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

He was dressing her as she might command a sub to do, though she’d never

commanded one to do something so intimate to her person. Yet he was also dressing her as was a Master’s right. She was already shaking as she did when he touched her this way, compelling her submission. It made her realize how much overlap there was in serving and being served, the needs that were met not so far distant from each other.

The important element apparently being the focus, the absolute attention and devotion demonstrated by either Master or slave. The way his hands arranged the clothing, cared for her appearance, the comfort of the fit, the way he knew she needed to touch him as he did it. So much he’d given her in a short time. Though her mind was still fairly certain that he could be gone from her life tomorrow, he was so strongly insisting the opposite that some part of her was beginning to hear him, to believe.

When the pants were in place, they were low on her hips and she felt the light brush of the tied strings at her ankles, the tiny chatter of beads decorating the ends. She felt him stand and she turned, finding his chest with her hands. He stilled at her unexpected move and she took a step back from him, her hand flat on his chest. Slowly, gracefully, she went to her knees, bent and touched her forehead to his feet, then straightened enough to offer the same homage with her lips to his knees, his groin, his stomach, upper abdomen. Rose to touch her mouth to his heart, throat, brow. At last, rising on her toes, her hands on his head to bring it down to her, she kissed the crown chakra. Then she sank to her knees again, her hands drifting back down his body.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Tyler looked down at the woman kneeling before him and could not speak. He

knew the spiritual significance of what she had just done, knew she would never do such a thing lightly. But even more than the spiritual impact was the emotional one, the fact she’d just offered him an act of love, of respect and honor. Of trust. Lifting her to her feet with hands that were not quite steady, he laid his lips over hers. Not moving, not taking, simply connecting, trying to feel and give everything at once in that light touch. Her hands came up again, framed his face. When her lips parted he groaned and dove in, feeling consumed by the shape of her lips, her teeth, her tongue, the brush of 135

Joey W. Hill

her cheek. He’d missed having a woman in his soul. He found himself wondering if Nina had ever fully gotten in, for with Marguerite he felt there were so many chambers in himself he’d never noticed before. Somehow she was in them all. Perhaps a part of him had known Nina couldn’t take all of what lay in those chambers, that she was only so strong. The woman before him needed his protection and love, but… He

remembered yesterday by the pond, how she’d turned him toward her, would not

permit him to hide his pain. Her face caring, supportive. Not afraid or uncertain because of his moment of weakness. She’d offered compassion. Strength.

“Hold still, angel. One more piece, the top. You’ll find you can sit and stand in the pants relatively easily. They have enough stretch built into them so they fit like a second skin, but give you freedom of movement. Raise your arms for me.”

Marguerite complied. Something like slender chains drifted down her arms, fell lightly against her breasts and back. He had her lower her arms and moved around her, again making the garment fit to her upper torso. Only it didn’t feel like fabric. It felt like…jewelry. Jewelry that snugged under her breasts, crisscrossed between them, lapped around her neck erotically to dangle down her back like the ends of a scarf. He pulled her hair back in gentle hands, secured it up, surprising her. Small beads brushed the rounded part of her shoulders.

Then his hands moved to her eyes and he took the blindfold off, letting her open her eyes to see herself in the full-length mirror toward which he turned her.

The pants did fit her like a second skin. They rode low on her hips and laced down either side, showing an inch of her bare body from waist to ankle. The garment he placed on her upper body was a creation of sapphires, pearls and onyx that fastened around her upper body beneath her breasts, then crossed between them and doubled around her throat. The two ends, ropes of the precious gems, made a delicate double strand down the column of her spine, explaining why he’d deviated from his usual preference of leaving her hair down. There was a separate scalloped piece that he’d draped from the points of her shoulders so the crescents of the sparkling gems hung low along the top of the breasts and fastened in the back.

She looked like a primitive tribal queen, her breasts bare but adorned opulently. A Mistress who would make a sub froth at the mouth to touch her. And yet it was more than that. It was a harness, a collar of sorts he’d given her, the snug fastening of it reminding her when she moved that she belonged to another.

Tyler stood behind her, and his hands came up, cupped her breasts, teased her

nipples as she arched, rubbing her snugly held backside against his crotch. He suppressed a groan, dipped his head and nuzzled her bare shoulder, biting. “They had another pair of pants. Instead of opening at the legs, it laced up over the ass, and you leave the lacings loose enough so you can see the crease between the buttocks, can reach your fingers through the crisscross