He blinked to clear his vision, his chest heaving as he fought for breath, but he didn't look at her. He couldn't. His initial response was to ask if she meant the emotional wound she had inflicted unknowingly, because that was the only place that hurt. "No. It's fine."

"You shut down. What's going on? Eyes on me."

He kept his gaze averted.

"I. Said. Eyes. On. Me."

He wouldn't allow her to read his emotions through his eyes, so he masked his expression before gazing at her with reluctance.

"Tell me what's going on, Marc. What do you need?"

Her words slammed into Marc's already wounded psyche like a projectile, instantly sending his heart rate through the roof as adrenaline pumped into his system. Angelina had only meant to play with him, but something-perhaps commanding him to come or asking him to convey his needs-had shut him down completely.

"That was a direct question, boy."

He fought to regain control of his breathing, which became shallow and labored as the air chilled his clammy forehead. The safeword she'd given him lay on the tip of his tongue. He wouldn't have to answer if he spoke his safeword-but doing so was a sign of weakness he couldn't reveal.

What the fuck was going on? Even the ball gag, which had just about sent him over the edge, didn't compare to the anxiety he felt now.

"Untie me."

She touched his chest but didn't reach for the cuffs. "Marc, do you want to use your safeword or are you role-playing? Say 'Lombardy' if this is for real."

The mention of his childhood home sent a bead of sweat rolling down his face and into his ear. He tried never to reveal deep emotions to anyone. Adam probably had dented Marc's protective armor once or twice with his badgering, delving into the past as he tried to figure out Marc's sometimes illogical motives and actions. But he couldn't make himself that vulnerable again-not to a woman, anyway.

Again?

Where had that thought come from? He'd had a happy childhood, well, what he remembered anyway. He had no memory of his birth parents. Who wouldn't want to grow up at a ski lodge in the Alps or in the Colorado Rockies with a family who loved him? He might not have been the favored son, but he'd been loved by Mama and Papa nonetheless.

Did his visceral response have something to do with Gino?

When they were kids, they'd been very close. Marc had worshipped his older brother until they reached their late teen years. That drifting apart was mostly Marc's fault, as he became aware he wasn't living up to his parents' expectations for him the way Gino always had. Perhaps Gino just tried harder. Marc had let his emotions get the best of him when Gino took Melissa from him. He and his brother had barely spoken after that. Marc had pushed Gino into enlisting in the Marines, only to get killed in Afghanistan.

Marc didn't want to think about those times. What the fuck was happening to him? Did he want to call this scene off? No. Angelina needed to know he trusted her. She needed this scene. He would continue. For her.

"Nothing's wrong. You just confused me; that's all."

Confusion creased Angelina's forehead. She tilted her head and studied his face. He didn't care if she bought his lame explanation or not. The subject of his panic attack was not open for discussion, especially because he didn't know where the hell it originated.

"What is Mistress going to do with me? Her boy disobeyed yet again."

Angelina reclined beside him again, placing her arm over his chest and her leg over his hips without putting too much pressure on him, as if he'd break. She made such a lousy Domme.

Grazie, Dio.

She smiled and turned her face toward him, placing a kiss on his lips before moving away and staring into his eyes.

"Lombardy, Sir. I don't want to play anymore. If I untie you, will you just let me hold you?"

No! She'd used the safeword for him? Was she feeling sorry for him because he'd freaked out on her?

Keep your pity, pet. I'll never give up control, not tonight or any other night, especially not to a woman.

He fought the impulse to run, as if he could go anywhere while in four-point restraints.

Maybe Angelina was projecting her own need to be held, which he would honor as soon as he regained control.

All he wanted was to run...again. Why?

Without waiting for him to respond, she reached up and ripped the Velcro open on the right cuff followed quickly by the left. His arms didn't move much from their position at first, having been bound there so long. She bent over him and kneaded the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms until he was able to lower them.

Hold her.

He wrapped his arms around her, still struggling to fill his lungs. Numb yourself. He tried to shut down emotionally, but the overwhelming urge to run dominated his thoughts yet again. It always did.

He pulled her closer as if she was a lifeline and he a drowning man.

Angelina laid her head on his chest. "Shhh." She stroked his chest.

He willed his heartbeat to slow down, not wanting to tip her off that he was still in fight-or-flight mode. As if she was too blind to notice. She wouldn't have used their safeword if she thought he could handle continuing with the scene.

He inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar hitch in his side from old adhesions. Did this have something to do with post-traumatic stress from his combat wound?

No, he didn't think so.

"Don't forget the ankle restraints."

She sat up quickly. "Sorry!" He enjoyed the view of her backside as she faced away and undid the cuffs.

Needing to reassert his control once she freed him, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her. He rolled her onto her back and rested his weight on his elbows as he stretched out on top of her. Some of his anxiety began to recede now that he was back where he belonged. He gazed down at her as she bit the corner of her lower lip. She was overthinking this. Before she let her old insecurities- Wait. He sounded as if he was the insecure one here.

Bullshit. He'd gotten over that years ago.

She brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Feeling better, Sir?"

"I told you, I'm fine. But you know I prefer being on top like this."

She smiled, and he relaxed a little more. The woman could ease his fears with just a smile. No woman had done that for him before. Ever.

Certainly not Mama.

Holy shit! Do not be thinking about your mother when you have a hot, sexy woman under you.

Too late. That thought certainly did nothing to help his struggling libido. Angelina wormed her hand between their bodies, and his cock sprang to life. He needed to focus on something he could control-like having sex with Angelina. She always knew what he needed.

"Did I give you permission to do that?" When she furrowed her brows in worry, he grinned and ground his cock against the juncture of her legs. She formed an O with her mouth before a smile lit her full lips. He relaxed even further.

Well, not everything relaxed this time, thank God.

"No, Sir. I guess I was experiencing some lingering effects of Domme headspace."

He hoped she hadn't gotten anywhere near being in the headspace he enjoyed so much with her. He'd much rather put her in subspace, where she belonged. Right now, the only thing he needed was to bury himself to the hilt inside her tight pussy. Marc bent down and kissed her, his tongue invading her sweet mouth. She held nothing back, tangling her tongue with his.

"Open for me, pet."

She raised her knees, and he rubbed the tip of his cock against her very wet cleft. Playing Domme seemed to have turned her on. Luckily, he knew other ways to engage the submissive side of her, because the last thing he wanted was for his girl to get off on dominating him.

Needing to exert his control again, he drove himself into her with one thrust.

"Oh!"

What seemed like a flash of pain was replaced by her gasp for breath. Merda. He'd hurt her. Then she smiled.

"Oh, yessss!" Her eyes glazed over.

"You are not to come until I give you permission."

She groaned, and his chest swelled. This sense of control was the best aphrodisiac he knew. Withdrawing almost completely, he charged home again. "Do. Not. Move." He punctuated each word with another thrust of his cock as he drove himself home.

"Please let me come, Sir!"

Again and again he pistoned into her but refused to give her the release she sought. Not yet. Control. He was in control now. He would decide when she came.

As her screams and panting gasps sounded as if she was on the edge of pain, his cock pulsated. "Come, pet. Now." She screamed her orgasm loud enough for half of Denver to hear. His own release soon followed.

Mine. Home.

He cuddled with her the way she liked until he could stand the messy condom no longer. He got up and went to the bathroom to discard it and clean up. Angelina had exposed huge chinks in his emotional walls tonight.

He needed to find out who he was before he could give Angelina what she wanted most-his love. No. His trust. He needed answers but wouldn't find them in Denver.

Marc crawled back into bed and drew Angelina's sleepy body against him, his hand on her tit as he claimed his possession.

Mine.

He couldn't imagine sleeping without her. Merda, he couldn't imagine life without her now.

So what was keeping him from taking their relationship to the next level?

Angelina shivered as she watched Marc sleeping. Much more soundly than he did on most nights. After she'd hit some kind of trigger for him in their scene earlier, she'd have expected him to be restless. Tormented.

Instead he'd reclaimed authority over her with a vengeance and had laid siege to her body, giving them both incredible orgasms. He certainly hadn't let her give him one. Was controlling his own orgasms-sometimes to the point of having none for days-another way he maintained a wall around himself?

She sighed and lightly fingered a lock of his hair, careful not to wake him. Running scared. After all these months, he hadn't come close to engaging his heart and soul in this relationship. If not tonight, perhaps he never would trust her not to harm him. He went through the motions of what was expected of him as her lover and partner, but only so far before he shut down. Getting him to bottom for her tonight had hit a nerve with him and opened her eyes to some things. Marc wanted to be in control of everything. While she didn't mind his controlling her in the bedroom, she wasn't going to relinquish authority to him over everything in her life.

Is that what Marc wanted-needed? Why hadn't she noticed his insecurities before? Well, because Marc masked them. Hell, he'd worn a mask since the night they met. Literally then, but despite her having destroyed the actual wolf mask he used to wear at the club, he continued to conceal his inner self from her. Not just her but from his friends, as well.

Who hurt you so badly you can't open up to me, Marc?

Melissa for one, but Angelina was convinced this went back farther in Marc's past. That bitch had no emotional hold on Marc from what she could see. Angelina didn't know what had happened with his last girlfriend and didn't really want to know, but history had a way of repeating itself. She didn't want to be yet another of Marc's ex-girlfriends.

Mama hinted that Marc's and Gino's birth parents hadn't been shining examples of what a little boy would need to feel safe and secure in the world. Maybe she could talk with Savi about it, once she got to know her better. Getting a therapist's perspective on how to give Marc what he needed might free him from whatever chains prevented him from experiencing life and love to the fullest.

Angelina tucked a loose tendril of hair into the curls on the top of his head and whispered, "I can give you what you need if you'll only let me." He grimaced but didn't awaken.

Angelina snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes. She wasn't going to get the answers she needed tonight, but she definitely needed to find out more about Marc's childhood.

An unknown number of hours later, she awoke to find the sun streaming through the drapes and blinked. Her hand reached across the mattress. Gone. Marc had gotten up early. She glanced at the open bathroom door but didn't hear any sound. Tamping down the disappointment that they wouldn't make love this morning, she tossed the covers aside and sat up, waiting for the fog to lift from her brain.

Where have you run to now, Marc?

Chapter Eleven.

Angelina tried to focus on preparing the antipasti for Damian's birthday dinner party tomorrow night, but her mind kept wandering to the meeting with Mama D'Alessio ten days ago and what Marc planned to do about what they'd learned. Marc's talk with his mother left more questions than answers, and they were no closer to figuring out what had happened back then than they had been before. Each day, he shut her out further. He hadn't said a word to her about it or the pitiful scene where she'd tried to get him to relinquish control to her, hoping to get him to trust her more. Why couldn't he see she could help provide support if he'd just let her be a part of his life?

Why can't you trust me, Marc?

Instead, his mask remained firmly in place again. He insisted that nothing be said about any of this to their friends. They'd probably be as disappointed as Angelina that Marc didn't trust them with such personal information that might also help them understand or help him.

But an intimate relationship like theirs required a level of trust and sharing unlike what he might have with friends. If Marc could exclude her from something this important, what else would he deem too personal for her to be a part of? How could they have a future if he wouldn't share his life-good and bad-with her?

The chopping knife slipped, and she sliced the skin over her knuckle. "Ow!" Tears sprang to her eyes, not so much from the cut as from the release the pain gave her. She needed a good cry over the dismal future she saw with Marc.

"God, Angie! What have you done?" Karla came over and quickly took Angelina by the wrist of her injured hand, cupping her own hand beneath to catch any drops of blood.

Angelina tried to wave her away. "It's nothing. Occupational hazard."

Ignoring her, Karla dragged her over to the sink where she ran cold water on the slightly bleeding cut. "Bull. I've never seen your knife slip before."

When the water ran clear, Karla grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around Angelina's sore finger. "Put pressure on that. Where do you keep the Band-Aids?"

After Angelina indicated the corner cabinet where they kept first-aid and over-the-counter remedies, she moved toward a bar stool at the island.

"No, Boots!" Marisol jumped down from the stool she'd been sitting on and chased the kitten through the kitchen and into the foyer, nearly toppling Angelina on her way to a chair. Her legs felt a little shaky, probably because she and Marc had been up half the night ignoring each other. She couldn't sleep without him next to her, and at two o'clock in the morning he'd finally gone to a spare bedroom leaving her to toss and turn alone.

"Angie, you look like you haven't slept in days. And not for any good reasons, either. What's going on?"

Angelina sighed. "I think I'm losing him, Karla."