Tyler seriously considered fabricating an outbreak of salmonella in the hors d’oeuvres and an impending locust plague, either of which would require everyone to leave now. He hoped he was embroiled in his last conversation of the evening, which he’d strategically arranged to be on the edge of the crowd near the gardens so he could slip away. He’d had to force his mind to stay on the courtesies required of a host to ensure his guests were enjoying themselves and, where appropriate, achieving their objectives in attending.

But with every moment that passed, a beast stirred within him, growing ever more hungry and ferocious. She’d come to him at last. Was waiting for him. His mind was full of her, every delicious move of her body in that dress that should have been illegal for public consumption, the way her hand had brushed down Josh’s arm, the graceful fingers playing on his skin, her eyes challenging. The damned sorceress.

He’d had submissives who enjoyed flirting and being coy in a pretty way, playfully goading the Dominance from him. Marguerite was a Mistress who demonstrated the tendencies of a submissive only under his touch, and even there, she had a Mistress’s aggressive way of unsheathing her claws to drive him insane. Well, it worked. He reminded himself the last group he was with right now were all promising talents, deserving of his attentiveness and encouragement. He therefore tried not to convey the deadly impatience of a predator coming out of hibernation, ready to tear into whatever stood between him and dinner.

He backed away with a smile and nod, caught hold of Sarah passing him with another tray of wine. “Sarah, Michael Atlas is going to take over as host for the rest of the evening. Anything he needs, just help him out. If he wants to line up all the cars and drive a monster truck over them, let everyone run naked across the front lawn, or hunt down locals for human sacrifice, I don’t care. Just don’t disturb me.”

“You look disturbed enough as it is.” She chuckled. “She’s by the Aphrodite statue with Mr. Martin.”

“He’s probably coaxed her out of her clothes for a modeling session.”

“I’m sure he values his life far more than that. Plus, Miss Marguerite has seemed very resistant to your considerable charms. I can’t imagine Mr. Martin would succeed where you’ve had limited success.”

“Remind me tomorrow why I don’t fire you for your backhanded compliments. And it depends on whether the woman in question wants to goad me into homicide.”

Sarah laughed as her employer disappeared down the garden path. She wondered if he would break into an undignified sprint and hurdle the hedges once out of her sight. Robert would be sorely aggrieved if a single branch of his rose bushes was snapped. She’d have to put the blame on Mr. Winterman’s rowdier guests.

Tyler did take a couple of shortcuts, but avoided the drastic assault on the vegetation that Sarah had feared. He came upon Josh and Marguerite, bathed in the moonlight gleaming off the statue of the goddess. Marguerite sat on the edge of the koi pond, trailing her fingers in the water, letting the fish nibble at them. Josh was lying on the soft grass, hands linked behind his head, staring up at the stars, one bare foot propped up on the fountain wall next to her thigh. She had her hand clasping the loose fold of jeans at his calf as she leaned over to play with the fish, that casual intimacy a Mistress employed so easily. So deliberately. The edge of the mid-thigh skirt had inched up her bare leg, and Tyler’s mouth nearly watered at the idea of pushing her to her back, spreading those long legs and burying his face in her heat, making her bow up and cries of pleasure break from her sinfully tempting mouth.

“Okay. Here’s another one,” Josh spoke, still looking up at the stars. “Favorite movie.”

“Armageddon.”

Josh tilted his head down. “Now that surprises me. I would have expected some artsy foreign chick-flick I’m expected to know about just because I travel in artsy circles.”

“Do I look that pretentious?” Her eyes glinted and she made a figure eight over a koi with the pale white color of a phantom, causing him to turn into endless circles, following her impression in the water, apparently happy to please her with the game. Tyler knew just how the graceful beast felt. “Good saves the day. Love is reunited, and Bruce Willis proves there are heroes that can make everything all better. I don’t believe in any of that, of course, but it doesn’t mean I don’t wish it were true. I love that type of story.”

Josh grinned, obviously enjoying her. This was a side of her Tyler had not yet seen, and despite his hunger, he stayed still, curious. Whether it was the circumstances, the stress she’d been through coming to this decision, or perhaps it was that Josh was not threatening or a challenge to her, this Marguerite was almost…girlish. And, an added bonus, she was making Josh feel better.

“And how about you?”

Josh studied the sky, a smile still flirting about his sensual lips. “Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman, for such obvious, crass reasons, I refuse to discuss it further.”

She had never laughed, never that Tyler had heard, and she didn’t now, but her eyes laughed at Josh. “Of course.” Then her gaze shifted. With a flood of heat to his loins, Tyler recognized it as a gesture she’d likely repeated every few moments, looking for him in the shadows. He stepped out of them, let himself be seen, and at the yearning look that flashed through her eyes, he couldn’t summon a smile, even a cordial word. He could barely resist the need to fall to his knees.

“Josh.” His voice was low.

Josh lifted his head, took in the situation at a glance. He rolled, rose to his feet and nodded his head, a courtesy to both before he turned and left them. His correct interpretation of the intent and the moment was one Marguerite blessed, for Tyler was advancing across the clearing swiftly. She was ready for him, had come for this, even if she couldn’t say the words.

She wanted to be his. All his. Whether it could go any further than tonight, whether her fragile psyche could handle more than this, she didn’t know, but she’d wanted it clear that she’d come to him, at least this once. She’d met his terms. She had to put herself in his hands, have faith in every moment after that fateful decision, not because she no longer feared such a decision so deeply she was shaking in places that did not show, but because she couldn’t imagine any other action.

He stopped before her, less than a foot between them. “I want you so much, I can’t be gentle, angel. Not even close.”

Her pulse was high in her throat, and at his words, the rate increased. “I didn’t ask you to be.”

One large hand slid up her bare thigh, stretched out as a counterbalance to the position in which she’d been leaning over the pond. The other went to her waist, brought her to her feet, even as the other hand continued its upward advance under the clinging fabric of the skirt to her bare ass beneath. Taking a firm hold, he pressed her hard against him as he brought his lips onto hers. He was making a noise in her mouth, actual growling as he held her tighter, closer, letting her feel every inch of his need for her. She’d never experienced this, never felt such raw hunger emanating from a man who wanted her, a man with Tyler’s finesse, who seemed to know her deep inside herself, whose touch could demand and reassure at once.

“I’m going to take you to my room and make love to you, Marguerite,” he rasped against her lips, biting them. “The way I’ve imagined doing it for the past couple of weeks. But first I’m going to fuck you, right here, right now.”

He hooked his foot around her ankle, took them both down to the carpet of grass, catching their weight on his forearm. The thud of their impact was jarring, thrilling in its force, but not painful.

“Put your arms over your head.” It wasn’t a request, his tone making it easy for her to simply obey, her body trembling, her thighs opened by the press of his thighs between them. He raised his body only enough to unfasten his trousers, take them far enough down his hips to accomplish his objective. He slid his arm under her waist, his large hand palming her bottom to lift her higher, and drove into her. Her pussy was so wet he slid in deeper, faster and harder than he’d expected, causing her to cry out and arch, pain mixed with unbearable pleasure.

“God, I’ve gone crazy without you,” he muttered. He shoved the dress up to her waist, over her breasts, baring them to his avid gaze, holding the crumpled fabric against her throat, keeping her pinned as he loomed above her. His hips thrust, moving inside her, stroking tissues that were on fire, that were even now rippling with orgasmic response.

“I won’t let you stop coming tonight.” And he made it sound like the threat it was. “Until I’ve done every single thing I’ve thought about doing to you and with you these two interminable weeks.”

She moved restlessly against him, her eyes so wide and clear, so full of him he thought he might be seeing his own soul, and hoped she was seeing the same in his. But even that was a garbled thought, for what he needed and wanted in this moment had more to do with things that went beyond words, and she understood his need. His beast roared at the recognition that she kept her hands above her head at his command, not just because that was the way he’d commanded it, but because that was what the desire in her eyes said she wanted as well.

Master. She’d called him Master.

He pulled her legs up around his hips, higher, and she hooked them there, that supple, flexible body undulating beneath him, reminding him of beautiful yoga asanas, of Shakti and Shiva coming together to find peace and balance, passion and joy, everything that made life worth living. The sword that could be raised as a defense against every kind of evil. In this terrible world, there was this gift, this sanctuary. This proof of Divinity.

He rose to his knees, gripped her buttocks in both hands, lifted her so he was still driving in hard and steady, watching her breasts spill onto her sternum, wobbling with the force of gravity, the nipples dark mauve hard points, her cunt slick where he was plunging in, again and again, moving her on the grass. When he thrust two of his fingers deep into her backside she screamed, a full-throated cry he was sure could be heard by his guests, by the stars. He felt a surge of primal pleasure in it, a conqueror’s fierce satisfaction, a man’s humble gratitude.

“Come, Marguerite.” His voice was hoarse. “Come for me, angel. Let me hear you. Let them know who you belong to. For once, let it go without a fight.”

Her body rolled against him like storm waves, pounding on the hard rock of a New England shore, and she moaned, then cried out again, a long sound of release as he kept thrusting hard, feeling her flesh clamp down on him, unrelenting, keeping up with him, telling him she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her. He was inside her, not just her soaked pussy, but in all the complex turbulent and dark mazes that were Marguerite, and he wanted to be there forever, wanted to keep her safe and unafraid, give her pleasure and happiness. He could no more consider letting her go now than he would contemplate severing a vital limb and letting himself bleed out.

She would likely panic and withdraw, run from him again, but he knew the way in now. She’d let him into the deepest room in her heart, and he was going to win her as often as he needed to do so, even if it was a quest that took forever, that had to be begun every day. Until death do they part.

Hell. For eternity. No way was she going to get out of this with a flimsy excuse like mortal lifespan.

When they both came down, he lowered himself onto her gently, breathing hard He curled his body over hers, his arms around her head, lacing his fingers in her limp ones, nuzzling her cheeks, feeling her legs slide down to hold him in a lower embrace, though he stayed firmly seated in her. He kissed one perfect ear, the tiny hairs at her temple, blew on her eye lashes until she squeezed her eyes closed like a disgruntled cat and made him smile when she pushed against his grip.

“Now that we’ve taken care of that,” he said. “I’m going to make love to you, Marguerite. Slow, soft, long. All night.”

She looked up at him. “Carry me. I like it when you carry me.” Her body trembled beneath him.

“Ask me.”

“Please.” The words came out without hesitation or thought. “Would you carry me?”

“Anything you ask for, angel.” Though he wondered if he could get her all the way to the bedroom without laying her down three times in between and taking her all over again. “No. It’s my right to do it.” He stayed her hands, pulled the dress back down over her breasts, down the slope of her abdomen, over her hips, his fingers stroking her damp and still quivering flesh. “Put your arms around my neck.”

When he lifted her, he left her shoes tumbled against each other at the base of the statue as an appropriate offering to the deity devoted to love and sensuality.