Mirror of My Soul by Joey Hill (readict books txt) 📗

kind of evil. In this terrible world, there was this gift, this sanctuary. This proof of Divinity.

Gripping her buttocks in both hands, he rose to his knees and lifted her so he was still driving in hard and steady, watching her breasts spill onto her sternum, wobbling with the force of gravity. The nipples were dark mauve hard points, her cunt slick where he was plunging in, again and again, moving her on the grass. When he thrust two of his fingers deep into her backside she screamed, a full-throated cry he was sure could be heard by his guests, by the stars. He felt a surge of primal pleasure in it, a conqueror’s fierce satisfaction, a man’s humble gratitude.

“Come, Marguerite.” His voice was hoarse. “Come for me, angel. Let me hear you.

Let them know who you belong to.”

As her body rolled against him like storm waves, she moaned, then cried out again, a long sound of release. He kept thrusting hard, feeling her flesh clamp down on him, unrelenting, telling him she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her. He was inside her, not just her soaked pussy, but in all the complex turbulent and dark mazes that were Marguerite. He wanted to be there forever, wanted to keep her safe and unafraid, give her pleasure and happiness. He could no more consider letting her go now than he would consider severing a vital limb and letting himself bleed out.

She would likely panic and withdraw, run from him again, but he knew the way in now. She’d let him into the deepest room in her heart. He was going to win her as often as he needed to do so, even if it was a quest that took forever, that had to be begun every day. Until death do they part.

Hell. For eternity. No way was she going to get out of this with a flimsy excuse like mortal lifespan.

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Joey W. Hill

When they both came down, he lowered himself onto her, breathing hard. Curling his body over hers, his arms around her head, he laced his fingers in her limp ones, nuzzling her cheeks, feeling her legs slide down to hold him in a lower embrace, though he stayed firmly seated in her. He kissed one perfect ear, the tiny hairs at her temple, blew on her eyelashes until she squeezed her eyes closed like a disgruntled cat and made him smile when she pushed against his grip.

“Now that we’ve taken care of that,” he said. “I’m going to make love to you. Slow, soft, long. All night.”

She looked up at him. “Carry me. I like it when you carry me.” Her body trembled beneath him.

“Ask me.”

“Please.” The words came out without hesitation or thought. “Would you carry

me?”

“Anything you ask for, angel.” Though he wondered if he could get her all the way to the bedroom without laying her down three times in between and taking her all over again. “No. It’s my right to do it.” He stayed her hands, pulled the dress back down over her breasts, down the slope of her abdomen, over her hips, his fingers stroking her damp and still quivering flesh. Reluctantly he withdrew his touch to rearrange his own clothing. But the separation was only for a moment. “Put your arms around my neck,”

he commanded her quietly.

When he lifted her, he left her shoes tumbled against each other at the base of the statue. He couldn’t think of a more appropriate offering to the deity devoted to love and sensuality.

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Mirror of My Soul

Chapter Eight

When he got to the threshold of his bedroom, Tyler paused. Breathing in, breathing out. Like the woman he was bringing here, he knew the power of a Mastery, the

complete surrender of a submissive to the Master or Mistress. When the message was,

“All I am, I offer to you, I give to you. I’m yours.” She’d said this was what she wanted and he was never going to take the gift for granted. He was going to give her the world if she let him. Every beautiful thing he gave her to blot out an ugly piece of her past would tear a hole out of his until they could cast their nightmares like ashes into the Gulf and lay the past to rest. He hadn’t realized the key to his own emptiness until she’d had the incredible bravery—so much bravery there was no way to describe it—to open up her soul and shed light on the answer he’d been unable to find until her whispered words had provided it.

He’d never entered a life-threatening situation without a full arsenal of weapons.

Marguerite had let her father torture her night after night with nothing to defend her except her fierce love for her twin, the protection of his life the one thing that kept her focused.

Some wounds could only be healed by the touch of a soul mate, two broken pieces coming together to become a whole being again, so simple the jaded world would call it a cliché. The angels would call it one of God’s miracles, offered off the tips of His fingers like diamond raindrops, driving and cleaning away all that didn’t matter.

That love was worth any torment, every disappointment. It couldn’t be explained or described. It simply was, in the same way Marguerite wanted him as her Master, not even understanding what that meant. Just knowing as he’d known all along that she belonged to him. The beautiful, indomitable Mistress Marguerite.

He had perhaps not even comprehended it himself at the beginning, that she could be both. Both aspects were who she was, the sculpted result of her past, the decisions of her present. But there was a newly acknowledged part of her soul. A part that, if she held on to her courage and he didn’t let her down, could become the cradle to hold all of her amazing