby tonight.

They finished their midnight snack, watching SportsCenter,
and Trace seemed to grow sleepier by the second.

"Come on, Trace, lie down." Sam tugged him toward
her as Micah pulled a throw pillow from the side and set it on her lap.

Trace didn't even try to fight his weariness and laid down,
his head settling into her lap. Micah's hand joined hers as she stroked his
face with her fingers. "Just sleep, Trace."

"We've got you," Micah added quietly, scooting
closer and caressing Trace's scalp.

Sam laid her head on Micah's shoulder, and turned her face
toward his. He kissed her then snuggled her against him as they lulled Trace to
sleep with their caresses.

An hour later, with Trace sound asleep, Micah shut off the
TV, quietly got up, lifted Trace in his arms, and cradled him. Trace didn't even
stir. The guy was out cold.

Sam stood up and followed him to the spare room and pulled
the covers back on the bed so Micah could set him down. She pulled off his
shoes and set them at the foot of the bed, and then Micah tucked him in.

"He looks so innocent," she said, watching Trace
sleep.

"Yeah, he does." Micah ushered her to the door and
out into the hall before silently closing Trace in for the day.

After going to their own bedroom, Micah went to the restroom
and started getting ready for bed as she put on her pajamas.

"So, is that what you would do to me in your
dungeon?" she said as she joined him in the bathroom and grabbed her
toothbrush.

He rinsed toothpaste out of his mouth and looked at her in
the mirror. His
calling
was all but finished, with only a lingering
arousal that flared up about once a day.

"No. I wouldn't be that hardcore with you," he
said.

"Why not?" She started brushing her teeth.

Micah slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her
waist. "It would just be different with you, that's all."

She recalled their earlier conversation about this topic. He
had told her scenes with her would be more sexual than with others. With
others, it would be about providing a service. With her, it would be more
intimate. Just for them.

She spit and rinsed as he loosened his grip so she could
bend over the sink.

After she wiped her mouth, he shut off the light and
followed her to bed.

"Why?" he said. "Are you having second
thoughts?"

She nestled in beside him. "No."

"So, you still want to—"

"Yes." She propped herself on her elbow and gazed
down at him. "Yes, more than ever I want to play with you in your dungeon
of depravity." She grinned.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." She trailed the tip of her fingertip
around his nipple, biting her bottom lip.

"Come here. I'll show you depravity." He pulled
her on top of him and shut off the light on the nightstand.

Oh, Micah, Micah, Micah. What a bad boy he was.

Trace awoke feeling refreshed late in the afternoon. He
could already feel his powers flowing back to life after the raw working over
Micah had given him, but the restful sleep had done him wonders.

With a stretch, he sat up and realized he was still wearing
the same clothes he had worn last night.

He spent the night here often enough that he had a few
changes of clothes tucked into the top drawer of the bureau. Standing, he
stretched again then pattered barefoot across the carpet, pulled open the
drawer, grabbed out a pair of jeans, and hit the bathroom for a shower.

Last night's events still rattled through his thoughts, and
it would probably be a while before he fully grasped a level of comfort over
what had happened, but after a good, long sleep he felt better about how things
had gone down.

After shutting off the water, Trace did a half-assed job
drying off then yanked on his jeans commando-style and headed off to the
kitchen for some coffee and grub.

The apartment was silent, which meant Sam and Micah were
still sleeping, so he tried to keep quiet as he pulled out the coffee and got a
pot brewing. He knew the apartment well enough by now that he knew where
everything was and made his way easily around the kitchen.

 Trace was whipping up a batch of homemade pancakes when Sam
appeared, wearing a pair of grey yoga pants and a long-sleeved,
raspberry-colored knit top. Her hair was wet.

"Morning," she said, despite the time on the clock
showing it was nearly 3:00 in the afternoon.

"Morning. Hungry?" Trace stirred the pancake
batter then spooned four equal portions onto the hot griddle he'd plugged in on
the counter.

"Mmm, yes. I love pancakes." Sam shuffled to the
cabinet, grabbed a mug, and poured a cup of coffee before turning around and
topping off his own mug.

"Thanks." Trace smiled as he looked down at his cup,
spinning a spatula around in his hand.

"How you feelin' this morning?" Sam opened the
fridge, pulled out her French vanilla creamer, and poured a dose into her
coffee.

"Good." Trace grinned. "Rested."

Sam parked against the counter next to him and lifted her
mug to her lips and blew over the hot liquid. "Is that unusual?" Her
green eyes turned up to his.

He nodded, checking the pancakes. "Sort of. I usually
get a decent sleep after getting worked, but I haven't slept as well as I did
today in ages."

Sam's pink lips turned up into a proud smile. "That's
my Micah, always taking good care of the people he cares about."

Trace flipped the pancakes then looked down at Sam, who
stood a good four inches shorter than he did.

"Micah's a good friend. I bet he's an even better
mate," he said.

Sam's smile broadened. "He's damn near perfect."

The two stared at each other for a moment.

"Yeah, he is, isn't he?" Trace held Sam's gaze.
"And you're damn near perfect for him, too."

Would he ever have what Micah had with Sam? He wanted
someone special; someone made expressly for him.

Sam must have sensed his sadness, because she gently touched
his arm.

"Trace, there's someone out there for you, and she'll
be perfect and give you everything you need."

"I don't know, Sam. What I need is a lot, as you saw
last night."

"What are you saying?" Sam slid closer, sipping
her coffee.

"Just that there aren't many females who can dish out
that kind of pain."

Sam looked into her coffee, appearing uncomfortable.
"So, what? Do you think you need a…man?" She glanced back up at him.

He shook his head. "No. It's odd. I know I need a
female. I love the female form too much to take a male mate, but I need her to
be willing to hurt me. Physically, you know? And even…mentally."

Sam set her coffee down and turned toward him, rubbing his
arm. "Yeah, I know, sweetie."

Trace sighed and took up the pancakes, stacking them on a
plate, and then turned toward her. "I'm pretty fucked up, huh?"

Sam frowned and shook her head. "Not any more than the
rest of us." She smiled compassionately. "You're actually pretty
normal, Trace. Except for your whole I'm-a-vampire thing." She bit her lip
as if she was trying not to giggle. "And, of course, then there's that
whole mind control stuff you've got going on. Other than that, you're pretty
much a regular guy."

With a chuckle, Trace took her hand and squeezed it.
"Regular guy. Yep, that's me."

Micah entered the kitchen, scratching his bare chest and
yawning. "You making a move on my girl, Trace?"

Trace did the unthinkable under any other circumstance and
pulled Sam into his arms, hugging her tightly. "Absolutely. I might not
give her back."

Micah froze and shot Trace a lethal glare. Both Trace and
Sam went starkly still, then Sam scrambled out of his arms.

"He was only kidding, Micah," she said, trying to
placate him.

Micah broke out in laughter. "Oh God, Trace! If you
could have seen your face." He reached over and clocked Trace with a
playful smack on the cheek. "Seriously, do you think after what we've been
through I'd give a shit if you gave my babe a hug?"

"Hell, I don't know!" Trace exhaled heavily in
relief, throwing one hand against his chest as he steadied himself with the
other by placing it on the counter. "Fucker. You scared the shit out of
me."

Micah waved a hand at him. "Ah, whatever man." He
turned toward Sam and pulled her in for a kiss. "Morning, sexy."

"Morning." Sam swatted Micah on the arm. "And
be nice."

"I'm always nice."

Trace snorted. "What-the-fuck-ever." He poured
more batter onto the griddle.

Sam smacked Micah again. "Yeah. What Trace said."

"Hey!" Micah laughed and pulled back as Sam went
for him again. "Watch it, Iron Mike."

"I'll Iron Mike you," Sam chased Micah out of the
kitchen, both of them laughing.

Trace smiled to himself, listening to them and thinking back
to what Sam had said earlier. One day he would have what they had. Surely,
someone who had been made just for him was out in the world. He only had to
find her.

Easier said than done, but Trace had been through worse.

With the scene party two days behind him, and things
settling down where Trace was concerned, Micah wanted his last night off from
work to be special. The honeymoon was over now that his
calling
was
coming to an end, but that didn't mean he couldn't give Sam one last night to
remember before he got back to the task of enforcing and policing the drecks or
any other criminal element that needed a firm hand.

He flipped on the light switches in the foyer of his
suburban home and shut the door then stepped up behind Sam.

"Are you nervous?" He brushed his fingertips over
her neck as he helped her out of her coat.

"Not really." She turned and gazed up at him.
"I trust you."

She looked beautiful, her face only showing the barest hint
of makeup, her short hair standing out in soft, piecy tufts. She wore a simple
blouse with comfortable yoga pants and tennis shoes. Not your average S&M
attire, but whips and bondage wasn't what tonight was about. Tonight was merely
for an introduction.

He hung their coats in the hall closet then took her hand
and led her through the kitchen to the door that led to the basement.

"Do I have to call you sir or master?" Sam stood
back as he unlocked the door and opened it.

With a smile, he pulled her roughly against him, making her
gasp and suck in her breath.

"That's not what tonight is about, Sam. That's not what
this about between us." His gaze swept over every inch of her face. Sam
was exquisite. So perfect. Too perfect for him. How had he been so lucky that
Fate had matched
her
to someone like
him?

He bent and kissed her softly, sweetly. "You're not my
slave, and you're not my servant. You're not even my submissive."

She stared up at him through her lashes, and Micah couldn't
resist. He lifted his mouth, and she closed her eyes just as he planted a
tender kiss on one eyelid then the other.

"You're my mate, Sam. You never have to call me
sir."
Kiss.
"Or master."
Kiss.
"You call me
Micah. Always call me Micah, because I love how my name sounds coming out of your
mouth. Especially when you're about to come."

Lifting up on her tiptoes, Sam found his mouth with hers,
and her kiss was as feverish as a fire on an autumn night, stirring Micah's
arousal to a higher altitude, driving his yearning for her right up to the
limits of his tolerance. Micah was so unbelievably, madly, deeply in love with
this woman. Fuck the mating and the
calling.
He simply wanted to be with
her forever, to share his entire life and heart with her. Yes, he longed for
her to bear him a child, but if she never did, his feelings for her would still
remain as powerful as they were right now.

They broke apart and shadows of desire passed through her
eyes before she rested her forehead against his chest, her body rising and
falling heavily in want for him.

Mmm, the way she held him, and the way she made him feel.
Micah was a stronger man with her love. The idea of marring her flesh even in
play was abhorrent, which was one reason why he refused to call her a
submissive. Sam was most definitely not a submissive. Micah considered the
thought for a moment and grinned to himself. Perhaps she was the very epitome
of a submissive, because didn't a true submissive have all the control? And
didn't Sam have complete and total control over him? She did, didn't she?

In the most bizarre way, Sam was his master and he was her
servant, because he would do anything for her if she only asked. Which she
rarely did, and that made him want to please her even more.

He took a deep breath and looked down the stairs before looking
back at Sam as she pulled away.

"What we do down there is for your pleasure, and for
mine. It's not about who is in charge." He lifted her hand to his heart
and pressed it against him. "Because, Sam, you are in absolute control in
every way."

He didn't need to explain his meaning any further than that.
She nodded with understanding then followed him as he wrapped his hand around
hers and descended the stairs.

In his dungeon, he turned off the overhead lights and lit
three candles set in front of mirrors. Light flickered and reflected around the
room with a magical, almost otherworldly effect, casting alluring shadows.

With deliberate, reverent steps, Micah approached Sam as if
she was a goddess he had to approach with care, who could strike him down with
one look if he displeased her. But she didn't strike him down. As he reached
her, she lifted her hands and combed her fingers through his hair while he
slowly knelt down in front of her, pushing her yoga pants down until she
stepped out of them and toed off her shoes.