Her arms stayed where they were. Her lips were moving soundlessly, little whimpers straining her throat. Her entire body rocked with his thrusts, her breasts moving in time with the slap of his groin against her. Limp, sated, claimed.
His balls tightened, desperation clawing the base of his spine. Gripping the bedspread, Reaux slowed the pace, choosing impact over speed, rutting into her as deep as he could reach. The soft, warbling cry of her final orgasm, the flutter of exhausted muscles milking his shaft, brought the fire in his veins shooting through his cock as he drove home and held himself still, bowing his head.
Harsh, panting grunts tore through his chest with every burst of release; sweat dripped from his jaw onto her shoulder. He couldn’t stop the hard jerks of his hips; instinct told him tokeep pushing his seed inside her, flooding her empty womb until nature took its course.
Lowering himself gently on top of her before he collapsed, he murmured to her in French, kissing her neck and shoulders as his breathing steadied—not that she’d remember, he thought when her eyes fluttered closed.
Beneath the hardass mask, his Violet was tired, perhaps more than even she realized. Not the kind that infused muscles or dragged at a person’s bones, but the deeper, more malevolent kind that seeped into the mind, the heart, the soul.
Didn’t she know that a Dominant—male or female—needed support every bit as much as a submissive? Or was she willfully neglecting her personal needs, shirking the responsibilities she owed to herself and her own care?
The lifestyle was thrilling, and the adventure of interacting with a new partner was a fresh adventure every single time, but it was draining. Whether it was for work or pleasure, connecting with numerous people—who had wants, needs, and desires of their own—could suck the basic essence from a body.
He’d been there once, before Violet erupted into his life and revitalized his existence, and it was an unpleasant experience. Waking up day after day, feeling a little less recharged than the morning before. Feeding his passion and energy wholeheartedly into every sub because she deserved his full attention, yet never truly regaining what he needed to continue on a long-term basis.
Violet gave it back to him, just by being who she was—beautiful, empathic, generous.
Now, when she needed what she’d offered so selflessly, he would do the same for her.
Before he fell asleep and allowed their cooling bodies to stick together using various bodily fluids as adhesive, Reaux managed to pry himself off her limp form. There wasn’t an ounce oftension left in his muscles; he was more relaxed than he’d been in years.
Scooping an unresponsive deadweight off the bed when his arms felt weak enough to drop a newborn baby was a challenge, but he somehow lifted Violet up and into his arms, cradling her possessively as he carried her slowly and very carefully across the few steps to the adjoining bathroom.
She rubbed her cheek against his heart, over the tattooed violets inked in his skin, reminding him of all the times he’d held her like this after a scene. It was submissive Violet’s habit—just like pressing a kiss to her hair and breathing in her scent was a habit, one he’d missed more than words could describe.
Lowering her feet to the bathroom floor, he supported her head and torso awkwardly as he reached out to switch on the shower. Water spurted from three dinner plate-sized heads, hissing as it hit the marble base and began to swirl down the drain. Within a few moments, steam rose in tiny wisps, turning into plumes that filled the oversized cubicle.
He tested the water with his hand before lifting Violet beneath the spray, stepping in behind her. It felt as though he could distinguish each individual drop of water as it hit his skin, pummeling heat into strained muscles and relaxing the last dregs of tension.
Violet moaned softly, turning her back to it and bowing her head so the water massaged her neck and shoulders from all sides. “I didn’t say you could shower with me.”
“If not for me,” Reaux countered, “you’d still be on your back, marinating in a cooling puddle of our mutual fluids. This way, we both get clean and save water in the process.”
“Marinating in a puddle of our fluids? That’s just disgusting.”
“And yet so true.” He ran his hand down her back just to relish the silkiness of her skin. “Am I being impertinent, tending to my Mistress in such a manner?”
“Cut the act, Boudreaux. As always, you’ve got your own way so let’s drop the pretense. What is it going to take for you to pack your bags and leave?”
He reached out and picked up the ivory-colored bottle on the shelf to his right, flicking the cap open with his thumb. Lifting it to his nose, he sniffed. Vanilla and… honey? “You, by my side where you belong.” He squirted a generous handful of gel into his palm. “You, with my ring on your finger.” Setting the bottle aside, he slickened both hands and set them on her shoulders. “You, in your rightful place as my wife, mother to our children, queen of our empire.”
“When did you become delusional?”
He laughed and grasped her nape, kneading gently as she moaned. “It’s only the truth, Violet. From the first moment, you have been my all. We connect, you and I, on a level that goes beyond sex, beyond domination and submission.” He laid one hand over his own heart, the other over hers. “We connect here.”
She stepped back, whirling to face the wall. “It was a satisfactory fuck. Romanticizing it doesn’t change the fact it was two bodies doing what comes naturally.”
He supposed she was right on that point—there hadn’t been a single iota of romance intertwined with what they’d just done, but that didn’t mean his heart hadn’t been in it, in more ways than one. “Perhaps I should repeat myself. Show you how I really feel.”
Violet snorted and snatched the bottle from the shelf. “That won’t be necessary. The itch has been scratched. Clean yourself up and leave, if you don’t mind. I’d like some privacy.”
She wanted time to pull together the edges of herself he’d pried apart and wedged himself into, he corrected silently. Giving her that time was risky—knowing her, she’d not only close the gap, but weld it shut and electrify it as an additional precaution.
If he didn’t offer the requested space, he’d be a jackass.
Rock meet hard place.
Laying his hands on her hips, he bent and brushed his lips across the area between her delicate shoulder blades he knew affected her most. On cue, her back arched as a spasm seized her muscles, hunching her shoulders toward her ears. “Can I not persuade you to let me wash your back, Mistress?”
