Mirror of My Soul, Joey Hill [ereader iphone .txt] 📗

me now, Master.” Her fingers curled into his biceps. “Take me with your

pain and rage, and your love. I’m yours to do with as you desire.”

His gaze covered her face, the collarbone, still purple and bruised, the taped fingers.

“Please.” Her voice dropped to a savage whisper, seeing it. “Do it for both of us. You’re 207

Joey W. Hill

my Master. It’s as much a part of taking care of me as your gentleness. I want the pain.

So I’ll never forget, never abandon your love again.”

In retrospect, he would wonder what compelled him more, the vulnerable

submissive in her that made it a plea, or the fierce Mistress that made it a demand.

He turned them over, using his strength to overpower her as she desired, but also using it to roll her onto her back in a way that made sure no pressure was put on the shoulder. Even so, his gaze was burning on her as he rose up on his knees and took each of her hands in his, turned her palms so they were flat on the grass on either side of her hips.

“You keep your hands right there and don’t move them.” He lifted off her enough to get his jeans open, shoved them out of the way, revealing that her words had made him fully erect, large. Marguerite shuddered as he gripped her hips, lifted them slowly up, impaled her. He was strong, relentless, leaving her no doubt that this was punishment as well as pleasure, even as his actions showed her he was trying to minimize the pain that the act could not help but bring her. As she cried out, tears came to her eyes, but she embraced all of it, wanting to suffer it, wanting this punishment, the pummeling of his thickness and length inside her. The proof of his love in a way that the civilized world could never understand the way she did. His fingers dug into her thighs, bruising her. She tried to tilt herself up to him even more, proving to him she was his, all his.

Marguerite thought his eyes were fierce like a warrior in the midst of battle, almost a berserker’s lust. Obeying instinct, she disobeyed, raising her hands enough to clamp down on his hands on her thighs, digging her nails in, drawing blood.

He snarled, caught her wrists and pinned them back down, using that grip and the force of his thighs between hers to keep her anchored at the right angle for his assault.

A moment later, he let go of one wrist to put one hand high on her throat, making her undeniably helpless to him, to accept the mutual pain they both had roaring through them.

Thinking was hardly an option when her body and soul were so open and raw for

him. She offered herself with the trust of a newborn. Since it was the first time since she’d been seven years old that she had trusted someone so much with her well-being, it was more fact than metaphor.

I’ll take you at my pleasure, make you mine, but care for you no matter what… Every movement of him inside her, the expression on his face, sent the message clearly that she was his and only his. It brought her a sense of belonging that, up until now, she could only believe in extreme moments such as he’d brought to her since they’d started their journey together. In the fairy tale, when she emerged from sleep, Sleeping Beauty saw the man who promised happily ever after. But happily ever after was essentially irrelevant. Certain things bound people together forever and those things lay between the two of them. She would never doubt the message again, whether in peace or

passion.

208

Mirror of My Soul

He came inside her then and her body wanted to rise up, seek the same fulfillment, but physically she was no match for him. He held her down, made her protect her ribs and shoulder and serve his lust and need. He let go of her wrist, reached between them and found her, stroked her, his eyes burning into hers. Within five powerful seconds she came, her body barely strong enough even with his restraint to withstand the physical wave, the tide of feeling that crashed into her. But like her trip into the water, she needed it desperately to find herself and begin again. But not alone this time.

His eyes, the set of his mouth, the implacable clamp of his hands, the force of his cock, made it an oath to her. She believed it more in this moment of primal anger and pain than she would have if it was delivered in flowers and poetry. The most

momentous moments of her life had always been forged in pain and darkness. While there might not be light in darkness at times, there would be heat and safety with him, and love existed everywhere. She believed it now, not just because she had felt a moment of it when her father’s expression shifted and she saw a memory of what he once was, but when she accepted the terrible pain she had inflicted on Tyler and saw and felt his love embrace her, a promise to always forgive. No matter what.

Desire. The joy of embracing it fully with body and mind rolled over her, left her quiet, at peace. For the very first time in her life.

He raised his body off hers at length, the harsh lines still cutting into his face. After he rearranged his clothes, he sat on his knees, gathered her up so she was straddling him, holding on to his shoulders with her one good arm as he buried his face in her neck. A shudder went through him, so strong it was almost like a seizure. His fingers dug into her back. He was shaking. And more.

She’d told him that he had to trust her the same way he wanted her to trust him. To give