CollarMeinParis Page 3

  She was beautiful, but not when her face was drawn and tight. Anger didn’t become her. Her makeup was smudged, streaked across her cheeks or completely gone, giving her something of a sad clown look. It ruined the ferocity of her flashing gaze and tight lips.

  “What’s wrong with you? Is this some twisted plea for punishment? Because I’m not amused.”

  He fisted his hands. He would never lay a finger on her in anger, but he wanted to do something to work the frustration out. “No, this is about you and your family, and keeping me in the dark.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You knew they would pay to cut in line and cheat.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. They do. And where do you think that money comes from? My brothers spend months preparing and saving bribe money. We had one night. What are you willing to forgo to pay for this? Club membership? Wine club? Hockey tickets? Because to me, those are a lot more important than cutting in line.”

  He pitched his voice to match her volume. “Why do you get to make that decision?”

  “I thought I was the Dominant here.”

  He stared at her, not seeing her but everything that was wrong with this situation. The lack of communication, their attitudes and most of all, the missing fun. They laughed and enjoyed themselves. The years had built a level of intimacy between them, and now it was as if all that work had disappeared. “This, this isn’t like us. I don’t want this.”

  Bianca’s gaze widened, glistening with sudden tears. Her lower lip trembled though she fought to hide it. Sorrow speared him. He didn’t want his wife to cry.

  She threw up her hand when he took a step toward her. “What are you saying?”

  “Christ, B, I don’t want to do this damn race if it’s going to fuck with our heads.”

  She sank down on the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumped, and stared at the ground, or maybe her toes. He could hear her trembling breath, see the tension in the cords of her neck. Clay slid between her and the wardrobe to kneel in front of her and took her hands in his. She stared at the carpet, her face twisted into a painful mask.

  “B?”

  Her fingers were cold to the touch. The stench still clung to their hair and skin, disgusting reminders of the failure of a day they’d had.

  He pushed to his feet, Bianca’s gaze tracking him under the cover of her lashes. She might bust his balls, literally, for this whole fiasco, but he was her husband. He could bend the rules a little.

  He scooped her up and settled her slight weight against his chest. The silky material was ice cold, her skin clammy.

  She began to wiggle in his grasp. “What are—?”

  “Let me take care of you. Please?” Though he spoke in an almost whisper, she stilled.

  She didn’t respond, but she relaxed in his hold, leaning against his shoulder and curling her hand over his heart, not one protest on her lips.

  He breathed a sigh of relief and edged around the bed, careful not to bang her knee on the wardrobe or clock her head against the bedpost. He set her down on the miniscule counter space in the bathroom and turned the shower on.

  Bianca watched him, worry lining her brow and pinching her lips. Her green eyes appeared so much larger than normal. She was always so put together, the quintessential modern woman, and he admired her for all of her feminism and femininity.

  “Let’s get you out of these clothes. They smell.” He ran his fingers along the lacy edge of her camisole covering her hips. “May I?”

  She lifted her arms in silent permission. The stretchy fabric clung to her skin and had to be peeled off. She shivered and gripped the edge of the counter. She didn’t often allow him to undress her. He wished the circumstances were different, that he could enjoy the privilege.

  When they’d first played within the confines of the club, he hadn’t understood how intimate the process of taking off this woman’s garments could be. In those first months she’d never allowed him to so much as remove her shoes.

  “Do you remember the first time you gave me permission to undress you?” He studied her face as he lowered to his knees.

  Her brows lifted and a crackle of lust zipped between them. Their relationship had still been new, going on barely five months officially when they took that first weekend trip. Before that, he’d been under her protection for close to a year and was elated they were finally at a more intimate place in their relationship. Though they’d checked in at a bed and breakfast, they’d snuck into a nearby hotel pool. Under the cover of starlight, she’d instructed him to remove every stitch of her clothing.

  She sucked in a breath. “Of course.”

  He slid his hands into her silky panties. When they’d been at the pool, she’d leaned against a low wall. He’d removed her underwear much like this, caressing her with his palms as he pushed them off. Like that long-ago night, she kept her legs closed and her pussy unavailable. Instead he kissed her knee and rested his chin against her while he knelt on the ground.

  “That’s when I fell in love with you.”

  She snorted. “I thought you fell in love with me the first time I locked up your balls?”

  He laughed against her skin. “Okay, I fell in love with the Mistress then, but the woman later. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, B.”

  The lines creasing her face softened and she ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and hugged her shins to his chest, holding tight to this moment. Nothing was worth destroying their relationship. She caressed his face tenderly, making up without words.

  She gripped a handful of hair and pulled on his scalp, just hard enough for him to feel a twinge of pain and no more. When she spoke, it was in an even, commanding voice. “Clay, finish the job.”

  “Yes Mistress.” He gave her knee another kiss before rising and flicking open the front closure of her thin bra. His gaze dropped to her breasts. Like the rest of her, they were small but made for his hands. They fit each other, perfectly proportioned and complementary. His broken, rough edges were smoothed over by her softness.

  Bianca shrugged out of the last stitch of clothing and dropped to her feet, forcing him back against the wall. She climbed into the tub, flashing him a tantalizing glimpse of her pussy before pulling the shower curtain into place.

  Steam fogged the mirror. He could hear the way water caught in her hair, only to be sloughed off as she scrubbed it clean.

  He shifted from foot to foot, still in his waterlogged socks. His toes had gone to prunes hours ago. His jeans chafed and clung, making his swelling erection more uncomfortable than normal.

  “I need you to scrub my back.”

  He did not need to be asked twice.

  “I’d be happy to.” A small measure of relief uncurled some of the day’s strain wrapped around his gut. Maybe they could salvage this vacation after all.

  He shucked out of his jeans and underwear in one motion. His cock swelled at the familiar mental image of his wife under the shower spray, soap suds clinging to her skin. It was one of his favorite visuals. They’d been together three years and still she excited him. Maybe the bag of toys they’d brought could be put to good use. If they were going to bow out of the race, then maybe they could hit up some of the places on their private, not-family-friendly locations instead. He’d be disappointed to lose the game so soon, but her happiness was more important than proving anything to his in-laws.

  He pulled the curtain back and stepped into the claw foot tub. Bianca had her back toward him, water running down over her shoulders, making her shine under the overhead lighting. He grabbed a washrag from the rack outside the tub and closed the distance between them. She handed him her girly-smelling body gel and moved aside enough he could get to the spray.

  Clay took his time, standing chest to chest with Bianca. She twisted her hair up, thrusting her breasts toward him. Their coral tips glistened under the water. She leaned against the wall, the corners of her mouth turned up in amusement.

&nb
sp; He squirted the gel into the cloth and lathered it up.

  “Let me do your back.”

  She snorted and pivoted.

  He began rubbing her skin, starting at her shoulders and working his way down to the dimples in her ass. Her alabaster flesh grew pink between the hot water and the cloth. His motions slowed until each swipe of the cloth was more caress than aimed at hygiene. He flattened his palm against her stomach and she leaned back against his chest. He abandoned the rag, letting it fall to the bottom of the tub, and wrapped his arms around her.

  She flattened her hands over his and squeezed so he tightened his hold, hugging her closer.

  He inhaled the flowery scent of her shampoo and sighed. “I’m sorry about the whole race thing. I wanted to be part of your family.”

  She tilted her head and peered at him. “You are part of the family, Clay.”

  How many times had someone told him that before Bianca? In foster care, plenty, and yet he’d been discarded or passed along. He nodded and stroked her skin, so much softer than his own.

  “Clay.” Bianca twisted in his hold until she faced him.

  Tenderness he did not deserve. He tried to turn away from her, but she held him in place. He should be punished, something more painful than normal. That was what he’d earned.

  Instead, she lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead, between his eyes, his nose, then hovered close to his lips.

  What had she done?

  Why hadn’t she used her damn brain?

  Of course Clay would want do the family things. Just because she couldn’t give a flying flip didn’t mean he was the same. He needed to belong. She’d talked about this with their counselor. And here she’d driven the wedge between them.

  This mess was all her fault. She couldn’t blame him at all.

  When they’d had their separate counseling sessions during their engagement, one of the things they’d discussed was the importance of folding Clay into the family, showing him he belonged. She’d been so focused on making their marriage a positive, welcoming environment, her family had fallen off the radar. They were an important factor in their lives, even if they didn’t live nearby and weren’t close to him. Yet.

  Bianca wanted to smack and kiss him, but she was afraid of triggering more bad memories at the moment. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him down and pressed her lips to his. His mouth was soft against hers, his stubble rasping against her chin. He feebly kissed her back, timid and unsure. But he kissed her. She suckled his lower lip, content to coax him out of this emotional shell.

  The race was the bane of her vacation, but she’d do it for him. She knew it was difficult for Clay to believe he had a place with her, that she’d take care of him because she loved him and wanted him there. He’d grown up with no permanent family, bouncing around in foster care, no doubt feeling unwanted and unloved. If she had her way, he’d never be either again. What he didn’t know was sometimes she feared he would decide he didn’t need her, and he would be the one leaving her brokenhearted.

  “Turn around and kneel.”

  He pivoted, gripped the sides of the tub and lowered to his knees.

  Since his hair was already wet, she didn’t bother with soaking it again and reached for his shampoo. He refused to use hers, claiming it smelled too feminine. She squirted some into her palm and began working it into his hair, massaging his scalp.

  As she lathered his hair, she began thinking out loud. “Tomorrow we should get up a little early and go over the last clue from today. We’ll be heading out last. Maybe they won’t make us wait the full three hours we were late.”

  The muscles in Clay’s shoulders tensed and he didn’t immediately reply. She tilted his head back and adjusted the shower head so she could rinse the shampoo off.

  “I didn’t think you wanted to do the race.”

  She sighed and grabbed the conditioner. Of course he would capitulate to her wants. “It’s not my favorite thing, but I’ve never had a team member I liked before.” In fact, she’d been going about the race all wrong. “They’re all so competitive it sucks the fun out of it. Do you want to win? Or have fun?”

  He didn’t reply and his posture remained rigid.

  She tugged on his hair as she slicked the cream rinse through. “Seriously. Tell me the truth.”

  “It’s whatever you want to do.”

  She twisted a handful of hair in her grasp and forced his head back.

  “I asked you a fucking question,” she snarled.

  Clay started at her unexpected use of vulgarity. “Sorry, Mistress.”

  “Answer the question.”

  Color stained his cheeks and his cock bobbed between his thighs. He was such a pain puppy. One good yank on his hair and he was turned-on. “I don’t care if we win. I mean, that would be great, but it’s not important.”

  “We’re going to do the race because I say so, but we’re going to do it our way.” She kissed his forehead and released her grip.

  She set about rinsing the conditioner out and rolling ideas around in her head. Maybe this could be fun. She’d been going at this all wrong. Just because her brothers warped and twisted things didn’t mean they had to play by the same rules.

  Later she would reward him, maybe break out a whip and gag. He’d like that. The problem with Clay wasn’t his ability to handle pain. It was getting him to say “enough”. She’d practically stolen him from some idiot who didn’t recognize how broken he was.

  She’d watched a scene, knowing full well from the glint in his eye and the rigid way he held his body he was refusing to use his safe word. His Domme at the time was literally beating him. The dungeon monitors hadn’t even stepped in, despite how much he’d bled. And she did exactly what every newbie was told not to do. She interrupted the scene. He’d still refused to use his safe word numerous times when he should have in their first few months together, but they’d worked through that.

  By the book they shouldn’t have worked and she should never have taken up a sub who needed that much fixing. He’d been a broken soul, so fractured and lost. The difference had been in Clay. He hadn’t wanted to be part of a person. Like a dehydrated plant, he’d flourished with the right care. Not that there hadn’t been bumps along the way, but they’d tackled them together. Under that submissive nature was a man stronger than any metal. And what had started as simply taking a sub under her protection had grown into so much more.

  What would her life be like if she’d followed the rules? Clay was the most precious thing in her life. And she needed to show him that, reaffirm their bond.

  She ran her fingers over the chain circling his neck. She’d screwed up. She’d promised him on their wedding day to care for him always. Still, she was human. Mistakes were going to happen. She needed to learn from them.

  The air was thick with steam and her back tingled from the spray. She tilted it down for a respite and knelt behind her husband. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and fit her body against his.

  “Tell me what you want,” she whispered into his ear. The words echoed off the bathroom walls even though she’d pitched her voice low.

  Clay’s muscles tensed for a moment. She could picture him starting at the question. Bianca made a point to ask his preference fairly often. He never seemed to lose his surprise that she wanted his input. She didn’t always take his direction, but she liked to consider it and encourage his independence.

  “I want to touch you.” He gripped her clasped hands and ran his thumb over her wrist.

  A zing of arousal coursed through her blood. She didn’t deserve a man as dedicated to and infatuated with her as Clay, but she’d take him.

  “Sit back against the tub.” She let him go to drop the stopper in the drain, turn the faucet on and the spray off.

  Clay reclined against the curved end of the antique claw foot tub, his legs stretched out. She crawled toward him and straddled his thighs. He reached for her, but only grasped her hips. He
made her heart melt with his restraint.

  She leaned against his chest. “Go ahead, touch me.”

  He blinked at her for a moment. She could practically see his thoughts flitting across his face. He wouldn’t just put his hands on her. He’d consider what he wanted most, then what would make her happy. His considerate behavior was one reason she’d been so shocked when he went against her wishes.

  Content to allow him to treat her body as he desired, she relaxed under her husband’s touch.

  Time had softened the calluses but his skin retained a work-worn texture she secretly loved. He might play the well-educated bank VP, but under that domesticated exterior was a man who’d built his life with the sweat of his brow and his own two hands. Her nipples puckered at the promise of his touch and a shiver stole up her spine despite the warm water lapping at her knees.

  One side of Clay’s mouth hitched up in a crooked smile. His dark mop of hair hung partially over his brown eyes, making him appear younger, more carefree. If he could look at her like that, they would be okay. The knot of anxiety sitting on top of her stomach loosened a little.

  “May I touch you here?” He watched her through his lashes as he bent to press an open-mouthed kiss to her breast. His lips skated over the sensitive skin, teasing her as he suckled the nub. “Or here, Mistress?”

  She tipped her head back to hide her smile from him. Lips closed over her other breast and gently tweaked the tightly furled nipple. Ripples of need contracted her channel and she had to restrain herself from gripping his shoulders so tight she left bruises from her nails. He’d learned her body so well.

  Digging her hand into his hair, she forced his head back. “Is that what you call touching? Should I chain you up and find someone to demonstrate properly?” It was an empty threat made void by their marriage contract, but it got the reaction she wanted.

  Clay tightened his grip on her hips to the point of pain and his lips thinned to white lines. “No Mistress.”