The diamond teardrop glittered from her navel. Above the hood shielding her clitoris was a triangle of dark hair, trimmed short and neat. Her pu**y lips were bare. Silky soft to the touch. Waxed smooth every week.
He warred with himself over how he wanted tonight to go down. There was a part of him eager to reassert his dominance. To take her to the very edge of her boundaries until they were both satisfied that he owned every inch of her body.
The other part of him wanted to be gentle with her. Shower her with tenderness. And ask her to bare her secrets.
The last gave him pause. Ask. Not demand. Somehow it seemed important that she willingly give him what he wanted to know. He could demand, yes. And she’d willingly oblige him. She was perfect in that regard. He’d never met a woman quite so comfortable in her skin. So open. So …at peace.
But now he wondered about that peace and what it had cost her. Her meeting with Cole had rattled her. He’d seen it. Known it. Hadn’t exactly known how to digest what he’d witnessed.
One thing he knew. He wanted to know more about the much younger Ren. The Ren who’d once belonged to Cole Madison, a man who clearly hadn’t forgotten her in the many years since they went their separate ways.
“What are you thinking?”
She lay beneath him, quiet, soft. Her gaze on him. Her attention focused solely on him. He leaned down and pressed a single kiss to the soft lips of her pu**y and enjoyed the quick shiver that rocked through her body.
So responsive. So in tune with his wants and needs. He wondered if he’d ever find a woman more perfect for him. And yet, he’d never given much thought to the permanence of their relationship. Her role in his life.
Now he was going to be made to do just that, and he wasn’t sure he liked the circumstances that were going to force his hand.
He shifted his body up until he lay on his side next to her, his head propped in his palm as he stared down into her eyes. She was still staring oddly at him, obviously perplexed by his mood.
He touched his finger to the soft skin of her cheek and traced a line down to her jaw. “Tell me about Cole Madison.”
He didn’t miss the sudden flare in her eyes or the slight tension coiling through her body. She was tempted to look away but her discipline didn’t desert her. She kept her gaze steady and fixed on him.
Then she sighed. “We were childhood sweethearts. I say childhood. I was young. Just sixteen when we first met. He was twenty. In college. I adored him. He was everything a sixteen-year-old girl dreams of. Athletic. Gorgeous. Sweet. Protective and very alpha. Even then I knew I wanted and needed a very strong man. I didn’t have an explanation or even a name for it at the time, but I was instantly attracted to him.”
Lucas continued to stroke her cheek, more to offer her comfort and to let her know he wasn’t threatened by the retelling of her first love.
“Were you intimate at such a young age?” he asked. “That could have gotten him into serious legal trouble in most, if not all, states.”
Ren shook her head. “He never pressured me for sex. In fact, he was adamant that we wait. It would probably make him sound weak or Beta to most people, but he was confident, self-assured. All he cared about was me and he thought I was too young for a sexual relationship.”
Lucas nodded in grudging respect. Not many young men would have cared whether their pretty girlfriend was too immature for sex.
“I thought perhaps we would consummate our relationship when I turned eighteen. I was positively breathless as my birthday neared. We’d been together for two years. He was about to graduate college. I loved him. I was sure he was the one I wanted to be with sexually and emotionally.
“But he surprised me by taking me to get the tattoo on my back. My parents were very strict and perhaps this was another reason Cole held off and didn’t pressure me. He didn’t want to cause problems for me with my mom and dad. They were very conservative. They forbade me from even getting my ears pierced until I turned eighteen.”
He tweaked one earlobe. “You never did get them pierced.”
She shook her head. “I got the tattoo instead. It was exactly what I wanted. I designed it myself. Cole insisted that I not go to some fly-by-night, back-alley tattoo parlor, so he took me into the city to a very expensive artist who did the ink. It was the best birthday gift I ever received. In a lot of ways it wasn’t just a tattoo. It was a mark of my independence. A new milestone in my life.”
So far Lucas wasn’t seeing the problem in her relationship with Cole. He seemed like a pretty decent guy, which annoyed him, truth be told. He wanted—needed—a reason to back out of the decision he’d already made.
“Only after the tattoo was completely healed did we make love for the first time. It was so perfect. He was my first and he made it so very special for me.”
She went silent a moment and though she still looked up at him, she was no longer seeing him. She was somewhere else. Lost in her memories. Sadness entered her eyes and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to hold her and shield her from hurt.
“After that first time, we became inseparable. Cole took over. Not in a negative way. I welcomed it. I loved that he took care of me. He anticipated my needs. He provided for me. It was like a fairy tale. It was precisely what I wanted in a relationship.
“We began to talk about it. We didn’t just slip into it. We knew what we were was …different. And exciting. We were young and we weren’t even sure exactly how to define this type of relationship. We began to experiment. Sexually. We quickly discovered what we did and didn’t enjoy. We embraced what turned us on and satisfied us emotionally and quickly discarded what didn’t meet a need.”
Again she broke off and went silent.
“What happened?” Lucas asked.
“One night things went too far. It was an accident. He was using a whip and he didn’t have much experience.”
Lucas winced. A whip wasn’t for an inexperienced hand. Not at all. It took long hours of practice to be able to wield it without injuring your partner. He didn’t use whips. He didn’t like them. He liked leather. Crops. Belts. Or the flat of his own hand. He also liked wood. Smooth, treated wood so there was no chance of Ren being injured by splinters or rough surfaces.
Then he frowned as a thought occurred to him. He turned her so the scar on her shoulder was visible. It was about four inches long, curving over her shoulder blade.