Page 46 of At Her Will

She reveled in feeling that power answering her call. And when he finally stopped, chest expanding and contracting, the veins in his throat still throbbing, his strong face was contorted in wonder from the depth of it all. She stroked his jaw, his cheeks and temple, her hair falling around her face in a dark, soft cloud as she gazed down on him.

She came lower, her nipples brushing his chest as she kissed his forehead, that third eye. She held there as his hands passed over her back and hips, the dimple above her buttocks, then reverently molded over the curves.

Right after, though, he stopped, a slight tension passing through him.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “You may touch me, Rev.”

“I thought I had to ask first.”

“There are ways of asking and answering that have nothing to do with a voice. You asked with them.”

She took him to her bedroom. On the way, his fingertips brushed her hair, a curtain he was adjusting to see what was beneath it. She stopped, glancing up at him as he discovered the tattoo on the back of her shoulder, a whimsical black cat curled around a pentacle. Her skin shivered under his touch, especially when it moved back up from there to her nape, to close on a handful of her hair.

She put her hand on his chest and lifted on her toes to meet his lips, their bodies pressed against one another. His grip tightened, an intriguing pull against her scalp before he recalled himself and eased the touch. She broke the kiss.

“If you want the guest bathroom to clean up, you can meet me in my room at the end of the hall.”

He nodded, his mouth wet from hers. When she turned to leave him, she felt him watch her until she disappeared into her bedroom.

By the time he arrived in the doorway, she’d taken care of her own needs and slipped under the covers, her arm bent under her head. He paused at the threshold, a handsome nude male.

The bed was a sturdy antique with spiral posts, a ribbon design carved into the headboard. A couch faced the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. On the wall near it was a framed 1900s photo of a coven doing a circle ritual by a harvested field, their willowy bodies bent backward toward the moon, their pale hands joined in its light. Over her bed was an erotic painting, a naked man and woman, artistic shadowing giving hints of hip, buttock and breast, as well as clasped hands. The painted words,As above, so below,followed the curves of their joined bodies. Sculpted pieces on her dresser and side tables reflected similar spiritual and erotic themes.

Mounted around her antique wardrobe were five rare vintage BDSM photos, where a black woman in petticoats and chemise dominated a man in his small clothes, his cropped hair slicked back, eyes fixed on her as he served her on his knees.

Rev took in all that before his focus came back to her. “Can you spend the night?” she asked.

“Yes. I have to be at work by seven. I’ll get myself up about five-thirty and slip out quiet.”

It was earlier than she rose, but not by much. She would send him on his way with a cup of coffee, and some almond coffee cake she’d baked a couple days ago.

“You got an interesting picture in your guest bathroom,” he said.

It was a caricature drawn by an artist in the Square. Vera in a clawfoot tub, one shapely leg dangling out of a froth of soap. Fairies rode floating bubbles while a three-legged black cat, perched on the sink, peered at them.

“Do you have a cat?”

“Ros does.” She smiled. “Me or Skye are his sitters when Ros has to travel. Freak likes to go to Skye’s loft, and sometimes to her and Tiger’s place out in the sticks, though he got banished from the barn when he decided to take a nap on Tiger's beloved Harley and sharpened his claws on the seat. He's missing one leg in front.”

During their visit to the Wishes mailbox, she’d told him some details about all the women, and their husbands or significant others. “Come lie down next to me,” she said.

As Rev did, she turned on her hip to face him. His gaze touched the painting above her. “That one’s interesting, too.”

“It’s a study from a bigger photograph, one that depicts the Great Rite. That’s a ritual drawing down of the male and female faces of the Divine, the Lord and Lady, into a man and woman while they make love. A circle is cast, and the energy they raise between them…it’s a strong thing.”

“That something you do in your faith?”

“There’s a symbolic way to do it. But I’ve watched the real thing, done by a married priest and priestess. It’s beautiful. Maybe you could incorporate it in your next church revival.”

He gave her an amused look. “Sometimes you like to misbehave, Mistress.”

“I do.”

He reached out to twine a lock of her hair around his finger. “You are beautiful to me, Veracity.”

She knew she was attractive. Compelling. Striking. She liked decorating what she had, and changing that look with her moods. Her master bedroom closet was for her hats and jewelry. Her clothes and shoes required the square footage of her smallest guest room, though the shoes were Ros’s fault. She’d taught Vera to be overly appreciative of footwear.

The word beautiful, as he meant it, felt different. He saw the vulnerability beneath the strength, and his words said he wouldn’t abuse the knowledge. She’d just unraveled him, and he had responded by doing some of the same.

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