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Nature Of Desire: Mirror Of The Soul, Page 1

Joey W. Hill

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  Mirror of My Soul

  ISBN # 1-4199-0576-7


  Mirror of My Soul Copyright© 2006 Joey W. Hill

  Edited by Briana St. James.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication: May 2006

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.


  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  Mirror of My Soul

  Joey W. Hill

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Armani : GA Modefine S.A.

  BMW : Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft Corporation

  Budweiser : Anheuser-Busch, Incorporated

  Bugs Bunny: Warner Bros, Inc.

  Desert Eagle : TAAS—Israel Industries Limited Corporation

  Ferrari : Ferraro S.p.A.

  Jeep : Daimler Chrysler Corporation

  Jell-O : Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.

  London Fog : Londontown Manufacturing Company

  Piper Cub : New Piper Aircraft, Inc.

  Road Runner : Time Warner Entertainment Company

  Spider-Man: Cadence Industries

  The Lone Ranger : Wrather Corporation

  Author Note about Ice Queen

  They call her the Ice Queen. At the exclusive BDSM club known as The Zone, Mistress Marguerite is a legend. Tyler Winterman has been fascinated with her since he’s known her, though the rules of their world say they shouldn’t share more than mutual admiration. He is her male counterpart, one of the most powerful Doms practicing at The Zone.

  Due to a computer error, Marguerite lacks the mentoring program stipulation required of all Zone Dominants, which includes spending a number of hours learning about BDSM from the submissive’s perspective. Tyler considers it an act of fate that Marguerite chooses him to be the Dom who helps her fulfill that requirement. He is convinced she is a “switch”, a closet submissive, but the truth will be even more remarkable than the theory, changing their lives in ways neither of them anticipates.

  Ice Queen focused on the weekend that Tyler spent with Marguerite, helping her to fulfill this mentoring requirement. Marguerite found herself overwhelmed by her emotions and strong physical reaction to his Mastering and tried to sever their connection after their weekend together. Tyler, in an attempt to coax her into pursuing a deeper relationship with him, asks for the privilege of serving as her submissive for one night within the walls of The Zone.

  Marguerite’s desire to prove to Tyler she can top him as naturally as he Mastered her compels her to accept his invitation. But when the nightmares of her dysfunctional past rise during the session, she becomes violent and uncontrolled, breaking every rule a Dominant is supposed to follow to protect the well-being and safety of her submissive.

  The fact she beats the hell out of him doesn’t turn Tyler away from her. Still restrained and now bleeding, he calls her to him. She responds, ending up at his feet, holding on to him, needing to feel him, to be near the sanctuary of his voice.

  She couldn’t top him. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be a Mistress to Tyler. The knowledge of it was quietly there, the real battle she’d come in here to fight. What the waiting look in his eyes told her he’d known all along. He’d proven himself her Master even when bound, taking over her senses even without the privilege of touching her.

  She was a Mistress who needed a Master. Who needed him.

  Mirror of My Soul picks up Tyler and Marguerite’s story right after this session, so you haven’t missed a single moment between them. Enjoy…

  Joey W. Hill

  Chapter One

  She heard The Zone staff come in but didn’t move, simply too numb to do anything. She must have phased out for a bit, just stroking the back of his thigh, for suddenly she was vaguely aware of an employee reaching under her to release the manacles on his ankles.

  “Thanks. Darken the ceiling on your way out, will you?”

  Tyler’s voice, the only thing that registered. There was the whir of the mechanism, shutting out faces that were probably wondering what kind of show they’d just seen. The last performance of the Ice Queen.

  “They’ll never let me come back. You have no choice but to kick me out now. There isn’t a rule I didn’t just break.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t count on that. I told Perry we were planning a demonstration of what not to do. Like a community service message.”

  She knew he was free now but he didn’t disturb her yet, letting her kneel there, holding him. “Do you always anticipate everything?”

  There was a silent moment before he answered. “No. I didn’t anticipate that I would fall in love with you from the very first moment I saw you.”

  She closed her eyes. “No.” She ducked her head away as he bent down over her, tried to turn her face. “I can’t look at you. I can’t.”

  But his fingers insisted, so at length she did. Tilting her chin up, she saw his beautiful eyes full of something far too perfect for her to see. Then she saw more. Two slashes on his face that were open and seeping blood, the skin around them an angry red. The second one had left a cut across his eyelid and the bridge of his nose. His jaw was swelling, where she well could have broken it with the tawser.

  Her fingers were on it before she could stop herself. “Oh God, Tyler. I’m—”

  He laid his lips over hers, taking her words, her hitching breath into himself. When he raised his head, she had nothing, he had it all.

  “I’ll endure anything for you, angel. Anything.” He curved that broad back over her, wrapped his arms around her body. Instead of fighting the touch, the intensity, her body recognized it as a safe harbor. Her fingers latched on to his forearm and her nails dug in, cutting as if she were holding on to a cliff edge.

  The sobs rolled over her, taking her, her cries of distress that were much too strangled to be called crying. Tyler thought she sounded as if she was being torn apart from the inside.

  He’d made it onto the right path at last. But instead of triumph, at her anguish he could only feel the same pain, the pain of a man who loved her desperately, who
only wanted to make her feel better, make every nightmare go away.

  Her body was shaking as if she had a fever. Another woman’s face would be wet with tears but it was as if she didn’t know how to cry like that, any more than she’d known how to let herself go, to allow herself physical fulfillment. Her skin was ice cold.

  As he comprehended the significance of that, the door beeped, opened.

  “Everything under control in here?” It was Mac, his eyes assessing the situation as a cop and a friend. At the moment Tyler was grateful for a person with both to offer. Dan was a quiet shadow at his back, having disengaged the locks for Mac.

  “I think she’s in a bit of shock. Can you bring me my jacket there?” He nodded toward the corner in the shadows where they’d hung it.

  “Her cloak’s here too.”

  “Bring them both over but she needs the jacket first.”

  Mac nodded to Dan, exchanged a quiet word, closed the door. He brought the jacket and cape, came over and crouched. Marguerite pressed her head against Tyler’s arm, shutting them out. Mac’s eyes noted her nails dug deep into Tyler’s arm.

  “Here, angel.” Tyler tenderly pried her loose, slid her hand into the sleeve.

  It had been like this a long, long time ago. Marguerite remembered this haze of nothing, where she had thought nothing would ever make sense again. Then there was the social worker reaching through that haze to find her, with the touch of a hand, a doll and a tea set. She resisted his movement of her but he was a lot stronger and simply made her limbs do as he wished, enveloping her in his jacket, his scent. She immediately rewrapped herself around his leg and arm as soon as he was done.

  Tyler winced as her nails clamped down into the same spot but he simply stroked her hair, held her close. “She’ll be all right in a bit,” he said quietly. “Where’s Violet?”

  Mac reached out, laid a hand on Marguerite’s quivering back. Grazed his fingers over her forehead, gauging her temperature.

  “She’s too pissed off. I talked her into letting me come check on you.”

  “We’re fine,” Tyler said.

  “Yeah, you look it.” A corner of Mac’s mouth twitched. “You’re going to need some medical attention.”

  “I’ve had worse beatings in my life.”

  “Just wait until Violet gets done with you.” Mac stood. “You owe me one. She’s going to make my life hell for the next few days for keeping her out of here when she let loose on you.”

  “Did you sit on her or use a headlock?”

  “You laugh now but Mistresses can be meaner than hell when crossed.” His gaze lingered on the ugly swellings on Tyler’s face. “I expect you know that.”

  He retreated, closing the door, leaving them alone.

  “Angel, let me take you home, put you to bed.”

  “I can drive myself.”

  He smiled against her hair but his heart tightened at the rough quality of her voice.

  “No, you won’t. It’s not a request. I’m taking care of you tonight. That’s the end of it.”

  She raised her head and her grip on his arm eased at last. She looked as if everything had been drained away, leaving her skin drawn taut, those blue eyes dominating her face. “And who will take care of you?”

  “Well, if you want to rub aloe all over my body, I guess I won’t object.” As he stroked her hair away from her cheek she sat very still under his touch, staring at him.

  “Tyler, you know I can’t do this. You need to hear me for once. There’s a reason I choose to be the way I am. The alternative is…” Her fingers reached up abruptly, touching his jaw. “This is the alternative for me.”

  “No, it’s not. There’s another path. You know it. You accepted it, even if only for a few minutes. That’s what scared you so much.” He lifted her chin, brought his mouth close to hers as her lips trembled open.

  “Say it to me, Marguerite. Say the word that’s in your heart, the reason you’re on your knees now.”

  She ducked her head but he caught her chin. Taking her hand, he placed it on the side of his face.

  “Your mouth may not be able to say it but every other part of you is.”

  He knew he shouldn’t push right now but the images were in his head. The fierce light in her eyes, the taunt of her body displayed before him, rubbing up against him. The break in her eyes when she knew. Even the energy she put into the beating. Every part of him ached but there was a violent need in him.

  “I can’t—”

  He caught her throat in his hand, kissed her. Not gently this time. Despite her vulnerable condition his intuition told him the moment required hard, brutal demand. His hands running down her arms, over her back, holding her against his bare chest, his tongue invading her mouth, his teeth tasting her. When she made a soft cry that vibrated against his grip, he tangled his other fist in her hair, held it as her nipples hardened against his chest. Reaching down, he put a hand between her legs and shoved the dress up to find her wet and slick, her thighs trembling.

  “Say it, angel. Or I fuck you until you do, until you’re screaming it every time you climax.”

  “If I say it, will you let me go home alone?”

  “No. I already told you, that’s not an option.” He brought his hold back to her throat, felt her telltale shudder at the contact while he remembered how she’d constricted his breathing. How he hadn’t cared if she strangled him, if only she’d put her lips on his and give him oxygen from the body he craved. “Marguerite.”

  “I’m not… I can’t yet. Please don’t do this to me.”

  “We both know you’re mine.” Because every fucking beat of my heart is yours.

  Passing his hand over her shoulder blades, he felt her shiver with a combination of desire and terror both. The former heightened his lust for her, the latter roused his urge to protect. The Dom in him responded to both.

  When he laid his palm on the back of her neck he felt the wisps of hair brush his knuckles. Leaning in, he kissed the top of her head. “All right, then. I’ll let it go for now. I need to talk to Perry a moment to make sure we’re all square but then we’ll get you home.”

  He surprised her, not just with the sudden withdrawal of demand but by simply scooping his arms under her and lifting her, not even giving her the option of rising. He set her in an occasional chair that was in the shadows. The chair was intended for a weak-kneed sub or as a comfortable seat from which a Mistress could contemplate the artistry of her bound submissive. Or she could make him bend over it and place his lips on the cushion where she’d just been while she fucked him with an impressively intimidating dildo. Marguerite had used it for all those reasons. Never because she couldn’t stand well enough on her own two feet.

  She had to pull herself together. She couldn’t let herself believe even for a moment in the fantasy of someone else doing it for her. He kept his profile to her, glancing at her often as he dressed. Socks, underwear, tucking that appealing cock in the snug boxers, pulling up the slacks, belting them. She knew he had to be hurting like hell but not once under her unwavering gaze did he flinch. She knew part of it was male pride but she also suspected it was that chivalry of his that wouldn’t let her suffer the full guilt of knowing how much she’d hurt him.

  At the height of her frenzy it had even crossed her mind to destroy him, obliterate him entirely, as if the emotional pain he’d drawn from her made him as bad as the source of the pain. At that moment she could no longer distinguish friend from foe and all that mattered was the solitude. Destroying everything so it would be quiet in her head. She wouldn’t even care if they took her away and put her in a room by herself forever, her only job to stare at padded walls and wait for the oblivion of the final injection.

  Instead, something had changed as those quiet amber eyes had watched her, waited on her. She’d ended up on her knees at his feet, kissing the hurts, a nonverbal plea for forgiveness for drawing him into her nightmare. For not wanting to release him from that nightmare because he made
her feel she wasn’t alone with it anymore. While she wanted to cringe at the pathetic picture the words painted, her heart brushed that off and simply focused on him, on each look he sent her way. He shrugged into the shirt, left it open, rolled up the cuffs and draped the tie on either side of the collar. His coat was still around her shoulders. She didn’t want to take it off, which made her start to do so.

  “No.” He came and pulled it close around her, enveloping her in the warmth. “You hang on to it awhile. It’s steadying you. Your color’s getting better. C’mon.”

  He half lifted her off the chair, his arm going around her waist. She made herself find the strength not to lean so much but her knees were loose, as if the joints had a questionable ability to lock. With the least amount of encouragement he’d carry her and she’d suffered enough humiliation for one night. She allowed the arm, even used a handhold of his shirt and the firm flesh just above his hipbone to help her get out the door of the room she never wanted to see again.

  “My… I didn’t clean up.”

  “They’ll get it. I’ll pay them the extra to do the cleanup, sterilize the whip and tawser. Are they yours or The Zone’s?”

  “The tawser’s mine.”

  “Okay, then. Don’t worry about it.”

  “They’ll charge it to my card. This is my night. I’ll pay for it.”

  The hallway was quiet and she was thankful that The Zone had a side hallway exit that allowed patrons with a code to go straight from the playrooms to the parking lot, rather than having to push through the crowds on the main floor.

  “I need to go to the women’s changing area. Clean up before we leave,” she said. “While you talk to Perry.”

  “All right.” Allowing her to move out from under his arm, he nevertheless took her hand, apparently to steady her and make sure she was standing on her own. He kept his gaze on hers. “Your car keys.”