Pleasure Point-nook (6 page)

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s probably sub-drop. You know what that is? When
your body gets so filled up with all the lovely chemicals your brain releases during
play: endorphins. Serotonin. Oxytocin. And then they go away and the body needs time
to rebalance. This was your first play in a long time.”

“It was. And yes, I’m dropping. But not only because I haven’t played in years. It’s
because of you shutting down like this.” She sat up straighter. It made her feel stronger,
more confident, even though she was still naked in his lap. “You bailed on me, Roan.
Just mentally took off. Why?”

He looked shocked, as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d said it. Or that she was
right—that she knew it. He was still so stunning she could barely believe it. Even
better up close. His jawline, his cheekbones, looked as if they’d been carved into
stone by Rodin or Michelangelo, and the dark goatee only highlighted every angle.
And his mouth… Even now, when she was confused and a little mad at him, she couldn’t
help but want to kiss him.

She didn’t think—she simply did it. Leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Oh, so
soft and so hard all at once. He started to pull back but she grabbed his head and
kissed him harder. A small whimper escaped her, and she breathed it into his mouth.

He took a deep breath, returned it to her and she breathed him in. And she finally
felt the reconnection she so desperately needed. She only realized now how deeply
that need ran.

Yes.

When he pulled away, taking her hands and holding them tightly, lowering them to her
lap, she knew everything was alright.

“I think we need to get out of here,” he said.

“You’re not…you’re not going to send me home, are you? And God damn it, I don’t mean
to sound pathetic.”

“No, no. That’s not what I mean at all. I wouldn’t do that to you, Miranda. But I
think we’re done here for the time being, and I have an idea.”

“Okay,” she said warily. “Let me get my clothes.”

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll take the blanket.”

“What? Where are we going?”

The gleam was back in his eye. He grinned. “Do as you’re told, my lovely girl.”

“Are we still in role?” she asked. Demanded.

“No. Do it anyway.”

She smiled at him, shook her head slowly. “You never stop being the Dom, do you?”

“Never.” But he was still grinning.

She shrugged, pulled the blanket around her body. “Let’s go.”

Roan took her out of the club and helped her into a golf cart. The air was beginning
to cool and there was a small breeze that held the tropical scents of salt and flowers
in the air. The moon shone down, and the roar of the ocean was a soothing white noise
in the background. Roan murmured something into his cell phone as he went around to
the driver’s side and got in. He put his phone back in his pocket.

“Pardon the call. It was necessary.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m good.”

“You look very fetching in that blanket, by the way,” he said. The grin was back with
just the right amount of appreciative leer.

“Why, thank you, sir,” she answered, her cheeks going a little warm.

“Oh, so it’s ‘sir’, is it? I rather like that.”

“You would,” she teased.

“Damn right I would.” His tone had lowered, holding that edge of command that made
her shiver.

Impossible to ever forget this man was a Dominant. Which, she had to admit, she rather
liked. But only because it was him. What was it about him that was already—on their
first night together!—beginning to make her question everything she thought she knew
about herself and how she liked to play the game of kink?

He drove toward the ocean, taking a winding road down the side of the island. The
view was mesmerizing. The moon and the stars gleamed through the bit of silvery cloud
cover, reflecting on the calm ocean like a liquid mirror. She almost felt as if she
could dive into the night sky.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“That my mind seems to be wandering a lot tonight.”

“I have a feeling you don’t let your mind wander often.”

“No, not too much. I like to keep things together. Organized.”

“Is it because you feel a wondering mind isn’t efficient, or that you’re a little
afraid of where it might wander?”

She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t want to speak the truth. But she seemed to
be unable to hold much back with him.

“Both, maybe,” she finally said quietly.

She waited for his response, and was grateful when he remained quiet. She watched
his profile as he drove—the strong, aquiline nose, the clean line of his jaw, how
his wicked goatee seemed a bit softer from this angle. His mouth was every bit as
luscious, every bit as inviting in profile. Her fingers clenched around the edge of
the soft blanket and she looked ahead.

He pulled over at the edge of the beach, the dunes sloping away in a soft sweep. She
looked at him but all he did was smile as he took her arm and helped her from the
cart.

“This way, sweet Miranda.”

It was then she noticed the white tent a few yards away. As they moved toward it a
pair of tiki torches flared, casting amber light on the sand.

“What is this?”

“This is where we change for the next part of our evening.” He pulled back a heavy
curtain on one side of the large tent. “This side for the lady.”

She went inside and heard the curtain drop behind her.  Candles were lit everywhere:
dozens scattered across a low dressing table, on a wooden bench, in the lanterns hanging
from poles set in the sand. There was a rattan and bamboo armoire and in it hung a
robe, a few cotton dresses, a selection of bathing suits and sarongs.

When had she fallen asleep and into some tropical
Pretty Woman
dream?

She wandered over to the armoire and looked through the bathing suits, chose a simple
turquoise bikini—simple and skimpier than she would normally wear, but since Roan
had already seen her naked she wasn’t really concerned. Once both pieces were tied
firmly in place, he pulled out a sarong in a batik print in shades of turquoise, green
and white and knotted it around her hips, then stepped out, back onto the sand.

He was waiting for her, dressed only in a pair of black board shorts worn low on his
hips. And oh my God, his body was… She pulled a breath into her empty lungs. He was
built like an athlete. Like a god. Even in the flickering torch light and the silver
sheen of the moon, she could see the sinew in this broad shoulders, the perfectly
formed abs. The small silver rings piercing his nipples.

She wanted to touch them. To take the rings between her lips, feel the cool metal
on her tongue. Her thoughts unraveled, her body going hot all over.

He held a hand out to her. “Shall we take a walk on the shore?”

“I… Yes.”

She extended her hand and he took it. His was large and warm and held hers as if it
belonged to him. As if she did. She was surprised to find she didn’t mind.

What in the world is wrong with me?

But all she knew was that it felt fine. It felt right.

They were both quiet as they moved over the sand, which still held a little heat from
the day. The quiet roar of the ocean grew louder as they approached the point where
it broke on the sand in low, furling waves.

He stopped there, simply looking out at the water, still holding onto her hand.

“There was something… something happened tonight,” he said, stumbling over his words
for the first time.

“Yes,” she said. It was true.

He was quiet for several long moments.

“Miranda, tell me more about how you lost your husband.” He turned to her then, his
brows drawn, and his penetrating gaze was intense, shadowed with emotions she couldn’t
decipher.

His expression touched her somehow. Made her feel she could open up to him.

“I don’t really talk about him. Not even to my friend Joely. She’s the pilot for the
island. You’d know her, I guess?”

“Yes, of course. But go on.”

She pulled in a deep lungful of the tangy ocean air, held it for a moment before letting
it out. “Daryn and I were together for seven years. I was young when we met, only
twenty-three. I was working at a bakery in San Francisco. Daryn was a food journalist
doing a piece on the best bakeries in the city. He was there to talk to my boss but
we… Well, we met and eventually I moved to New York to be with him. I had a small
catering company there, which wasn’t very successful because I traveled with him so
much. We went…everywhere together. All over Europe. Thailand and Singapore. Japan.
Central America. Australia and New Zealand.” She stopped, looked away from the intensity
of his gaze and out at the water. She flexed her hand in his, not even certain if
she was going to try to pull away, but he held her fast. “So. Daryn was…a bit of a
thrill seeker. He dove with the sharks off the coast of Fiji, went mountain climbing
in Brazil. Crazy stuff. He seemed invincible. He certainly thought he was. He died
racing stock cars in Sonoma four years ago. We had this amazing life together and
suddenly it was…over. My life was over, you know?” She looked back at him then, saw
him nod his understanding. Knew he
did
have some idea of what she’d been through.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“Ah.” He bit his lip, and she knew he understood what she was asking of him. “Like
you I rarely talk about it. Never, actually. I don’t really have anyone to discuss
it with. Oh, I have friends. A handful of very good ones in fact, back in San Francisco.
Still, it’s hardly party conversation.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.”

He lifted his free hand and stroked her hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering
there, his expression tender. Or was she only imagining that between the moonlight
and the ocean and the fact that he had played her only an hour ago?

She really was exquisite. But was that why his heart was beating so quickly? Why he
was going to tell her things he told no one about anymore?

Roan watched her, captivated by the sight of her long hair blowing in the breeze,
catching the moonlight. There was some sort of magic to this moment between them.
The setting. Her. He felt as if something in his chest, in his body, was unwinding.
Something that had been coiled tight inside him for so long that it felt utterly familiar.
Normal.

He took a breath, felt an odd slipping sensation in his body—odd, but good.

“I came to the US to go to school. I was studying psychology at UC Berkley when I
met my wife. I was only twenty-four. We married two years later—I got my adjustment
of status paperwork filed at the immigration office, and we ran off to Lake Tahoe.
She got sick maybe two and a half years after that. Leukemia. She fought it for six
months and it was…awful, as these things always are. But harder for her. She really
couldn’t take the chemo. She’d had a lung disease as a child and her body wasn’t strong
enough—she was so ill. In so much pain.” He stopped for several long moments—had to
take in a breath, breathe out the lingering pain. And was surprised to find it was
easier to talk about than he’d expected. He’d started because it seemed only fair
after asking Miranda about her being widowed. But there was also relief. Even some
strange sort of comfort in telling her. It made it easier to continue. Because the
rest was the hard part.

“When she developed a tumor in her lung they put her into a medically-induced coma
so they could give her more chemotherapy, enough to work without her suffering so
much. They kept her on a breathing machine. Had to. She never came out of it. And
the thing is… I let them do it to her.”

Miranda grabbed his arm, held on tight. “Roan, no. You can’t blame yourself. If that’s
what her doctors thought was best, what else could you have done? I’m sure there weren’t
many other options.”

“There weren’t. But I can’t help but wish she’d lived out whatever life she had left.”

“It sounds as if she would only have suffered,” Miranda said quietly.

“Yes, which makes me a bit selfish. It was a case of damned if you do and damned if
you don’t. But I don’t have to like it. I simply have to live with it.”

She nodded and he knew she understood. One of the few people who truly might be able
to. The coiled knot went a bit looser. He shrugged his shoulders, did it again, shook
his head.

“Let’s be done with all this being morbid. Living in the past.” Where had that come
from? But perhaps it was true. “We have the waves under this spectacular night sky.
And we’re here together. Come on. I’ve arranged for a late-night supper for us.”

He slipped a hand around her waist and she moved right into him, her slender body
melting against him like a cat. She fit perfectly. Her chin was tilted—she was watching
him, her brows furrowed.

He put a finger there, smoothed the furrow away, making her smile. “It’s alright,”
he told her. “I’m fine. Wonderful, really.” It was true. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

Suddenly he was, too. But not for food as much as for the taste of this beautiful
woman. He bent and kissed her lips. They were warm and plush and opened to his right
away. He slid his arms around her, crossing them over her back, his hands curling
behind her neck, cupping her head as he explored her sweet, wet mouth.

He was growing hard again. But there was also something simple and lovely about kissing
her.
This
woman, but also the sound of the waves and the salt on their skin. Yes, some strange
kind of magic was happening here between them.

Finally he pulled back, aware that if he didn’t they would end up naked on the sand,
with him pushing into her the way he’d thought to earlier. No—it was different than
that. He felt different. They felt different.

Don’t be absurd.