Nobody's Angel (23 page)

Angelina’s hand began shaking and soon her entire body was trembling. She needed to be held, but didn’t want to go to Marc. He’d promised not to hurt her—but he’d only promised not to hurt her physically. He’d never said he wouldn’t hurt her emotionally. Like now. She drew a ragged breath. She needed Luke who would be tender and gentle, only wanting to give her pleasure.

Putting the cloth on the vanity, she avoided looking in the mirror again—so she wouldn’t chicken out—and went to open the door to find Marc leaning against the doorjamb, surrounded by all her frilly, colorful clothes on hangers. He looked so out of place.

“
Cara
, we weren’t finished.”

“Oh, I think we are more than finished. Sir,” she added, as an afterthought. She started to walk past him, but there was no way to do so without brushing his body. Her clit began to ache for his touch and when he reached out to enfold her in his arms, she struggled to keep her distance.

She held up her hands to ward him off. “Don’t touch me. I can’t do this Dom/sub thing.”

The look of hurt on his face tugged at her heart. “Pet, you left before the best part. Let me hold you.”

His arms reached out to her.
Hold me, Sir. Please just hold me
. Her entreaty sounded so damned needy. Oh, God, she wanted him, but was too confused about the aching push-pull churning inside. She hated feeling vulnerable and fought the need to feel his body against hers.

“I need some space right now. I’m going to go check on Luke.”

Ignoring her, Marc reached down to scoop her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Put me down!”

“Not until we’re finished.” He held her in place with a hand on her sore bottom. “Your punishment isn’t over yet.”

She struggled in earnest, beating her fists against back. He sat down on the bed and pulled her back into his lap, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly against his hard chest until her struggles ended in exhaustion. Why did his arms have to feel so good around her? She just wanted to cry on him.

Before she lost it completely, she pulled away. Not making eye contact, she tried to get off his lap, but he just kept his arms secured around her. Pulling her against his chest, he laid his chin on the top of her head and she stiffened. So familiar. Just the way she’d felt the angel-man-wolf in her dream.
Oh, God. It had been just a dream, hadn’t it?
Why did it seem so real sometimes?

“
Cara
, there’s nothing wrong with you. You are perfect for m…the man who will be your Dom someday.”

Unable to fight him any longer, she lay her head against Marc’s shoulder. A ragged hiccough escaped her. She sniffled and Marc reached for a couple tissues from the box on her nightstand. Lying next to the box she spotted Nonna’s pattern-tracing wheel, the one with the filigreed teardrop-shaped handle. Memories of those sharp points pricking her breasts while she was blindfolded earlier caused her nipples to swell. She groaned in embarrassment.

Marc had raided the sewing basket she kept displayed in the living room. Well, he could have found far worse things in Nonna’s basket, Angelina supposed. She remembered seeing someone at the Denver kink club having long, thin needles inserted into his nipples by a dominant female. Angelina shuddered, even though she knew they’d used special ones that were safe, no way was anyone ever going to play with needles around her.

Marc sighed. “What are you thinking now?”

Should she be honest? Oh, what was the point in telling him her limits? Their time together would end soon. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and tossed the tissue in the wastebasket beside her bed.

“Look at me, Pet.” When she refused, he repeated. “Look…at…me.”

Afraid she might incur further punishment if she didn’t obey, she turned to face him, blinking away tears.

He smiled. “Very good, pet.”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep calling me that.”

“It’s part of your training,
cara
. But I never called you a pain slut, and I never would. I don’t degrade women.”

She thought back to their earlier conversation and finally agreed he hadn’t called her the name. He’d only asked if she was trying to convince him or herself that she
wasn’t
a pain slut. Well, the answer to that question was pretty clear now.

“Why do I need humiliation to get off?”

“Ah, pet. It’s not the humiliation that excites you. It’s releasing that tight rein you have on your mind, your self-control, and letting someone provide what you need, sometimes something you didn’t even realize you needed. It’s quieting that busy mind of yours that keeps trying to analyze everything all the time, and just giving yourself a chance to feel again. Experience what’s happening with your body.”

She remembered the many sensations she’d felt on the bed such a short while ago, blindfolded, restrained, and screaming for him to take her. Her clit throbbed at the memory.

A shudder wracked her body, causing her stomach muscles to contract. He pulled the comforter from the bed and around her shoulders, wrapping her snuggly and pulling her tighter against him. His hand stroked her hair and rocked her back and forth, making her feel cherished.

She was too exhausted to even want her mind-blowing orgasm anymore. All she wanted was to be held in his arms.

“Tonight, you gave me the most precious gift any Dom can hope to receive—your sweet submission.” He stroked her hair, comforting her. “I want you so badly, Angelina.” His hand stopped and his body grew rigid, as if the admission surprised him, too.

Had she heard him correctly? He wanted her? And he’d called her by her given name, rather than the many Italian endearments he so often used. Her heart melted just like the ice he’d pressed against her skin earlier.

“I want you so badly to embrace the beauty of your submissiveness. It’s nothing to be ashamed of or to hide.”

Oh, she’d misunderstood. Why couldn’t she listen more carefully? She didn’t want to think why it disappointed her that he didn’t want her as his submissive. It was just as well. They wouldn’t see each other again probably—but she knew the chances of finding another Dom who would want to take her on weren’t good.

Chapter Thirteen

Shit, what was wrong with him? He’d admitted he wanted her before he managed to correct himself. He hoped. Her surrender had nearly been his undoing. Holding her in his arms again felt so right.

And so wrong.

How had Angelina gotten under his skin so quickly? He’d only wanted to help her overcome her aversion to BDSM, not to declare he wanted her. The admission somehow made him feel weak. He wouldn’t give Angelina or any woman that kind of power ever again.

He remembered the scene that September morning in 2001 when he’d found Gino and Melissa in bed together. He’d come off the slopes early, planning to ask Melissa to marry him. His best thinking happened out in nature, but as soon as he’d made up his mind, he couldn’t wait to ask her. To find her naked, straddling his older brother, had so enraged him. After telling her to get dressed and leave, he’d torn into his brother with a rage he’d never known before or since.

He’d said some vicious things. Words that probably had been festering inside him since he was a kid. Gino had always been the one to shine brightest. The one who did everything so fucking right. Graduated top of his class at one of the best MBA schools. Groomed by their mother to take over running the family’s ski resort. Marc had never been able to measure up.

Gino swore he had no idea Marc and Melissa were in a relationship. Melissa had told him she was just a friend from college. In retrospect, he realized Melissa was the one who had pursued Gino. Rejected again, as he had been his whole life, except for the cougars he provided with Dom scenes in his “Master Marco” persona at the resort. He’d decided then that one-night stands and superficial relationships were safer. No messy emotions to deal with.

Marc had left home that weekend. Then came Nine-Eleven. His brother had enlisted in the Marines. Five months later, he was dead.

Marc could never forgive himself for that. Even though Adam, who’d also been his brother’s master sergeant, had sworn Gino had been a good Marine and loved his service to his adopted country, Marc couldn’t help think he’d still be alive today if Marc hadn’t make remaining at home so uncomfortable for his brother.

Angelina stirred in his lap and moaned as the pain in her ass registered again. He needed to put distance between them. Push her just a bit more to open up to him while her defenses were down.

“Who called you a pain slut?”

Every muscle in her body tensed and she shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I do. Tell me who called you that name.”

* * *

Angelina’s heart pounded in her ears. His tone told her he wasn’t going to let her remain silent this time. She really didn’t want to talk to him about Allen, too embarrassed that she’d trusted him and even thought he was a Dom.

He wasn’t anything like Marc, and Marc had been able to get responses from her body…

She’d give him a vague answer, just to get him to drop the subject. “Someone I used to date.”

He waited and she knew he was expecting her to say more, but she turned her attention to his firm, but gentle hand stroking rhythmically against her hair again. His touch could be gentle one moment, stinging the next. And she loved both kinds of touches. But she especially loved what his hands did to her body when she was spread open for him on this bed. Maybe Angelina wanted her mind-blowing reward tonight after all.

“Tell me how your being a pain slut become a topic of conversation with A…with this person.”

Oh, God, just let it go already!
He was like a dog with a new rawhide bone, not content to let it go until he’d torn it to shreds and devoured it. She shuddered. She didn’t want to be devoured by him or anyone else.

Well, maybe she did want Marc to devour her just a little, right here on Nonna’s bed. Somehow, she knew Nonna would approve of Marc. Her grandmother had never been shy about her appreciation of good-looking Italian men, even in her later years.

“Give that busy mind a rest, pet.”

She pulled away to look up at Marc expecting him to be smiling, but he wore a solemn expression. She reached up to stroke his cheek and smiled, hoping he would, as well. He stayed her hand before she could touch him. She missed his smile. Sometimes it was like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar—she wondered what he was like as a boy. Probably full of mischief. Other times, he smiled like a man who knew how to enjoy life to the fullest.

But he remained so serious now.

“This conversation took place where?”

She sighed and pulled her hand out of his grip, tucking it back inside the comforter, suddenly cold. Apparently, he wasn’t going to let go of this bone until she told him. He already knew about the club. How much worse could it be?

Nervous, she stared at his chest hairs and her hand ventured out of the comforter again to run her fingers through the springy black hairs.

“That kink club I told you about…”

Her heart thudded against her chest as images of the private room came back to her. She tried to remind herself the horrific scene was in the past. It had no power over her now. Oh, why did he want her to talk about it?

“Breathe,
cara.
Take slow, deep breaths.” His hand pulled the comforter away from her shoulders to pull in her lap. He stroked her bare back in sweeping strokes from her neck to her hips, over and over, in a circular motion. Firm enough not to tickle.

She focused on the moment of his hand and drew a ragged breath. “Please. I can’t talk about it.” She couldn’t make eye contact, afraid he’d read her mind or something.

“You need to talk about it. Start at the beginning?”

When she closed her eyes, she felt her breasts pressing against the wood of the St. Andrews cross. “Tight. The restraints were too tight. My fingers were so numb. Cold.” He continued to stroke her back, rhythmically. “Stretched out. St. Andrew’s Cross. Oh, God, I had a leg cramp.” She’d forgotten about that.

“Did you tell him?”

She nodded.

“And what did he do?”

“Nothing. He told me to stop…complaining.”

“A good Dom would have adjusted the straps, made sure you had enough to drink, given you chocolate.”

She didn’t know any of those things might have helped. Allen just wanted to begin flogging her.

She flinched as she remembered the first few blows.

“What did he use?”

“Leather flogger. Oh,
Dio
, the pain. So intense, right from the beginning.” She felt moisture dropping onto her breasts and realized she was crying. “The blows fell against my…butt. I tried not to scream at first. I didn’t want to look like a wimp.” She gasped on a sob.

“Shhh. I have you now. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He reached up and brushed the tears from her cheek. “Then what happened?”

“I began screaming, crying. I begged him to stop. I screamed ‘Red!’” She looked into Marc’s eyes. “You have to believe me. I said my safe word.”

“I know you did, pet. He ignored you.”

She nodded and drew a deep breath, relieved he believed her.

“He should have been whipped for abusing your body and your trust like that.”

The image of Allen strapped to the cross with the Dom in the Harley jack wielding his whip against Allen’s already red-striped back brought a smile to her face. “Yes, that’s something I’d like to see.”

“Then what?”

The smile faded as he brought her back to the scene where she was the one strapped to the cross. “It went on and on. I don’t know how long, but it became such a nightmare. Screams. Pain. So much pain. He said I should stop crying. Enjoy it. I’m a…pain slut.” Meeting his gaze again, she said with some vehemence, “I did not enjoy it. At all.”

“I know, pet.” He stroked her cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear. His expression told he believed her.”

“There was no payoff. Just pain and more pain and then…suddenly, all the pain left me.” Her voice shook and more tears spilled down her cheeks. Realization dawned on her. “Oh, my God!” She needed to run. She needed to get away. She moved to get up, but Marc put his arms around her waist and held her in place.