Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology(3)
She understood him, understood how practical a man he was. Role playing was make-believe, and that was for children. He excelled at certain things because they were true to who he was. He was a leader, and yes, maybe somewhere inside him was the fire of those ancient conquerors. But he wasn’t a fanciful man. When other boys had been reading comic books and sword-and-sorcery novels, Matt was reading business success biographies and standing next to his father on oil rigs.
He saw himself as a leader in the context of the here and now, a contemporary setting, familiar landmarks. Yet as she’d told him her imaginings about that night, he realized he’d been pulled into how she told it.
He got the pajama bottoms out of his way, her agile feet helping, heels pushing the cotton off his ass, and he slid into her, her sweet cream making it a deep glide and lock. Her chin lifted, her throat moving in a swallow as her gaze held his.
She didn’t say a word, and neither did he, letting their eyes say everything. Conqueror, conquered. The lines blurred as to who was who, when they were joined like this. But as he embedded himself in her, he didn’t deny his surge of possessive pleasure, or the primal need to claim her through claiming her body. Thrust in the way that won her surrender, her body lifting to his movements, gasps coming from her lips.
Looking at all the possibilities The Resort offered, imagining them partaking of those offerings, meant that foreplay had been handled. But he realized her revealing her fantasy had also contributed to her aroused state. And maybe not just hers. Her responsiveness pleased him fiercely, her body already rocking urgently against his, her nails biting into his shoulder.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, and savored the cry that broke from her pale pink lips as she obeyed his command. She tightened on him like a fist, and he followed her right over, thrusting into her harder, more demanding, egged on by the clasp of her legs and the sharp scrape of her nails.
They moved together even afterward, riding those smaller crests, taking the last ounce of pleasure out of the experience. They’d been close to her normal bedtime when they’d decided to look at The Resort paperwork, so now, as she eased out of the climax, he noticed her lids were already drooping.
“We’ll pick this up tomorrow night,” he said, and she made a murmur of agreement. He turned them, cradling her in his arms, her leg hooked over his hip. He stayed inside her until he softened, feeling the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest as she caught her breath. When she nestled closer and he saw goosebumps on her skin, he knew the chill of the ceiling fan was affecting her.
Holding her with one arm, he pulled the comforter over them, keeping her warm. She adjusted, one arm folded against his chest, the other curled under his arm, her fingers caressing his back. “I love you, Matthew,” she said, her voice a breath against his skin. “It may be hindsight through romantic glasses, but I think I always did. Long before I realized or admitted it.”
“Of course you did,” he said placidly, and smiled when she closed the hand against his chest into a fist and beat out a gentle tattoo against him.
Her breathing evened out. He liked that, too. When they first were sharing a bed, she didn’t go to sleep easily or stay under peacefully. Now, unlike most women who seemed infused with energy after sex, she rode the aftermath like a welcoming boat, sailing into dreamland.
He wouldn’t be far behind her, but for now he held her while she slept, his own storytelling Scheherazade, and remembered that night she’d talked about.
Though a serious gamble, it had brought the relationship simmering between them for years at last to volcanic life. Matt had picked up on Savannah’s submissive side, long before she had done so. That night he’d frankly exploited it, pulling it to the surface in a dramatic way to ensure she confronted her feelings for him and his for her. It had resulted in marriage, and a deeper connection with another person than either one of them had ever experienced.
His gaze shifted to the scattered brochures and he smiled, shaking his head mentally. Yeah, he wasn’t into role play, but he was going to give her that damned fantasy. Because she might view him as a conqueror, but he was a conqueror whose only desire was ensuring his conquest had everything she could every possibly want.
Being a thorough planner, Matt had sought out the man on his executive team most able to help him learn how to take a step away from his hardcore reality into fantasy play.
Jon had suggested doing the role play scene last, after Matt had all the other Resort experiences to bolster him. He’d also recommended Matt come to his house to discuss the challenge face to face. Matt had half-expected—and feared—some crazy-assed visualization exercises. Well, no matter foolish he’d feel, if that was what was needed, he’d do it. He trusted his man to get him where he needed to be to achieve his objective.
Instead, Jon had invited him to sit on his back porch and share a bottle of Jack. Rachel had a Saturday morning yoga class, so it was just the two of them, but Matt had noted the pleasing signs of her presence. Her scent, a new set of pillows on the couch with a bamboo tree print, a romance novel on the coffee table.
But the most important sign of it was in Jon himself, the relaxed attitude of a male who had his forever mate, and was comfortable in the home they’d made together. Matt had no doubt, before she’d left that morning, Jon had enjoyed the many delights his sub had to offer. The contentment of a sated Master and male rested on Jon as obviously as the other clues to her presence.