She shifted, brushing her hair back from her face, and let out a frustrated sigh. “I wish me and him could stay friends. I know we can’t, but still. That’s the saddest thing of all. Losing his friendship.”
Mephisto knew this was the point when he should tell her that maybe she could stay friends with Eliot. That maybe love could transcend things like sexuality and history if given enough time. But part of him knew that would only lead to more heartbreak down the line, and it had been difficult enough to see her tears before. “I’m sorry, Molly. You must feel terribly disappointed and sad at the moment. Please understand that what just happened between us wasn’t some attempt to take advantage of you. It was just...” He pulled her closer, breathing in her smell, basking in her warmth. “It just felt right to do at the time. Are you okay? Do you want to leave and go to your room, or do you want to sleep here?”
“What do you want?”
He would have to start giving her less choices. If she was going to transition into his slave, they had to find a starting point. “Here’s what I want. While I’m helping close down Club Mephisto, I want you to go and shower, brush your teeth, and get back into my bed wearing nothing at all. You don’t have to stay up for me if you’re too sleepy, but I can’t promise I won’t wake you when I return. If you’re in my bed, it’s going to be hard to keep my hands off you.”
She gave him a surrendered, sweet smile that reminded him so much of Clayton’s old Molly he almost gawked. Almost fell on her again, consuming her submission like some long denied delicacy. No...the club. He had to help with the club. Later. Later, more Molly, more submission, more of that lovely smile.
When he returned, she was sleeping like an angel. Mephisto slid into his bed beside her, breathing in her fragrant wet hair, the light floral scent of her skin. Beneath it all, some wild, seductive undercurrent connected him to her, as natural as sunshine, as constant as the blood in his veins. For the first time in a long time, he slept in peace.
*** *** ***
Molly woke to his words. “I want you.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear and resonated down between her legs. She was manipulated and moved, turned onto her back. She sleepily complied. He slid over top of her, pinching one nipple, drawing her from restfulness to alert attention. She became aware of a rock hard cock poking against her thigh, and heated arousal bloomed between her legs in response.
She looked into his eyes, into those depths that were so familiar and yet always such a fearsome mystery to her. He caressed her, preparing her for his onslaught. His hands communicated will and intention. Last night, Molly had called him Master. The word had come so easily, without prompting, and this was why. “I want you too. Please.”
He was power and threat but he was softness too, and solid reassurance on this morning when things were changing for Molly again. Mephisto shifted so his cock nudged hot and insistent between her pussy lips. “I didn’t use protection last night. But I’m clean. I assume you still are too.”
Molly turned the words over in her lust-addled brain, remembered that she couldn’t get pregnant, and yes, if they were both clean... Was he asking her for permission? Were they fluid bonding now? Things were moving so fast, but she had no desire to slow them down. She lifted her hips to meet his, which he took for the capitulation it was. As he reached down between them to stroke her clit and finger her wetness, she felt a combination of confusion and horniness. He was being slow, gentle, just like Eliot, but it was like night and day between them. What was the difference? How could it feel icky when Eliot was gentle with her, but fire-sexy-hot when Mephisto was gentle?
Because Mephisto was only gentle every once in a while. Mephisto rationed gentle so that when he used it, it felt a hundred times more gentle than gentleness from anyone else. It was a violent kind of gentle that most guys could never replicate.
How kind Mephisto was, to give her this sweetness just when she needed it, when she doubted and wondered and was searching in her heart for the answer to questions, the greatest one being What do I want? Right now, she wanted Mephisto. That was simple, uncomplicated truth, and there was no force or scening to distract her from it now. She just wanted him, his touch, his attention—and oh, how erotic it felt when he moved into her skin-to-skin, no condom dampening the intimacy. He felt so strong and encompassing hovering over her. His thick tool spread her pussy wide and he surged forward, forward, forward until there was nowhere else to go. She clung to him, reeling from the fullness. He paused until she moved her hips, and then they were both in motion, thrusting, fucking, groping to get closer.
He gasped her name, but she wasn’t sure what she said back to him. Pleas and whispers that made no sense, except that they urged him on. Each stroke was hot, demanding, a brazen slide in and out, but his hands were soft. His voice was a whisper at her ear. There was no time, no thought, just this sweet joining, and for Molly, a shuddering climb to a climax that threatened to destroy her. She hadn’t felt joy or closeness like this since she’d been with her Master. It felt so very much like...love.
“Mephisto!” She grasped at him, her arms around his neck. He kissed her as her moans rose in intensity, smothering her gasp of culmination. Her whole pelvis contracted into squeezing, glorious waves. He grunted and bucked inside her, driving her across the bed. He leaned on one elbow, his dreadlocks tickling her face as he gave one final snap of his hips and emitted a long, low growl, followed by a guttural “Jesus!” They both came to rest, gasping for breath.
Love, love...love. You love him, Molly.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire. She couldn’t love Mephisto. He didn’t have room in his life for love, not the kind of love she wanted. Eliot had had room, but they hadn’t been sexually compatible. What kind of joke was her life turning into? She chanced a look up at Mephisto only to find him frowning down at her in that scary, penetrating way he had.
She gazed back at him, swallowing hard. “So...um. Am I your slave now?”
Mephisto blinked. “Why would you ask me that?”
“I don’t know. You said we could exchange power non-sexually. But now we...we had sex. Twice.”
Mephisto sighed and smiled a little. “You don’t go straight from friendship to slavery, even if you’ve had amazing sex. Twice. Did you immediately become Clayton’s slave? You dated first, didn’t you? You got to know one another.”
“But you and I have known each other for years.”
“Yes. As friends.” He cupped her face and kissed her nose, her eyes. “Anyway, you don’t have to look so alarmed. If you don’t want to be my slave, you don’t have to be.”
As if she could lie there in his arms and not want to be enslaved to him. That was the problem. Everyone wanted to be Mephisto’s slave, but he’d never had a serious relationship she knew of. “I think I’m alarmed because I do want to be your slave,” she admitted. “But I don’t know how it would work out.”
She looked away, struggling against a maelstrom of emotion, but Mephisto forced her gaze back to his. “One step at a time,” he said. “Let’s try being lovers. I want to be your lover. I think you want to be my lover. From that, let’s see where it goes. Let’s not barrel headlong into slavery. I know you were deep into slavehood at one time, but then, remember? You decided it wasn’t for you. I think we should take it slowly this time, okay?”
Yes, Sir. Yes, Master. His voice always made everything clear, always made everything seem squared away. He was still pressed against her, his cock somehow still hard between her legs. He moved a little, the lines of his face relaxing into a tender, almost shy grin.
“This reminds me of that morning,” he said. “The last morning you were with me. Do you remember?”
She ducked her head into his shoulder. “How on earth could I not remember?”
He stroked her all over. Her shoulders, her back. Her breasts and stomach, her arching hips. Like that morning long ago, they fell back into pleasure, taking no note of time. He touched her in any way he could make her
react, and praised her every time she came. She knew he could just as easily refuse to let her come, torment her for his pleasure, lock her into chastity for days or even weeks. If she became his, she’d have to put up with that and anything else that moved his sadistic side. But for now, making her come was moving him, and she was determined to enjoy every moment of it. He said she should take it slowly, and she would.
Because Mephisto wouldn’t give her any other choice.
Chapter Eight: Love
Eliot didn’t take her calls. He didn’t come looking for her, even though he’d walked her home and knew where to find her. So for three Fridays, Molly waited at Mack’s Diner. Now it was the fourth Friday again. She sat very straight at her table in the corner, with her book and her sandwich and sometimes a slice of apple pie. She was off the cherry. It made her sad now. If he stayed away much longer, she’d have to turn to lemon meringue.
In her book was an envelope she had to deliver to him, but he was making it hard. She could have dropped it off at the UPS Center nearby, but she wasn’t sure a note she left there would find its way to him. And this was a really important note.
Dear Eliot, she’d written.
I’m so sorry for running out on you that night. I panicked, for reasons too complicated to explain here. I’m sorry we didn’t work out, but I don’t regret our friendship. You helped me in ways I could never explain. I’ll just say I’m very thankful. On that note, I hope you will accept this token of my appreciation.
Ugh, “token of my appreciation.” It sounded so cheesy and impersonal, but she’d never been much of a writer. It was almost noon and the diner was filling up. Around 12:10 she felt deep disappointment. He wasn’t coming. Maybe he’d never come back. Maybe he would avoid Mack’s Diner like the plague forevermore because of her. Then at 12:15, he and a group of his buddies showed up.
When she saw him there, right there, as handsome and smiling as ever, she couldn’t help but admire him. She also wanted to disappear. What would he do when he saw her? What would he say? Maybe he would ignore her, pretend he didn’t see her. But no. His eyes scanned the diner and latched onto hers almost immediately. His smile faded and Molly felt a sinking in her stomach. He headed toward her with a grim look on his face. He slid into the chair at her table, his back to his friends, and gave her a look that was pretty antagonistic.
“Hi, Molly.”
“Hi, Eliot.” They both breathed in and out and the waitress materialized at that exact awkward moment to take his order. Eliot asked for a turkey club. After the waitress left he looked back at her, tapping his fingers on the table. Molly stared at those fingers. He had nice, clean, well-manicured hands for a delivery guy. She said, “I tried to call you a few times.”
“I’ve been busy.” Eliot shook his head and rubbed his neck. “No. I haven’t been busy. I just don’t think... You and I...”
She put a hand over his. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
He pursed his lips and Molly remembered what a wonderful kisser he was. She played with the edges of the envelope tucked into her book.
“Listen, Eliot, I wasn’t completely honest with you about who I am or...well...a lot of things. Not for any insidious purpose. Just because my life has been a mess lately. That wasn’t a lie.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Are you really a new widow? Or was all that made up?”