Page 133 of At Her Will

“Then you will,” he said simply. “What can I do to help you, Mistress?”

She touched his face. “I’m sorry, Rev. For your family. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that sooner.”

“That wasn’t your job, Mistress,” he told her brusquely. An answer not from her sub, but from the man who wouldn’t back away from the responsibility of being a man. “They turned themselves in. Lawrence told you that, right?”

“He did. You took care of it, just as you said you would.”

If she stayed immersed in that night, her life really would end at that moment, nothing else but that defining her.

The strength of his hands was welcome. She felt safe and protected with him. He’d given her that from the first, asurprising need she hadn't expected to have as strongly as she did. She told him that, and his eyes darkened with pain, but she wouldn’t allow his guilt to mock her words.

“I still feel safe and protected, Rev. You came for me. You helped save me. Even if it hadn’t turned out that way, it’s not a physical safety I’m talking about, but an emotional one. It was how you felt about your family that made me feel abandoned. Not the other. I was wrong about that. I understand why you did what you did.” She paused. “I need you, Rev. Come inside.”

“Yes…ma’am.”

He’d remembered what she said at the hospital. She put her hand on his chest, then her head on top of it. She could hear the beat of his heart through it. “You’re mine, Rev,” she said softly. “And as long as you want that, you’ll call me Mistress. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.” The relief in his voice was a powerful wave surging through her.

“Let’s find that ground again. Come inside and watch over me. Keep me safe.”

When they reached the door, he stopped and looked down at her. His hands fell to her waist, flexed. “I need you powerfully, Mistress. All of it, in my head, what could have happened, I’ve about lost my mind over it. Wanted to rage and howl, go find Witford and those others, even my aunt, and do terrible things to them. I knew that was all wrong, but this feeling, to be inside you, take you over, kiss every inch of you, wrap your hair around my hand, all of it…it feels so strong, so different. Something dark to it, but something good, too.”

Her hand curled into his biceps, and she used her nails a little harder. “Why do you think I want you to come inside?”

As she drew him over the threshold and shut the door, he was behind her. She sucked in a breath as he pressed her against her laundry room wall, his body fully on hers. He put her palms flatto the wall, his own over her hands, and they stayed that way, her naked, him clothed, both trembling.

Then he dropped to a knee. He bent all the way down, put his mouth on her ankle, and started working his way up her calf. Slow, tasting her everywhere, his hands following, gripping her legs as he moved up and rained kisses over her thighs, her buttocks and lower back. She curled her fingers against the wall and remembered when she’d ordered him to touch her shoulders and stroke her hair. This was a different form of that, a worshipping and a hunger, tied together. She felt it, in a language universal to every living thing.

He rose and slid his arm around her waist, fingers exploring her navel, her hip bone, her mound. He didn’t go further than that, until she dropped a hand from the wall, clasped his wrist and guided his hand between her legs. At the near violent response of her sex to his touch, she arched against him, hair brushing his face as he buried it there, finding her neck to taste, bite, suckle.

“Yes, Rev,” she said, her voice throaty. “Inside me, now.”

He opened his jeans, guiding himself into her from behind. The angle required him to go slow, but he pressed in deep. Taking his hand back to her cunt, he sealed his hand over it, fingers spread over her clitoris, her stretched labia, his cock buried between them.

She shuddered at the sensations, such overwhelming proof oflife. He nipped her throat again, tasting. She brought his other hand up to her breast so he could stroke, explore the taut nipple, the swollen fullness of the curve.

“Oh. Goddess…Stop, Rev. Stay still inside me.”

He stopped stroking, their bodies quivering. It didn’t make it all better, but it was the right step. A reminder of how willing he was to be what she needed, how much he wanted that, too. She closed her eyes at everything such intimate stillness could bring.

She knew his soul enough to know how difficult it had been for him to leave her that terrible day. He’d had to obey a different Master, the one that made him Rev. He needed her forgiveness for that, but he needed to forgive himself.

Feeling all of that restored and reminded her of the power she had as a Mistress, to help him. To have the honor and pleasure of giving him that forgiveness.

She pushed against him, a nonverbal cue, and he reluctantly slid from her. When she turned to face him, she linked her arm around his neck, hooking her leg over his hip. He understood. In the next blink he’d lifted her up against the wall, and was back inside her. This time, the angle was the right one for what her eyes told him he could unleash.

“Give me your strength, Rev.”

A cry broke from her throat as he thrust into her, his hand slamming against the wall as he braced himself there. The power of it vibrated through the house’s frame. His other arm banded around her waist, his hand clamped on her hip as his buttocks flexed under her legs, locked around him.

His body, so strong and solid, his need, was all around her, inside her. She put her face against his jaw, and wrapped her hands over his neck, his vulnerable neck, as he bent his head to her. He brought her to a climax that had a serrated edge, the slicing reminder of the past few days. But their souls were open to one another and joined, able to handle it, soften that edge.

“Yes…” The orgasm rushed in, the dam breaking, and she pushed herself down on him. “Now. Right now.”

He released, and kept working himself in her as her cries rose, a catharsis of sobs and tears. Her fear, her anger, the whole big tangle of emotions that she didn’t yet know how to fully untangle, but she would. She wouldn’t accept defeat, wouldn’t let fear and anger rule her.

When they both slowed and she was still crying, he was pressing against her, also still inside. He stroked her hair and held her so tight, letting her know he was there. He would always be there.

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