Page 155 of At Her Pleasure
If loving you is the most painful thing for you to bear, then that gives me all the more reason to do it.
She’d whispered that to him. He’d nodded, gripped her hand on his chest, bowed his head over it. Even as he bowed his will to hers.
She’d never had a sub who needed her on so many levels, conscious and unconscious. It made it different. And fucking difficult to organize her feelings in the careful way she normally did. That could be dangerous, but danger was his freaking comfort zone.
He knew how to be what she needed, too. Like now. He wouldn’t let her push him away when she faced something difficult, thinking she had to bear it all alone.
If her temper flared over it, as it often did, he proved himself just as stubborn as she was. If I have to let you cut me to ribbons to love you, then that gives me all the more reason to do it.
“We’re a Hallmark couple,” she decided. “Positively sappy.”
“Absolutely.” He turned them so they could look back into the house, toward the kitchen and dining area. “The table settings look good. That Martha Stewart magazine idea worked.”
“You did hide them? My current and back issues.”
“Safely under your mattress. The kids will never find them there.”
She elbowed him. “Oh God, Mick. Why did I agree to do this?”
“You didn’t agree to anything. You invited them.” He gave her a serious look. “You’re not giving away this part of yourself. You’re inviting them in to share it.”
He touched her face, his expression shrewd, caring. Understanding. “You’re in control, Mistress.”
The rumble of a motorcycle told her the moment to back out had passed. “She’s early. That bitch.”
“That smart bitch. They know everything. It’s why you like them. You’re a know-it-all Domme, too.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Skye likes those fussy lime wine coolers.”
“On it.” He tapped his head. “I’ve memorized all vital intel. There will be no screw ups. At least not on my part.”
He backpedaled as she tried to punch him again. “Go greet your guests. I’ll get the appetizers. Good thing we got a double order of those fried tofu fingers, if Tiger’s the first one here.”
“Tiger isn’t staying. He’s just dropping her off.”
His brow lifted. “I thought…”
“You assumed. It’s just the women tonight.”
“But you ordered enough food—”
“To take home for their men. I’m a good hostess.”
Without explaining further, Cyn moved into the house, headed for her rarely used front door. His speculative gaze followed her.
Remembering that tonight was about more than her decision to host a dinner actually helped settle her nerves. Both things had been set in motion earlier in the week.
Right after the executive staff meeting.
* * *
“So the monthly get-together is at my place,” Ros said. “Anyone have any requests? Big Macs? Caviar?”
They were lingering in the top floor board room. Bastion had recorded the action items and headed for his desk. He’d informed them he was leaving promptly at five—for a damn change—to hear a new band on Frenchmen Street. More importantly, he was meeting a couple of submissives there who appreciated music. And him.
“Um…”
Cyn never said “Um.” Never. All gazes swung toward her. Horrifyingly, her heart rate accelerated, and her breath tried to go short. She blurted out the words like acid reflux. “I can take a turn.”