Using his fingertips as his a guide, he gently coated the hot welts decorating her ass with the soothing salve.
“Are you crying?” he asked, feeling a trickle of warmth drop onto his neck.
“No,” she sniffled.
While he could appreciate Phoebe’s desire to present herself as a strong woman incapable of being hurt, he couldn’t allow the fib to slide. He wanted—needed—to know what was going on in her head. It was not uncommon for a submissive to become emotional after discipline, so he wanted to follow up with the proper amount of aftercare—a very important step in the disciplinary process.
“We already addressed this. Nothing hidden between us.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Talk to me, Phoebe,” he encouraged, doing his best to keep his tone firm, yet tender. He suppressed the urge to simply command her to share. She was learning, and he had to be patient, to allow for her to adjust. “It’s important to maintain open communication. Always.”
“It’s hard not to fall for the pretense. To not believe this with my heart.”
Dane clenched his jaw; the word
pretense
bothered him more than he cared to admit. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding, “I don’t know what ‘believe this’ means.”
“This!” She pulled back, static anger sparking around her. “This—this thing you’re doing. This show of caring. Pretending I mean something to you. Holding me as if you cherish me, putting cream on my sore ass, running a bath to soothe the sting.
This damn façade of a blissful relationship!
”
“I do care about you,” he stated.
“But you don’t love me. You’re doing things you should only do to—with—someone you love. I know sex is sex, and sex is for mutual pleasure, but this tenderness, this is…more. It’s not fair to make me feel more than what you promised me outside. It…I don’t know…it hurts, I guess.”
Dane wasn’t one to overanalyze and label emotions, but as he stared into Phoebe’s glistening eyes, he figured he was as close to love at first sight with this woman as the hard and practical person he was would ever get. Truthfully, he didn’t believe in the mush, but Phoebe had a special way of getting to him. He figured it was her vulnerable soul, lying bare and exposed and drowning in those tearful depths, that called to him as a man. It made him want to protect her, cherish her the way a man should cherish a woman. How she should have always been cherished in the first place.
Phoebe’s demeanor didn’t hide the fact she wanted to trust him with more than her body, to believe in him and in the possibility of a lasting relationship despite the brevity of their time together. But he could also see her insecurities were as toxic to her budding hope as weed killer was to a bed of roses.
Once burned, twice shy, as the saying went.
“Listen, sweetheart. This is real. I’m not putting on a show for you.”
“You’re not?”
“No. You deserve to be cherished. Don’t you agree?”
Not exactly declarations of love, but at least he was honest.
“There is something about you, sweetheart, something that calls for you to be treasured. Don’t doubt this is real. It is. The lessons are to teach you how much you’re worth being cared for. Not to demean you or negate any positive feelings between us.”
“I know, Master Dane.”
“You like it when you’re cared for, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“It excites you to relinquish control to me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And, you like it rough at times?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He had to smile. No way to hold it back. “Then, I will oblige your desires. I want nothing more than to please you and give you all you desire, Phoebe.”
“Thank you, Master Dane.” She pressed her hand to her face, as if to contain the tears, and wiped her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m just—I don’t know. Tired. Crazy, I guess.”
“Just tired.” He corrected. “Let’s get you into that bath. After that, more aloe, then to bed with you.”
Chapter Five
In Hot Water
Master Hottie lowered her into the water then switched off the faucet. The bath was cool, but not uncomfortably so. And, it did pull some of the heat from her ass and thighs.
Slowly releasing his neck, she relinquished the safety of his body, and finally opened her eyes. The harsh brightness had her squinting, but the opulence and comfort of the room was unmistakable. Sea foam green stone tiles stretched from floor to ceiling, showcased with a dark wood trim. A chocolate-colored slab of granite, with sleek faucets and built-in soap dispensers, served as modern double sinks along the length of the wall. A shower, large enough for a party of four, with multiple showerheads and a beveled glass door, sat in the far corner.
“The tub is made of wood,” she breathed.
“It’s a custom Japanese soaking tub called an
ofuro
. Helps soothe a tired mechanic’s muscles at the end of a long day,” he said, as he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his jeans. “Scoot a bit forward, sweetheart.”
Phoebe did a double take, then looked around the room again. The dimmed sconces provided just enough light to allow her to take in all the details, but didn’t bombard her eyes and overload her senses. A fresh, woodsy smell hovered in the air, enticing her to draw in deep breaths and relax enough to maximize the wonderful scent in her mind’s eye.
“This place is gorgeous,” she said, stretching her arms over the tub’s lip and leaning against the heavenly wood. “It’s certainly different from the country kitchen you carried me into earlier.”
“The bathroom was the first room I renovated when I moved in.” Hottie tapped on the back of her shoulder. He was standing behind her—buck-naked.
“
You’re
gorgeous,” she breathed, unable to look away from his perfectly sculpted body. “I was about to comment on your handiwork, but you’ve scrambled my brain with your brawn.”
He laughed, tenderly pushing her forward and sliding in behind her. Tan, long legs wrapped around and over her thighs, holding her legs apart and exposing the auburn triangle at her center. She tried to bring them together, to cover up a little, but the tensing of his calves was enough to stop her.
“Never hide from me.”
“I’ve been on my own for a few months, so I haven’t really…” Her voice trailed off. She hadn’t shaved her legs in over a week.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. Finish what you were saying.”
“It’s not that I’m shy or anything like that, especially not after all we’ve just done, but I’d like to take some time to get myself pretty for you.”
“If you get any prettier, you’ll give me a heart attack.” He collected her against his chest, and his ink masterpieces crossed over her breasts, managing to hold her close enough to rub her upper arms and warm her torso. Heat sizzled along every cell on her skin.
“I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve made butterflies dance in my tummy again.” Phoebe kissed along the shadow outlining his jaw, lingering on the tiny indentation in the center of his chin. “I like this.”
“Taking baths?”
“Taking baths with you,” she amended. “Taking baths with you in a paradise of a bathroom.”
“Duly noted, sweetheart. We’ll take baths often.”
“Does that mean you’ll be punishing me often?”
“It’s not punishment. It’s discipline.” He cupped her chin and tilted her face up, swiping his thumb over her lips. “And the frequency of discipline is up to you. You are the only one who can decide to act properly or not. The rest is for your pleasure. Never for punishment or pain.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, dropping her gaze and feeling overwhelmed with his sincerity. She simply wasn’t used to any man making her needs a priority and giving her the power that Master Dane gave her to hold over him.
Before she could guess his intention, he had a bath sponge and scented soap in hand. Rather than spoil the moment, Phoebe closed her eyes and enjoyed the lathering massage. Having a man’s hands roam all over her naked body would be, on a normal day, a titillating experience; she was truly exhausted because she couldn’t react to his ministrations. Rather than succumb to the sensually of the experience that should have served as a launching board for another bout of sexual play, the pleasing aromas and his relaxing attention lulled her into a state of pseudo-sleep. She hardly bothered to open her eyes when he washed and rinsed her hair.
Fidgeting in the cooling water, she finally managed to look about. Grateful, but tired, she wondered if they were almost done. “It’s getting a little cold.”
He wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her against his warmth, resuming the rubbing along her arms. Phoebe traced her fingers over his tattoo, feeling the strength and majestic appeal radiating from the thick waves of the tribal design.
She smiled and looked up. “Does this mean something?”
His jaw clenched. The knot on his throat bobbed. His hands stopped moving on her arms.
“It’s okay,” she rushed. “Please don’t get upset. I’m sorry I asked.”
“I’m not upset,” he said, clearing his throat. “It does mean something. It means a lot.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” she insisted. “I was only asking because it looks like something of purpose, like it really means something special.”
“It does.” He stroked the side of her head, tucking her hair behind her ear, and kissing her temple. “It’s a talisman of sorts. A tribal tattoo that links me to the other members of my squad, which is a symbol of strength and protection when we stand together and all the tattoos are united.”
“Squad?” Kissing a bare spot between the dark swirls, she glanced up at him and found he’d relaxed. “What do you mean by squad?”
“SEAL,” he replied. “This specific squad was part of a SEAL team.”
That explained so much. Hottie was a Navy SEAL. No wonder she felt he could do anything he wanted to do. Strength and confidence seeped from his pores, and that body was ultra-competent.
“When we finished the first segment of our training, we thought we would be invincible if we stuck together. Vowing to more than have each other’s back, because the whole team has each other’s back, they all do, we walked into a tattoo parlor and made our commitment permanent.”
“Did you see action?” The tattoo thrummed beneath her fingertips. It seemed to have an awareness that was unexplainable to a mere civilian. She couldn’t stop tracing the swirls. She couldn’t take her fingers away.
“Yes.”
“Did your squad come home with you?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you sound like somebody died?” Closing her fingers on his forearm, she stroked along the length and felt the prickles run along his skin.
“Someone did die. An informant.” He shifted a little and turned the hot water on, then turned it back off. “An informant that came to me, came to me as a friend, came to me for guidance, died because she wouldn’t listen to reason, and I couldn’t get to her in time.”
Damn, she shouldn’t have asked. Hottie had gone rigid and seriously upset. It wasn’t her business. But, she couldn’t help but to place her head against his shoulder and raise his hand to her mouth. She kissed each of his knuckles. “If she wouldn’t listen, it wasn’t your fault.”
“She worked with me over a month. We became close, and we became friends. She asked if I could help her escape when my mission was complete. She wanted to get away from her politically fanatical family. She wanted a normal life. She wanted out. I wanted her out. The problem was I had broken the rule and had become personally involved with a subject. I considered her requests more than I should have. Especially when I knew they were wrong.
“One day, we were seen speaking together while standing near an elderly village woman. I knew it was a bad situation for Miriam. I knew the woman would go to the rebels.” Using his arms, he pushed on the edges of the tub and stood. He reached for a towel with his right hand, and offered her his left hand for help to stand. “That day, everything felt off. I didn’t want her to return home. I wanted her to stay with us. Told her we could protect her at headquarters.”
“She insisted on going home?” She stepped out of the tub and raised her arms as he wrapped the towel around her. “I would have done the same thing.”
“I know better now. I wouldn’t let you go.” He dropped a second towel on her head and started drying her hair. “They slit her throat. Minutes—seconds before we arrived.”
Horror rammed through her awareness, but then she looked at him and sadness replaced the fear. He knelt to dry her feet, and she gathered him in her arms. Crushing his head against her chest, she kissed the top of his wild waves, and closed her eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“They slit her throat so she couldn’t speak to give us any more information,” he breathed against the towel, allowing her to cradle him in her embrace. “I should have made her listen. I should have made her return to base with me. Miriam was a stubborn woman, who thought she could take on the world by herself.”