His Desire (4 page)

“Be careful what you wish for, little sub.” I let go and she tumbled into me. Not in a sign of defiance; her breathing betrayed her. Despite her provoking me, she was just as lost in this as me. A slave to electricity between us.

“On the bench.”

I watched her body, fluid and tantalizing as she pulled herself to her feet and walked to the built in stone bench. She flipped her soaked curls to her other shoulder, planting both hands on her thighs. Her eyes were ablaze and she quickly dropped them...to my crotch. She licked her lips then took the entire bottom lip into her mouth like she couldn't stand it.

Her gasp shot right to my balls as I drew my hand up and down my shaft, watching her reaction. “What do you want?”

She hesitantly pulled her eyes to mine, still biting her lip before she let it go. “You.”

She must have read my mind because our answer to that question was identical. I saw how much she wanted me, the way she fidgeted and struggled to be still. In her dark eyes I saw just how she hoped it would play out. Her mouth stretched wide as I gave her all of me. Her palms flat on the bench as I spanked her, her moans growing louder with each strike until I gave her something to moan about and plunged inside her.

“Slide to the edge of the bench and let me see you,” I commanded.

She inched forward and her thighs parted. She was so open, so beautiful. So achingly, powerfully vulnerable. I strode forward and dropped to my knees like a man that had been searching for what felt like an eternity and had finally found meaning. Nothing else mattered but her, staring down at me with that devastatingly sexy smile.

I burrowed my mouth inside her, my tongue devouring the desire that flowed and coated her erotic flesh. My tongue claimed her swollen nub, flicking and swirling as my body hummed and vibrated with ecstasy. She bucked in my carnal embrace. She repeated a single word, over and over again: more.

I took her bundle of nerves in my mouth, plunging my fingers inside her as she trembled, every single shudder rippling through her and crashing into me.

When my speed increased, her juices singing as loudly as the spray of water behind us, I felt her thighs tighten and the involuntary shaking that turned her moans into something staccato that pushed me as close to orgasm that I'd ever been without being touched.

“Jacob,” she panted. “C-can I...
please
-”

I pulled my lips from her long enough to give her my permission, but brief enough to keep my next plans a secret. “You may come, but you
must
tell me when you start.”

I reclaimed her, curving my fingers inside her until I hit that special place that made her shake like a current flowed through her veins.

“Oh God...oh
God
...I'm-”

I felt the first twitch of her muscles and I snapped upright, pulling her twitching body up and pushing her against the wall. She was still twitching as I thrusted inside her. Her moans were shouts now, any form of etiquette and training lost in those feral moments as she surrounded me with her lust, then squeezed me until I was delirious with my own passion. She didn't let me go, even after we were both liquid, shaking, messes. She wrapped her arms around me, head against my chest as we stood beneath the water.

“For better or for worse,” she said finally, looking up at me. Squinting through the water in her eyes, her face flush and filled with something I hadn't seen in far too long.

Hope.

E
ntry #3

Last night, I lost Leila.

It was just a dream. A nightmare. I knew on some level that it wasn't real. That at any moment, I'd shake myself awake and she'd be beside me, locked in her own dreams—but safe and sound. But I was trapped in the hell of my own making. Forced back to the day I got the call and realized that she'd been kidnapped.

The fear, the young and carefree voice of the girl, Brittany, was just as high pitched and grating. She repeated history, telling me they had my wife and I needed to pay up if I wanted her back in one piece. This time, I somehow had the knowledge of just how empty that promise was. Leila was already broken...she was the minute it all became a brutal reality and the knife tore open her skin. So I couldn't hold in my anger. It came roaring from me like thunder, promises to make sure Brittany's life was a short one. That her end would come at my hand and I would make sure she regretted the day her mother spread her legs and she was brought into this world.

When I was done I couldn't catch my breath. I was glaring at the cell in my hand and when my ears stopped ringing and sound returned to me, I realized the other end of the line was dead silent.

“Kill her, Cole.”

I dropped to my knees, begging her, begging my brother, begging God. The only answer I got was Leila's terrified voice. Pleading with Cole, her voice the stricken, gasping thing of someone that knew this was their last chance and if they didn't get it right, it was all over.

Then she screamed and it tore my world apart.

I jerked awake, but my right hand was still balled in a fist. Awake or not, I couldn’t stop hyperventilating and I dripped with sweat.

Even though I was awake and she was curled up beside me, asleep, safe, my heart still clawed its way to my throat.

If there was a moral or point to this nightmare, it wasn't lost on me. I'd thought the point was that I couldn't save her; that it was on me...which meant it was my responsibility to fix it. I couldn't fix anything. Even in my bullheaded attempts when I went after Cole, it didn't take away her pain. It didn't change anything, other than disturb my wife so greatly that she felt she had to finally tell me what happened.

But her scars remained.

My anger remained.

I wasn't the master of the universe.

***

I
stood back and scoured over every detail. What had begun as a spark of an idea (and a rumbling in my stomach) had burst into something fit for a lifestyle magazine. A portrait frozen in time forever that would shoot from the eyes, round the stomach, and end with your mouth watering, aching for the smallest bite.

I couldn’t take all the credit. Since our property had no kitchen, I used the world class room service and arranged for croissants and bacon and eggs and a array of ripe, succulent fruit. Orange juice and champagne completed our breakfast feast.

My hunger rumbled in approval. Just as I was ready to wake her for a surprise breakfast in our own private Eden, she stumbled onto the patio, draped in a robe, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

She flashed me a drowsy smile, then her gaze dropped to the table, her dark, intoxicating eyes widening. “Jacob, this is incredible.”

Beaming, I pulled out a chair for her. “Just wait until you have a bite.”

She threw her arms around my neck first, pulling my mouth to hers. Her lips were ravenous, her tongue tasting mine as she moaned and tugged my bottom lip playfully.

I was stunned, bringing my fingers to my lips, a warmth spreading over me that had nothing to do with the sun that was peaking through the trees.

She eased in the chair, tucking her wild curls behind her ear with the devilishly innocent smirk on her lips that drove me wild. “What? I wanted a bite.”

I couldn't resist sweeping her hair to the side, revealing her neck and pressing a kiss at the nape, then taking a bite of my own. “There's a reason I didn't bring this all to bed. I knew the food would get cold because the only thing I'd want to devour was you.”

She threw her head back, her eyes bright and mischievous. “Is that right?”

I could have nodded, scooped her up and taken her to the green oasis that surrounded us. Laid her down in the grass and buried myself inside her. I could have made love to her; pretended the only reason we weren't having breakfast in bed was due to my inability to consider sustenance when there was a mattress and her naked body and sheets that held the erotic scent of us. But that wasn't the whole truth. The dream I'd scribbled in my journal haunted me. I knew the purpose of it was to take the darkness in my head and get it out. An emotional exorcism. But if I knowingly lied to her, wasn't that another form of keeping secrets? Keeping my demons safe, under lock and key?

I pressed a kiss on her forehead, then reached for the carafe of orange juice and champagne, mixing the two while I gathered my wits and prepared to take us from this beautiful morning back to my dream last night. Back to the event we couldn't seem to escape.

“That's not completely true. I'm still a little...raw from a dream I had last night. I needed to get out of the room. Outside and away so I could breathe and-”

“Escape,” she finished softly.

She rose and my stomach twisted. This was supposed to be a fresh start. A new day. Our last day in Dublin and I couldn't resist bringing in the storm clouds. I'd joked about the food getting cold but eating was the furthest thing from my mind. I thought the act of keeping a diary, exposing my innermost thoughts was weak, but I was stripped down, more terrified than I'd ever been when she moved toward the door. But she didn't go back inside, summarily ending the conversation. She picked up the other chair and pulled it beside hers. She sat down and looked up at me, searching my face before she nodded.

“I'm here, Jacob.”

I was so moved by her, the way she opened her arms to me in spite of everything. The love she gave me just for being me when I'd spent a lifetime searching for someone who would just embrace me, flaws and all, was overwhelming.

I took my seat and bared my soul. “The dream started out somewhere familiar. Back to the day they had you. When you were taken.” I measured her face, each contour that made up Leila. The soft tilt of her chin, the lush curve of her lips, the dainty angles of her nose, the round, expressive eyes that held no judgment; just love. Support.

“But things were different. After Brittany told me they had you, that they'd hurt you, I snapped. Even in a dream, the anger...” I inhaled deep and exhaled but the red hot memory of it still scorched. It was seared on my consciousness. I took a sip of my drink and inched hers toward her. She didn't reach for it, still and waiting for me to finish. “She didn't take it well. Instead of telling Cole to cut you, she told him to kill you.”

She changed her mind about the mimosa, throwing it back without a word. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and returned both to her lap. She covered one with the other, but she couldn't hide the tremor.

She forced a smile, clutching her robe. “It's okay. I'm okay.” Her smile wavered, but her voice was steady. “So...I died.”

Dream or not, I couldn't say those words. “You were gone. Just like that, you were taken from me. I felt a degree of that when I didn't know where you were. When I put the pieces together and got the call from Brittany. But there was hope and the knowledge that I would make them pay and somehow, some way, things would get back to normal, back to right with me and you.”

I turned my face up to the sky, closing my eyes and breathing in this moment. Preparing myself for the heavy realization that came to me when I woke.

“I exercise full control over every aspect of my life, from Whitmore and Creighton to my needs when I become more than your husband and your partner. When I become your Dom. Last night showed me something that is fucking terrifying. Terrifying isn't even the right word. There aren't words in existence to describe how helpless I feel. The weight of this truth. This lesson.” I pulled myself back down to earth and I showed her that scary part of myself that no one had ever seen. “I can't control everything.”

I'm not sure what I expected. Her to hurl her drink in my face? To tell me that she wanted, needed a man that could protect her from all harm, period? That despite it all, she still felt like I failed her and now I was basically shrugging my shoulders and saying, 'oh well'?

She jerked to the edge of her seat and took both of my hands in her hands. Without a word, she brought them to her mouth and kissed them. Rained her love down on me.

“Baby, I love you. And that was beautiful.” She cringed, her eyebrows lifting. “Not me dying of course. But that you not only realized that you're human, but that you shared that with me. I know you're human and you're flawed—just like the rest of us. And it's okay to be broken. I'm broken. But together, we can be whole.”

Liquid stuff filled my eyes and I allowed it. I still cleared my throat and blamed it on my allergies. No more lies...little white lies didn't count though.

We turned back to our breakfast, the fact that it wasn't piping hot not dulling its savoriness. She brought a strawberry to her lips, chewing it thoughtfully before she leaned in and pecked my cheek. When she prepped herself for a second, I turned toward her, stealing a kiss. I tasted the sweet of the fruit and the warmth of her lips. This was what it should be like; sharing myself, my fears and dreams and hopes and nightmares. I was vulnerable and the world didn't end. In fact, there were colors and sensations that I hadn't seen before. Our connection was more powerful than anything I'd ever known.

“Last day in Dublin,” she mused, her head on my shoulder. “What do you want to do?”

I grinned to myself and reached for the sash of her robe and pulled it loose, tossing it aside.

“You.”

I
t was time to say goodbye to Dublin.

I couldn't help but feel guilty as Leila packed, tucking in the few mementos she'd gotten during the short trip.

She paused, holding a sliver of something between her two fingers. I watched her press it in the center of her palm, reliving some memory. When I cheerfully asked her what she'd found she held out her hand for me to see and guilt wrapped its fingers around my throat.

“Remember Sam? The musician outside of the pub?” She fingered the faded pick he'd given to her, autographed and all. “He sang my favorite song from
Once
?”

“I remember,” I said softly. It was one of the few good memories I’d decided to hold close. I remembered both of their voices rising in unison. He’s deep baritone and Leila’s airy, soprano were perfectly matched. Leila's eyes squeezed shut as she belted out the chorus, drawing an audience that circled us, enthralled by the music. She’d cringed when her voice cracked when she hit a high note. Instead of shying away in embarrassment, she just laughed, clapped along for a few beats, and dove back in. I fell a little deeper in love with her in those moments. Cheeks flushed, wide open, happy, living like no one was watching. That was my wife. A fighter. A lover. She never gave up.