The Beauty of Surrender (24 page)

Damn it
. He wasn’t making sense, even to himself. All he knew was that he felt better. Lighter. And he wanted to do it again. Wanted to fuck her right now, just drive into her body over and over. Wanted to make her come, watch her fall apart beneath him the way she had last night.

He was hard again. But she was so quiet, so thoughtful, in the dim morning light; he didn’t dare disturb her. And he wanted to see what she was going to do, if she would leave without saying good-bye.

Why the hell did it matter?

It just did.

When she was dressed she paused, looked around the room, her gaze resting for several long moments on the windows.

It had stopped raining. And it must be early; the streets outside were nearly silent, other than the occasional passing of a car. Finally she turned, moved toward the bed, and he opened his eyes, let her know he was awake.

“James, I have to go to work.”

“Okay.”

“I … we can talk later, if you want.”

“Do you want to?”

She seemed surprised that he’d asked. “Yes.”

“Good.”

She was too close for him not to touch her. He reached up and pulled her onto the bed so he could kiss her. Her mouth was soft and lush, and his cock twitched.

Yes, to have her right now. To strip her down and wrap his arms around her. Push into her body as he had last night. But he’d take his time, explore her.

She pulled away. “I really have to go.”

“Do you want me to get up? Walk you back to your car?”

“I took a cab last night. I’ll get one on the corner.”

“I can drive you.”

“No, don’t get up.”

He could feel her shutting down, separating herself from him. He didn’t know why she was doing it. He didn’t know why he cared.

“How late do you work?” he asked her.

“I don’t know. Each day is different.”

“I’ll call you tonight. See if you’re home.”

Why was he pressing the issue?

“Alright.”

He twined his fingers in her hair, and her face softened for a moment before she pulled away. “I really do have to get going.” Then she was gone.

The bed felt too big to him, suddenly. And he was still rock-hard. Needing her.

He reached down and brushed his fingertips over the swollen head of his cock, breathing in the scent of leftover sex from the night before. His body arched into his touch, and he wrapped a hand around his rigid shaft, began to stroke. Pleasure shivered through him: his cock, his balls, his belly. And in moments he was thrusting into his fist, as he’d thrust into Marina last night. Just fucking her, fucking her, her body soft and yielding beneath him.

His climax came crashing down on him, pleasure like pure white heat, making him jerk hard into his hand, come shooting onto his stomach.

Marina …

Yeah, he didn’t know why he cared, why he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Why this God damn driving need couldn’t be sated by jacking off.

Why he wanted to just
be
with her, as much as he wanted to fuck her, wanted her to tie him up again.

Crazy.

He’d call her tonight, ask if she would see him. And he’d figure things out then, after he talked to her. He’d spend the day calming down, getting his head back on straight. Because
this
was crazy. He’d known the woman three weeks. And it shouldn’t matter if it
had been three months. Three years. A man like him wasn’t built for relationships. He’d never been in that headspace. Not with his kind of job. Not with the kind of risks he took.

A job you walked away from, left behind
.

But that didn’t mean
he
was any different. Did it? Or was Marina simply a different kind of risk?

M
ARINA STARED
at her ringing cell phone, watching the screen light up with James’s name. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Like some schoolgirl. She felt foolish. But she smiled as she picked up the phone, flipped it open, the anticipation of talking to him chasing away the doubts that had plagued her all day.

She took a long breath before answering. “Hello?”

“Marina.”

Pure pleasure, hearing him say her name.

“Hi, James.”

“You’re there.”

“Yes, I finished at six tonight.”

“How was work?”

“It was fine. Good.” She got up from the sofa and went to stand by the windows, watching the evening fog roll in like a soft, gray blanket. “I found a piece I’d been looking for for one of my clients for months. A Mexican painter, a surrealist. This client wanted a particular piece, a very large canvas. I was lucky to track it down.” She could still see the painting in her mind, the image that had been e-mailed to her from the dealer in Lisbon. The bold strokes and slashes of color, the disturbingly beautiful distorted forms. Something frankly sexual about the piece. Or maybe that was simply where her mind was, after last night. Last night … She shivered. “God, I’m sorry, James. I’m babbling. I guess I still have work on my mind.”

Or she was so spun by the sound of James’s voice in her ear,
by the memory of him pushing into her body, she couldn’t think straight.

“No, it’s fine. I like hearing about your work. We haven’t really talked much about it. How long have you been an art dealer? How did you get into it?”

“My degree is in art; I think we talked about that before. I’ve been doing this for over ten years. I worked in galleries before that, since I was very young. Ever since I left home.”

“When was that?”

“The summer I turned eighteen. A week after my birthday.”

“Your parents didn’t find that disturbing?”

“They were both gone by then. It was just me and my sister, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sorry. What happened to them? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“No, it’s fine.” She reached up and traced her fingertips over the cool glass of the window, her eyes on the darkening sky. “It’s been a long time. My parents were in an accident when I was a baby. My grandmother raised us. She was good to us, saw that we had everything we needed, but I’ve never been particularly close to her. She still lives in North Carolina, where I was raised.”

“And your sister?”

“She’s in New York, an interior designer.”

“Ah, you have a lot in common, then.”

“Not really. She’s twelve years older than I am. She was always more like an aunt than a sister. We don’t talk much.”

“I’m not close to my family, either.”

“Where are they?”

“It’s just my dad. He left San Francisco a good ten years ago; he’s retired in Puerto Vallarta with wife number four. We get along well enough. Well, Dad and I do. I don’t like the wife much. But he seems happy.”

“So, you were raised here?”

“Yes. I got my journalism degree at U.C. Santa Cruz, but the city has always been my home base.”

“I love this city. I haven’t left since I arrived.”

“And when was that?”

“I must have been twenty-two, twenty-three. I studied at the Academy of Art here, right after I finished my associate’s degree.”

“So, it was always art for you.”

“I did branch off to study cultural anthropology, initially. Then a few years ago I went back to school for it, but I … I never got my degree.” She didn’t want to talk about why she’d dropped out of school. Didn’t want to tell him it was because Nathan got sick. She didn’t want to get into that with him. Not now. “But I’ve always loved art. I have no talent for it myself, and always wished I did.”

“The Shibari is art,” he said simply.

“I suppose it is, yes. There is an aesthetic to it. There’s form and balance, and even color choice, in the ropes, in the contrast of it against the skin.”

“So, you are an artist, of sorts.”

“Well, maybe. But I think that’s a stretch.”

It was nice, talking to him like this. As though they were normal people.

Weren’t they?

It had been a very long time since she’d felt normal.

She realized suddenly that her sense of being separated from the rest of the world had nothing to do with her sexual proclivities, with her interest in rope bondage. It was that she had separated herself, had made an effort to hold herself apart, ever since she’d lost Nathan.

Four years was a long time to feel like an outsider. Long enough, maybe.

“Are you still there, Marina?”

“What? Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said I want to see you. I need to see you.”

Yes, she needed to see him, too. Absolutely needed to. And
that felt like an enormous risk to her. Acknowledging it, even to herself, made her shaky inside, a combination of overpowering lust and undeniable fear.

“Tonight, Marina? Can you see me tonight?”

“Yes.”

Could it really be that easy?

Oh, no, can’t resist him … impossible
.

Impossible that she was feeling this way about him. About anyone. Impossible that she was allowing herself to. But she was right, he
was
irresistible. The only question was how far she was willing to take this. How much was she willing to risk? And if her desire for him drove her to surpass that boundary, would she be able to stop it?

“Marina.” His voice was a husky murmur that sent a shudder of desire through her, heating her up inside. “I can’t wait to see you.”

God, what this man did to her! She could hardly think, her mind melting away on a sea of desire.

“Um … when?”

“As soon as you’re free. Now. You tell me.”

Yes, get some semblance of control back.

“I have a few things to do.”
Liar. Again. The control thing is all crap now, isn’t it? All you want to do is see him
. “How about nine? And come here, to my place.”

“As you wish,” he said.

Yes, that was better. Even if his tone was far from subservient. But she didn’t want that from him, did she? No, she wanted strength, wanted his struggle, wanted the power of his anger in her hands, wanted to be the one to shape it.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”

She hung up before he could reply. Before he could stir her up any further. There would be time for that once he arrived.

She groaned. He would stir her up, stir her blood, stir her mind. And she would be helpless against it. It didn’t matter which one of them was in the ropes.

Hell
.

But she wasn’t going to turn away from him. She couldn’t. Taking in a deep breath, she flattened her hand against the chilly window, trying to ground herself.
Just let it happen. See where it goes
.

Why did she feel that with James she was being driven toward the edge of a yawning chasm, and if she wasn’t careful, she would go toppling off, flying into … nothing? A dark place she didn’t want to know about, one she’d done a very good job of ignoring for the last four years. A place of loss, of loneliness.

But she would see him. Be with him. She had to. She would deal with the fear later. Deal with the fallout, if there was going to be any.

She slid her palm down the glass, feeling the chill of it on her skin, creeping over her wrist, up her arm. There would be fallout. Had to be, with everything James was already making her feel. How much more would she feel before it was over? She was afraid to know.

She was more afraid to stop.

E
IGHT FIFTY-FIVE
, and her pulse was hammering in her veins. She’d dressed all too carefully in a knee-length pencil skirt, her high black boots with the narrow heels, a body-hugging black top, a blood-red garnet on a long silver chain around her neck. Sexy clothes. Things she wore when she was in Domme role. They hadn’t really addressed playing tonight, only talking. But if she didn’t get her hands on him—or feel his hands on her—she really would lose her mind.

She paced the kitchen, sat down at the table, where a small potted geranium bloomed in the center in a Chinese porcelain bowl. She reached out and stroked the soft petals with her fingertips, the red blossom releasing its spicy fragrance. With the petals still between her fingers, she looked out at the dark street. There was a
full moon; it hung in the sky like a luminous disk of pale gold, like some sort of guardian over the city, ever watchful.

She should watch herself tonight, with him. But she felt completely unable to do it. If she was going to allow him near her—and there was no question that she would—it meant a struggle to maintain any semblance of control. She was okay when he was in the ropes, if not quite as solid as she should be. But once she let him out …

Her sex gave a sudden, hard squeeze.

Oh, yes, once she let him out he was the one in command of the situation. Of her body.

A small shudder went through her: fear and lust again.

When the doorbell rang, she jumped, accidentally pulling two petals from the geranium plant. She swore under her breath, stood, smoothed down her skirt. With her heart an uneven patter in her chest, she went to answer the door.

He looked as great as ever. Better, maybe, now that she knew the taste of his mouth, the hard planes of his body pressed against hers. He was smiling at her, an honest expression she found irresistible.

Just like everything else about him
.

She wanted to take his smiling face between her hands and kiss him. She wanted him to sweep her into his arms.

Stop it
.

What was wrong with her? “James, hi. Please, come in.”

“You look beautiful, Marina.”

“You don’t have to say that just because we slept together.”

“I don’t have to say it at all. But I happen to think you’re beautiful.” He’d stopped just inside the door; he was staring down at her, his gaze dark, glittering. Intense as ever, as though there were some deeper meaning behind whatever he was saying. “Surely I’m not the first man to tell you how beautiful you are.”

“No, but …” Why was she so flustered? “I just … thank you. Come in; I’ll get you something to drink. What would you like?”

“Are we playing tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

Her pulse sped up.

Please, yes
.

“Just water, then.” He smiled again, his teeth a white flash between his lush lips. She wanted to run her tongue over his teeth …