The Dom Identity (Masters & Mercenaries Reloaded 2)

All around her people were happily exploring and indulging. They didn’t hide their bodies or their pleasure.

This was what Michael meant by taking sex seriously. It wasn’t some grim analyzation. It was a celebration of what their bodies could do, what they’d been made to do. Give and receive pleasure. She’d been taught her body wasn’t her own. Her mother had taught her it should belong to some amorphous religious figure who’d created pleasure but withheld it from all but a few. Hollywood had taught her that her body belonged to the world, to be worshipped and denigrated at the public’s whim.

George had taught her that her body could be a comfort, could be used to express affection and find solace.

What if Michael could teach her that her body was an instrument that could play the sweetest of songs?

“I don’t like that word,” Michael said when he’d gotten them free of the crowd. “Fine. It tells me you’re not fine.”

How did she ask for what she wanted? She didn’t even know she had the right to ask, but she didn’t want to live the rest of her life not knowing what it felt like to be dominated by this man.

She’d had sex before. For the right reasons. For the wrong reasons. She wanted to have sex simply because it felt good to connect with another human being, because she cared about him, and he cared about her.

She cared way too much about him. It would be smarter to keep her distance, but she was tired of sitting up at night knowing he was one room over, and all it would take was a little bravery to be in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Fine is one of those words I use when I’m not sure how to express what I’m feeling. I suppose I think it’s polite, but the truth is everyone knows fine means not fine. It’s passive aggressive.”

She expected him to start a stern lecture, but his face softened, and he stared down at her.

“Why are you not fine, sweetheart?” His hand reached up to brush his thumb over her cheek. “Do you find the scenes upsetting?”

She was so tired of holding back with him. She’d recently decided that she’d been playing a role in her real life—the wounded heroine. She’d gone into a shell, and only now did she see how much that shell had held her back. She didn’t feel the pain the way she used to—but there was no joy here either. She’d been grieving for so long, and she wanted the tiniest bit of sunshine in her life.

It might be selfish, but it wasn’t like Michael was madly in love with her. And he’d made it clear he wouldn’t mind having a physical relationship during this training period. He’d explained to her that many tops and subs played around while they were training. It was practically expected that they do so.

“The scene did make me uncomfortable.”

He immediately backed off, his hands coming to his sides. “All right. We should talk about that. Come with me. I have a private room reserved for us.” He started to turn but seemed to think better of it. “Unless you would be more comfortable in the lounge. Or leaving the club altogether. We could have a late dinner and talk in a public place.”

He was so careful with her. It made it too easy to forget why she was here. She’d watched Kyle Hawthorne for a while, but he’d been working, walking the dungeon and monitoring the place with a careful eye. She’d tried to listen in, hoping to hear any gossip, but she’d gotten caught up in the scenes.

It wouldn’t hurt to indulge for one night. She knew she was on a slippery slope, but she couldn’t stop herself from sliding.

“The privacy room is fine, Sir. I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Fear was the last thing she felt for him. Hunger. Tenderness. Hope. Those were all in there, but no fear past the recognition that she would inevitably get her heart broken when he had to walk away from her.

Her whole body felt antsy. As she walked behind him, she could feel the air brushing her skin, the way her nipples rubbed against the inside of the corset. He’d left her feet bare, and she could feel the hard wood against the soles. Everything he’d chosen for her seemed selected to force awareness of her body. The slightly too-tight boy shorts had ridden up, and she could feel the silky fabric sliding against her as she walked.

She watched him as he moved ahead of her, one hand in hers, guiding her through the crowd. He was so big and gorgeous it sometimes hurt to look at him. He wasn’t movie-star gorgeous. She’d worked with some of the most beautiful men in the world, but they didn’t hold a candle to Michael. There was something about the man that spoke of safety. He was a protector. She’d seen it in how he treated all the women around him.