Mirror of My Soul (2 page)

The break in her eyes when she knew. Even the energy she put into the beating. Every part of him ached but there was a violent need in him.

“I can’t—”

He caught her throat in his hand, kissed her. Not gently this time. Despite her vulnerable condition his intuition told him the moment required hard, brutal demand.

His hands running down her arms, over her back, holding her against his bare chest, his tongue invading her mouth, his teeth tasting her. When she made a soft cry that vibrated against his grip, he tangled his other fist in her hair, held it as her nipples hardened against his chest. Reaching down, he put a hand between her legs and shoved the dress up to find her wet and slick, her thighs trembling.

“Say it, angel. Or I fuck you until you do, until you’re screaming it every time you climax.”

“If I say it, will you let me go home alone?”

“No. I already told you, that’s not an option.” He brought his hold back to her throat, felt her telltale shudder at the contact while he remembered how she’d 8

Mirror of My Soul

constricted his breathing. How he hadn’t cared if she strangled him, if only she’d put her lips on his and give him oxygen from the body he craved. “Marguerite.”

“I’m not… I can’t yet. Please don’t do this to me.”

“We both know you’re mine.”
Because every fucking beat of my heart is yours
.

Passing his hand over her shoulder blades, he felt her shiver with a combination of desire and terror both. The former heightened his lust for her, the latter roused his urge to protect. The Dom in him responded to both.

When he laid his palm on the back of her neck he felt the wisps of hair brush his knuckles. Leaning in, he kissed the top of her head. “All right, then. I’ll let it go for now.

I need to talk to Perry a moment to make sure we’re all square but then we’ll get you home.”

He surprised her, not just with the sudden withdrawal of demand but by simply

scooping his arms under her and lifting her, not even giving her the option of rising. He set her in an occasional chair that was in the shadows. The chair was intended for a weak-kneed sub or as a comfortable seat from which a Mistress could contemplate the artistry of her bound submissive. Or she could make him bend over it and place his lips on the cushion where she’d just been while she fucked him with an impressively intimidating dildo. Marguerite had used it for all those reasons. Never because she couldn’t stand well enough on her own two feet.

She had to pull herself together. She couldn’t let herself believe even for a moment in the fantasy of someone else doing it for her. He kept his profile to her, glancing at her often as he dressed. Socks, underwear, tucking that appealing cock in the snug boxers, pulling up the slacks, belting them. She knew he had to be hurting like hell but not once under her unwavering gaze did he flinch. She knew part of it was male pride but she also suspected it was that chivalry of his that wouldn’t let her suffer the full guilt of knowing how much she’d hurt him.

At the height of her frenzy it had even crossed her mind to destroy him, obliterate him entirely, as if the emotional pain he’d drawn from her made him as bad as the source of the pain. At that moment she could no longer distinguish friend from foe and all that mattered was the solitude. Destroying everything so it would be quiet in her head. She wouldn’t even care if they took her away and put her in a room by herself forever, her only job to stare at padded walls and wait for the oblivion of the final injection.

Instead, something had changed as those quiet amber eyes had watched her, waited on her. She’d ended up on her knees at his feet, kissing the hurts, a nonverbal plea for forgiveness for drawing him into her nightmare. For not wanting to release him from that nightmare because he made her feel she wasn’t alone with it anymore. While she wanted to cringe at the pathetic picture the words painted, her heart brushed that off and simply focused on him, on each look he sent her way. He shrugged into the shirt, left it open, rolled up the cuffs and draped the tie on either side of the collar. His coat 9

Joey W. Hill

was still around her shoulders. She didn’t want to take it off, which made her start to do so.

“No.” He came and pulled it close around her, enveloping her in the warmth. “You hang on to it awhile. It’s steadying you. Your color’s getting better. C’mon.”

He half lifted her off the chair, his arm going around her waist. She made herself find the strength not to lean so much but her knees were loose, as if the joints had a questionable ability to lock. With the least amount of encouragement he’d carry her and she’d suffered enough humiliation for one night. She allowed the arm, even used a handhold of his shirt and the firm flesh just above his hipbone to help her get out the door of the room she never wanted to see again.

“My… I didn’t clean up.”

“They’ll get it. I’ll pay them the extra to do the cleanup, sterilize the whip and tawser. Are they yours or The Zone’s?”

“The tawser’s mine.”

“Okay, then. Don’t worry about it.”

“They’ll charge it to my card. This is my night. I’ll pay for it.”

The hallway was quiet and she was thankful that The Zone had a side hallway exit that allowed patrons with a code to go straight from the playrooms to the parking lot, rather than having to push through the crowds on the main floor.

“I need to go to the women’s changing area. Clean up before we leave,” she said.

“While you talk to Perry.”

“All right.” Allowing her to move out from under his arm, he nevertheless took her hand, apparently to steady her and make sure she was standing on her own. He kept his gaze on hers. “Your car keys.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said evenly. “If you force it, I’ll just take the whole purse.

You’re not going home alone.”

The marks on his face slapped at her every time she looked at them, making her heart hurt. Jesus, her body and soul hurt. She was so tired and so restless at the same time. Looking at the blows he had taken without complaint, accepting them as he seemed to be accepting her, was too overwhelming. She had to get out of here. Her heart was in anguish and her pussy was throbbing with want.

Before she knew it she’d taken two steps forward. Curling her hands into his lapels, she jerked him to her. She covered his mouth in a way she’d never done in her life, forcing her tongue in past his teeth, snapping at him as she plundered to feel the texture of those firm lips. His strong arms locked around her, held her tight to him. His cock almost instantly stiffened against her as he slid one hand down, covered her ass and squeezed hard, lifting her, rubbing her against him, no restraint now in his actions.

She tore away. Tight-lipped, she reached into her purse, withdrew the keys,

slapped them into his open palm. “Perry isn’t crazy enough to buy that this was a 10

Mirror of My Soul

demonstration. Not after he sees your face up close.” The words were raw, forced out of her, but she made the effort to sound defiant. In control. “Anything else, or are you going to send Dan or Ryan in with me to watch me relieve myself?”

His eyes glinted and she thought he would have smiled except the movement

would have hurt his swelling jaw. “Your color’s definitely coming back. I’ll be here in ten minutes, tops. Don’t worry about Perry and
don’t
make me come in after you. I’ll deny Dan and Ryan that pleasure but not myself.”

Turning on her heel, she made her way across the hallway and pushed open the

locker room door. “Arrogant bastard.”

She wished the women’s room didn’t have a door closer so she could have

slammed it. She was splitting into two—no—perhaps three or four entities. Nothing was making sense. She hated him. She needed him, ached for him. Coming face-to-face with herself in the mirror, she couldn’t bear what she saw there. The eyes of a frightened child come back to haunt her as they always did if she didn’t keep a handle on herself.

“No. No. No.” She lashed out, striking the mirror with her fist and watched her knuckles bloom with blood, like the welts she’d put on Tyler. The mirror gave way, fragmented into shards that showed her the many different pieces of herself that were her true reflection, a person who would always be shattered. “No, no, no!”

She dumped the jacket, yanked pen and paper out of her purse. When she’d

finished the scrawled note, not caring that she’d stained it with her own blood, she put a paper towel under it, laid it on top of the jacket she folded on the bench. Smoothed it with her hands, once, twice, before she could stop herself, getting blood on it anyway.

Then the door opened and she turned to face Violet.

Violet had come down riding on fury, knowing Tyler was occupied and that Marguerite would be here but one look at the woman made her stop in the doorway.

Marguerite straightened, her usual reserved mask falling in place, but Violet took in the mirror, saw the tremor in the bleeding hands, the way they had been smoothing over Tyler’s jacket a moment before she burst in the door.

“Please make sure Tyler gets his jacket. I’m leaving.”

“I don’t think he wants you to do that.”

Marguerite’s eyes were so fathomless that Violet wondered if the woman ever saw her surroundings in the same reality as everyone else. Her unfocused expression seemed more like a clairvoyant’s gaze, seeing auras and heat energy instead of physical form.

“You’re a cop, Violet. And his friend. You know what I am. A person like me

shouldn’t be within a hundred feet of someone like Tyler Winterman. Now please get the hell out of my way.”

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Joey W. Hill

After a full assessing minute, Violet inclined her head and stepped aside.

Marguerite pulled her spare car key out of the inside pocket of her purse. With the elegant scarcity of movement she was known for and that she seemed to have

reclaimed, she swept by Violet, carrying her shoes and cape in one hand, the key and purse in the other. Violet watched her take the monitored side exit to the parking area, struggling with her conscience.

She’d give her a two-minute head start, then go tell Tyler, though good sense

suggested she should just let Tyler find out for himself.

Coming out of the women’s room two minutes later with the jacket and the note, she found Mac sitting on the bottom step, waiting for her. Tyler was just coming down the stairs. Taking in what she was carrying, he swore. Viciously, with a fierce inventiveness that she hadn’t known he’d possessed.

“You just fucking let her go?”

Mac rose, his expression cold. Violet moved before the two men got any closer, stepping up next to her husband, putting a hand on his forearm as she extended the bundle. “She left you a note.”

Tyler took it, none too gently. His gaze snapped up. “Whose—”

“Hers. She beat a mirror to pieces in there. I didn’t see anything that looked too serious. Mostly minor lacerations, though they’re going to hurt like hell tomorrow.”

Much like he would, she thought.

Tyler pushed a hand through his hair. When Violet moved closer, her hand

extended to look more closely at the condition of his jaw, he caught her wrist. “Don’t touch me right now, Violet.”

“You can take your hand off my wife before I decide you need your second ass-

kicking of the night.”

“Mac.” Violet shook her head. She knew her husband understood the code of an

alpha male. Lord knew she dealt with his temperament often enough. But he didn’t necessarily understand what was going on with Tyler right now. He thought he’d won a key battle only to find his opponent had slipped through his fingers. She suspected his automatic reaction was to shrug off rational thought, go run her to ground and either paddle her ass or fuck her until she couldn’t think beyond the climaxes, where all the emotion and pain were drowned in sensation.

But she knew Tyler was a better man than that. So instead of drawing back she

pressed forward, meeting his hard gaze with her equally unflinching one until he let her go with an oath and she moved up a stair for better access. A tawser used

improperly would break bones, not cut, but she’d caught him with the rough edge during her uncontrolled strikes. A stitch or two likely wouldn’t do him harm but she assumed he would heal well enough without them.

“Only luck kept her from knocking out an eye or boxing your ear, bursting your eardrum,” she said, an edge to her tone. “Read the note and stop thinking with your dick.”

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Mirror of My Soul

Tyler curled his lip in a half snarl but glanced down at the paper.

Tyler, I need to think. I’m not running from what happened tonight. I know you think you
know what it means but I don’t. I don’t know anything right now. I’m going to go see my
brother and then I’ll go home. I’ll call you tomorrow. Please have Violet or Leila take care of your
cuts. I’m sorry. I owe you a formal apology and you will get it whether you want it or not. I’m
not your wife. You don’t deserve to be beaten down emotionally or physically by my problems.

His hand tightened on the paper, his thumb rubbing over the bloodstained words.

At a moment that surely was agonizing for herself, she had thought of him. It moved him, made his heart cry out for her. As well as drove his fury and frustration to an even higher level. Where had she gone? He needed to be with her.

Also, for your future attempts to bully women, keep in mind that most of us carry a spare
car key in our purses.

“Smart-ass.” But he folded the paper, put it in his shirt pocket, took a deep breath and struggled for rationality. “I’m going to her house,” he decided. “I’ll wait there until she gets home and make sure she’s all right. If that’s okay with you. Or are you planning to cuff me?”

Violet pursed her lips. “In our household, that’s considered foreplay. And as

tempting as it is to smack you around for being an idiot, I think you’ve been beaten enough tonight.”