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

Joey W. Hill

“He doesn’t know the word no.” Violet sighed, considered Marguerite. “You’re not who I would have chosen for him.”

“I know that. I wouldn’t have chosen myself for him, either. I know a relationship with me is likely to bring any man irreparable harm.” She turned toward the teapot, intending to use the ritual she knew to cover the misery that Violet’s words provoked in her own heart, disquieting her mind. It made the jewels chafe, made her feel suddenly like she was playing dress up in someone else’s clothes.

Violet’s hand touched hers. “You love him, too.”

Marguerite raised her lashes to find the woman looking at her, not with distrust and dislike as she expected, but compassion. Even kindness. She tried to find an answer, failed. The emotions filled her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Violet blew out a breath. “Don’t answer such an obvious question. Despite the

worries of my husband and Tyler, I do know when to stop being a hard-assed bitch.”

Her gaze shifted to her husband who was watching them closely, as if he knew what being discussed. This time she met his gaze directly, let him know she was looking at him. Marguerite saw something soft come into those vivid blue eyes. “There’s nothing irreparable when it comes to love. If you want him, you love him and he loves you, you don’t have any choice. You fix it, you figure it out or it kills you.” She shot Marguerite a sideways glance. “And here comes our very tasty table.”

Violet withdrew her hand as Roland returned to them. Marguerite had to recover quickly from the flood of reaction that the sincerity in Violet’s eyes had caused in her.

As she bade Roland return to his position as their table, she had no idea where Violet would go from this point, only that she was intrigued to find out. And Violet did not disappoint her.

“Let’s get down to the really important things. How do you get your hair to stay that smooth and silky in Florida’s humidity?”

Tyler pulled himself from the water, toweled off and took a seat in the chair where he’d left his clothes. Though he couldn’t hear what they were saying except for the occasional word out of context, he’d followed the gradual transfer from serious discussion to girl chatter. It intrigued him to watch Marguerite ease her toe into that end of the pool, the way her eyes widened in surprise when Violet gestured her forward so she could fix a section of the jeweled top that had gotten twisted. Then she touched a lock of Marguerite’s hair, let it flow through her fingers as she obviously complimented it.

He also watched with amusement, sympathy and admiration as the women

managed to integrate their idle chatter with highly effective torture of poor Roland.

Violet moved to the chair opposite Marguerite. With a quiet command, Marguerite bade Roland prop his chin on that chair, putting his nose and mouth no more than an inch or so from Violet’s pussy, readily outlined and visible in her Brazilian bikini bottoms. Marguerite idly played with the plug, caressing Roland with her fingertips as they discussed things any women might discuss over tea. Though they took pains to 148

Mirror of My Soul

appear indifferent to the two men they were teasing, Marguerite knew both of them were aware of every shift from Mac, every rasping breath from Roland. And she was hyperaware of Tyler, of his regard. Of the desire she could feel emanating from him.

With occasional sweeps of her lashes, the posture of her body, the upward curve of her breasts with the pink nipples framed by the jewelry, she conveyed the body language of a woman who was stimulated though she was not being physically touched in any way. And through all of those things, she wanted to let him know it was his regard that was causing it.

Marguerite had played so little with others, staying one-on-one for so long, she was amazed at how enjoyable this was, the many different dynamics to arouse them all. So her next question surprised herself as much as her tea companion.

“May I touch your piercing?”

At Violet’s smile and nod, Marguerite reached forward to touch the woman’s recent navel adornment. Conveniently, she had to lean forward so her knee insinuated itself between Roland’s thighs, pressing on his testicles. She brushed her fingertips over the tiny pair of handcuffs dangling from Violet’s navel, taunting Roland as much as the position taunted her husband, who looked as if he was going to erupt from the lounge chair any second.

“It hurt like hell for the first few moments,” Violet offered. “But it’s worth it. God, all Mac has to do is touch it and I practically go off. It doesn’t make sense, really, because my navel wasn’t the least bit sensitive before then. Leila says it does the same thing to the clit and nipples. This is good. What did you say it was?”

“Ti Kwan Yin, tea of the iron goddess of mercy.”

Violet’s eyes gleamed, appreciating the subtlety, and shifted her legs, producing a frustrated noise from Roland.

Marguerite noted that her sub kept swallowing, suggesting that he was having a difficult time keeping the saliva from pooling in his mouth, but she knew he would not disobey either Mistress, even to steal a single kiss against Violet’s skin. Not only because he would risk punishment from one of them, but he might lose a limb to the territorial ire of a husband who outweighed him by fifty pounds at least.

Marguerite knew it all to be purely teasing on Violet’s part, however. She did soft play with other male subs to rouse her husband’s unexpectedly strong alpha nature, or as part and parcel of the intimate atmosphere of The Zone, but male subs did not touch her except in the most restrained of ways. They definitely did not engage in serious play with her. The smell of her pussy was as close as Roland