Natural Law by Joey W. Hill
"Allow me, Mistress."
She nodded and he lifted her, placing her on the counter with the same care with which he had laid out his eggs on a towel. She splayed her knees, inviting him in, and he obliged, coming close enough that she could glide her hands over his beautiful furred chest, enjoying the touch of his mouth, scented with wine, cruising under her ear.
"Are you going to burn my supper?" she asked, a smile on her lips.
Mac turned his head, nuzzled her cheek with his nose. "If my Mistress desires me to do so."
She laughed, pushed him away. "Not a chance. You bragged about your cooking prowess, you're going to have to live up to it."
He returned to the stove. He didn't initiate further conversation, and she knew he was waiting. Maybe he thought it would be rude for him to bring it up, that she should initiate the discussion as Mistress, though the topic itself lay outside the bounds of their sexual roles. It was hard to tell where the roles ended and began between the two of them, though, so she took a breath and took the first step.
"You can talk about it, if you like," she said, taking up her wine and crossing her legs, bracing herself with a hand. "After all, I opened up the can of worms. Since you're here, I'm assuming you're willing for us to get more personal. But you may also...have problems with it."
His greeting had greatly reassured her, but she knew that it could still go south for them. She didn't want to wait. She wanted to make sure he could accept what she was, and that she knew what he was, and still go forward. If he couldn't...well, she supposed she could figure out a way to tie him to her bed and sexually torment him until he got over it, but there were laws against that route, and she controlled Mac physically only with her mind. If he chose to resist her, he'd have her outmatched. Unless she had a stun gun with the capacity to take down an elephant.
He turned and saw the worry in her eyes before she could mask it with a light smile. "You didn't think I'd come tonight," he said.
"I wasn't sure." She lifted a shoulder. "Cops can be funny about dating other cops to begin with. It was something I needed to know about you before I got too deep."
Too late on that, he thought. For both of them. He saw the unspoken truth of it reflected in her own expression. He measured a blend of fresh herbs into a bowl, mixed them with his fingers. "Officer Violet Siemanski, Florida State Highway Patrol. A state trooper. " He brushed off his hand, extended it to her. "Mackenzie Nighthorse, Homicide Squad. Though you seem to know that."
"I just suspected you were a cop. I didn't know where, or what level." She set down her wine, reached out and clasped his hand. He took it to his lips, brushed them over her knuckles, caressed her fingers.
"My pleasure, Officer. How long have you been on the force?"
"About four years. You?"
"Rookie." He grinned at her narrow look. "About twenty now. What did you do before you went into law enforcement?"
He returned to his cooking, watched her out of the corner of his eye. She hesitated, then took up her wine, that hand he'd just touched curled loosely in her lap, signs that he'd reassured her somewhat. No doubt about it, she'd completely knocked him out with the knowledge she was a cop. But what he felt for her couldn't be shaken that easily, nor was he going to let her worry for a moment that it would.
"I went into the Marines on their scholarship program. I never got posted anywhere very hot, just Germany, Japan."
"Scholarship program then, and a Stealth now?" He gave her a sidelong glance. "You on the take, Officer?"
She chuckled. "Not hardly. My aunt was a bit on the eccentric side. Lived in a small house in a neighborhood backed up to the interstate. Never bought a car, bitched about every cent she had to spend on us for Christmas or birthdays. I took care of her when she got sick, because she couldn't tolerate anyone else. When she died, we were all stunned to find out she was a really shrewd investor, and she left it all to me. I've kept most of it in investments, using her portfolio manager. But I paid off my college loans, some of my family's debts, despite my dad's protests, and then a year ago, treated myself to the Stealth. I bought it from a guy who had treated it like a baby, who liked looking at it more than driving it, so it barely had any mileage." She crossed her legs and gave him a thorough appraisal, lingering over his bare chest and the prominent display of his groin area in the tight jeans. "I don't indulge often, but when I do, I go for quality. Goes from zero to fifty-five in under six seconds."
She could make his blood temperature do the same with those sultry eyes, but Mac managed to stay in neutral, gave her an arch look. "And how about zero to a hundred?"
"Fourteen point three seconds." She examined her nails. "According to the factory specifications."
"Of course." He chuckled. "So what else did you do in the Marines?"
"I trained to be an MP and served most of my stint in that. I liked it, and it dovetailed well when I went for my criminal law minor."
"What gave away that I was a cop?" Mac inserted it as a casual question, but it was bothering him. He needed to know.
She shrugged. "I just knew. You didn't give it away the way a rookie would, with the constant ready stance, but you had that air about you that... well, you know. We just know sometimes."
He nodded, understanding perfectly, though it disturbed him that he hadn't been able to out her in the same way. But then, she'd thrown him off stride from the first.
"What's the frown about?"
"Just thinking if I put in the right amount of oregano," he lied. There was male pride to be preserved, after all.
"So, do you always wear black jeans?"
He shrugged. "They don't show dirt, and they can all go in the wash together."
She chuckled. "Mackenzie, you just without a doubt told me you're a bachelor."
"I already told you I wasn't married."
"Yes, but now I know I can believe you."
He looked at her. "You can trust me, Violet."
"Not yet. Not until you know you can completely trust me." She gave him an even look in return that told him she'd seen the change in his expression, knew his frown meant something different.
But she didn't push it. Just gave him that face that said he wasn't fooling her, and took another sip of her wine.
"What's in there?" She nodded to the plastic container he'd left on the counter.
"That's dessert. A chocolate torte."
Her eyes lit up in anticipation and he grinned. "I think I've found your weakness."
No, that's you. Though she thought it rather than said it, he saw it in her eyes as if he'd heard her thoughts. A flush heated his skin, the reaction of an adolescent, but for once he didn't fight it, didn't try to remain cool. He let her see how much she was affecting him.
"The fanciest chocolate dessert I've had is a Sara Lee fudge cake at Wal-Mart," she said. "And that was pretty darn good. What's a torte?"
"A torte is a thin layer of cake with a filling in between the layers. In this case a chocolate gnoche mousse, which is like a whipped chocolate cream. When you place it in your mouth, it should melt into your taste buds. You don't have to distract yourself with the energy of chewing."
"And you made it?" She leaned over, lounging her body across the counter like a decadent queen, and peeked into the container. "Wow," she said. "Mackenzie, I might have to marry you."
He raised his head and saw, though she was teasing him, there was a serious undercurrent to her words.
"I would never be good enough for you, Mistress."
"I think you should let me decide that. So, what are you making there?" she straightened up, reclaimed her wine and distracted him with the sight of her moist lips pressed against the clear glass. "It looks fairly simple, compared to this."
"Making perfectly cooked pasta is an art," he informed her. "And since the dessert is rich, I wanted to provide something simple for the entree. An angel hair pasta tossed in a blend of garlic and oil, with a bit of herbal seasoning, and organic scrambled egg mixed in for
He had the pleasure of seeing Violet's mouth very nearly drop open. She caught it with a snap. "This isn't a casual thing for you."
"Yes, and no. The job." He gestured vaguely with the knife. "I needed a variety of things to keep me human."
"No meat? Is that typical for you?"
He nodded. "I've been a vegetarian for about ten years. When I worked deep cover in the dog fighting rings, early in my career, they liked to warm the dogs up for the crowd with farm animals." He sampled the herb blend, nodded to himself before he continued. "I saw them tear apart a pig, chickens, a cow, then other, weaker dogs. Later, when I was in situations where I saw men fighting for their lives, knowing they weren't going to win, I saw them lose all their identity. They were nothing but their fear in those last moments. The faces of those animals were the same, and I can't eat a hamburger or anything like it anymore without seeing that in my head." He shrugged. "I don't have to cause them to die to live. And so I made my choice. I hope that's okay."
She nodded, let him work in silence for awhile. Mac found it a comfortable one, enjoyed the smell of her perfume, the tilt of her head, the sparkle of interest in her eyes at every step that went into the process of preparing food well. He also liked the way her eyes often wandered over his body, enjoying it as she said she would.
"How did you get into D/s?" she said at length, her tone a little distracted.
Mac gave a self-conscious chuckle before he could stop himself. What the hell, he might as well tell her. The worst she could do was laugh.
"I had this dream growing up, about this woman. She's no one I know, just a figment of my imagination. She'd come to me, and I couldn't lift my hands, couldn't touch her unless she said so, and she'd do incredible things to me. When I was about twenty-five, someone took me to a place like The Zone, only a lot more vanilla, as a joke. Sort of a cross S/M strip club where the girls wrapped around the poles wore leather and cracked whips. It did things to me, watching them, and I couldn't get it out of my head. "
"So you investigated it some more."
He shook his head. "Not at first, but I wanted to. Told myself I was crazy, that it was crazy for a cop to be looking into something like that. We both know what a dangerous line D/s is to walk, what places it can take you, but it lingered in my mind. It was always there whenever sex was an issue.
"Then I got an undercover assignment where the suspect liked to frequent places like The Zone. I saw the less seedy side of it, started realizing it might not be up there with kiddie porn. On a lark, the suspect talked me into playing Dom one night to one of the willing staff. I sucked at it, but fortunately that helped my cover. When it was over, a Mistress came over to me, whispered into my ear. 'You're not a Dom, love. You're a sub. You ever want to find out what that means, give me a call.'
"I thought she was putting me down because I'd been so bad at it, yanking my chain, but something about the way she looked at me, trailed her hand down my arm like she had the right to touch me, and the way I felt, like I should stand still and let her do anything to me she wanted to do, really got everything churned up inside. I couldn't get her out of my head. When the case was over, I called her. Lisbeth. And here I am."
"I liked her," Violet admitted. "And yet I'm jealous, regardless."
"No need. She liked breaking me into it, but once that novelty was over, she moved on. She didn't...there wasn't a true emotional attachment. Not..."
Like with us. The words hung between them, too potent and soon to be voiced.
"You're a complete enigma, Mac." She shook her head. "Most cops couldn't do it, even if they had the urge. It's like you've got this split personality thing going, where you crave a Mistress but you're terrified to let go of the control, because you of all people know how much is outside of your control."
"I had bad panic attacks the first few times I was tied up. It still...I still have to fight them off. But I've learned to control my reaction. The...desire is stronger."
"Mac, look at me." When he did, he saw the stunned amazement in her gaze at his admission. "But you do it anyway."
He lifted a shoulder. "As I said, it doesn't really make sense. Guess it's not supposed to. With you...it's different."
Standing in her kitchen, cooking, the air full of scents and of her, he felt like he could tell her things he had not told anyone, had not had within him to tell anyone until he met her. But he lowered his attention back to preparing their salad, before he said what else he felt he needed to say.
"You scared me more than anyone, but now I don't know what I was so afraid of. There was a wall. I'm not sure I even knew it was there, though you tried to tell me it was there from the first. Every time a Mistress pushed on it, I felt like I had to keep her away from it, but at the same time I wanted her to try and shove past it, fight me for it. I didn't understand it, still don't maybe. I just know you did it, and I feel like you're inside me now, in a place where I've always wanted... a woman to be. Fuck me, I can't explain it right."
"You don't have to. I don't think there are any words for the 'why' of it, any more than there are for why I knew that's where I needed to go."
He nodded and opened a small covered dish, laid it out on the counter. "Appetizers. Marinated mushrooms." He picked one up, took it to her lips, offering it to her.
She could tell the raw sincerity of his admission had unsettled him. It was time to move it back into more comfortable territory. Violet opened her mouth, closed her lips on the mushroom, watched his face as he brushed his fingers over her lips, carefully taking the oil away and then putting them in his own mouth, a quick lick to clean the oil off his fingertips and take her into him. The warmth of the gesture mingled with the effect of the wine, and spread through her.
"What I can't figure out is how a four-year rookie made me for a cop and I never once suspected her of being on the job," he said, shaking his head in disgust.
She tilted her head, managed a smile. "What did you think I was?"
"I thought maybe some type of company executive, but that seemed cliched. I'd about decided you were a construction equipment operator. You know, bulldozers and such. Since you're so good at pushing around people bigger than you are."
"You're picking on me now."
"Yes." He gave her a wicked grin. "I am."
"There's only one reason I made you for a cop and you didn't make me," she observed, watching his delightful ass as he moved around the kitchen. How pants could be that tight and still be legal, she didn't know, but she thanked the fashion experts for all their blessings. So tight they creased the tops of his thighs and his ass as he moved, shifted, the cleft well defined for her gaze.
"And what was that?"
"I'll tell you later. Come here."
Mac put down his knife, brushed his hands on the dishtowel and came to her, until he stood between her knees again. He braced a hand on either side of her hips, bringing all his overwhelming presence within her grasp. She moved a hand around his hip, over the curve of one cheek, squeezed, closed her eyes, enjoyed how the muscles tightened under her touch. She felt him begin to lean in, but shook her head, a bare movement. He stopped in mid-motion.
Her thighs dampened anew. She had spoken the truth. She didn't know what made her the way she was, why she so enjoyed a man willing to submit to her, why his obedience to the most subtle command, so subtle it was like he'd read her mind, could overwhelm her.
The man between her legs was high-powered, well-trained, but had never been broken. Until her. Until he became hers.
"Take the wine." She lifted it. "And drink. Drink it all, until the last swallow, and then give me that last swallow from your mouth."
He lifted the glass, his silver gaze now liquid heat, and put it to his lips. She slid both hands along his waistband and to the back of his jeans, firmly grasping his ass in both hands, kneading, stroking, easily imagining what it would be like to feel them flexing, tightening as
He lowered the glass, holding his mouth closed to contain the wine she'd requested of him.
Violet released him, hooked one hand in the waistband of his jeans, and used her other to bring his head down to her. The wine flooded her mouth with his tongue, and she savored both, swirling them around, tasting their potency, consuming them.
"Perhaps next time I have wine in my mouth," he murmured against her lips, "you'll let me put your legs on my shoulders, and I'll put my mouth on your pussy, slip my tongue in your cunt and let all that warm, red wine run down inside. Mix with your sweet taste and drink from that."
"I like that image," she breathed against him. She felt his other arm slide around her, pull her closer to his hips, and she let him, rubbing herself against him before she eased off the counter at last, down his hard length. Her bare feet came to rest on top of his and she smiled up at him. "But I want dinner first."
Chapter 15
She couldn't help but feel pleasure just in looking at him. Sitting relaxed across from her, leaned back in the chair, knees splayed in the tight jeans. That powerful bare upper torso bathed by the light of the two lavender candles he'd brought with the lavender roses to decorate her table. He'd taken time, care, to make sure the setting was lovely, romantic. He wasn't just here for sex. He was wooing her as well. It was...flustering. The way he kept gazing at her wasn't staring. It was a physical caress over every part of her, and she was certain he was far too aware of the effect the attention had on her.
They left the more controversial topics alone at dinner, and talked about the things they wanted to know about each other. Usually, the first date outside of a dungeon was cautious, information warily given, but Violet found she could talk about anything with him, and he was generous with his responses to her questions as well. She learned where his family was from, what kind of upbringing he had, what made him want to be a cop. He was a good listener, and attentive to her in a way that kept her blood on a slow simmer. Mixing their casual conversation with intimate reminders that he intended to serve her needs, he brought her more wine before she asked, retrieved her napkin when she dropped it on the floor, placing a light kiss on her calf when he was down there. And of course doing it all in nothing but a pair of jeans, so his naked chest and shoulders were accessible to her gaze and touch at all times.