Chapter Two #2
Fabulous, just what she needed, a sub with no freaking limits.
“I’ll deal with it, Jennifer.” Dread filled her belly as she turned and headed up the stairs. She really didn’t have the energy to deal with a submissive who possessed no self-preservation instincts—to some Doms, no limits meant a smorgasbord of pain and humiliation.
For her, it was a huge pain in the ass. Limitless submissives were dangerous to themselves, and had been known to drag a Dom down with them when they crashed and burned in a scene.
Violet strolled down the hallway, turning left and following it past the residential rooms to the small selection of themed playrooms at the very end of the upper level.
The themed rooms—Garden, Star, Air, Fire, and Water—were deliberately built inside the clubhouse, keeping them separate from the hardcore BDSM areas. They were designed more for emotional scenes, without any added pressure from outside sources.
She could admit they weren’t her favorite rooms to scene in—they were too calm and tranquil, giving her mind too many avenues to wander toward things she didn’t want to explore—but she appreciated both the beauty of them, and their purpose.
For a moment, she paused outside the door to the Garden Room, straightening her shoulders, her spine, subtly forcing her body to adopt the stature of Mistress Violet. Bit by bit, she became the persona she was learning to hate.
Clenching her teeth, she opened the door and walked in, turning to close it.
Almost immediately, the hairs on her arms and nape quivered, rising like tiny seedlings to lean toward the sun. She sucked in a breath, filling her lungs with that spicy tobacco scent, and comprehended what a monumental mistake she’d made by not listening to her instincts.
His presence commanded the room, as fucking always.
Boudreaux motherfucking Fontenot.
Violet tightened her grip on the handle, already swinging the door open again.
“Running away so soon, Bennie?”
That goddamn French accent, she fumed silently.
It was one of the most powerful weapons in his arsenal, one she’d been helpless against for far too long.
The asshole knew how to use it to its full effect, had learned how to let his voice purr and croon, play with words like lyrics in a song.
He was adept in tones, possessing extensive knowledge in how each variation affected people, men and women alike.
“Walking away,” she fired back coldly, “before I commit murder.”
“Mmm, so bloodthirsty now. Perhaps I should not tease… after all, I’ve seen what you can do with barbed wire.”
The touch of pride in his voice lit a fire under her ass she couldn’t contain. Slamming the door shut, she spun and glared at him. Damn the fucker, he hadn’t changed since the last time she’d seen him, had he? Couldn’t even do the decent thing and age like any other asshole.
No, he was utterly, sinfully gorgeous—fully aware of it, too—and just as fucking cocky.
Taking over the wicker chair like a throne, one ankle propped on the opposite knee, Boudreaux rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin on his fist. The charcoal suit he wore strained in several places, and she had no doubts he was still as fit as he’d been a year ago.
Because, apparently, the asshole was a time-defying god.
“I’m not playing your games, Fontenot.”
“Oh, Bennie, Bennie, Bennie… this is not a game.” Growling under his breath, Boudreaux unfolded himself and rose, shooting his cuffs. “It’s time to come home, Violet. I built you an empire; it needs its queen.”
Her lip curled into a sneer. “I’m sure one of your floosies would love the chance.”
“Jealousy is quite attractive on you, beignet. I forgot how eloquently you tell me to fuck off with your eyes.” With his gaze focused on her face, his blue-green eyes more blue now, he stalked toward her.
“Tired. Stressed. Miserably unhappy. This is not the place for you, chérie, however much you wish it.”
“Take another step and I’ll show you exactly what I’m wishing for.
” She shouldn’t be surprised he was going straight for the throat—Boudreaux was a man who went for the jugular, no matter what.
Lying wasn’t in his repertoire. “Serenity is where I belong. Just because you show up in your fancy suit after all this time doesn’t mean shit. ”
Of course, he didn’t listen.
Before he trapped her with her back against the door, Violet stepped past him, spinning to keep him in view. Already, her body was leaning toward him, remembering how it felt to be held tight in his arms, pinned underneath him, joined with him in a way that transcended the physical act.
Her long-dormant libido woke slowly with a yawn and purred Hello, Daddy.
“Twelve years, three months, two weeks, and six days—the sum total of our time together,” Boudreaux crooned, prowling around her, forcing her to keep moving if she wanted to protect her back.
“Four thousand, four hundred and ninety-two days with you, Bennie. You’ve consumed my thoughts during each and every one, together and apart. ”
She snorted derisively before the sentiment of his statement sank into her heart and softened her resolve.
“Don’t act like I walked away and broke your heart.
You don’t get to play the victim card here, Boudreaux—I wasn’t enough for you, you let me know that in no uncertain terms, and you kicked me loose without a second thought. ”
“You weren’t enough for yourself, Violet.
Being with me the way we were… I knew what you were destined to become.
” His eyes roamed over her with approval.
“I set you free to find yourself, but always with the intention that you’d come back to me.
Do you believe I released you with no hope of return? ”
If she touched him, if her hands so much as brushed against his chest, it was game over.
It was the only reason she hadn’t shoved him out of her personal space.
“I believe the gist of the conversation was essentially that you wanted to fuck other women, other subs, because I no longer satisfied you after over a decade of loving you. My heart, my soul, everything I’d given to you and you alone…
worthless trinkets you tossed in the trash. ”
Blue and green merged together, darkening so swiftly, she almost stepped back from his palpable fury. Long, clever fingers deftly flicked open the buttons on his suit jacket until it spread wide, and he shrugged it off, throwing it aside, only to repeat it all again with his shirt.
She’d been right, Violet thought as the pale blue material parted to expose a sliver of solid chest no man of his age should possess. Tight, tanned skin stretched over firm muscle, his abs dissected by the dark trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants.
“Worthless trinkets?” he snarled, wrenching off the shirt completely. “I think not.”
Christ, what had he done? Sometime since she’d last seen him, he’d indulged in some ink, permanently marking that beautiful skin with… her. It wasn’t garish or ridiculous, overstated or foolish.
Twelve violets, each one the size of her thumbnail, were inked over his heart, making a bigger statement than she expected.
“One for each year you’ve enraptured me,” he continued, running a fingertip over the blossoms. “One for each year I’ve held your trinkets safe in my possession.
Desperation and devotion drove me to ink them into my flesh while the woman I love, worship, adore spent two whole years living apart from me.
I refuse to let another year pass without you by my side again, Bennie. ”
“My name is not Bennie.”
“You’ve been my Bennie since the day we met, there is no changing it now.” He lifted his hand to cup her cheek—she almost made a fatal mistake by slapping it aside, but caught herself and stepped back out of reach instead.
“If any part of you touches me, you will lose it, painfully,” she warned him.
One dark eyebrow arched in amusement, simultaneously reflected in his slow, unperturbed grin.
“What are you scared of, chérie? Perhaps you remember what it felt like to writhe beneath my hands, hmmm? How you squirmed so prettily for me when my tongue licked your cunt until you came, squirting over my face like the Mardi Gras Fountain.”
The core of her went lax, readying for the pleasure she remembered all too damn well.
The trouble with Boudreaux was simple—he was all about pleasure, both giving and receiving. Sex was an artform, a journey of self-discovery, and he was the Master. She knew there was nothing he would balk at, no limit to how far he would push a sub if she let him, in the hunt for pleasure.
“How long has it been, Bennie, since a man put his mouth on you, worshipping this body the way it deserves?” He began to circle her, slowly closing the distance between them.
“Since strong hands stroked over your skin, commanding your every move through touch alone?” His breath whispered over her hair as he leaned in to inhale her scent, then exhaled with satisfaction.
“Since a cock ravaged your soft, wet cunt the way it likes?”
It was time to leave, she told herself. Beyond time—he knew all her buttons, how to push each one, the effect his voice had on her, and it was obvious he was here for one reason and one reason only. “That’s none of your business, Fontenot.”
“No? I wonder.” The heat of him surrounded her, bringing blood rushing beneath her skin.
“I will be bold and guess you’ve been denying your desires for quite a while.
I know you, Bennie,” he added in a seductive murmur, his lips almost brushing her ear.
“This body is mine, is it not? I know when it is unsatisfied, even if your sour demeanor didn’t give you away. ”
Violet bared her teeth. “Nothing of mine is yours, Boudreaux. Once you pull the trigger, there’s no putting the bullet back in the gun. I was yours in my entirety once—then you pulled the trigger and ended it.”