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

Marguerite turned to her back, unselfconscious in her nudity. “Don’t you owe me a tattoo viewing?” she asked sleepily.

Josh stopped, glanced over at Tyler. Though his jaw flexed, Tyler imperceptibly nodded his head.

Marguerite lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and saw him there.

Warmth flooded her, but then she shifted her attention back to Josh.

He set the sketchbook aside, slipped the shirt off his shoulders as she sat up. Celtic designs manacled his biceps as well as his wrists. There was a dragon pattern on his flat belly just above his navel. He turned so she could see the life-sized sword etched in graphic color down the center of his back, starting at the base of his neck. The hilt was simple, the blade polished silver gray, but from hilt to tip the weapon was wrapped in a barbed vine. Here and there a rose bloomed, perfect in detail, but mostly there were thorns and barbs, stenciled as if pricking his skin in many places, with tiny black drops of blood. In one place, the drop had fallen upon one of the roses, spreading and staining the pure crimson petals. His jeans tightened briefly over his backside as he worked them open. When he dropped them, shoving them down his hips and letting them fall to his ankles, she could see the sword point stopped at the top cleft of his buttocks. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, so the loose fit of the jeans had left no skin impressions to mar the artwork.

When he turned, she saw his right calf had a serpent dragon coiled from ankle to knee. From the tender joining crease of pelvis to mid-thigh, another tattoo of a sword had been stenciled. The jeweled hilt was drawn just below his hipbone. A latticework of ivy and pale gold flowers twined around this blade. At its point the greenery wove into a tight vee that curled up into a dime-sized upright pentacle. A symbol of the elements and protection, it anchored the work on the inside of the thigh just below his testicles.

She rose, moved behind him, passing her fingers over the blade where it narrowed to the small of his back, stopping at the tip end, her fingers resting on the upper curve of his buttocks.

“It’s beautiful.” She looked at his face as he turned his head to look at her, her fingers still on him. “And horrible. They’re the same as mine in a way, aren’t they?”

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His gray eyes warmed, the shadows of past pain still there, still remembered, but without the same power over him anymore. “Yes,” he said. “There was never a better tattoo artist than she was.”

“And your flesh was a canvas that inspired her like no other,” she said softly.

“Every needle mark was precise, had to be just so…”

“And you had to be absolutely still, so nothing would ruin its placement.” Josh’s eyes darkened to storm clouds as he nodded at her shoulder, at what he knew lay behind it. “At least I had a choice.”

She stepped back, withdrawing. “We both know sometimes that’s not as apparent

as it seems in hindsight. Thank you, Josh. For the honor of being your model.”

He took her hand, kissed it. It did not have the comfortable flair that Tyler gave it, but it was emotional, sincere. She was glad she was an ethical Mistress, else she would have done her best to steal him.

“The two of you have made me miss Lauren more. And remember why she’s my

salvation, though I’m not likely to ever forget it.” He straightened and held on to Marguerite’s hand a moment more, his gray eyes serious. “I wasn’t lying, Mistress. The scars aren’t soul deep. They only become soul deep if you turn your back on someone who loves you, who’s willing to guard your dreams, keep the nightmares at bay. Trust him. Trust yourself.”

She swallowed, her gaze shifting to Tyler. Josh also looked toward Tyler, releasing her. “I may drive into Fort Lauderdale and see if I can catch Lauren on a lunch break.

Tyler, do you mind if I borrow the Porsche?”

“With your driving skills? Take the BMW sedan in the garage. I’ll feel better

knowing you have some protection when you wrap it around a tree.”

Josh grinned, pulled on his pants. He headed toward the house with eager steps, carrying the sketch pad in his mouth as he shrugged into the shirt.

“Artists,” Tyler pronounced as Marguerite turned to face him.

“Is there anything we should do for him?”

“No, he’s just missing Lauren. Of course that’s often when he’ll come up with

something brilliant, inspired by his passion for her.”

When she bent to pick up the robe, he put out his hand. “Don’t. Come here.”

Dropping it, she walked toward him across the green grass in her bare feet. She watched his eyes touch every part of her as she came to him. The tightening of her nipples under his regard, her stomach and thighs, the dampening folds of her pussy.

She was even cognizant of his eyes on her throat, her knees, feet and flanks. They all reacted as if his gaze alone were capable of caressing her.

When she got to him, he surprised her by sitting down in the grass and tugging her down so she was straddling his legs. He tucked her legs around his hips, his hands loosely linked at the widest part of her buttocks, his fingers playing in the sensitive crevice. “You like him.”

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“I do. He’s something else. If I were Lauren, I’d never leave him alone.”

“Once he tells her about you, I’m sure she never will again.”

“What? I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t. And he loves her to obsession.” Not unlike himself with the woman in his arms. “I wasn’t criticizing. It’s something about you. You’re more Goddess than Mistress. There’s something that makes a submissive feel…overwhelmed in your presence.”

She chose to ignore that, as he knew she would. “Did the way