Holding The Cards by Joey W. Hill Page A

her was the discovery that she was not playing with someone who cared about her, someone she could trust, and perhaps, even more painful for her to acknowledge, never had been.
    She nodded to Marcus. "The cream colored wash cloth and the moisturizer soap in my bag on the Page 44

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    counter," she said. "The one that smells like vanilla."
    He nodded and retrieved the items, then came to kneel by the tub, next to Josh. Marcus's gaze passed over her naked body. He did not look at her with impersonal disinterest. He looked at her as a lover of art would, with appreciation for form, and she felt flattered to see approval in his eyes.
    "What I like best about this is not seeing you naked, love," Marcus said. He began to massage the bar of soap in the washcloth, creating a rich lather. "Though you are quite beautiful. What I like is knowing Josh is kneeling here beside you and cannot see you." He held out his hand and she put her wet palm into it.
    He began to wash her arm, smooth strokes less than a foot from Josh's bowed head. "He can only imagine the way the cloth strokes the soft, pale skin on the underside of your arm, that area between the elbow and wrist as soft as a baby's skin." He turned her arm as he spoke, in tones that were slow and measured, like the caresses of a lover's tongue. "The way your breasts lie heavy in the water, the nipples full and soft from the warmth. Your legs wet and slick, your knees bent so the soap rolls down your thighs and melts into the bath."
    A muscle flexed in Josh's cheek, sending a ripple along the tense jaw. His nostrils flared, taking in her scent like a stallion whose eyes had been covered with a scarf. Lauren ached, watching him. It was a state of delicious anticipation, her will torn between wanting to thrust her wet body into his arms and give him what he desired, see how he handled it, and taking him higher, seeing when the stallion would break free.
    She was in control of the cards, so this could go somewhere or nowhere, and the choice was hers as long as Josh's choice was to submit to her will. But there were other factors at work here, and it was not that easy.
    She knew how to whip him into a state of arousal akin to the grip of a deadly fever, a state that would make him believe he had no choice. While not the same thing as forcing him, it was problematic to her conscience. It was why a Dom often shied away from the damaged subs. It had to be the sub's choice throughout. If it wasn't, then you had crossed the line, and it was hard to see that line in a cloud of emotional issues, and to resist the temptation to draw on a sub's weaknesses. Power could corrupt a good intent. It was that simple. She had to be careful. Josh mattered.
    She turned from the disturbing path of her thoughts to the man washing her. Marcus's squatting, splayed-knee pose made it obvious he was aroused by Josh's plight, and while the arousal wasn't for her, it did not make her less appreciative of the view. It was difficult to keep her eyes open, though, with his capable hands lathering her shoulders in a massaging motion that had her purring. He pushed her unresisting body so she lay with her head resting on the cushioned rim of the tub. Her eyes came back open, however, as he slicked the soap smoothly down her breasts. It was peculiar to have a man hold her breasts who had no interest in them sexually. However, since he handled them with such reverence for their form, she could not feel offended. In fact, quite the opposite.
    As he traced them with his knuckles, weighing them in his palms, her heightened sexual awareness of Josh made the nipples rise under the light brush of his fingertips. She arched, expelling a trembling breath.
    Josh gripped the side of the tub, agitated by the possibilities beyond his sight. A smile touched Marcus's lips as he raised his eyes to hers and her own lips curved. The flickering candlelight of the