Lauren raised her head. He leaned in the doorway, watching them both. "Nothing more relaxing to a lady than being groomed by a good looking eunuch or, in this case," he smiled enigmatically, "The closest thing to one."

His gaze passed over Josh, kneeling by her tub, his eyes down. Marcus's expression reflected acceptance, and no surprise. Somehow, Fate had brought together three who knew how this game was played. She knew it as a way to intimacy and to explore the deepest regions of her heart. Marcus seemed to have turned its practice into just another art form he admired. Her eyes strayed to Josh. It was a mystery as to how Josh knew the secret handshake, so to speak, and uncovering that mystery would become as much a part of the game as anything else.

For now, she knew she felt comfortable, and she had not felt that way in a sexual situation in a long time.

She had not felt comfortable with Jonathan. This wasn't the same game she had played with him. The same field perhaps, the same essential rules, but not the same game.

It was a relief to realize that Maria might be right, that the game was not the problem. What had unbalanced 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 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 bathroom played along Marcus's perfect features and deepened the dark shadows in Josh's expression.

"I can smell the desire for you coming off his skin," Marcus observed. "Lay back, dearest, and let me rinse you. You should see her breasts, Josh. They're perfect. Large enough that they quiver when she so much as breathes, glistening with the water and soap I've put on them, but small enough that they weigh comfortably in a man's palm, particularly a broad palm like yours, where those long fingers could reach up and tease her nipples."

Lauren swallowed and shifted, lifting the objects that Marcus was describing.

"They're stiff now," Marcus continued in a murmur, "large and dark red, filled with blood, just aching to be sucked."

The hot water passed across them and back, the stimulation of tiny needles. Lauren caught her lip in her bottom teeth and bit down hard to suppress a groan.

"I could take care of that." Josh's voice was almost a growl.

Lauren reached out trembling fingers and trailed them along the nape of Josh's neck, making circular patterns on the skin.

"No," she murmured. "Not yet. I like watching you want me."

At her touch, Josh shut his eyelids, clenched them into tight folds of skin. At her words, his fingers became fists on his knees, but he nodded once, a quick jerk. Tears sprang to her eyes, startling her. In all the time she had spent with him, Jonathan had never shown such an obvious desire to please, coupled with a rage to devour.

Passion. He had never given her passion. Josh was passion in human form, undiluted, protected on an island that was about sensation and the genuine substance behind it.

It was demoralizing, how the strongest woman could be reduced to insecurity in the absence of passion.

She had not realized until now how she had begun to doubt her beauty and self worth. Passion was a flower with a fragile bloom, easily collapsed by frost. It was fortunate that it also had strong roots, able to survive in darkness for lengthy periods without dying away completely. Under the heat of Josh's passion, the flower was opening.

Lauren realized she felt like a goddess, her every movement sinuous and worthy of worship. She was fascinated by the beauty of her own skin, the soft touch of her hair on her shoulder blades, the long, graceful curve of hip and thigh. She was more than worthy of desire. She was worthy of begging, of adoration.

Lauren raised her face with an incoherent murmur as Marcus brought the sprayer to her neck. She moved her face through the water, drowning the tears.

Marcus chuckled, though his eyes were intent, showing he had not missed the emotions crossing her face. He conscientiously squeaked a strand of her hair to ensure it was free of soap, and managed a light touch of her chin at the same moment. Lauren gave a slight nod. She was fine.

"Ah, the unspoken fear of all men," he voiced the thought behind his laughter, "that a woman with a hot bath and a good shower head will have no use for a man."

Lauren smiled. "And a woman's greatest fear is that the cable company and La-Z-Boy will create the combination of channels and recliner options that will render her unnecessary."

"You mean they haven't already?"

Lauren snorted and splashed him with water. "I'm ready to get out of here. Marcus, will you bring me a towel?"

She rose, water pouring off of her, and stepped out of the tub, one hand braced on Josh's shoulder as Marcus went to comply. Josh's gaze stayed on her feet. She knew his eyes opened as she rose. Even looking at the floor, he would have enough of a view just above the rim of the tub to see a quick slideshow of wet breasts, navel, hips, and water gleaming off the ends of the neatly trimmed triangle of soft downy hair between her thighs. His lips parted, his tongue touching them, and it was easy to imagine him sucking every drop of water away. The image was so strong; it tightened the coil of longing in her body at each vital point and weakened her knees so her grip on his shoulder increased for balance. His muscles shifted beneath her touch and she blocked the sudden desire to lean down and press her lips to the bump of shoulder blade. She thought if she did, she might wind her arms around him and never let go.

She wrapped the towel around her and hobbled over to the sink. "I think I'll just get ready for bed now, if you guys want to go do the same," she managed, avoiding her own gaze in the mirror. She caught Marcus's nod in the corner of her eye. He shifted past her and touched Josh's elbow. Lauren raised her gaze to the mirror as Josh rose. He gave her a long look. She could not summon a smile to lessen the seriousness of his expression, so she just stared back at him until Marcus touched him again and he turned away, preceding his friend out the doorway. Marcus turned in the frame, pressed his own fingers briefly to his lips and sent the gesture to her, gentle approval in his gaze.

She wasn't sure if it was merited. A Mistress took away the places for a submissive to retreat, made him vulnerable to her by patient, tender eradication of all emotional shields, until there was nowhere he could hide from her. It worked hand in hand with proving to the sub that he could trust his Mistress at the very deepest level, making those protections unnecessary.

Jonathan had wanted a Mistress who would treat the "breakdown" process like an amused predator cutting off a rabbit's every path of escape. Perhaps if she had loved him better, she would have been willing to go against her own nature and provide him what he wanted. No, even then, she could not have done it. It just wasn't in her to be vicious. That wasn't the kind of Mistress she was, and for the process to work right, the Dom had to let go of her shields as well, perversely be as open and exposed to the sub as she demanded he be to her. She hadn't been the right Mistress for Jonathan, the right person, the right woman.

"Go on to the guest bathroom, I'll use it after you."

She heard Josh's footsteps retreating, and then Marcus was leaning in the doorframe, watching every shift of her expression with those brilliant green eyes. "You know," he commented. "You are very appealing, for a woman."

"That's because you get turned on watching another Dom at work, as I do." She pursed her lips, considered him. "I wonder if I'm being too unkind, if I shouldn't ease up a bit. I could be taking this too far, much too fast."

He considered that, studied the ceiling, then brought his eyes back down to her face. "However cliche it sounds, my dear, you know and I know that a Master is cruel only in order to be kind. It's a very, very important rule."

The silence drew out between them and she never let her gaze drop from his. "But I don't know him well enough. In a dungeon, there's room for mistakes. I've never moved this fast with any sub."

"Don't you dare lose courage on me now," Marcus admonished. He stepped forward, touched her face, but his expression was one of understanding, not condescension. "I have extensive experience with many rebellious youngsters," a slight smile curved his lips. "But I know, as you do, sometimes there's an instant click. You are doing very well with Josh. If you follow your instinct, I believe there is very little you will do wrong. And I am here, just in case."

She considered that, nodded. "Okay," she said, the one word quieting her worries, for now.

It felt good, the sense of support, but as soon as the door closed behind Marcus and Lauren faced the vision in the mirror alone, she lost some of her confidence. The dominant siren she had projected became a suffering, fragile-eyed woman with haunted features.

She had not sacrificed her whole being to Jonathan's bullshit, damn it. She ran her tongue over her teeth, picked up some of Lisette's perfumed body cream and dropped the towel. Watching herself, she spread the lotion over her breasts, rubbing it into the aureoles, over the nipples, watching them respond to her touch, already stimulated by the evening's events.

She had one or two friends with whom she was affectionate enough that occasional sex was possible, but it was mutually accepted that the emotional bond was based on friendship alone. It was something to be enjoyed, like a sport. Sports played well provided a synergistic lift when the game was in full swing, when you forgot everything but the momentum of that interaction, the playing. But you couldn't compare sex to racquetball or golf, or a good set of tennis, even under those circumstances. If anything, it was more akin to a sport that interacted with nature. Leaning back, hiking out as a sailboat surged up to ten knots close-hauled, the water bathed in the golds and reds of sunset that was more like it. You looked over at your friend and your faces reflected the shared ecstasy of that moment. That moment became part of your bond, deepened the friendship, but it was still just friendship. It was not the stripping of the soul, daring it to touch the bared soul of another.

Sex with someone who drew you down that path of vulnerability could make you believe that a never-ending love might lie at the end of it. That click Marcus was talking about, that too-intense feeling she had around Josh, a virtual stranger, was making her feet turn to ice while other parts of her exploded the thermometer. Maybe that was the problem, not the dysfunctional bullshit baggage she was carrying from Jonathan. Maybe she was just scared.

Didn't she keep telling herself she should stop thinking so much? Maybe she needed to jump off the hamster Habitrail of her mind and say fuck it. Or, fuck him, rather. Josh was a fascinating, attractive guy.

What was wrong with a fling? Never mind her adamant insistence to Maria that one night stands were not her thing, that they sucked her soul dry. It wasn't what she ultimately wanted, but maybe it would be enough for just this weekend. Dissatisfied, she picked up the brush and blow dryer and went to work on her hair. Unfortunately, the drone of the appliance did not drown out her thoughts.

Her ex-psychotherapist had used the term D/s (once Lauren had introduced her to it) in a tone that suggested the doctor thought it was a disease. It had taken awhile, but Lauren at last had regained enough of her confidence to disagree, and dump the therapist.

Two committed people choosing to exercise their sexuality in a dominant and submissive fashion was not the problem. Everything in nature reflected the assertion of those characteristics. Every interaction between the beasts in the forest started with it, and animals were far more connected with what was

"natural" than humans.

The problem was the all-too-unnatural dysfunctionality humans brought to the game. So what was happening here tonight? Was it a relapse or a healing, a symbolic return to her sexual self, maybe to all parts of herself?

There was a way to give herself a hint. She retied the silk robe, hopped to the door, and opened it.

"Josh?"

She heard a pause in the men's conversation, then his feet padded down the hallway. He came around the corner, a towel carelessly slung over his shoulder and his hair damp, the aroma of Lisette's sandalwood soap coming off of him.

Lauren lifted her hand to him and he came closer, taking it. He laced his fingers easily in hers, his brow lifted in silent question.

"Kiss me?" she made it a soft question. Lauren wanted to be sure he understood it was a request, not part of any game or strategy.

Josh stepped closer. Without a word, he set his hands to her waist, his warm palms covering the curves of her hips, heat through silk. He drew her to him and her fingers curled onto his hips as he brought his lips down to hers, the strands of hair on his forehead brushing her cheek.

Lauren melted at the touch of his mouth. She relaxed in his arms, all the way down to the bones, and she reveled in his strength, which increased consecutively in his arms, chest, stomach and thighs, to accommodate her loss of self-support.

His mouth opened hers and she moaned at the flick of tongue past her lips and teeth, the warm wet caress, the pressure of his body as he pulled her more against him.

When he raised his head, she was barely conscious of herself as a separate being. Her eyes cleared and she blinked up at him.

"Good," she breathed. "I like you. I really do."

His eyes crinkled with humor, and he cleared his throat. "That simple, then?"

"As long as we don't move from this moment," she gave him a rueful smile.

He cupped her cheek and Lauren rested her face in the strong palm, her chin on the rapid pulse in his wrist. "Please don't let me hurt you, Josh," she murmured. "I couldn't stand to do that."

"I'm not porcelain, Lauren. I won't break that easily."

"Someone has broken you before," she raised her head and closed her hand over that wrist. "Just as someone has me. Let's not shatter each other again, okay?"

He looked as if he might say many things, including the obvious truth that there was no way to prevent it if hearts got involved, but in the end he leaned in, kissed her nose.

"Okay," he said.