"You're a submissive afraid to let go of control, afraid to have your most vulnerable areas investigated." She studied him, let him squirm a bit under her intent regard. "You tell a Mistress she can do anything to you, no safe words, no boundaries, but then you con her into doing only what keeps to the edges of your comfort zone."

"I prefer the word 'charm'."

"I call it like I see it." She took a bite of bread. "And you should know better than to argue with me about it at this point. Tell me why you're a sub, Mac. Why not be a Dominant? You obviously bleed alpha. What's driving you to submit to a woman sexually? Open up."

He opened his mouth, took the offering from her fingers, lightly nibbling one fingertip, then caught it in his mouth between his teeth. He did not let go when she exerted gentle pressure, and she narrowed her eyes as his hand lifted, circled her wrist, held her captive to run his tongue along her sensitive knuckles, nibble on the pads of her fingers. Instead of resisting, she relaxed, waited until she had his attention to lift a disinterested brow.

"You know, horses sometimes do this," she said. "Catch your hand in their mouth when they're playing, not realizing they can hurt you. Or at least people say that. But I think horses know exactly how strong and tough they are." She took her free hand, ran it along his jaw line. "I think they know they can take your fingers off, and they're reminding you that, no matter how often you ride them, what saddle or bridle you put on them, they're stronger, and can take you down in a moment." She slid her touch under his chin, squeezed his jaw with her fingers, exerting the bite of her nails until he got the message and eased up. "But those beautiful, magnificent creatures bow to our will. They serve us only if they trust that they're better off with the reins in our hands." She cocked her head. "Only if they believe without a doubt we're worthy of being in control."

He let go with his mouth and she removed her fingers, but he did not relinquish her wrist.

"I'd like to make love to you. Here. Now."

She swallowed, closed her fingers into a fist. "I don't think I'm ready to let you do that, Mackenzie. You don't trust me enough."

He shook his head. "It's to prove you can trust me."

For it to be as good as it should be, it had to be a two-way street. He didn't understand that. Still, the idea of lying in the late afternoon sun, a touch of fall nipping in the air, with him inside of her... it was a difficult image to resist, particularly with his fingers playing over hers, his silver eyes marking every response of her body.

She could imagine how it would look to a hawk flying overhead, the two of them entwined. Mac's thighs and buttocks tightening and releasing as he slid in, drew out, the slow strokes she would demand, that would drive her to the edge, fulfilled. His smell, his arms wrapped around her, his lips against her neck.

He was closer now, his mouth only a breath from hers, his hand sliding to her waist, drawing her closer, drawing her down against him. She cupped a hand to the side of his head, met his tongue just inside his lips, then he drew her in, opening his mouth to devour hers, his arms closing around her, holding her secure, letting out a groan of pure pleasure she felt rumble in his chest, pressed against her aching breasts.

His hand closed over the tight denim covering one ass cheek , and used the hold to shift her over so she was lying on him, one of his thighs pressed up between her legs, sending a ripple of erotic pleasure shivering up through her lower stomach and chest, tightening her nipples against his hard body. His hand kneaded her ass, stroked the crease of thigh, two fingers sliding down the curve of her buttocks, in between her legs, curling under the intersection of stitched seams so the heel of his hand was against the base of her ass. His fingers hooked over her clit at the crotch of the jeans, pressing on her, kneading her like a cat, making her shudder, her breath coming faster.

"Let me put my cock in you," he murmured, kissing her neck, nuzzling, biting.

Her grip on reality was slipping away. He was entirely too potent, his hands sure, knowledgeable, knowing exactly how to drive sense and control away, coaxing her into compliance. His arm pressed against her buttocks, and she felt the metal of the onyx and silver wrist cuffs he had worn.

With an oath, she slapped her hands against his chest and shoved off him, rolling to her side, coming to her feet in a crouch, putting a good four feet between them.

"This is bullshit," she said, really angry with him.

He sat up. His color was high and his erection tremendous, distending the front of his jeans and making her wish she wasn't so sure of what she knew, or that she could forget it and just take what he was offering to relieve the throbbing want in her pussy.

"What's bullshit?" he asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't take that tone with me," she warned. "You won't charm or con me, Mackenzie. I told you. When we make love, it will be because that's what you want and I want, not because you want a change in conversational topic, and you figure a good fuck will distract me. I'm not easily distracted, not when it's important. I asked you why you play the sub side of the fence. I expect an answer."

And this was important. Maybe too important. She wanted to slap him for making things this difficult, but his recalcitrance also turned her on, there was no denying that. He looked very appealing to her, leaning there tensely on one elbow.

"I don't know," he said at last, irritation in his tone. "I... Why is it women want to analyze? I just...do. When I'm with a woman, it's the way I feel. You're not complaining, are you? So why does it matter?"

Because you matter. Because the answer to the question is important to you, but you're afraid to answer it.

"I want you to stand up and unfasten your jeans, take them down with your underwear to your knees. I want to see you. And take those damn wrist cuffs off. Some other woman gave them to you, so I don't want to see them. You're mine, Mackenzie, and I don't share you, not even with memories."

He hadn't expected that, or the gear change, she could tell. She watched him process it, glance around them, and she softened, leaned forward, laid a hand on his jaw. "We'll hear a car if someone pulls up. We'll have a few minutes before we see them. That's why I came down here. You can trust me to protect your privacy, Mac."

He nodded. His gaze still held anger and frustration, but he obeyed, rising to his feet. He took off the cuffs first, dropped them to the blanket. Violet lowered herself to one hip, watching him intently as he took his hand to the button of his jeans and worked it loose with those large, capable fingers. He lowered the zipper, then pushed the jeans down his hips with his underwear, freeing his cock so it stretched out in full magnificent rigid glory.

"Unbutton the shirt so it's not in my way," she ordered softly.

He obeyed, and she watched him become longer and harder, his body responding to her commands and her perusal. She touched her tongue, just the tip to her top lip, and his testicles contracted.

"Now." She lifted her lashes. "Lace your hands behind your head. And don't move them unless I tell you to do so. And you are not allowed to look down. Not even once."

"Yes, Mistress."

"I like it very much when you call me that." She slid over along the blanket, ran one finger along his length, felt his heat, the iron hardness of him, noted the drop of moisture gathering at the tip. She smoothed her knuckles down the side of his hip, the top of his thigh. "Two of the ladies that will be there tonight are twins. They work in tandem, and they like pain. They're good at administering it, and they like to share subs. How do you feel about me sharing you with them, Mackenzie?"

She watched his face, saw the shadow, saw it masked. "Whatever pleases Mistress."

"Hmmm. This does." She took up the white plastic spreading knife and spread some of the blackberry preserves on the top of his cock, just the length of the shaft behind the head. He drew in a breath as she covered him with her mouth, bringing his flesh and the tartness into it, circling the base of his cock with one small hand and squeezing firmly as she sucked and licked the condiment from him.

"Jesus Christ."

She smiled, drew back just enough to speak. "Keep your hands up there, Mackenzie. I want to play with you a bit. You're mine, aren't you? My plaything?"

"Yes, Mistress. God...yes."

She licked a long stroke down the underside to his scrotum, as if she were enjoying a lollipop. "Close your eyes. I want you to be totally focused on where I lick you next."

He obeyed, though the effort it cost him was visible.

She brought her hands around him, her palms caressing his thighs, his hips. They trembled with the strain of keeping completely still as she'd ordered, while she slid her lips up and down his impressive length. His fingers clenched behind his head, his biceps bunched in a way that made her want to rub oil all over his body again, polish those muscles to gleaming. In an ideal world, a Mistress could keep her slave stripped and oiled all the time, in public or out of it. She wouldn't mind the envious stares of other women, knowing she owned that erect cock, all that beauty and power at her command.

Well, if she could ever get him to stop being so damn stubborn, it would all be at her command. Glancing up to make sure his eyes were still closed, she reached into her purse. She ran the base of her tongue along the ridge of his engorged head as she did so, and made the adjustments she needed with the bottle of lubricant.

She took her hands up his thighs, caressing his hips and curled around those muscular buttocks. He jerked at the cold touch of the new plug, his muscles starting to tighten, but she had already inserted the head of it and used his movement to thrust it past the relaxed muscle before it could clench up. It was a smaller plug, but large enough to be noticeable to the wearer.

"Violet," he made a strangled noise. "Not again."

"Eyes closed, Mackenzie, and keep your hands up there."

She kissed the tip of him, licked the head gently once more, and then used her hold on his waist to stand up, letting his bare cock brush her jean-clad hip. She worked his underwear and jeans back up his legs, over his hips and delectable ass, buttoning and fastening the jeans so their snug fit and the tight hold of that powerful muscle would keep the plug in place. She had to maneuver the zipper carefully over his erection and put her hand in a couple of times to ensure it was tucked in properly. She felt his apprehension, saw the quiver of his arms as he restrained himself, fighting against instinct to relinquish himself to her hands.

"I won't use the remote," she said, taking her time buttoning his shirt, fondling his damp, heated skin. "Unless you pull that crap with me again. You can't charm your way out of things with me, Mackenzie, and you won't drive me away by being threatening and surly. You can choose to walk away, and that's it. A polite, courteous break of contract because two people no longer see the benefit of being with one another, as one or both feels they have nothing left to offer the other."

His hands were faster than she expected. Before she could blink, they were gripping her upper arms hard, and he'd lifted her to her toes. "I did want to make love to you," he snapped. "It wasn't bullshit. It wasn't a game."

"I'm glad to hear it. I told you before. To me, none of this is a game. Even when you try to play me, it's not a game." She stared up at him, used her elevated position to press her lips to his hard, angry mouth, nipping at him until they changed, yielded, opened. Abruptly he was consuming her, his arms sliding from their grip on her upper arms to clamp around her body, holding her against his taut, roused one. She played her fingers over his broad back, over his hips, clutched his ass and pressed on where the plug rested. Exerting stimulating pressure, and also making sure there was no visible indication he was wearing it. She didn't want to humiliate him, just enforce that he was hers.

"Violet," he groaned against her mouth, and it was hard for her to maintain a rational thought in his embrace. He was all-encompassing, the press of his torso an eclipse of heat that gathered her in, made her want to stay inside those strong arms, inside the span of his attention, for a few centuries. She stopped worrying and gripped the muscles of his wide back, clutched shirt and skin and surrendered to her own ferocity. Meeting his mouth with tongue and teeth just as furiously, her body quickened at every touch of his. His large hands dropped to squeeze, knead her buttocks, as possessive of her as she was of him.

It was insane. She'd never been so mad for anyone in her life. She wanted to eat him alive. She pulled away to suck in air. "Are you sure you don't wear some type of pheromone cologne?"

His grin was quick, feral, as distracted as a wolf taking a moment to acknowledge his joy in the hunt before the charge, the lunge to take a throat. Hers, in this case, his lips pressing on the vulnerable artery, biting the mark he'd left on her, this time nursing it, offering her an apology with his gesture even as his tongue flicked fire around it. She arched her throat and as she did it, turned her body, so her upper thigh was pressed against his prominent cock. His hand cupped her left breast, stroking, molding it, her nipple sliding between his index and middle fingers to squeeze with an intensity that was ruthless in its determination. He moved his thigh and it was between her legs, rubbing, setting off screaming nerves everywhere.

"Come for me," he whispered roughly. "For God's sake, give me something."

It was a savage whispered plea. It came from the place inside him she desperately wanted to make open to her, so when she heard it, she wanted to reward him for that, and give to him.

As if her internal decision to grant his wish slammed down a lever, her response gushed forth, flooding her blood stream, tensing her muscles in that perverse way a physical release did, as if it was pulling energy from the body as quickly as a drawstring, taking the elasticity from every muscle and tendon.

She played the game so well that she did not permit herself orgasm often, so when she came it was hard, shattering. In this case, she could not say whether she had permitted it or he had won her surrender with his whispered words, his strong hands, his overwhelming determination to claim something of her, make her his Mistress.

For she knew that the Mistress was as much the possession of the slave, even if Mac did not know it yet. As a result, it was not without a little fear that she felt the waves come crashing down on her.

The full shock of it hit her pussy at once. Even under her clothes she felt the spasms clench her against the pressure of his leg, and she clung to him, breathing fast, soft breathy moans, a shaking that swept through her limbs and made him hold her tighter. He pressed his lips to the soft skin by the corner of her eye and stayed there, working his leg against her, letting her writhe on it until her body weakened, the drawstring released, all the muscles going loose and quivering.

Holding her close, he held her up. His erection was an iron bar against her hip, and she was pleased he was that way, knew he would suffer from wanting her until she gave him leave to release himself in the way she designated. She also knew he would use all the considerable reserves of his personality to try and make her agree to the way he wanted to do it. Deep inside her, while fucking her pussy.

She was looking forward to the challenge, all the more because she wasn't sure what the outcome would be.

Chapter 9.

"So did you have any questions you want answered, before we get there?"

It was only a thirty-minute drive to Tyler's from the picnic site, but Violet made good use of the time. She posed the question while she ran her fingers up and down his thigh, wandering frequently over to the curve of his testicles, making him keep his legs open to provide her access. She knew the plug teased him, and she added to it. As a result, he stayed fully, uncomfortably erect all the way to the turn-off to Tyler's private access road.

"If it pleases my Mistress..." He cleared his throat, but did not completely succeed in removing the hoarse need from it. "Who'll be there this weekend? I'm new to The Zone, so I'm not as familiar with the players."

"Tyler's about your age, and was my mentor. He's an erotic film producer. Not porn, not Triple X stuff. He does European erotica and Red Shoe Diary type things. A couple collaborations with Zalman King, but he feels like ZK gets too artsy, loses the erotic connection sometimes. I met Tyler at a party, and he was the one who helped me figure out what I liked from a man sexually, why I was dissatisfied so much. We hit it off right away, and later he told me that sometimes Doms just sense one another, the same sense that lets them identify a sub at twenty paces." She pinched him lightly and he bit back a grunt of frustrated desire. Violet smiled. "At the time, I had urges, but I thought there was something wrong with me. He helped me understand about D/s, introduced me to places like The Zone. Discretion is very important to me, in the job I do, so he helped me learn to keep the two lives separate."

Mac glanced over at her. "But you don't want to keep them separate."

She studied the horizon, appreciating how intuitive he was, but not wanting him to see he could read her that easily. "I wish they didn't have to be kept separate. One of the rules is to keep play in The Zone, not take it out of those places." She curled her hand under his inner thigh, increasing her grip, letting him feel the possessive need in her touch. "He also told me that once you understand the rules, then you can break them.

"I told you some about the twins already, Tamara and Kiera, T K. They're more than Mistresses. They're pure Doms, through and through." She sharpened her tone to be sure she had his full attention. "They brook no disobedience of any kind, from any slave. You might want to keep that in mind, with your reluctance to use safe words. I may not always be in the room to protect you this weekend."

His gaze snapped from the road to her briefly. "So while I'm there...they can..."

"If I tell them they can. Unless my slave wishes to tell me about any boundaries he has in that regard."

Mac was silent for a few moments. Violet waited.

"No, Mistress. Your pleasure is my pleasure, as I've said before." His tone was low, pained. The need to reassure him gripped at her heart, but she squelched it. He had to learn he could trust her. She continued, as if the tension in the car had not just increased threefold.

"The third Mistress is Lisbeth."

"Lisbeth?"

"She's not a Zone regular, but she's a friend of Tyler's. Her favorite haunt is a place called-"

"True Blue."

Violet's brows lifted and he shrugged. Uncomfortably, she noted. "She was my first Mistress. The one who started off my training, gave me the cuffs, when I 'graduated', as she put it."

"Oh." Violet digested that, glanced at his face. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"You tell me."

Which meant maybe yes, but he wasn't going to tell her anything he perceived she didn't want to hear, anything that made him appear vulnerable.

"No problem for me, then." She decided to play along, and watched the muscle in his cheek jump with tension.

Tyler's drive ran several miles off the main road through a forest of live oaks and long leaf pines before it reached his restored antebellum plantation house. Violet put her hand back on Mac's cock as he drove through the winding curves, working the gear shift, and her blood stirred as he automatically parted his thighs wider, accommodating her. She hummed casually to herself, registering his tension, his every involuntary shift that showed the plug was combining with her stimulation to tease him to a higher level of arousal. She suspected his apprehension served as an additional catalyst, for his cock was enormous beneath her touch. He didn't know what to expect, how much he would be tested this weekend, how much she intended to enjoy him.

Since he didn't seem disposed to ask any more questions, she kept up her idle stroking, squeezing and pinching as she desired in the charged silence, until it was broken by his breath rasping in his throat. He made a somewhat less than smooth turn into Tyler's circular driveway before the house and brought the car to a stop behind a silver Jag marked with the T K license plate.

"Violet, I can't go in there like this."

She arched a brow. "Are you refusing me?"

"Are you commanding me to meet your friends with a hard-on this size?"

She stretched up, kissed his cheek, moved back, nibbled his ear. "Yes, slave. I am. You're about to meet four very powerful and experienced Doms. I'm a baby to them, and I want to impress them." She laid her hand back on his crotch and squeezed again, earning an indrawn breath. "This is very impressive."

"Is that what this torture is about?" He sounded caught between irritation and amusement.

"No. But I think it makes you more comfortable to think so." She rubbed her hand over him again, one hard sure stroke this time that made his hips lift to her touch before he could stop himself. He caught her wrist and they froze, looking at each other. His eyes glittered, his jaw held tense in obstinacy. She made her face blank, unreadable.

"Let go of me, Mackenzie. Now."

He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and she squelched the desire to reach out, stroke his temple. Instead, she passed her thumb over the head of his cock, startlingly prominent through the denim. It was a lighter touch this time, but there, emphasizing that her interest and pleasure was to keep him visibly, painfully aroused. "Get out of the car."

It took another humming ten seconds of tension, but he reached for the door, opened it with a muttered oath that made her hide a smile.

She was anxious, too, but she made sure she covered it. She didn't know how this weekend would go. It would test the strength of the bond growing between them, a bond that seemed deeper than expected at this juncture. Understanding a couple of the reasons for it in a way she knew he did not yet, she hoped that this weekend would enhance it, not shatter it. She'd no doubt they were going to go into some uncomfortable territory. That was the nature of mixing a D/s sexual relationship with the things of the outside world. She was willing to take the risks, even knowing the stakes were growing higher every moment she was around him and her desire to claim him, keep him, grew.

"We observe certain etiquettes while we're here," she said. "When you're with me, you follow me, a pace behind." Mac dropped back a pace, and she nodded, didn't break stride. "Don't meet any Dom's gaze directly unless instructed to do so. You obey my commands, and if you have any questions, you ask permission before you ask them. Finally," she glanced back at him, "subs are required to be unclothed for the duration, only wearing what toys and jewelry their Master or Mistress deems is appropriate."

She registered his jerk of surprise just as Tyler opened the door, before she could knock. Here goes, girl. Don't blow it.

"Right on time." Tyler smiled down at her. In his mid-forties like Mac, he had the look of a relaxed pro golfer. Tanned and with a lean muscularity, he kept his dark hair touched with gray trimmed close, so that the immediate focus was on his deep-set brown eyes, prominent nose, and curved, firm lips. He had a universal appeal; Violet had yet to see the person Tyler couldn't make feel at ease when he chose to do so.

"Tyler, this is Mac."

Tyler glanced over her shoulder. "Mac. Welcome to my home. I'm sure Violet explained the rules to you. Lower your gaze."