She had him pull off at a roadside picnic area to eat their snack. The location overlooked a breathtaking view of a small man-made lake that fed into the marsh areas. Maples had been planted in the protected area, and they were starting to experience some fall color, which added to the scenic view. "Could you eat?" she asked.
He grinned. "I'm six four and two hundred twenty pounds of muscle, sugar. I can eat."
"Braggart. Mess with me, and I won't share dessert." She produced a small bag of M&M's.
"I hope you brought six more of those."
Bypassing the picnic table, she went further down the slope to the water. He helped her spread out the blanket she'd brought and then took an edge while she laid out their lunch, handing him the cheese, baguette and knife. "Can you cut off a few pieces for a sandwich? How many do you want?"
As they ate in easy silence, she took the time to study him. The way he ate, like a man, with whole hearty bites she knew would have him finished and eyeing her sandwich in no time. He had manners, though, using a napkin liberally and chewing with his mouth closed. Things like that were important, as was the way he wore his clothes. He wasn't a fashion plate, but his shirt was ironed and the jeans were not faded or ripped. It mattered to him how he presented himself, and she liked that. She reached out, stroked a hand through his hair, enjoying the feel of the curls, the way they ringed her knuckles like a baby's. Touching his cheekbone, she traced it as he chewed, feeling the movement of the muscle in his jaw, the wonder of him. Smoothed a finger over the trim moustache, stroked the beard line. As he had when she looked at him in the car, he sat quietly beneath her touch, not interrupting her pleasure with an interactive response. It stirred the deep primal part of her, the way he understood so instinctively how to be a submissive and please his Mistress. She knew he sensed the rousing of the Dominant in her, for his chewing slowed, his fingers curling on the napkin on his knee, adding to the heat of the stillness increasing between them. She liked that part, feeling the weight of anticipation unfurl in her lower belly and seeing he was aware of it, wary.
"What do you like, Mackenzie?" she asked softly.
Those silver eyes rose. "I like you."
His eyes were serious, his lips firm so that she wanted to take a bite out of them. "I meant, what do you like to do? Hobbies, passions? Other than the things you do at The Zone."
And how long had he done that? How many women had he called Mistress before her? It mattered, but it wasn't right to ask it, not yet.
"You mean, other than you?" He caressed her knee, laid a kiss on it, nuzzled, worked his way up her denim-clad thigh, nibbling so she felt the press of his teeth. She accommodated him, shifting to part her legs slightly for a moment, then tugged on his hair.
"Enough," she reproved, though she knew her voice was a bit breathy. "Hobbies, Mac."
"Tall ships," he said. "I like putting together models. I read a lot of those old sea stories, the really old ones you only find in junk shops or at library sales, things written by the sailors themselves in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. And cooking. I like cooking."
"Did you ever go on one? A tall ship?"
"Sure. There are trips you can take in the reproductions, where you sign on as crew and work a couple weeks. It isn't exactly like the good old days. They make you wear harnesses when you're worked out on a yard a hundred feet above deck."
"Well, it would be such a mess to clean up otherwise. Do you have your own boat?"
"A little McKee craft I take out sometimes on the weekends. I'll take you out sometime. In fact, I'd really like to take you."
A shadow crossed his expression and she frowned. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm getting lost in you too fast, I think." He looked startled that he'd spoken so bluntly to her. "I mean...I didn't mean..."
"No, that's fine." She shook her head. "I like when you tell me straight out what's in your heart." And I like the fact that you're feeling out of control. "Motorcycles, tall ships...you are an adrenaline junkie, Mackenzie." Knowing what she knew about him, she expected nothing less. But there was at least one question to which she didn't know the answer, and she'd ask it before she lost her nerve.
"Are you involved with someone? I know you said you hadn't been married, but--"
He flicked a glance at her. "What kind of guy do you think I am?"
She lifted a shoulder. "It's not unusual for a man to visit the club scene alone, especially if his girlfriend isn't into it. Double life sort of thing. I know some married guys at The Zone whose spouses know about it, even give them their blessing, because they feel like it keeps the craving under control. Like a limited indulgence in drugs to keep it from becoming a destructive addiction. Or obsession."
He didn't smile. "Hey." His hand covered hers on the blanket and she raised wary eyes to his steady ones. "I'm all yours, sugar. Okay?"
"Okay." Relief spread through her and became warmth when he kept hold of her hand and lay back on his elbows. She twisted her fingers over his, spread them both out, played idle finger games with him for a few minutes in silence as he studied her. The air grew charged between them, and she pressed her lips together. "Me, either," she relented. "I'm not involved, or married."
"Good. I don't share."
It was a provocative statement, delivered with a tone and a direct stare that was far from submissive. She was bemused at the reaction of her own body, a jump in response at the possessive statement that tightened her nipples against the soft lining of her bra.
"Me either." She gave it back to him with a hard, penetrating look to let him know he was dancing on the line. "Not unless I order it, and I'm there to watch."
He inclined his head. His move. "I...There's no command of yours I'll refuse, but... I'm not much into men. The whole ass-fucking thing..."
"Has a woman ever done it to you?"