Managing Macy Page 6

  “I’m not twisted,” Macy insisted.

  Nel snorted. “You forget who you are talking to. I saw how you acted with that dude yesterday. It’s got love-hate written all over it.”

  Macy gulped some tranquility tea, fat lot of good it would do her. “Okay, so every time I’m near the man I want to rip his clothes off.”

  “And that’s a problem because…”

  Where did Macy start?

  “We have nothing in common, for one thing.”

  “You both like fucking, don’t you?”

  Macy rolled her eyes. “Wow, hang out a shingle. You could be a therapist, or a private detective.”

  Nel shrugged. “Compatibility in bed is important. Everything else follows.”

  “But we aren’t—compatible I mean.”

  “Are you kidding? You guys gave off more chemistry than a science fair yesterday.”

  “But he’s…different.”

  She’d almost said Dominant.

  It was Nel’s turn to chug her tea. “Yeah, he’s into spanking and so on. What of it?”

  Macy felt her stomach drop. “How did you know?”

  “I can tell a Dom, just like I can tell a subbie. So can he, if he was able to sniff you out like that.”

  “No one sniffed me and I’m not submissive.”

  “It’s not an insult, Mace, it’s a preference. It’s in your genes. Some women like a man who will take them down, grab them hard, let them see the beast, you know? With some couples, it’s about whips and chains, others play mind games. The point is, being slave and Master gives them pleasure.”

  Macy sighed. “Oh what’s the use? It’s true, the way he touches me puts me over the top. I feel so raw. And then when he tells me what to do, I let go, I come alive, you know?”

  “I can certainly imagine,” said Nel. “My only question is why aren’t you beating a path to his door this very minute?”

  “I shouldn’t have to do that. If he’s a real Dominant then he will—” Macy realized her mistake, cutting her sentence short.

  “If he’s a real Dominant, you know he would never force anything. That’s the truth, isn’t it?” Nel finished it for her.

  Macy shook her head, trying not to cry. What was with all the frigging emotions lately?

  “You don’t know the whole story,” said Macy.

  “Try me.”

  Nel listened patiently as Macy recounted everything from that fateful knock on the door to the slamming of that same door last night.

  When Macy was done Nel said, “You need to talk to him. If nothing else happens between you, at least you can make peace.”

  Macy exhaled now, trying to appreciate the irony of ending a relationship she had never wanted in the first place. “The two of us aren’t real good at talking though, at least not with our clothes on.”

  Nel grinned. “Would it be the worst thing in the world if you took them off again just for old time’s sake?”

  “We didn’t do it enough to have any old times to relive,” Macy countered. “And yes, for the record, it would be the worst thing for both of us.”

  Or maybe it was just her.

  Either way, the only thing she needed to do was get the man to understand the meaning of goodbye. Macy was feeling a little better, at least until she got back to her office and saw the flowers on her desk.

  A dozen red roses.

  “They came while you were gone,” said Riana. “Somebody likes you, even if you don’t like them.”

  They were from him of course. There was a note, a long one, apologizing if he’d pushed too hard, taking full responsibility for the way the night had ended, the rough and silent car ride home, the way they had both closed their doors to one another at the end—cold, awkward and so damn final, as if whatever winds of fate had brought them together would never again blow him across the hall to her world.

  “Farewell, my sweet Macy,” the note concluded. “May you never forget me, as I will surely never forget you.”

  Nel took the note from Macy’s shaking hand.

  “I guess that’s that,” said Macy.

  Nel eyed her. “You don’t look like ‘that’s that’, you look like your world just caved in.”

  Macy’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m supposed to be the strong one.”

  “You’re not made of iron. And has it occurred to you, if you are feeling this out of sorts with the guy, it’s because maybe you know he’s strong enough to take it? You know he’ll care for you and himself. You’ve guessed he’s not another Roger and that scares you.”

  “I don’t know anything,” Macy whispered, thinking of the man who’d promised her the sun, moon and stars only to run off with one of his undergraduates when the “pressure” of the relationship got a little too much for him.

  Nel gave her a hug. “I think admitting what you don’t know is a great start. Now how about you get out of here? I’ll cover for you.”

  “Fine, but I’m not going after the guy if that’s what you think.”

  “Oh I don’t think you’ll have to do much chasing, do you?”

  The trip home was an eternity. Macy went over in her mind what to do. Pick up and move to another zip code, doubling her commute time, or maybe take to wearing disguises in the hallway. She could do a pretty good impression of Old Man Reynolds if it came right down to it.

  At least she was coming home in the middle of the day. For sure Jarit would still be at work.

  Not.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she pulled into the parking lot and saw his little roadster, the very one in which she’d been so blissfully tormented the night before.

  So he’d stayed home, or had he come home early like her? Maybe he’d lost sleep as well. Not that she cared. Not that she could afford to care.

  Then it occurred to her, out of the blue, something he’d said to her, offhandedly, about how he’d managed to find her in the first place.

  Fate.

  As if she believed in such a thing.

  As if she could afford to believe.

  “Better to live alone than live a lie,” she said aloud, though no one was there to buy it, not even herself.

  * * * * *

  Jarit tried not to strain his ears to hear. Lying on his couch in the silence, which had been the greatest mistake of all because now he could tell her comings and goings. She had headed off to work about half past seven and he’d been waiting ever since.

  Now she was back, at half past eleven.

  Something didn’t add up.

  He resisted the urge to go and knock on her door. She was a grown-up, she could take care of herself. Except for the fact that she had been so upset last night, unable to even speak to him as they parted ways.

  Jarit hadn’t helped matters, turning inward and giving her the silent treatment. He hadn’t been angry with her, just disappointed in himself. With a little more forethought he could have handled matters so much better.

  What kind of Dominant let himself get so intoxicated with a sub that he pushed her to her limits, forcing her to retreat?

  But no woman he’d ever met had been like Macy. No one else had felt so good in his arms and no one else had consumed his thoughts. It was as though he was the submissive one, caving to her beauty, her fire, the taste of her flesh and her spirit.

  He longed to see her squirm, her buttocks bright red from a spanking and then to see her on her knees, her lush lips at the tip of his cock, opening, begging to please him.

  Damn it, that was what had kept him awake—all those sexual thoughts. Every time he had so much as closed his eyes she was there, whispering in his ear, her sweet voice melodic and singing of their passion.

  A twisted, confused passion that obviously caused both of them more pain than it was worth.

  The least he could do was set her free.

  The flowers were designed with that very purpose in mind. Red roses to make it clear the feelings of his heart and with it the note,
letting her know he had clearly offended and frankly he would likely do so again if left to his own devices. Better to quit while they were ahead or at least not so terribly far behind.

  He had seen relationships go that way and he had no intention of reaching the point of hatred between them. They might never be lovers again or friends but they’d never be enemies.

  It was only half past eleven and she was home.

  He heard her sniffling in the hallway. Damnation, was she…crying? Jarit went to his door, fists clenched, listening, deciding.

  He had to do something. But what? Hadn’t fate already spoken?

  “Screw fate,” he declared aloud.

  A second later he was in the hallway.

  Macy had already closed and locked her door behind her. Without thinking, giving himself no chance to reconsider his actions, he walked across the hall and knocked.

  No way back. I’ve gone around the bend, Jarit thought. His feet were bare. He wore nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.

  And the biggest grin on his face.

  Either he had just done the smartest thing in his life…or the dumbest.

  * * * * *

  Macy had just tossed her purse on the sofa when she heard the knock on her door. Who the hell would be bothering her in the middle of the day? Reynolds, or maybe Mrs. Lyons from down the hall wanting some more sugar? She was always doing that. It was as if the stores had somehow stopped selling the stuff.

  “Just a minute!” She managed her best happy-go-lucky voice.

  With the chain still on, she opened the door. “Yes, Mrs. Ly—” Macy stopped midstream. “Jarit, what in blazes—”

  “I seem to have locked myself out of my apartment,” he said gravely.

  “You’re…you’re…” she was about to say naked when she realized he was wearing boxer shorts. Not that it was much of an improvement over full frontal nudity.

  “Are you going to let me come in?”

  “You are insane,” she pronounced.

  “Probably,” he acknowledged. “Hopefully I won’t be arrested, not that you would care.”

  Ushering him in, she said, “Fine, come in, but for the record, I consider this blackmail, plain and simple.”

  Jarit filled the room with his presence, like the big cat he resembled, instantly taking over fresh territory.

  Her territory.

  “If you are implying that I took advantage of your feelings for me, I’m flattered…about your feelings, that is.”

  “I didn’t want you to humiliate yourself. That’s hardly a feeling,” she retorted.

  “It’s a start.”

  “Let go of me.”

  Jarit was holding her, his hands gentle but still wrapping much of her upper arms. She knew he could lift her, pull her tight against his chest so she’d never break free. But he wouldn’t do that, ever. She was sure of it, the same way she knew how well they fit together. But that still left too much up for grabs.

  “What are you afraid of, Macy, really?”

  She cursed herself for relaxing, for letting him win that crucial first round. “Nothing.”

  His hands moved to her wrists. “It isn’t wrong to want to surrender, to want to serve.”

  “You’re an egomaniac,” she declared. “Thinking a woman lives to cater to your whims.”

  “Not any woman. Just you.”

  Her knees went weak.

  “I tried to figure out why I did what I did, coming over here like a damn fool, dripping wet, Macy, and I realize it was because I had nothing to lose. I was in love with you, still am.”

  She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  His cock was rock hard, pointing right at her.

  “I want to be inside you, Macy. I want your body. I demand it.”

  Macy moaned as he took her hard against him, kissing her neck, immobilizing her, hands behind her back.

  “Say the words,” he breathed. “Surrender to me.”

  “I…can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Jarit’s sudden grip on her hair caught her off guard.

  Taking a fistful of her dark curls, he bent her neck back and planted his lips hard and fast on hers. The kiss was as punishing as it was educative. The longer and harder he made it the more she responded, yielding, pressing and finally inviting his tongue, his teeth.

  She wanted it—the ravishing, the utter merciless masculinity—tugging at her soul just as his fingers pulled at the roots of her hair, tight to the point of near pain, not enough to make her cry but more than enough to have her attention.

  More than anything now, she wanted ravishment, to be pushed to the floor and taken so it would be known once and for all what she was and what she craved.

  But Jarit was not letting her off so easily.

  Just as abruptly as the kiss began, it ended.

  Expressionless, he pushed her away. She looked at him, bewildered and angry.

  “You need discipline,” he said.

  “Go to hell.”

  Jarit smiled thinly. “Take off your clothes, Macy. I am going to punish you.”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts. “No.”

  “Would you like that pretty outfit ripped off instead?”

  His eyes left no room for doubt. He would do it. In the back of her mind she thought of running to her bedroom to lock the door but something held her, like a moth, terribly fascinated and drawn to the light. Oblivious of the destructive heat, the true violence of fire.

  “Does this turn you on?” She tried to shame him. “Bullying a female?”

  He smiled grimly. “I think you know the answer. It isn’t bullying if there’s consent.”

  Macy unzipped her skirt and wriggled it over her hips. “And you think I consent?”

  “I think you’ve no idea what a spanking feels like, what it will do to you, how it will make you act differently, but you’re curious, too curious to throw me out.”

  “I couldn’t force you out and you know it.”

  “And yet I would go the moment you said the word.”

  “Don’t think I won’t.”

  “Leave the heels on,” he said.

  “Pervert,” she hissed, her heart slamming in her chest, thinking what it must be doing to him to see her like this, his cock already so huge under the tent of his boxers.

  “You’re in heat,” he observed as she slid down her panties. “I can smell it.”

  “I won’t let you talk to me that way, you hear me?” she said defiantly.

  He laughed lightly. “Oh lover, we’ve a long way to go.”

  “You promised me your goodbye,” she reminded, sliding the tiny white garment, silky and moist, over her ankles. “Were the flowers a lie?”

  “You tempted me back. No man can resist the helpless maiden.”

  “I’m hardly helpless.”

  “Slowly,” he chastised as she began whipping open the buttons on her blouse.

  It was an attempt on her part to cheat him of his cheap thrills, but he was having none of it. Trying not to let her chest rise and fall too enticingly, Macy obeyed. “I feel sorry for you, I do, Jarit.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You play games instead of really dealing with life.”

  “Those seem pretty real to me,” he teased as she slipped the blouse over her shoulders, arching her back in the process.

  “Very funny.”

  He was watching so intently. She’d never seen a man so focused and so unabashed. He did truly want her more than anything, at least for the moment.

  “You’re hesitating,” he noted.

  “Well, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  She snorted. “So much for you being a sensitive Dominant.”

  He asked the question again, the one he’d asked when he first came in. “What are you afraid of?”

  “That you will talk me to death.” Macy put her hands behind her back and undid her bra. Defiantly, with all the will of a human sacrifice, she let the c
ups fall, her twin globes proud and her nipples taut and peaked.

  “Over here.” He pointed to the sofa. She watched him sit down first, making a place for her on his lap.

  This was not happening.

  She was not moving toward him of her own volition. She was not taking his outstretched hand. She was not lowering herself in accord with his will, not feeling the knitted material of the cushions against her skin, her knee caps and her palms.

  As she lowered onto his lap, she most especially was not feeling his cock as it pressed against the vee of her thighs or his hand as it began to massage her butt cheeks.

  “Don’t move around so much,” he urged. “It won’t feel as good.”

  “I thought it was punishment.”

  “It is…and I want you to enjoy every moment.”

  Jarit forced himself to take his time, relaxing Macy, letting her feel comfortable stretched on his lap, her sweet ass upturned, her cheek pressed to the sofa, palms down. God, what a target she made, what a sweet, perfect tableaux for what BDSM should be, the caring and the intimacy between two people.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, stroking her soft hair.

  “And you are just buttering me up.”

  “Does this feel like buttering up?” Raising his hand, he delivered a soft blow, enough to draw her attention.

  It was also enough to draw heat to the affected area.

  Rubbing the affected globe, he waited for her to focus.

  “Son of a bitch,” she said.

  He smacked her again crisply, harder.

  She released a groaning noise.

  Now he showed her the true deviance, the mixing of good and evil. Jarit’s fingers found her clit almost immediately, playing it, owning it, making it swell.

  “What the— Oh god it’s…”

  He spanked her again and then played with her some more, showing her the alternation, the way pain could bleed into pleasure, creating an irascible need for both.

  His fingers plunged deeply into her dripping pussy. She was hot and pulsing, instinctively clenching at him with her strong pelvic muscles.

  “I hope you aren’t coming, young lady.” He pinched her bottom, drawing a squeal. Damn, how he loved this woman’s sounds. “Unauthorized orgasms got you in trouble before, which is one of the reasons you are here now.”

  “Fuck it,” she groaned. “Why did I open the door for you?”