IT seemed like any other normal building—three floors of gray stone, light peeking out from the edges of blinds in the many windows. Not all were occupied, surely? No signs blatantly advertising the business housed inside.
Five stone steps flanked by dark iron railings allowed persons of interest to approach the forest green door, which had a simple bronze plaque to the right stating Fothergill House.
She stood outside the house on the shadowed pavement, just out of the reach of the streetlights, and stared at the steps, at the house, and tried to find some tiny ounce of courage. There were so many possibilities on the other side of that door, possibilities she’d dreamed about for years, but never had the bravery to step outside the boundaries and grab with both hands.
A tall woman with a lean figure that once had run toward the plus-sizes, she had never considered herself to be pretty. Lack of self-confidence had taught her to dismiss what were her defining features—stunning blue eyes, pale Irish cream skin, short cap of red hair, and an aura of quiet innocence.
Get a grip, she ordered herself. You want this. You’ve wanted this for so long and you’ve finally made it to the door. Finish the damn job.
Her heels, a staggering two inches, clicked nervously over the pavement. Her small, delicate hands sweat, never a good sign, and her stomach turned over. She clutched the hard iron rail in her hand, used it to steady herself as she wobbled up the steps and stood frozen in front of the door.
Do it. Do it. Just knock on the door.
Tentatively, so lightly she could barely hear the resounding taps, she knocked on the door. Her heart banged louder than the knock as she waited, peering nervously at the houses on either side, expecting the police to roar up, sirens wailing, lights flashing, a spotlight pinning her to the building as officers dragged her to the floor and handcuffed her.
The click of locks brought her back from that disturbing daydream, and the door swung open to a man filling the doorway. He was only about six feet tall, but must have been half that across his massive shoulders. He had short dark hair and shadowed eyes, and wore a casually-styled suit screaming bouncer.
One sleek eyebrow lifted in surprise. “Yes?”
“I, uh, ah…” she stuttered stupidly. “Are you taking on new…members?”
His eyes narrowed speculatively. He stepped back, letting light from inside the small welcome room spill out into the night, over her. “Come on in.”
She hesitated and then forced her feet to take her inside before she could abandon her dream and run. The snap of the door closing behind her, the locks snicking home, had her stomach jumping.
“I’m Paul,” he introduced as he moved behind a desk and seated himself, pulling papers out and setting them on her side of the desk. “These are the new member forms you’ll need to fill out. You will be allowed first level access to the house until the background forms have been cleared.” He paused for a moment. “This usually takes several days. However, Tuesdays tend to be quieter, so they may be processed tonight.”
She nodded numbly, unable to find her voice. She sat carefully, wondering if she was about to sign her life away, and scanned the forms. The first page was the usual—name, address, and contact information such as home phone, mobile phone, email.
The second sheet was personal information—height, weight, eye color, hair color, etc. Sexual preference, sexual experience…
And the third sheet was a list of about fifty sexual activities followed by boxes that came under headings of Yes, No, and Willing To Try.
She filled everything out as quickly and as accurately as possible without looking as nervous as she felt. Or so she’d hoped. Unfortunately, from the sympathetic and pitying glances Paul gave her, she imagined she appeared scared out of her wits. God knew her hands shook.
The forms were handed back, and he scanned the first page before he slid them into a brown envelope, which he promptly sealed and stamped with Private and Confidential Documents. He tucked the envelope under his arm, rose from his seat, and gestured for her to follow him.
“Nice to meet you, Tess. Come with me.”
Last chance to turn around and go home, to be normal and unfulfilled. Every private desire and secret wish would be left to rot and fester, because if she backed away now, when she’d gotten this far, she would never try again.
Somehow, the thought of that was most frightening of all.
They stepped out of the tiny welcome room with its bright lights and calming color scheme into a darkened expanse of small tables, gleaming bar, and soft music. Not what she’d expected at all.
She’d half expected an open floor of debauchery and sin.
Paul stopped and shut the door behind them. “Feel free to mingle. Please don’t agree to leave this floor with a cleared member until your own forms have been verified.”
She nodded and eyed up several men who sat, stood, and lounged around the room. Some were already engaged with women, some talked to others of their ilk, and some were alone in their little areas.
The walls were a deep burgundy color that softened beneath the warm glow of wall lights placed evenly around the room. Artwork of the sensual variety was exhibited within each halo of light—men and women in varied and unusual positions.
A blond man in dark trousers and open-collared white shirt manned the gleaming oak bar, his hands polishing glasses with a cloth as he talked amiably with a smart couple who’d seated themselves in prime position.
The carpet seemed to suck her heels in, deep and soft, the same color as the walls with the addition of small gold flecks breaking the monotony.
She tried to sneak farther inside, aiming toward the far end of the bar where no patrons loitered, hoping to take a good study of the clientele in the establishment. She didn’t really know what she searched for in a sexual partner. This wasn’t her style ordinarily, it was an aspiration.
“Well hello, pet.”
Her stomach jumped as a slim, pale hand attached itself to her arm. She jolted, turned her head, and stared into a pair of equally pale gray eyes. They were so pale they could have been translucent, aside from the hot desire beaming in them.
If eyes were truly the window to one’s soul, this man was damned.
The rest of him was just as slim and, to be honest, just as pale. He wasn’t a man who would jump out of a crowd and demand attention. He was more a snake that would wind and glide through the jungle until he found suitable prey—dark hair with silver highlights at the temples, a funny little goatee that gave him a vaguely European vibe, and crow’s feet at the edges of those eerie eyes. About her height with the heels on, but far leaner, and that leanness was clothed in a gray suit that was a much more attractive shade than his eyes.
In fact, the suit was—to her, anyway—the most attractive thing about him.
“Ah, hello,” she managed to spit out through her dry mouth.
His narrow face lit with something close to delight. “Oh, a nervous one. How rare. Tell me, are you a new member here? I don’t recall having the pleasure of your acquaintance.” His voice was smooth, cultured, and gave her the shudders.
How the hell did she get out of this mess? Be polite, she ordered herself. Just be polite and make some excuse to make a run for it.
Though her nerves were on red alert, she made herself smile politely and tried to extricate her arm from his iron grip. “My first night here. I’m afraid I’m not used to the surroundings yet.”
“Wonderful.” He beamed at her, slid his hand down to grab hers in a tight hold, and locked her fingers with his. Alarm bells screamed. “My name is Mr. Greg. As luck would have it, pet, I’m available this evening and would be more than happy to dedicate some time to showing you around.”
Shit! She glanced around urgently, hoping to find help somewhere in the quiet space, and found everyone present was involved in their own dramas. Wonderful, just brilliant. Two minutes on her own in this place and up to her neck in trouble.
“Thank you, Mr. Greg, but I couldn’t impose on you. I’m not sure I’ll be staying all that long tonight. This is more of a cursory viewing to see if it’s right for me.” It hadn’t escaped her notice he hadn’t asked her name, and she doubted it escaped his attention she hadn’t offered it.
He began to walk over to the far wall, and she had no leverage to stop him in her heels. She tugged uselessly on their joined hands. “Nonsense, pet. This place caters to everyone. Whatever you seek, you shall find here. I’ve been searching for a new pet for quite some time. The last one was quite disobedient in her duties.”
What? She yanked her hand free of his through sheer desperation. I’m not a damn pet! “I’m sorry, but I really do have to decline!”
There was a cough from behind her, and she turned to see Paul and a younger, nearly identical version of Paul standing behind them. Relief flooded her in an instant.
“Ms. Clifton, I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us.” Paul gave Mr. Greg the evil eye as the younger model grasped her arm and drew her away from the creep.
Something clicked around her wrist, and she looked down to see a bright red bracelet circling her arm. She started to protest, but the bouncer gave her a sly wink, a slight headshake, and then blanked his face into stern lines as Paul dealt with Greg’s wrath.
“I saw her first. I claimed her,” Greg protested hotly. He’d puffed himself up, but still couldn’t match Paul in height or width.
Paul simply said in a clear, calm voice, “I’m sorry, Mr. Greg, but the lady was claimed before she entered the floor. A higher level party expressed interest and staked his claim before her forms were submitted.”
“Bullshit,” Greg snarled. “If she was claimed, she’d be marked.” He turned to Tess, those eyes on her as if he’d like to beat her bloody for the inconvenience. “Show me your arm, pet.”
“I’m not your pet,” she snapped back and held out her arm defiantly. A little shaken up by the encounter, she held out the wrong one and triumph sparked over his face. Bouncer number two nudged her and shook his head in exasperation. She winced and held out the other arm with the bright circlet on the wrist.
“For fuck’s sake,” Greg raged and went on to hurl abuse and a tirade of horrible insults at Paul, the young bouncer, the club, and her. His voice grew louder, more hostile, until eyes from around the room were locked on them.
“Mr. Greg, calm yourself, or I’ll be forced to remove you from the premises.” Paul never lost his cool, never raised his voice. “Mark, could you please escort Ms. Clifton to the private elevator, floor three. Mr. Greg and I need to refresh ourselves on the rules of the club.”
“Come with me.” Mark tugged her away, walking with her arm still in his hand. She was damned sick of being dragged around by her limbs, and protested when they reached the elevator when they were well away from the creep.
“What the hell’s going on?” she demanded as he bundled her into the car and pressed the relevant button.
“All will be explained to you. You don’t need to be scared.” Mark offered her a reassuring smile. “The man who put the claim on you isn’t an asshole. He’d just like to speak to you privately.”
Her body sagged against the mirrored wall of the lift. Opposite, their reflection bounced back at her, showing a trembling, whiter-than-pale woman with eyes too big for her face, standing beside the big, burly bouncer. Wonderful, just brilliant.
The thought of introducing herself to another man, possibly an asshole or not, when she looked like something out of the basement of the Adams’ family did not appeal. This night was going from bad to worse, and she had a good mind to walk away from the complete and utter wreckage of the evening.
Moments later, the lift doors pinged open quietly and Mark stepped out to the side and gestured to her with a sweep of his arm. “After you, Ms. Clifton.”
Grow some balls, girl. You’re not weak, or stupid, or unable to hold a conversation with a random guy. Well…actually, yes, I probably am. I’m completely socially inept and wither under any sign of a spotlight.
Tess stepped out of the elevator into a narrow hallway about six feet long. To the left was a dead end, to the right, at the end of the short hallway, an open archway. The walls up here were forest green and brightly lit.
“Are you not coming with me?” she whispered to Mark.
He smiled, patted her shoulder, and then straightened as though he’d forgotten his position. “No, ma’am, you won’t need me. Just go through that archway, and you’ll be in good hands.”
He stepped back into the elevator, let the doors slide closed, and was gone. He left an emptiness that was instantly filled with nerves and distrust.
“Get a grip, get some balls, and walk through that damn arch,” she muttered over and over, even as she wasted several moments shuffling toward the next room and whatever—whoever—might be waiting for her.
The moment she reached the doorway, the smell of him hit her. A rich, musky scent transformed her dormant pheromones into screaming teenage girls at a boy band concert. She took a deep, teasing breath and walked inside.
“Fuck me.” The words popped out like two nuclear bombs the moment she saw him leaning back against his desk, with what appeared to be her application forms in his hand.
Six feet six inches of hard, solid muscle crammed into well-worn denim jeans, a black sweatshirt, and trainers. His arms were so toned and defined they seemed to burst out of his sleeves.
The man was a god from the past, his head covered with a thick layer of plush, velvet-like red hair not dissimilar to hers. Not the carrot-crap red some people were so unfortunate to possess, but deep, rich red accenting the shape and depth of his incredibly green eyes.
A nice lean face, a soft smile on his lips as he looked her up and down. She wanted to cross the room, straddle his lap, and spend several hours doing nasty things to that mouth.
*
Finally, she was here, in front of him. He could barely resist reaching out to touch her. The scent of her was divine—cinnamon and nerves and innocence.
Her F-bomb did something that didn’t happen often—surprised him. And that single word of profanity notched up his arousal. Yes, indeed, he was willing to follow her order to the letter.
“That’s very forward, Tess. And quite an exciting prospect, I must admit.” His voice rumbled out, dangerous and thrilling. He knew the Scottish brogue that came from his heritage had a certain effect on women.
“I’m sorry,” she said and cast her gaze down to her hands. “That was very rude, and I don’t usually swear, but y-you make quite a first impression.”
He lifted his big hand, ran a fingertip over his cheek, and grinned. “You’ll learn a lot more than how to swear if you stay around here for long. You, too, make a very tempting first impression, which is why you’re up here rather than kicking your heels and being hounded by Greg downstairs.”
“Thank you for that. If he’d called me pet one more time, I’d have beaten him with my shoes and run away.”
“He has simple tastes really, eclectic and sometimes disturbing, but simple tastes of the flesh none the less.” He shifted, scanned the forms. “Now that the formalities are done with, why don’t you take a seat?” He kicked out the chair nearest to him and waited.
He bit back a grin when she perched on the edge of the plush chair and folded her hands on her lap. From his vantage point, he witnessed her struggle to not to wring them. Nervous energy radiated from her. He could eat her alive.
“My name is Ian McAllister. This is my place and it’s designed to cater to sin.” He poured on the Scottish accent and watched as her eyes dilated when his voice flowed over the word sin. “For some reason, a lovely young woman who looks like the world is about to drop from under her feet has chosen to come here.”
Embarrassment flooded her face, but she said nothing.
“So, I read the submitted paperwork, and I find myself intrigued by some of the responses this young woman has written. From the answers, it would appear she’s somewhat of a wild and free spirit with an incredibly open mind.” He leaned back, crossing his ankles as he studied her with hungry eyes. “But when I meet her in person, she’s seemingly terrified, pale, and dark eyed, and her hands can’t quite keep still in her lap.”
He knew that startled her. She stared down at her hands as they kneaded the thighs of her dark trousers. She immediately flattened them against her legs and closed her eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry.
“Look at me, Tess,” Mac ordered gently and unfolded himself from his desk. He came to her and crouched in front of her. “Why does this embarrass you so much?”
Sympathy dug its nails into Mac as he watched Tess try in vain to spit out words. In the end, she gave him a baffled shrug.
“You left the ‘experience’ section of the form unfilled,” he said quietly as though they were in a crowded room. “I can gather two things from that. Either you have a vast amount of experience you don’t want to divulge, or you have no experience at all.”
God, he knew which option he wanted. And by the way her face flushed a beautiful and brilliant shade of rose, Mac knew he’d have to thank God for the miracle that had just been dropped in his lap.
“Mr. McAllister,” she whispered.
“Call me Mac, Tess.”
“Mac. I…” Her voice broke suddenly. The choked sob that escaped her put an immediate damper on his energetic lust. She dropped her head so he couldn’t see her tears, but Mac’s sensitive side slid into play. Carefully, he lifted her chin with a fingertip.
“You’re beautiful when you cry,” Mac said and wiped away a stray tear. He gave her a puzzled frown. Was it something he’d said? Done? Thought? “Not entirely sure why you’re crying, but you do it beautifully.” He stood and skirted around his desk, came back with a box of tissues. “Are you a virgin?”
He’d expected her to cry harder, to cringe in embarrassment or fear, to deny what he already knew. Instead, she stared into his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and said simply, “Yes.”
Heat flickered in his blood. Desire ripped like fire through his system. Her watery eyes and red nose weren’t enough to deter him, couldn’t distract him from her beauty. He wanted her, and he usually got what he wanted. “Now we’re getting to the bottom of things. Do you know what that red band on your wrist means?”
“Someone claimed me,” she said and studied the little piece of plastic that held so much meaning.
“I claimed you.”
The vehemence in his voice was alluring, possessive. Even he heard it. He wondered if he’d scared Tess when she locked her fingers together and stared at them.
“Do you want that band to stay on your wrist?” Mac asked darkly, daring her to say no. He knew damn well if she said no, he would be down on his knees, begging her, promising her anything if she would stay in his possession. “Do you want me to claim you, Tess, mark you as mine?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” Hope leaped into his chest.
She looked stunned, as though she couldn’t believe she’d agreed. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she seemed to ponder his question. He’d bet anything she had “researched” what she was getting into. “Yes, Sir.”
He chuckled. “There’s a submissive side to you. I did wonder. You checked the majority of the boxes on the third page as willing to try. Do you know what they entail?”
She shook her head and bit her bottom lip as anxiety bloomed over her face. Her flush deepened. “I’m supposed to be having a grand sexual awakening. There are a lot of embarrassing options on that paperwork.”
His eyes rolled in exasperation. “Thank God Paul brought your forms straight to me. The men downstairs would have eaten you alive without a moment’s thought. We’ll go over each one individually, make sure you know what it is and make damned sure you want to try it before checking the box.”
“I want to try everything,” Tess blurted.
“No, you don’t, baby. You think you do because you don’t know better. Some activities will give you pleasure, others will give your partner pleasure. Some will test your pain limits, and you have no idea how you’ll react before you take the first lash of a crop, the first spanking, the first penetration.” His voice softened, gentled. His cock, however, strengthened and throbbed.
Her body visibly shivered at the word penetration. Mac just smiled.
“Are you a Dominant?”
He went back to his original position against the desk and considered her question thoroughly. “Am I a Dominant? No, not particularly, unless my partner of the time requires me to be. Do I have dominant tendencies? Yes.” His fingers tapped rhythmically on the forms on his desk. “Are you sure this is something you want, Tess?”
Her head bobbed. “Yes.”
Mac sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “You’re twenty-four and still a virgin. That doesn’t happen often in this day and age. Why hasn’t some lucky man snapped you up and shown you the proverbial light?”
She couldn’t look into his eyes, but when she spoke, Tess’ voice was quiet and level—all indicators she was being honest with him. “No one’s ever wanted me enough to look past the…ugliness.”
His head cocked to the side. “Baby, you’re beautiful.”
Now came more obvious indications she was nervous. Her hands skimmed over her pants. Her foot jiggled in place. He noticed nearly every inch of her was covered—her torso and arms by a lovely lilac shirt with long sleeves and her legs by black trousers.
“No, I’m not. My face is mismatched, but not unattractive, I guess. My body is a tapestry of scars from an assault when I was younger. Too many flaws in one person is a turn off for most men.”
What? Mac felt his temper gather and ruthlessly yanked it back. There was shame on Tess’ face. He wouldn’t add fuel to the fire. “Assault?”
“I-I was attacked when I was thirteen. Attempted rape, as I, well, my body was too…tight to allow them to, you know.” She tried to gesture with her hands. They trembled. “I don’t think it helped matters that they were all young and as sexually inexperienced as I was. The fact they were drunk on top of everything else…they became enraged, and took it out on me with the knife.”
Mac gaped at her. Was the woman for real? Perhaps she had some sort of mental issues. He shook his head slowly in disbelief. “You’re a victim of a violent physical and sexual assault, and you choose to come to a sex club to lose your virginity?” He knew his tone came across as slightly judgmental and made an effort to soften it before asking, “Are you sure about this, Tess?”
“No one wants me,” she replied simply. The vulnerability in her eyes spoke volumes. “I don’t want to be a virgin anymore.”
He knew what she was saying, what she wanted. His eyes closed, and he abruptly dropped his hand to his crotch to adjust himself in the confines of his tight jeans. When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was Tess’ attention pinned to the impressive bulge at the zipper of his jeans.
“I have a phone call to make,” he growled dangerously. He gestured to a door behind his desk. For a moment, he needed space to breathe, to get his primal urges on a tight, tight leash. “Go through, get comfortable. We’ll finish the paperwork after.”
“After what?” Those beautiful eyes were wide and round. And very aware.
Mac just yanked the zipper down on his jeans, tugged out his version of man’s best friend and wingman, and leaned on his desk, fisting a massive erection with one big hand. “I’m going to help you with your little virginity problem, and you’re going to help me with my erection issue.”
*
Tess swallowed hard and stared, stunned. “That thing has an issue?”
“It’s hard, it’s primed for action, and all the blood in my body has vacated my brain to fuel it. I’m going to be a very naughty boy, Tess, and I’m going to come in you when I’m as deep as I can get inside you.”
Emotions collided within her. Her panties flooded with excitement and nerves. Wasn’t this a bit too soon for her liking?
Screw it, she decided and stood quickly. Before she acknowledged what she was doing, Tess unhooked the button at her waist and let her black trousers puddle around her boots. Fumbling, she managed to toe the heels off. Her panties followed swiftly and she began to attack the buttons on her pale lilac shirt before she added that and her bra to the pile.
Naked, all her scars on blatant display for the first time, she stood shivering in front of his desk and had the pleasure of watching his eyes shimmer from green to black, so harsh was his desire.
“Come here,” he ordered gruffly, and spread his legs in invitation.
The three feet between them seemed like a mile. Her eyes stayed on the floor as she shuffled hesitantly forward. Her breath squeaked out when he lunged forward and grabbed her by the hips, lifted her effortlessly as he swung around and dumped her, bare-ass naked, on his meticulously organized desk.
The heat of him was like a balm, easing the chill of fear. But even as it soothed ragged nerves, it surrounded Tess like a blanket, arousing, teasing, tempting. His scent was stronger, beckoning like a beacon from a cliff in a raging storm. Bergamot and cinnamon.
Mac’s big hands pushed her back so she sprawled over the cold wood top, braced on her arms as he stepped back slightly and let his eyes roam. Grunting in what she assumed—hoped—was approval, his hands lifted her feet up onto the edge of the desk, urged her knees outward so her sex was open to his perusal.
“Are you expecting me to find you repulsive?” He leaned forward, his breath tickling her ear as his weight settled uneasily over her. She tried not to squirm, finding this position very vulnerable, especially with his monster erection pointing straight at her. “Do you think that these,” his fingers ran over the scars that marked the outside of her thighs, “would detract from your attractiveness?”
“Others have, and they judged me lacking.”
Mac nuzzled her throat. His tongue slid over the leaping pulse in her neck before he nipped quickly with his teeth. Even as she yelped, he ran his hands down her trembling sides. “Others must have had several brain cells missing then. Make no mistake, Tess, you are stunning the way you are, scars and all. Your figure is just right, curvy in the right places without being overweight or having your bones protruding from your skin. Your inner beauty surpasses any I’ve ever known.”
With tongue, teeth, and hands, Mac nibbled his way down her body, on a path starting behind her ear. He licked here and there and sucked his way down to her breasts. Trails of fire followed in his wake, and then he found her breasts and latched on.
As a result of the attack as a child, Tess’ breasts and pubic area had taken the brunt of the brutality, her perceived punishment for being useless and not giving her attackers what they’d wanted. Now, she paid the price every day she looked in the mirror.
Two long silver scars cleaved her breasts in two—just two careless swipes of the knife to humiliate her and remind her of her inadequacies. Those inadequacies meant nothing the moment Mac’s hot, greedy mouth closed over one perky nipple and sucked.
Tess’ head fell back on a long, heartfelt moan. She writhed under the first touches of a man against her skin. She wanted him to suck harder, wanted his hands to squeeze and torment her neglected breast. She needed to feel more of the sparks flickering to life inside her.
She couldn’t breathe. Fire enveloped her everywhere Mac’s body came into contact with hers. It consumed. Devoured. Destroyed. His hands were careful, enraging more flames with feather-light touches, as his tongue traced the scars on her chest.
It hit her like a wrecking ball in the chest. Paralytic fear crept up and seized her viciously around the throat. Her breath started to wheeze, the simple act of drawing in and releasing air something akin to shifting a truck off the top of her chest.
“Mac!” It was a desperate, strangled cry. It could have been mistaken for a plea not to stop, a passionate urging.
Luckily for Tess, Mac caught on quick. Not two seconds after her panicked cry broke the sound of fevered moaning and the pant of heavy arousal, his head lifted and he assessed the situation with admirable speed.
“Jesus,” he hissed and immediately removed his weight. He lifted her easily, set her on the chair, and drew her head between her knees. One big hand rubbed circles between her tense shoulder blades. “Just breathe, baby. It’s okay, I moved too fast. Breathe in slowly.”
Tess wanted to, and God knows she tried, she really did. She’d had enough panic attacks in the past to know how to breathe through them, to battle the fear back and lock it away behind a mental door, but it had been so long since she’d had one this bad, that it had snuck up on her so damned quickly.
Her head pounded viciously, accompanied by the beat of her racing heart throbbing dangerously in her stomach. Great, just another mortifying end to a chapter in her life. Vomiting everywhere would probably erase any hope of having a social life.
Mac’s voice remained low and calm, apologies for pushing her too quickly, telling her to breathe in slow over and over. His hand never stopped its movement, and after a few horrible minutes of burning lungs, blurry vision, and the shakes, her system began to calm.
She managed to imagine gathering the panic and fear into a ball, rolling it into a bottomless pit, and watching it fall far away. As it fell, she relaxed and felt herself suck in the first glorious breath. If air ever tasted like anything, the first true lungful after the iron grip of a panic attack tasted like a sweet, decadent wine.
Her hand lifted to her face, wiped away the sweat dripping into her eyes. Her arm was almost a dead weight, weak and trembling. She thought there might have been some tears mingled with the sweat, but she wouldn’t admit it.
“Wait here a second, baby.” Mac’s hand shifted, rested gently on the back of her head. His fingers flexed and then his overwhelming presence shifted away completely.
She felt bereft once he’d gone. But he was back within a minute and pressed a cold cloth to the back of her neck. It felt divine. She sighed in relief, let the chill soothe the horrible flush of heat spread across her skin—an unfortunate side effect of the panic attacks.
“Moved too fast,” Mac murmured and eased her upright. His eyes were full of concern as he studied her ashen face. “Pale as a ghost. What kicked it off?”
That would be difficult to explain. Any number of factors, both external and internal, had the power to set her off. This time, she had a worrying inkling that her own nervousness about intimacy combined with the claustrophobic sensation of Mac’s weight pinning her down was the reason for tonight’s little episode.
She couldn’t exactly say that out loud, though, could she? Not without sounding like a weak, whiny timewaster.
“Don’t lie to me, Tess, and don’t try to evade. If it’s something I did, I need to know. This isn’t going to work for either of us if you can’t enjoy what we do.”
How was she supposed to tell him, an experienced and intensely sexual man, she was afraid of him? Her silence must have spoken volumes because he scooped her up and carried her through the door he’d gestured to earlier.
Tess rested her head on his broad shoulder, amazed by the sheer strength in his chest and arms. He didn’t show any signs he struggled with her weight as he carted her straight to the massive sleigh bed dominating the room.
It was decorated in shades of red, highlighted by two bedside lamps that sported dark shades. The bed covers were maroon and drawn back to expose silk sheets.
They were cool under her back when he laid her down, settled her in, and carefully tucked in the blankets around her. “We’re going to talk, and we’re going to be honest, Tess. Can I get you something to drink?”
She could have slept for a week. The mattress was firm, the sheets smooth and warming beneath her bare back. Her body straddled the line between revived arousal and fatal embarrassment. The combination of the two created a whirling vortex of confused hormones spinning around her head.
“No, thank you.”
Mac skirted the bed and joined her beneath the covers. He pulled them over his muscled body, and Tess’ inner madam—the adventurous side of her that had gotten her into this predicament—moaned pitifully at the sight of that masterpiece covered up.
The heat of him travelled over the sheets and incited her heart to beat riotously. From the warmth he exuded, the scent of him drifted. The same scent she imagined would be all over her. Marked. Claimed.
She wanted to surround herself with that scent, to draw it around her like a blanket, a security measure keeping the bad things away and reminding her of the good things in life.
“So.”
She blinked at him. Her hands linked together nervously.
“My intentions are fairly clear, Tess. I’m going to have you tonight unless you have an objection. You came here with that in mind. Maybe you weren’t counting on me, but I bet you came through the front door with the idea of letting a stranger fuck you and take your virginity.”
Tess winced when he said fuck. That word always sounded so vulgar and rough when used in a sexual context. While she wanted to be fucked, thoroughly and brutally, she also had her doubts. She wanted her first time to mean something, and if anyone up there loved her, she wanted someone to take care of her through the first ordeal.
Tired of having so many thoughts rolling through her head, Tess let them loose, worries and dilemmas spilling out in a stuttering tide of embarrassment.