Holding The Cards (Nature of Desire #1)

Holding The Cards (Nature of Desire #1) Page 12

Isabel eventually decided to turn and head down from the higher elevations of the island. Lauren sat up at Josh's urging when they reached a clear spot, in order to see the panorama of ocean stretching out below them, the sun glittering off the waves.

Lauren slid her hands around him and scooted up close, outlining his hips and thighs with the lengths of her own. She was gratified when he laid his hands over hers on his chest and tugged her a bit closer, so her breasts were shelved against his bare back.

"Wow," she said, of the view before them.

His fingers tightened over hers and he nodded.

The ocean stretched below them, the perfect blue of postcards but even more vibrant. Its white foam was the same crystal sparkle as snow. As her eyes traveled to the horizon, the green-blue glass darkened into turquoise, sparkling in a dazzling tapestry of light, paying homage to the sun. It was perfection in the way only Nature could pull it off. The air brought her the smell of brine and seaweed, contributing to the view's arresting impact.

"Makes you wish they had never eaten that damned apple, doesn't it?" Josh murmured.

She pressed her chin to the point of his shoulder. "Do you believe that story?" she asked.

He lifted her head with a shrug.

"Sounds just like us," he said.

Lauren couldn't help but agree. Unable to accept Eden, man had to delve into its one place of darkness and try to prove his mastery.

She spent a great deal of time analyzing the art forms of power. She had learned that domination could and did sculpt the factors within one's control for pleasure, but mutual pleasure was the ultimate prize. If done right, the Master or Mistress reached a point where he or she could let go, and magic took over.

Then there was no more need for games or thinking, just simple existence. That had been the miracle God gave Adam and Eve in Eden, dominion as a gift, not a tool.

"It makes a person feel...so small," she said. He brushed her cheek with his jaw.

"But in a good way," he echoed her feelings. "Like there's nothing you've done that can't be fixed."

"Or forgiven."

"Or healed," Marcus suggested. Lauren twisted to see him sitting up, his arms braced against Isabel's rump to prop him while he watched their interplay with as much aesthetic appreciation as Lauren had displayed when gazing at the view before her. "I brought sand buckets, by the way."

He had the face of an angel and the mind of Lucifer, she decided, with a quick grin. "Plastic shovels too, I hope."

"Of course. No trip to the beach is complete without them."

Lauren turned back and squeezed Josh to her, pressing her palms over his rock hard abdomen. He worked his fingers around one of her hands to lift it and surprised her with a tender nip on her knuckles.

The moment needed nothing more.

Isabel raised her head and trumpeted as they gained the beach, like a bus driver announcing a stop.

Marcus slid off first and Lauren slid down into his grasp, holding onto Josh's forearm and bringing her knee back over the elephant's back. Once having her, however, Marcus did not put her down, instead tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry with surprising strength. He clasped his arms over her thighs to keep her struggling body in place as he backpedaled.

"Got to catch me to get her back, Josh," he cheerfully challenged the man still up on the elephant.

He pivoted and took off, more bloody quick on his feet than a New York art dealer had the right to be, proving he hadn't lost his Iowa farm boy roots, though an Iowa farm boy would have given her an advantage by wearing underwear. She could have caught the elastic under the loose, twisting waistband of his jeans and yanked the fabric up to constrict his balls and make it a more uncomfortable run.

Even without her sabotage attempt, Josh's long legs and athletic build, and the extra weight Marcus was carrying, were eating up the ground between them. Rescue was imminent; though she was laughing so hard she was afraid that would do her in first. Then Marcus feinted right and heaved her into the air.

Lauren had time for a short scream before she landed with a resounding splash in a crashing breaker. The two men dived under it on either side of her.

She surfaced, snorting water and chuckles, and pounced on Marcus as he emerged, shoving him back under. His hands gripped at her swimsuit and she shrieked and twisted away, but not before he got hold of the back of her and, in a deft move, unhooked the fastening.

Lauren spun away from him, and backed into Josh. He caught her about the waist, not realizing her predicament, and his knuckles beneath the water grazed the bare undercurves of her breasts. His touch stilled and Lauren stopped breathing, stopped moving, waiting to see what he would do.

His hands left her rib cage, moved upward. She felt their movement by the flow of the water, like fish gliding around her, just above the surface of her skin. He found the floating fabric of her bikini top, while his cheek pressed against her temple. Lauren leaned back against him as he pulled the fabric back down, fitting it into place by light, maddening touches on the sides of her breasts. His grip slid to where the two portions of the clasping straps came out of the triangles and he pulled them around her, nudging her forward, and re-hooked the suit at the center of her back. His fingers lingered there, on the sensitive indentation of spine.

"Now, Josh," Marcus winked at her. "She might be a European girl. You never gave her a choice."

Lauren splashed at him and moved away from them both, turning so she could float on her back in the water. "This is incredible," she murmured, trying to take her mind off the raging inside her body and the unsettling mystery of the man causing it. "How can you bear to go back to New York, Marcus?"

"I use this place as my reward for good behavior. And since I am rarely good," he tugged on her foot and she kicked playfully at him, "I don't deserve to be here for more than a short time anyhow. However, keep in mind, dear heart, that one man's Eden," his gaze flicked to Josh, "is another man's self-imposed Purgatory."

"Surf with me until we're hungry enough for lunch," Lauren said, not wanting the shadow that crossed Josh's face to linger. "And no adult thoughts," she decided, shooting Marcus an emphatic look. "You're six, I'm seven, and Josh is five. We have no responsibilities, no past, no history, no baggage. If we had any white sunblock, I'd paint it on all our noses."

"And there are so many other fun places to put it," Marcus chided. At her quelling look, he grinned. "I'm a rather mature six year old. Do we get to make sand castles?"

"Absolutely." She dove into the next wave and then swam away from them like a dolphin. Her ankle still hurt, but in the buoyancy of the water, she felt unencumbered by the injury and more certain of herself.

She spent the next hour playing tag, dodging under waves and enjoying impromptu splash fights until her ploy succeeded and they were all three laughing, red-eyed and relaxed as children in truth. Even the sexual tension melted away before the joy of pure play.

She couldn't outlast their energy, though, so when she was doing more floating than swimming, Marcus made the suggestion they retreat to the beach and open their picnic basket. Two wet men, bronzed and muscled in shorts plastered to their bodies, made an agreeable escort to shore. Per her request, they let her limp, testing the strength of the ankle, but they stayed close. Their readiness to catch her if she toppled one way or the other both amused and touched her.

Marcus had pulled the blanket from Isabel's back before she wandered back into the forest on more elephantine pursuits. Now he spread it out to form a table for bread, cheese, wine and grapes. There did not seem much need for conversation, all of them wet and panting from their exertions in the water, so they ate, gazing out to the sea with their own thoughts for awhile, and listening to the random cries of the few seabirds keeping them company on the beach. Lauren reflected that she had not felt so relaxed in a long time, and watched idly as Josh picked up a handful of dry sand and let it trickle over her calf, following its progress until he had created a small cone leaning against the relaxed calf muscle.

Marcus's attention was drawn to it as well, and a light came to his eyes that Lauren was beginning to anticipate, with a mixture of delight and trepidation.

"I'm ready to build a sandcastle now," he announced, taking a swallow of wine.

"Mmm." Her eyes were half closed behind her sunglasses as she turned her head to look at him. They had let the blanket be the table, but she had passed on the folding beach chair he had brought in a duffel bag. Instead, she lay stretched out comfortably on the sand, wiggling until its hills and valleys supported her concave points comfortably. "I'm taking a nap."

"Excellent." He rummaged in the bag and produced a large purple plastic sand bucket with a bright yellow handle. Lauren chuckled. "One of Lisette's?"

"No, my dear girl. I bought it at one of those tacky little beach places before I came across. You can't be at the beach without a sand bucket."

"You know," she said, "They have those molds now that are shaped like castles."

Marcus made a horrified face. "Cheating. As blasphemous as copying the Mona Lisa. Every work must be an original to be called art. It's like re-creating a movie or song someone else has made famous. I have more respect for an original piece of crap than I do for someone trying to ride on the coattails of someone else's success. At least they made an effort to create rather than being an artistic copy machine.

It's just re-manufacturing, piggybacking the genius of the original artist. Parasitic art industry, not worth our notice."

He stomped toward the ocean.

"You know, he should open up more," she commented. "Express how he really feels."

Josh chuckled somewhere to Lauren's right. "I keep telling him that."

Lauren slanted him a glance over her glasses and grinned. "But not everyone can be as talkative as you are."

"Exactly."

"Here we are," Marcus returned with a bucket sloshing seawater. As he placed it on the sand, Lauren saw the bucket was a half-and-half mix of sand and water. Her scrutiny turned to wariness as Marcus dropped to his knees beside her.

"You said I could make a sand castle," he reminded her. "I'm partial to drip castles."

Lauren caught on and scrambled to a sitting position. "Oh no," she shook her head. "You'll get my swimsuit all nasty."

"So take it off."

The trap closed with an audible snick, reflected in the devilish challenge in his eyes. Lauren glanced at Josh. She couldn't see his thoughts behind his sunglasses and she reached over, drew them off with both hands so her fingers brushed the soft hair at his temples. His gray eyes were almost as opaque as the lenses. "Do you like to make drip castles, too?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"I'm developing an interest."

The warm breeze from land whispered up the column of her spine, lifting her hair off her neck and spilling it forward, over her breast. His eye followed it, and her nipple tightened at his regard, hardening and lifting further at the responsive darkening around the pupil.

Lauren drew in a breath and looked out at the sea, that blissful scenic reminder that she was in a different place, could be whoever or whatever she wanted to be here. She didn't have to be afraid. After all, she was the one holding the cards. They had both said so.

"Okay," she said. "But you better not let me get sunburned."

Marcus chuckled and lifted her hair, giving her hands the freedom to work off the tie at the neck.

"Believe me, dearest, I'm sure neither one of us wants to slick your bare body down with aloe vera gell at the end of the day."

"Mm-hmm," she said dryly. "Just keep in mind how much fun it will be, oiling me down while I'm screaming, 'Ouch!', 'stop that', 'No! Don't touch there!'" She felt Josh's hand on her back, unfastening the strap, and shivered as his fingers touched her skin.

She closed her hand on the front of the swimsuit as it came loose, but only to deliberately pull it away from her body and rise.

"If you'll allow me," Josh nodded at her bikini bottoms and shorts from his kneeled position. "I can take those off so you won't have to put so much weight on your other ankle."

Lauren pivoted partially toward him, to study his face and to give him her profile, her raised chin, the curve of her throat, the sun gleaming on the spherical surface of one bare breast. She nodded her permission.

He stood up on his knees, which brought him just above eye level with her chest, so close that his breath touched that bare breast and rippled across the skin, raising the fine hairs on it. He gazed at her breasts a moment, unmoving, content to look with silent, obvious pleasure at their weight and shape. His attention slid along the outer curve of the right one, from where it began its crescent just at her armpit, down to its fullest point, resting on her rib cage, the dark mauve nipple full and soft as a pussy willow bloom.

"You're beautiful."

"Mistress."

Lauren looked over at Marcus, startled by the serious, slightly stern tone. He squatted behind her, and cocked his head. "You should call her Mistress, Josh. As long as she holds the cards, that's what she is to you, until she gives you permission to do otherwise."

It was another step, and she waited, seeing if Josh would take it. She was fascinated by the myriad of thoughts moving behind his eyes. It was even more intriguing to see that Marcus's words affected him in a manner she could discern. His erection, already noticeably swelling behind his zipper when she had removed the top, was now full and tight, straining against the constriction of the wet jean shorts.

Her eyes lifted back to his face, and the flush on his neck. He swallowed. "You're beautiful, Mistress."

It was the most natural thing in the world to reach out and fondle his jaw, and push a lock of his hair back behind his ear, which of course made an interesting spectacle of her breasts before his avid gaze.

She could almost see saliva gathering in the corners of his mouth with the desire to taste them.

"My swimsuit, Josh," she reminded him gently. "I'm waiting."

He tore his gaze away and put his hands to the waistband. He was able to easily slide his fingers over her bare hipbones and slide the clothes over her backside. He could have let them drop to the sand unaided at a certain point, but he took them down, a smart man who took advantage of the opportunity.

He managed a light brush of her clitoris through the crotch of the damp swimsuit, smoothed his palms down her slim thighs and calves, caressed her ankles, even the bottom of her feet as she stepped out of the shorts, aided by Marcus's steadying hold on her waist.

His eyes lifted, taking a leisurely amount of time. His gaze was a warmer caress on her body than the wind at her back. When his face did rise to where she could see his expression, she was jolted by the combination of fierce hunger and pleading submission there. It almost broke her. Almost. It would have if Marcus had not been there, a steady third party influence that helped her get a grip.

She wanted to twist the rubber band a bit tighter. Balanced equally with the lust in her own body was the desire to prolong his, to draw it out to the point of explosion. What would it be like to get him so visually excited that she could whisper softly, "Come for me", and watch his body explode without any stimulation other than her cool command?

God, the idea sent a flood into the channel between her legs and made them tremble beneath his hands.

She needed to lie down, now, before her need trickled down over his fingers and gave her away.

When she bent her knees to do just that, he guided her down to her back, his hands at once caressing and protective.

Despite feminist protestations of self-sufficiency, she could still be melted by a man who obviously considered it a point of honor to protect a woman, keep her from harm. The gesture of respect and care, coming while she was completely stripped, added a level of eroticism to it that weighted her down. She was unable to do more than just lay still, reclined under their attention and intent. She was content to watch the fire in Josh's eyes flare as Marcus scooped wet sand and ocean water into his palm and let it slide through his knuckles, just over her abdomen.

The impact of the first small crescent of sand was cold, and quivered through her, sweeping down her shoulders and raising goosebumps across her breasts. She remained still, watching Marcus. His brow furrowed in concentration as he increased the flow of sand to build up the dripcastle, covering her navel.

He moved upward, increasing its coverage along her rib cage. Some of it slid down her waist in tiny rivulets of earth and ocean. Most stayed where he placed it, rough turrets of gleaming wet sand, a castle wrought by nothing but the movement of his fingers and the inclination of the sand and water itself as it came in contact with her flesh. There were flecks of glitter in the sand, so the sun made his creation gleam amid the hills and slopes of her body.

"May Josh play, m'lady?" Marcus asked absently, "Or must he just watch?"

Lauren pulled her gaze from his hands and looked over at the intent eyes the color of doves that were devouring every slight movement of her body in reaction to the sand. "He may play."

Josh reached over her, slipped his hand into the bucket. She watched his long brown fingers emerge, covered with dripping earth and sea water, and then hover over her hips. Her stomach drew in with her breath as he began to construct his own annex of the castle along the inside of her left hipbone.

"Your panting is ruining my work, my dear," Marcus whispered, as he leaned in and pretended to brush some sand from her temple. "Just close your eyes and relax. Let us enjoy you and this beautiful body of yours."

Lauren smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgment. She took one last deep breath, using it to pull the tension from her muscles and relax. She settled her head into the indentation of soft sand behind her, and closed her eyes behind the sunglasses. It took some effort, but she was a Mistress after all, and knew the rewards of control. She was just out of practice. She shifted her focus to the lazy flow of sand and water across her skin, rather than the eroticism of how it was being placed there.

The sun warmed her where the damp sand did not cover, and because of the contrast, she felt every new addition to the foundation of her body. When her eyes opened to slits, Marcus was building a crescent of turrets along the undercurve of her breasts, trailing water down her sternum. Josh worked his way across to the other hipbone, and formed a triangular city, the three corners being her hipbones and her shaved mound. She knew, with his head bent close in concentration on his work, he must be able to smell her arousal, and see the cold slide of sand and salt water over her swollen clitoris. Her thighs trembled once, but for what reason, or for all reasons, she did not know.

She watched how Josh's hand moved, his fingers twitching in the same gesture they would have made if he were manipulating the labia in tortuous friction against the clitoris. His range moved from one thigh, back to the other, wrist dipping and twisting as gracefully as a dancer. Each passage across the channel of her thighs received a touch from the medium in his hands. She was so mesmerized by his intense concentration that she barely noticed when Marcus sat back to watch with her.

The cool touch of wet sand, its soft plop of impact against her enervated skin, began to set off a spasmodic reaction. Her muscles leaped at each touch, despite her willing them not to move. The sand's impact acted upon them like the charge of a small electrode.

The desire to part her thighs was beginning to climb into her belly. She wanted to let the cool waterfall patter upon her slick parts, but at the same time she did not want to interrupt his concentration. She was absorbed by his intent expression, the tension of his bottom lip, caught in his teeth. It stretched his skin across his face, further defined the high cheekbones, the straight nose.

He was so beautiful, so gentle, and yet at the same time he contained a dangerous, explosive sexual power. She felt like stirring the water, to see if she could tease the beast to lunging for her.

"You need a better view of what he's doing," Marcus said. "Here." He moved behind her and lifted her up by the shoulders, sliding his knees and thighs under her shoulder blades. It propped her up in a shallow, comfortable angle that did not disturb the work he had done on her abdomen and breasts, but permitted her a three dimensional view of Josh's efforts.

It was not a castle, as she had thought. Josh's work had produced thin spirals that curled along her thighs and pubic bone in intricate, non-touching designs that reminded her of a henna paste. His artistry had a Celtic flavor, twining, curling, and flaring. He had framed her sex as the central piece of his design, and the continuous touch of water had kept the clitoral lips glistening and erect, and made it appear as if a delicate, half-open flower bulb was the centerpiece of the work He had not spoken or even looked at her face since he had placed his hand in the bucket, but Lauren did not feel ignored. His awareness of her was as immediate as the touch of the sand and sea. He was paying silent homage to her, wooing her, worshipping her and her sex with his artwork.

He stopped, staring at his work. She swallowed, but before she could speak, he leaned forward and placed his warm lips against the cold ones of her pussy. She felt the electrical charge of the contact jolt to her toes and prickle the hair on her skull, though he merely laid his mouth against her skin. The kiss was as chaste and reverent as any laid by a knight upon the pale knuckles of his chosen lady.

His eyelids lifted, but his lips stayed upon her as he met her gaze. As she watched him, he moved his mouth into a slow, sucking kiss, drawing the clitoris into his teeth, holding it up so she could see it. He flicked his tongue over it. Once, twice, three times. Her body arched, and a strangled moan came from her. He stopped, let it slide from the grasp of his teeth, and then breathed on her, the heat of his mouth washing over her quivering clit.

Lauren's hands gripped Marcus's knees. She could well imagine that tongue inserting itself in her vagina, the broad part of it unfurling and giving her pussy a long, slow, and thorough lick from back to top. She moaned as his breath rippled over her again, pounding the image into her mind, and she caught hold of her land sliding control with her fingernails, cutting into Marcus's flesh.

"Stand up," she managed.

Now the bitter fight for control shifted. Her tension increased, seeing in his expression a struggle with the powerful desire to override her command and simply plunge his mouth into her. He could take control and lead her where he wanted to go. They both knew it. At this moment, with his mouth on her, she had no power to stop him.

Perhaps Marcus might have spoken, and helped her take back the reins, but this moment was between the two of them, and she had the right to make the call. Lauren's breath clogged in her throat and while she could not say what hung in the balance, she knew it was important, a vital moment on which everything else might pivot.

Josh's eyes shifted away at last, his broad shoulders rising and falling in one shuddering breath that, thankfully, was no longer directly over her clitoris. Otherwise, the force of it might have pushed her to orgasm.

Lauren drew a slow, steadying breath of her own as he got to his feet. The leg openings of his cut off shorts had pulled up, exposing his thighs almost to where they joined to his hips, due to the size of his stiff cock. She could see the shadowed curve of one testicle behind the pale fringe.

"Take them off," she murmured. "And make yourself come. Finish your sculpture."

Marcus's hands convulsed against her shoulders, and she knew she had pleased them both. She felt her strength of will return, despite the strident pulse of need from between her thighs. She channeled it in the way she had once known how to do automatically, and used the power of the lust to drive them all.

"Do it, Josh," she whispered. "I want to see you do it over me. You can't imagine how much it makes me want you to fuck me."

His neck and chest were flushed in embarrassment, his eyes shifting like a nervous animal's. He gave her a half glance, a strangled chuckle. "Well, I'd be happy to do that , Mistress."

"I know you would. I can see you would." Her gaze roamed downward, caressed him with a heated glance that made him groan. "But it's not time yet, and you must obey me, mustn't you?"

Her eyes lifted back to his face, her brow arched. She knew the look she was giving him. There was a mixture of tenderness, and implacable sternness that clearly said, you will do what I say, and you will trust me .

The look was successful only if it was genuine, and if the foundation to trust the Mistress had been firmly planted in the sub. In the real world, it was too soon to establish a moment as intimate as this. Lauren was going on faith, and the extraordinary strength of the attraction she had felt between them from the beginning. Whether it was the fantastical setting, Marcus's facilitation, or something else, something too good to hope for or think about at this moment, it did not matter. Some moments were spoiled by analysis. She simply held his gaze, waiting.

Josh swallowed, nodded, and unbuttoned the jeans. He slid them down over his hips. His cock bounced free of the restraint of his clothes, enormous in its torment, full to bursting. Lauren shivered at just a thought of what a hot stream from it would feel like on her skin. His gaze followed the quiver, resting on her open pussy and she parted her thighs slightly, giving him more.

"Fuck yourself for me, Josh," she said. "Use your hand and imagine it's my pussy stroking you. But," his gaze flicked back up at her sharp tone, "You better ask my permission before you come."

God, she could barely breathe from the erotic sensation of her power over him. The surf roared and sparkled behind Josh, silhouetting his naked, tanned body. The miles of white sand stretched around them, and the palm trees rustled like feathers over skin. His long hair fluttered over his broad shoulders.

His mouth was tight with craven need for her, and horrible shyness. He was so...everything.

She tilted her hips, so his uncertain eye was drawn again to how much she wanted him, cherished him.

She wanted to see him spurt over her in a moment of wild absorption, lacing the beautiful sculpture he had done on her pelvis with further proof of his devotion to her.

"Come closer, down on your knees," she commanded, and spread her thighs to let him fit between them, giving his avid gaze a full view. "No, don't put your ass on your heels. I want you standing on your knees as long as they'll hold you." A wicked grin crossed her face, though the corners of her lips trembled with something more feral.

He had gorgeous thighs, muscular from outdoor work. His right calf had a serpent dragon coiled from ankle to knee. From the tender joining crease of pelvis to mid-thigh, a tattoo of a sword had been stenciled. The jeweled hilt was drawn just below his hipbone. A latticework of ivy and pale gold flowers twined around the blade, and at its point the greenery twined into a tight vee that curled up into a dime-sized upright pentagram, a symbol of the elements and protection, which anchored the work on the inside of the thigh, just below the heavy nest of testicles.

Once again, though the work was beautiful, she wondered at the artist who had not recognized perfection when it was plain before their eyes, needing nothing to adorn it. Her lips curved. If it were up to her, and at least for this weekend, it seemed to be, she would have him walk around naked all the time to admire.

He had a fine silken triangle of dark sable around his standing cock that she would dearly love to run her fingers through. But later. For now, she held herself still, and watched.

Marcus had slid out his legs on either side of her so now she was cradled between his thighs. She felt his blatant, impressive reaction pressed against her lower back. Lauren reached up a hand and pressed it to his jaw, and smiled at the absent brush of lips against her pulse, with a hint of teeth, but her eyes did not leave Josh. She was sure his did not, either.

"You let him touch you easy enough," Josh growled, desperation behind the snarl. "When I could touch you and mean it."

His words shot pure fire through her vitals, but she kept her expression cruelly bland. "Put your eyes on my pussy, Josh," she said. "Don't take your eyes off it. I want you to watch it grow wetter with every stroke of your hand on yourself, watch it drip on the sand, all for you."

He groaned. She knew he was not aware that his hand began to rub his shaft as she spoke, primitive instincts overriding the mind's embarrassment. She knew because he jerked, startled, when he realized it, but at her encouraging murmur, his hand settled to its work. That loose curl of fingers that showed how well men knew their bodies, just as women knew their own, the right pressure to stimulate themselves to orgasm. The pressure up his length that pushed the loose skin forward, creating friction against the velvet steel beneath. It worked his hips forward and made his breath quicken, get more harsh. Clear fluid collected on the tip of his cock and a drop fell, landing on the sand design, then another, this one landing on her clit, a tiny kiss that made the flesh quiver.

Marcus's hands moved, cupped the outside of her breasts, pushing them together so the drip castle he created tumbled in on itself. He spread the sand across her skin, rubbing the grit gently into her nipples, the rough texture stiffening them further. Josh's eyes flicked up to them, his tongue coming out to wet his lips.

"Stop," she snapped, albeit a bit breathlessly.

His hand froze on his cock, quivering with its longing to continue, his body vibrating. He was so close; she could feel it like a heavy haze in the air, the stillness before an explosion.

"Where is your gaze supposed to be, Josh?"

He dropped his attention to its proper place, while beads of sweat rolled down his shoulders.

"Tell me."

"Your pussy," he said hoarsely.

"You disobeyed me, Josh." A soft smile curved her face as Marcus continued to knead, cup and lift her breasts like water. She allowed herself a little mewl of pleasure at the sensation and wiggled her ass in the sand. She chuckled softly at the rumble of frustration, almost a whimper, from her submissive. "If you don't do it again, I will forgive you and let you continue. Will you do it again?"

"No, Mistress. Fuck it, no." There was a primitive fervency in his voice that made it rough as gravel.

"You're just so beautiful."

"Then you are forgiven," she purred. "Continue. And I don't need to remind you that you need to ask before you let that bad boy go over."

"No, Mistress."

"Then keep going. You are the beautiful one, Josh," she added quietly, with fierce sincerity as she watched his intent features, the renewed movement of his hand. "You cannot imagine how watching you do this makes me feel. You'd drown in how wet I am. I'm adding to your sculpture already, aren't I?"

His head bobbed once, a jerk, and his breath hitched.

She loved it, loved bringing him to the edge of control with nothing but words and the sight of her spread, aching center. She could have offered Jonathan this, if only he had wanted it. Her vision faltered and for a moment she was uncertain again, almost self-conscious, then she heard him moan.

"Please, Mistress...I need to..."

She used his need as her rope, and pulled herself out of that quagmire.

"Ask me, Josh," and she trembled with the anticipation of it, every vibrating nerve ending screaming at her to unsnap the leash.

"I - want - to...come," he gasped, every muscle of his body flexing with his effort to maintain control.

"Please...may I come, Mistress...Please, I can't - "

"Come, Josh." It was merely a whisper from her dry throat.

His name was lost in his cry, a mixture of growl, groan and shout. His cock spurted, the white fluid jettisoning onto the sand pattern on her thighs and mons, overlaying it, intertwining with it, spattering her pussy with his juices, giving her glistening lips a momentary pearlescence as the two secretions of desire met and merged.

His legs buckled and he caught himself with a hand just outside her quivering thighs, the heel of his hand digging hard into the ground as he milked himself onto her body with furious, jerking strokes, the muscles rippling along his working arm mirroring the flexing of his facial features.

Marcus's fingers had tightened on her nipples, shooting sparks of fire through her, proving beyond reasonable doubt he knew his way around the female form. She arched, the climax trying to roll up and over her, drawing tight the lines of nerve endings in her thighs and lower belly, her clit shuddering and her body flushing with the wave. She caught Marcus's hands, stilling them, and made them both watch Josh finish, until his forehead was touching her calf, his rasping breath tickling her convulsing pussy.

Lauren reached out and lay her hand on his hair, a trembling stroke, her excitement communicating itself not just in their combined scents, but also in the erratic motion of her fingertips along his hair line.

"You are magnificent," she murmured. "You please me so well, my love, and Marcus, too."

"Absolutely," Marcus reached forward, along her arm, and rubbed his knuckles along the back of Josh's neck. "Beautiful boy."

"You've earned some cozening," she decided. And Marcus had earned some relief.

Josh lifted his chin a bit, sliding it through his artistry over her hip bone, and looked at her with a heavy lidded tomcat expression that had her suppressing a smile, even as her heart skipped a beat. His hand crept up, over where Marcus still held the weight of her breasts in his palms. Josh's fingers spread over the top of her left breast, the heel of his hand pressing against her heart, his intent expression focused on the response of the organ beneath it. It still tripped at a higher rate, due to the spin of watching his climax, and his lips pressed together, moistening, like a boy did when concentrating on an important task. She fought the urge to arch into his touch. Her tits ached for a mouth, for Josh's mouth. She wanted to be bitten, suckled. She wanted to know what Josh's hands would feel like on them, as Marcus's had been.

A flicker in his gray eyes marked the increase in her heart rate. One finger ventured lower, stroked the tiny bumps in the soft darker flesh of her aureole. "Behave," she said, and the finger slid away. He gave her an unrepentant smile that did not quite dispel the turmoil in that storm cloud gaze.

"I want you to lay on the towel here, next to me," she gestured. "On your stomach, without your clothes.

Marcus is going to rub oill into your body. That is," she arched her brow at their engrossed archangel, "if it would please him to do so. I know it would please me, very much, to watch him do it."

"Anything that would please you, dear lady, surely would please me," Marcus snapped out of his reverie with a smoothness she could only admire. "But in this case, I believe my pleasure to serve will exceed yours to command."

At her suggestion, a wary look had stolen onto Josh's face. He eased up into a sitting position, as Marcus shifted. Lauren propped herself on her elbows as he left her to rummage through the duffel for the suntan oill she had seen in there when he removed the food.

The easy familiarity of the moment was leaving Josh in the face of her new command, and she could see his apprehension building. She wanted to keep his cock jumping, that was how a sub was broken down, but the anxiety in his eyes reminded her that there was much she did not know about him. Strong attraction did not bring in-depth knowledge of a person's soul with it. Did he know he could say no? She searched his expression for a clue.

He was damaged, and she had no desire to be responsible for deepening the wound out of ignorance.

Some subs were incapable of saying no. Inevitably, the worst of the dungeon sadists would find them.

Staff people like Maria kept an eye out for those with a victim mentality, and they were no more allowed to return than the type of Master that would take advantage of their psychosis. They were trouble to a D/s establishment. Jonathan had been one of those hard to recognize, and once he was recognized, it was too late for Lauren's heart.

She pushed that away and concentrated on the man before her, who was not Jonathan. Josh's glance darted toward Marcus, but she saw he was not looking at Marcus's face, but his hands, clasping and removing the suntan oill from the bag. Josh was thinking about those hands being on him. She could not tell if his anxiety was revulsion at the thought of Marcus's touch or fascinated concern with his own response.

When she had first gotten into the D/s clubs, she had learned all the clinical terms. D/s was a game comprised of so much pure intuition, it was like a primal tribal dance. As a result, it had to have safe words. Jonathan had not been into safe words. He wanted her to turn him into a wanting, mindless, unfulfilled creature, something almost non-human. As a result, he had almost transformed her into the type of monster that would let a sub offer everything just short of death for a smile from her. That had been his game, and it had needed no safe words, because there was no rescue plan for a terminal illness.

Lauren sat up, heedless of the sand that tumbled to her lap and thighs. She caught Josh's face in her hands as he started to lever himself over her legs.

"Josh," she said softly, brushing a light, tender kiss over his lips. They tasted so sweet it was all she could do not to dwell there. "You know what I think about when I'm scared?"

He shook his head, then remembered. "No, Mistress."

She smiled. "You are so good. I think about butterflies. Butterflies are safe, don't you think?"

He heard the undercurrent, she could see it, but his gaze was puzzled. He knew the game so well, but why did he seem to know so few of the rules?

"When you want to feel safe," she said gently, "If you just say the word, 'butterflies', things will become safer. Do you understand, Josh?"

He did, but she saw uncertainty in his gaze. She tightened her fingers on his face.

"Your pleasure brings me pleasure," she said, in a sharper tone. "I will be very angry with you if you do something you genuinely do not feel comfortable doing. If you are afraid of something, you need only tell me. A Mistress takes care of her beloved."

It had come out before she thought to check back the endearment, but at the heat that flared in his eyes, she moistened her lips, swallowed the emotions that rose up in her, and kept going. "Do you understand?" she asked, more softly. "I won't permit you to hurt yourself for me. I do not want that. Are we clear?"

It broke the moment a little bit, put them out of the game and back on equal footing, but that was what was needed. Acceptance came with it, proven in his sudden, easy smile, and the strength of his hands closing on her wrists.

"I'm where I want to be," he responded, rubbing his thumb over the tender skin covering her pulse. "And with the people I want to be with."