Page 115 of At Her Will

“Now, Rev,” she said softly, and the two of them moved together, bringing their bodies to that pinnacle, where they rocked and shuddered together, his jaw to her cheek, his body driving strong into her. She cried out against him, flesh and bone, the rush of blood and life between them.

When it ebbed away, he was damp with perspiration, his expression locked upon her. One of his bound hands had a noticeable grip on the back of her neck. “You’re not intending to let your Mistress go.”

“It crossed my mind.”

Another little shiver went through her at the look in his eyes. “You don’t look like that bother you much,” he said.

“No. It doesn’t. Not when I feel it from you. It matches what I feel, too.”

She slid her hand down his back. “But I admit I’m having some trouble breathing.”

With a grin, he lifted off of her. She turned inside the circle of his arms, adjusting them so she had his bound hands cradled against her breasts, the end of the belt clasped in her hands. His body spooned behind hers, so their chakras aligned, just as she’d described that to him. Contentment gripped her.

“I’m going to sleep for a little while. You should do the same. If you need to get up, let me know and I’ll unbind you. But don’t do it yourself. I like knowing you’ll wait for me.”

“Yes, Mistress.” His mouth was against her hair, his heat behind her, his strength around her.

She liked that, too.

“When I sleep, I invite you into my dreams, Rev. I want you there, and I want that unconscious part of us we access in sleep to tell us what our path together should be.”

So nothing in the waking world will screw with it.She didn’t say that aloud, but she held onto him tighter.

“See you there, Mistress.”

She woke just past two in the morning. She slipped the belt free of his wrists and rubbed the reddened skin. She hadn’t had it tight enough to affect his circulation, so she’d slept easy on that, but when he’d pulled against the hold, stroking inside her, she’d known the skin would be affected. Another mark to replace her henna designs. For now.

She slipped from the bed, murmuring a reassurance to him before she went into the bathroom. After she emerged, sheleaned in the doorway, watching him sleep. Thinking of a lot of things. Things he’d said, things she felt with him.

Following the currents of those feelings down to the kitchen, she saw the card she’d bought on the counter.Here comes the sun.Here comes light, illumination. Warmth.

She made herself a cup of tea. When she turned, he was there, standing tall and dark in the entry way. He’d put on his jeans. She’d have to talk to him about getting dressed before his Mistress told him it was okay, but she didn’t mind this look, the top button open, his hip bones and sculpted upper torso visible.

He came to her, and she slid her hand over his side, into the back of the jeans to caress his buttocks. He hadn’t put on any underwear, which mollified her some.

She brushed a kiss against his lips. “Rev, bring me that pen over there.”

When he did, she opened the card. Her kitchen nightlight offered enough illumination to see the blank white interior. Her feelings were a tumultuous sea, but she put the pen to the page and wrote in flowing cursive.

I love you and pray for all of you, for our family, every day. Reach out to me anytime, or come visit me in NOLA. Veracity.

She put the pen down carefully, slid the card into its envelope and wrote her parents’ names and address on it.

Rev had his hand on her lower back. When she was done, she looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. Aching, broken, but functioning, fully capable of love. Without a word needed, he picked her up and carried her back to bed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

As Vera got out of the Aston Martin, she paused to gaze up at the night sky, kneading her aching neck as she did so. It was her turn to be on call for Laurel Grove, and late this afternoon, after a full day of work, they’d reached out for help with a new arrival.

Atalaya Summers had taken her husband’s beatings for the last time. Because today he’d gone after their eight-year- old son when the boy tried to protect her. She’d scalded her spouse with a pot of coffee and knocked him unconscious with a fury-fueled swing of her cast iron skillet. Since she’d never been anything but a cowering shadow around him, he hadn’t seen it coming. Fortunately, because the man was built like a mountain.

Atalaya grabbed whatever she could and ran. When she and her son had gone into a convenience store bathroom so she could clean up, it had been stocked with cards and stickers for domestic abuse and human trafficking hotlines. Which had connected her to the right people to bring her to Laurel Grove.

Vera had been contacted so she could be present when the police were called, so Atalaya could explain what happened with a legal advocate present. Her son’s split lip and fractured wrist, plus her bruises from her last beating, faded but still visible, hadworked in her favor. As had the fact she’d called an ambulance for the concussed piece of shit when she and her son reached the convenience store.

Sorry, Vera apologized to the Universe.I mean the misguided soul that needs spiritual healing—along with some prison time to help reinforce the lesson.

The police had to take the mother into custody. Dequan, her son, hadn’t understood. He’d clung to Atalaya, shouting at everyone, trying to keep them from taking her. He thought he’d never see her again. Vera had sworn to him she was going with his mother. She would get a judge on the phone, despite the late hour, and see if he would agree to let Atalaya be released into Laurel Grove’s custody immediately after processing.

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