KING (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (39 page)

As if by mist from the ether, my men appear. Not my
friend and lover, Ezra, or my boyfriend, Dalton. The real men in my life, the ones that will be by my side no matter what I do. They’re still here after I’ve beat the living shit out of them, told them I hated them and wished they were dead. That last part was only reserved for my father, but my brother has experienced the former.

I won’t be alone tonight
, the last night I stay in my familial home. I’ll be with my family: My father, Jamie, and my brother, Niel.

~Chapter Thirty-Five~

“This is surreal,” Dalton’s awed voice flows from his perch. He’s curled up in the overstuffed chair he’d picked out, reading one of James Atwater’s numeral books. A signe
d set was gifted to us as a housewarming present from my father.

“Jamie’s books?
” rolls off my tongue. “I’ve never read them. I’ve never read Cort’s works either.” I wear a contented smile on my face as I watch my boyfriend read. I’m in my usual nightly position: back resting against the headboard, sketchbook propped on my knees, maddeningly drawing until my hand aches. Tonight’s subject jumps from the page in a lifelike rendering of the real thing that’s sitting a few feet from me.

I tamped down the urge to illustrate last night’s hunt and the pain that followed. I’m using Dalton as my subject. It’s proof that I’m moving forward instead of propelling backwards or stuck living in stasis. Someday I may document that night… or I may not. It’s too raw in me right now to go there.

“Your dad is a damned good writer. This is fabulous. Cortez- Cort’s stuff is sad, often depressing, usually exciting. Your dad’s books are filled with emotion. Two very different writers, but excellent, none the less,” Dalton clarifies.

“I don’t know if I can read them or not- surreal or not. It would be like living inside their minds. I want to be the son and friend- I don’t want to know their hidden thoughts.”

“I can understand that,” Dalton murmurs. “But the book isn’t what’s surreal. This,” he points to our bedroom. “This is what’s surreal.”

We needed a fresh start-
a new beginning that hadn’t been touched by another’s hand. This bed I rest on, another has never laid in, made love in, or grieved in. No nightmares or longing or pain was felt in the bed. No lust filled nights to compete with. This entire building represents rebirth for us: a fresh beginning- an untouched virginal state that we imprint with our touch, emotions, thoughts, and actions. No histrionics of the memories of past ghosts to contend with- this building is Dalton and me.

Our new home and business was a promis
e- a promise of a future that is built on a stable foundation that will support us for a lifetime.

“I just look around and I can’t fathom it.” My gaze flits around the room, drinking ev
erything in. “Now, I can admit that I was stuck in the past. Even my room at Whittenhower Estates never changed since I left the crib. It remained the same as it was when I was a child. I watched Niel move to a larger room, completely individualizing his surroundings, yet I stayed where I was. That is what Regina was for me- a perverse obsession that was the equivalent of not letting go of the dead. This-” I gesture to our new house. “Is finally me- finally us. It’s Daniel and Dalton. Not Whitt, who hid in the shadows of the draperies, or Font, who knelt as his parents’ feet.”

“Are you okay after last night?” Dalton’s soft spoken words are at odds with his fierce stare. He doesn’t move from his chair, but his eyes embrace me in their warmth. The sensation is more comforting than a hug from any other.

Ezra said what happened in the Maze was between Regina and me. He said it wasn’t about anyone else. It was true and false at the same time. When Dalton met me this morning at the front of our building to start our new life together, I couldn’t begin it with deceit. I told him everything, down to the minute details. It drew us closer as a couple- the trust I placed in him, the comfort and understanding he lent me.

“I’m not,” I reluctantly admit. “Nineteen years of pain culminated into last night. One day will not change it… It’s a work in progress. Now ask me if I will be okay?”

“Will you be okay?” Dalton readily obeys me, a smirk flirting with his luscious lips.

“I will,” I say with strong conviction.
“We all will, because I have faith in us.”

“I know you resented me for pushing you, but I remember our day in the park. The first day I was myself with you. You didn’t know who you were or what you wanted. You didn’t even know the clothing style that represented you. You were lost and I wanted to find you. I won’t apologize
for pushing you,” Dalton firmly states. With a shake of his head, he says, “Never.”

“That’s why we’re perfect for each other, isn’t it? We push the other to be
come better men.” Our eyes hold as the gravity of our reality settles over us. Silence descends, for no words could ever translate the emotions bombarding our souls.

“The dogs need to be crated tonight…” The pair of snoring pups
are curled around each other at the foot of the bed, snuggled deep inside their blankie. “Come to bed,” I heatedly command, arm stretching out in invitation, beckoning him. Dalton’s alien-green eyes widen as he stares at me in stunned silence.

With a pup in each
hand, I gently crate Wicked and Vixen- neither stirs from their slumber. I prowl towards Dalton with a rolling gait. His gobsmacked expression has me barking a laugh that wakes the pups. I glance over at their sleepy faces for a moment, and then Dalton has my undivided attention.

“I want,” I begin, stalking up to him. “I want to make love for the very first time, in our very first home, in our very first bed, on our very first night. You gonna join me?” 

“Oui,” Dalton effortlessly slips into French when his emotions run rampant. A pink tongue darts out to dab a wet line along his bottom lip. The ruby-kissed pout invitingly glistens. An invitation I take.

A brush of lips, a fluttering of heat, our flesh meets. Dalton’s lips part on a moan, breath sizzling against my tongue. I passionately kiss him. I throw away all the rule books. The rules I’ve always used with kissing. I was obsessed with getting the technique right, the pressure,
the moisture. There are no rules with Dalton, no techniques that matter. It is just him and I, and the unbreakable connection we share.

“Remember our show and tell? It was our first night together when I disrobed you and you were so insecure about your body, and then you turned seductive.
” I smile to myself, remembering. “When I look back, that was my first real, honest, sexual experience. It wasn’t about getting everything perfect. It was about feeling your hot skin against mine. I don’t ever want to lose that.”

A small hand tightly wraps around the nape of my neck and draws me down for a passion-filled kiss that renders me whimpering in pleasure. My lips seek anything they can reach. The fringe of his lashes tickles my sensitive, throbbing lips as I feather kisses to each heavily-lidded eye. I travel the soft curve of his
jaw; his whisker stubble lightly abrades my skin. I invade moan territory until Dalton is crying out beneath my questing lips as I suck the column of his throat.

Dalton
stands passive in my arms as I divest him of his clothing. Before me is a naked masterpiece, that no matter how many times I sketch, it will never transfer accurately to paper. A fragile, emaciated form is covered in the softest skin that has ever graced my touch. I part my lips on the burn scars that were seared into his flesh by his brother and father. I tongue the tattoos that tell the stories of his past. The tiny spider over his heart, the fiery demon on his side, the magnificent cat in the center of his back, and on each shoulder, his tributes to the fallen: his father, Anthony Marconi, and his grandfather, Pierre Fontaine. The men who tormented him, but he loved none the less. And lastly, the dagger tattoo, representing the man who we know nothing about- Jon the Enforcer.

To
nguing, I lick a long line up Dalton’s spine until he cries out and shudders in bliss. His taste is addictive on my tongue, running down the back of my throat. As I bite the flesh of his shoulder, his knees give out. My arms supportively surround Dalton as he writhes.

“
J'aime le goût de votre peau,” I purr, the reverberations roll down Dalton’s spine as he undulates in my arms. “I’ve been studying,” I croon into his ear. “I want to understand the words that flow from your mouth as we make love. Their sound is pure sex.”

“You love the way I taste?” Dalton
breathlessly pants. “I’m glad. It would have been a miserable lifetime if you didn’t,” he teases.

A glint of metal catches my attention. An instant later, my gasp echoes around our bedroom. “Oh, that’s fucking hot,” I groan
as my cock insanely twitches. “So fucking hot.”

“It’s a housewarming gift,” Dalton purrs. “Do they warm you?” He turns on the inborn trait that was honed in a whorehouse. A mischievous glint sparks
in his green eyes. A twist of Dalton’s seductive lips renders me speechless. I fall to my ass on the edge of the bed when he rolls his body in a wave, the rings in his nipples wiggling with the undulating movement.

“I’m positively scorched,” I pant. “C’mere,”
growls from deep in my chest. “I’m starved all the sudden.”

Dalton stands between my knees, his chest at my face-level. I stare at the platinum rings hanging from his nipples. I bare m
y teeth in silent warning and Dalton groans in anticipation. Teeth tugging metal, tongue teasing flesh, I feast on my gift.

“Daniel,” he moans,
firmly holding my head against his chest. “I need you. I want to christen our bed.”

Shuffling back in an instant, I yank the covers back, tear off my pajamas, and crawl between the cool sheets. Dalton flips the switch, darkening our bedroom and bathing it in
light from the street below. Dalton seductively sways towards me, his enormous cock a warning of what’s to come.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he assures me as he crawls in beside me. “I’m not pressuring you.”

“I want you,” I cry. “Lie with me.”

We lose ourselves in the sensation of our bodies sliding, gliding against each other. Our mouths feast
, feeding a hunger that will never be sated. Hands greedily explore the landscape of their lover’s flesh. Fingers dig in, teeth bite, toes curl, and my legs fall open in invitation.

Heart jackhammering inside my chest, breath fiercely sawing from between my clenched teeth, I start to panic. I gaze up at Dalton with frightened eyes that keep straying to the jutting arousal between his hips. He smiles at me like I’m being an idiot and laughs.

“This might hurt a little bit,” Dalton taunts me, a smirk playing along his pouty lips. “But then you’ll get used to it. Relax,” he coaxes. “Trust me… you’ll explode like an Atomic Bomb.” 

Dalton infectiously
giggles as my muscles seize up, the sound swells my heart. “Relax,” he chastises me, covering my body with his. I lift up and capture his lips. I fall into the kiss, wrapping my arms around his back and slowly relaxing my legs. Unlike with Ezra, there is no need to lift my legs. Dalton is narrow-waisted and easily fits between my thighs.

The sensation of his cockhead massaging me until I relax has my eyes rolling back. It’s an irrational fear. I’ve seen how Dalton loves this act. There is a look in Ezra’s eye that screams he’s starved for it. I take a deep breath and release it in a long sigh.
I have nothing to fear.

Reading my cues, Dalton smoothly slips inside me.
“Ugh!” I grunt and Dalton deeply moans as he penetrates me. I fight the need to clench my eyes shut and fist the sheets. I fight the urge to slam my legs shut as an uncomfortable stretching inundates me. It’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt. The more I relax, the less uncomfortable I am. The more Dalton kisses me, with his heat seeping into my flesh, the better it feels.

I c
oncentrate on the wet heat of Dalton’s mouth on mine- lips sucking my tongue and teeth nipping the tip. The sensation of his rings rubbing against my chest is deliciously stimulating. My cock throbs as it rubs between our pressed bellies. Harder than I’ve ever been, I can’t deny the reaction I have to Dalton being deeply rooted inside me.

“I can’t believe I’m inside you,” Dalton dreamily moans. “Thank you. I know how difficult this is for you. I’m trying to be gentle.” His thrusts are exploratory nudges. The deeper he goes the stronger the sensation. My skin be
ads with sweat, shivers wrack my body. I experience hot and cold at the same time. The discombobulating sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

“Don’t pull
all the way out,” I grit out between clenched teeth, not enjoying the feel of him entering me. “Stay deep.”

“Like this?” Dalton
slightly shifts his hips. He’s learning as I am. He’s never done this before and I’ve never had it done. This will help us understand the other. I now have an idea on how to make the experience better for him instead of making love to him as I always have women. We aren’t women.

“
Shit,” I hiss, when he gets me just right. “That… that shouldn’t… that shouldn’t feel that fucking good,” I moan long and low from my chest, spine bowing off the mattress as Dalton strokes sensitive nerve-endings inside me. “It’s… it’s extraordinary.”