Mirror of My Soul by Joey Hill (book club recommendations .TXT) 📕

Catching her hair in his hand, he wrapped his fingers in it, tightening his hold on her. His strokes became more powerful, demanding. “Making love, fucking you, holding you, it makes no difference.

You’re mine, angel. I want you in all ways, forever.”

She bucked beneath him, violent need taking over, a raging want that she needed him to sate. “Please.” She almost screamed it against his skin. “Please let me come for you.” The darkness contained him, only him.

“Soon…” He changed his angle again. Gripping him with her inner muscles, she

tried to stroke him past the point of control. She strained to lock her legs around him, take him deeper, but he was stronger and kept the pace he wanted.

“Please…Master. Please…” She arched up and he captured one of her nipples,

biting down hard on it, even as he surged forward, pounding now, holding her tight.

“Go over, Marguerite. Scream.”

The music of it broke from her lips before he finished the thought. She arched beneath him, her cunt sucking on him wildly, her body convulsing from the strength of the orgasm. His own roared through him and he used it, thrusting into her again and again, letting the hot streams bring her own climax to new heights, watching her face as much as he could, every nuance of expression, those beautiful lips that had called him Master, the only woman he wanted to do so again.

Her body was damp and strong beneath him yet he felt her fragility, a woman

afraid to call herself his. Even more afraid to claim him as her own, because she’d never had anything she’d loved endure, anything she could keep.

In that brief moment of understanding, he grasped why she’d needed to see his

vulnerability, a woman’s odd way of knowing a man truly needed her.

If she only knew. He couldn’t imagine breathing without her.

He let her hear him as well, giving his release hard and deep in her, wanting to leave no question in her mind, no part of her untouched by himself.

79

Joey W. Hill

He loved Marguerite Perruquet. All he needed to do was convince her she could

love him back and not lose him.

She strained up in the dim light. “Please. Let me see you. Touch you.”

He removed the scarf, freed her hands. She touched every feature of his face, light, wondrous touches. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” she asked. “Mistress or Master…slave.”

“No. If it’s like this, it doesn’t matter.” He bowed his head down next to her cheek, felt her arms wrap around his damp shoulders. Inhaled the silk of her hair, inhaled her into all of himself.

And remembering Komal, he thanked God for miracles.

* * * * *

Marguerite made her way out to the Aphrodite garden, her cup of tea in hand. The statue gleamed in the morning sun, the bronze tresses of hair wound around the manacles on her wrists, face turned up in ecstasy. Freedom found inside the binding of love and pleasure. Trust, commitment. Friendship. They’d always been words

belonging to other people, something she watched like television programs about experiences she could never have.

But the way Tyler had left her this morning… With a soft kiss and regret in his eyes that he had to conduct some business in his home office. He’d promised to join her within an hour. Consideration. The desire to spend time with her.

The grass around the statue was soft. Taking off the slippers he’d provided, she sank her toes in the springy mattress and at the same time set her mug of steaming Earl Grey like an offering at the feet of the Goddess. Next to her sandals from last night, she noted with amusement. After a moment of contemplation, she slipped the belt of the robe and began to slide it off her shoulders.

A discreet cough arrested the motion. She looked over and found the statue was not the only aesthetically pleasing thing in the garden. Josh leaned back on the bench, wearing his jeans of the prior night and an open shirt, carelessly thrown on. His hair was still tousled, the wire rims of his glasses unable to disguise the beauty of his gray eyes.

“I don’t wish to stop you in any way, because I’m poised to sketch.” He waved the blank pad. “But I find my models usually prefer to have a choice in the matter.”

She nodded, her fingers on the lapels of the robe, fingering the silky fabric. The skin beneath still felt sensitized from Tyler’s frequent touches throughout the night. “Your wife doesn’t mind you sketching a naked woman?”

“It’s sort of like the foot on the floor rule.” He smiled. “As long as I keep ten feet between us, it’s fine.”

She noted there was about twelve feet, the bench hugged by the hedge of fragrant honeysuckle behind him. He nodded. “I’m an erotic artist, so of course she knows what 80

Mirror of My Soul

my work requires. I’d love to sketch you.” A shadow crossed his eyes. “With her gone, it’s hard to find inspiration.” He lifted a shoulder. “Elements of you remind me of her, so I’m asking you for the honor. Mistress.” He gave a little half bow from the waist.

It warmed her like the sun soaking into her shoulders, which was making her

drowsy, reminding her of her long night and how little sleep she’d had. Or wanted, at the time. “If I can see the rest of the tattoo work. Fair is fair. And we’ll maintain that ten feet.”

Josh chuckled. “While we’ve discussed women getting naked in front of me, I’m

afraid we haven’t really covered vice versa. However, I’ll show her the sketch when I’m done and see if she thinks it was worth it.” His gaze gleamed. “If it wasn’t, then it means I didn’t do a good enough job of capturing the subject matter and I deserve whatever punishment she deems fitting.”

The Mistress who’d snapped up the heart of this beautiful and interesting man had to be quite something. Marguerite