Wild Page 5

  —which still didn’t mean anything, beyond the fact that they’d started this thing out as friends and now—

  And now what?

  What did now mean to her, if he kept dropping bullshit bombs like that? Was she getting ideas…the wrong ideas? Was he steering her down the same road he’d taken with Marie without realizing it? Was the day coming, perhaps soon, when he’d tell her he’d call as soon as he could during the deployment, only to find a thousand excuses not to? Would he promise to pick her up for a night at the dungeon, only to claim car trouble, last-minute training, or some other line she’d instantly see through…as her heart was breaking?

  Just imagining it, picturing them apart, led him to a more terrifying question.

  What if it wasn’t her heart doing that breaking thing?

  The second he rounded the corner back into the living room, clarifying that answer was shoved to the bottom of his duty roster.

  The very bottom.

  Rayna stood in front of the fireplace, wearing nothing but the historical underthings that went along with her lady-in-waiting garb. Lacy. White. Wet. And sheer. Good Christ, he could see every puckered, hard inch of her breasts, the delectable curve of her waist…and the V between her thighs, leading to the sweet treasure he adored so much. Her face was that of a fucking goddess, circled by intricate braids that were made more brilliant by the fire’s glow. She took his breath away as she stepped from the puddle of her soaked gown and spread her soft arms, making a beautiful web in the air with the long length of red rope she held.

  “I was looking for a blanket and found this instead.” Her lips quirked in that shy, tentative smile that clutched his heart and jerked at his cock. “But I’m thinking it’ll warm me up just as much as a blanket…Sir?”

  Chapter Two

  The towels fell from Zeke’s hands. He released a savoring growl along with them. While the sound gave her shivers in all the good ways this time, Rayna had to compel herself to meet his gaze as he stepped across the room like his gorgeous ass was on fire, hoping he didn’t detect the lie she’d just told.

  Okay, it was more of a little fib. She had found the blanket before the rope but only by seconds. The coil was tucked right beneath the cashmere throw, almost as if it wanted to be found tonight. It was a luxurious Japanese weave, intricately woven for one purpose alone, and it certainly wasn’t to tie down luggage on the car. The stuff felt like silken sin against her wrists and fingers, making her wonder how it would feel against the rest of her body. Around her arms and thighs, pressed to her breasts, framing her pussy…

  She’d be bound. Subdued. Zeke’s prisoner in so many senses of the word.

  Prisoner.

  She forced her mind to repeat the word.

  Yes. Prisoner. Because you’ve chosen to be. Because you trust this man with every drop of blood in your body and every ounce of love in your heart.

  Zeke stopped in front of her. He didn’t make a single move to touch the rope. His massive chest expanded with every one of his harsh breaths. He showed no mercy in his long and steady scrutiny of her. When he spoke, his voice was just as austere.

  “Why are you offering this to me?”

  She’d dropped her gaze to the formidable knot of his Adam’s apple. She lifted it again, obeying the implicit command in his tone. There would be no playing coy about what he meant by “this.” They both understood it referred to much more than the physical rope.

  “Because I want to,” she offered. “Because you love it, and I trust you, and I want to please you.” She unhooked a hand from the rope to form a silencing cage around his lips. While keeping him locked beneath her fingers, she persisted, “And because it’s time, Sir.”

  His eyes darkened to the shade of unpolished copper. She took that as her cue to let her hand drop.

  “It’s time?” he charged. “You’ve just decided that now? Tonight ‘it’s time’ and that’s that?”

  There was a shitload of subtext beneath that query too. He was clearly referencing her few—make that about a million—issues around things like confinement and immobility, thanks to the year she spent running from white slavers and then being shackled like an animal once they’d caught her. But she’d been tackling it in careful chunks with the help of Sally Sadler, the base therapist. Though Z usually asked her to recount the sessions for him too, those requests had ceased during the last eight days.

  The week leading to his best friend’s wedding.

  If the man thought she wouldn’t make the connection there, he had a thicker skull than she’d thought. He hadn’t pressed to search through her mental baggage because he’d been a little busy lugging his around. It’d been plastered across his face through every minute of the preparations for “the big day,” every second of the rehearsal, every moment of the ceremony itself. While Z had been jubilant for his buddy, even playing the bridegroom’s wingman had made him look ready to pass out a few times.

  His bravery on his friend’s behalf had touched the depths of Rayna’s heart. It was a big reason why she’d picked this moment to hand over this piece of trust to him. She longed to banish that fear lingering in his eyes. Yearned to hear him snarl in her ear with the full confidence of his Domination again…with the certainty that his subbie treasured the collar he’d placed around her neck far more than any ring he could slip around her finger.

  “It hasn’t been that sudden.” She smiled indulgently. “I’ve been talking to Sally about it for a while.” Her lips lifted a little higher when thinking of the bespectacled psychologist who, along with Sage, had become one of her most trusted confidantes. “I’ve been working on it because I know how much you love to play with ropes. You gave that up for me, Sir. Now I want to give it back.”

  She opened her hands, letting the rope slip from her hands to his.

  Zeke was unnervingly silent for a long moment. A sound built somewhere near the base of his throat. Deep, low, conflicted. “Ray-bird—”

  “You mean subbie, don’t you?”

  This time, he full-out growled. “Rayna Eleanor, listen to me.”

  With a little snarl of her own, she sank to her knees. And didn’t stop there. Desperate times called for desperate measures. With her forehead atop one of his Drool-worthy Francis Drake boots, she rasped, “Let me listen while you wrap those ropes around me. Let me hear you with every knot and feel you with every inch of trust I give. Please, Zeke. Please, Sir.”

  His hard breaths vibrated down through her. She whimpered a little as he settled one of his big hands over her head, his fingers kneading in an outward show of his conflict. When she risked a glance up at him, his tight scowl awaited. The bold cliffs of his face were beautiful in the fire’s amber glow.

  “Damn it, firebird.” He slipped his hand down to cup her chin, the rope brushing her body with the movement. “Those eyes of yours could hypnotize me into robbing a goddamn bank.”

  It was a morsel of bait she couldn’t refuse. And didn’t want to. If he was going to make her push him, then that was just what she’d do. “Really?” she quipped. “A whole bank?” She ran a finger along the hem of his damp jerkin. “That would mean a lot of shoes for Sage and me—”

  “Dear fuck.”

  His interjection gave her the chance to stifle her giggle, which was a good thing. He came out of the gate after that a man on a mission—an intense, don’t-mess-with-me one. Without warning, Zeke dropped the rope in order to pull her up by both shoulders. As soon as she found balance on her feet, he shifted a hand to bracket her face, with his thumb on her chin and index finger against her jaw. If the commanding grip didn’t melt her blood to butter, his gaze did. All the golden flecks in his hazels ignited at once, a thousand flames that seared everything she’d once called a pulse. The only thing still throbbing in her body was her pussy, screaming at her in need, moist folds surging in arousal.

  As if he’d stared through her clothes to discover that fact, Zeke kicked up one side of his mouth. It was the only warmth that sneak
ed onto his face. With his eyes still glittering like a damn panther, he murmured to her, “Go to the bathroom and get out of those things before you catch pneumonia on me, subbie. Then dry yourself off—and grab the lube off the counter on your way back in.”

  “Y-Yes, Sir.”

  She bit back the damn it that wanted to be added to it. Lube? That usually meant things were going to be inserted into places that required extra help. She winced as the thought dug in during her walk to the bathroom. You had to get the rope out, didn’t you? Had to wake up the man’s kinky little itch.

  Which, she should’ve known damn well and good by now, was anything but “little.”

  Which, she should’ve also known, was capable of making her own skin feel a little tight and bothered.

  The restlessness worsened as she pulled off the rest of her clothes and ran one of his big towels over her body. During that, she conducted a long study of herself in his bathroom mirror. She smiled at what she saw. Her figure had regained some curves over the last two years, the result of good nutrition instead of the sticks, berries, and bugs upon which she and Sage had existed during their year on the run in Africa. As a result, her breasts had gained a cup size and her ass now had a pleasant swell. The rain had loosened little tendrils from her wedding updo, framing eyes that shined with her growing desire for the man who waited to do wonderfully wicked things to her.

  Zeke.

  He’d made her this beautiful.

  He’d made her this secure.

  And she’d never stop trying to find new ways to thank him for it.

  Tonight was going to be one of those times. She’d worked hard with Sally to get here, in this mental space where she could set aside the horror of the past and finally embrace the joy of her present. In many ways, it was a gift to herself as much as Zeke, no matter how strongly he’d object to that right now. But she was determined to convince him. She’d tell him with every second of her submission, every inch of skin she gave him to bind, every knot he secured…all of it now symbolizing her love instead of her pain.

  With those conclusions helping her nearly float out of the bathroom, it was no wonder she dropped the lube bottle as soon as she returned to the living room. Her jaw followed the same trajectory. Her reaction was born from equal parts delight and dread. Z validated her on both reactions when he turned, letting the firelight caress the planes of his now-naked chest, and threw her a grin that matched his pirate boots.

  “Merry Christmas,” he drawled. “I had your present delivered here so I could hide it.”

  She saw his point. Though the seven-foot-tall aluminum tripod could be collapsed down into its own duffel, she would have instantly figured out his gift had it been delivered to her place once she saw the dealer’s name on the box. They’d talked to the guy for an hour when they’d given the suspension truss a “trial run” at the lifestyle convention they’d attended during one of his three-day leaves between ops. She’d fallen in love with the apparatus. It could easily hold her weight, opening up sexy possibilities for their fun no matter where she and Zeke were. Granted, her Dom was the best at Macgyvering any space into a play room, but having the truss would help him focus on…other things.

  Judging by the smirk that persisted on his breathtaking features, those “other things” were already dancing across in his devious, kinky mind.

  “Errrmm.” She gave him a tentative smile in return. “Hate to be the bearer of crazy news, but you’re three weeks early.”

  “Honey, in my line of work, we take the time we can get.”

  “Good point.”

  When she started to step forward again, Z halted her with a grunt. “You forgetting something, bird?” He nudged his chin toward the fallen lube. “Turn around when you pick it up. With your legs a little bit apart.”

  Shit. It never took much to rev the man’s Dom engines to full speed. As the storm gained force outside the windows, so did the command in Z’s voice and stance. His lips dropped the smirk but his eyes didn’t. Those flecks of sensual pleasure gave her the incentive to obey his directive—while adding a saucy wiggle of her ass to finish it off.

  She was only three shakes into the performance before he stopped her. In person. It took him just a couple of steps to lunge to her, slamming behind her and stilling her with his hands on her hips. His fingers dug into her skin, hurting her a little, turning her on a lot. As she gave him an appreciative groan, he fitted his chest to her spine and his chin to her nape. He grabbed the lube from her in a commanding sweep. His breath, hot and rough, flooded her ear.

  “You’re into trying all kinds of new things tonight, aren’t you, bird?”

  He finished the growl by scooping his arms around her, one under her knees and one around her waist. The room swirled by as he picked her up, spun her around, and carried her to the middle of the room, a few feet in front of the truss. The rope now lay in a tidy red coil next to the tripod, entrancing—and scaring—her more in this state than it had in a tangle. It was ready for Z to use on her now. To transform her into his complete submissive. His total captive.

  And that was okay.

  She was okay.

  No matter how nervous he made her with his new and wicked chuckle.

  She threw him a scowl. The pirate boots had definitely gone to his head. His grin was a naughty slash that parted his beard scruff, emphasizing the effect more. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on the large box he dragged off the hearth with one toe. She hadn’t been paying the container much attention, thinking the truss had come in it, but she now realized the proportions didn’t match.

  The bullion flecks in his eyes, matching his smirk and his laugh, didn’t relieve her disquiet. She tried to loosen the tension by quipping, “Another present?”

  Zeke tilted his head, leaned in, and stared deeply at her. Crap. He knew what his version of the come-hither gaze did to her bloodstream and, right now, was clearly enjoying it. The firelight danced on his jaw as he murmured, “Santa was good to me, too.”

  Though he nudged the box’s lid in a spirit of suspense, Rayna guessed the contents by the time he said “good.” She remembered the other item they’d tried at the lifestyle convention. More accurately, she’d tried—while Zeke had watched with a growing surge in his crotch. Sure enough, as the imprinted tissue of the specialty boot maker was revealed, she barely stifled an anxious sigh.

  She had to go and fall in love with a guy who’d lived on the streets for eight years but had a weird passion for ballet. More specifically, ballet dancers. More explicit than that, ogling her as a ballet dancer. The second she’d put on the fetish boots, which were like a ballerina’s toe shoes with heels, her Sir had let out a low groan and openly adjusted himself there on the exhibit floor, his eyes betraying a craving to hike up her skirt and plunge into her while the crowd cheered. The reaction had gotten her so hot that she’d almost asked to be charged for the things so she could keep them on, teasing him all day.

  That was before she’d tried to walk. And nearly broken both ankles, not to mention her neck. Zeke’s reflexes had prevented both when he’d rushed and caught her so fast she’d almost looked for the rockets hidden in his ankles. Three minutes later, kinky ballerina was officially written off as a role from her past.

  But her past always had a way of haunting her. And now its invasion was accompanied by the beautiful hulk of a man who crouched next to her, infiltrating her with his hot gaze, taking her breath away with the granite of his muscles.

  Suddenly, a couple of ghosts from that convention didn’t feel like such unwanted visitors.

  “Wear them, Rayna.” A tiny trace of supplication dotted his husky tone, letting her know the option to refuse was still hers. A tiny trace. “Wear them tonight…for me.”

  She swallowed and looked at the boots. They were stunning. He’d ordered them in a custom black-and-white patent style, making them look like a pair of Victorian lady’s boots, a nod to her love for Steampunk. And even the pair at the trade show h
ad made her feel elegant before she’d turned into an outright elephant. “I guess I only have to stumble a few steps.”

  Zeke kicked up a corner of his mouth. “Who says you’re ‘stumbling’ anywhere?”

  “Huh?”

  He answered that by pulling out one of the boots and sliding it onto her foot. She winced a little as the extreme arch forced her foot to go en pointe, but since the front laces were only for appearances, it took Z five seconds to yank the zipper along her calf, sealing her in. As soon as he did the same with the other boot, he leaned back on his haunches and took her in with a hooded, heated gaze.

  “Holy fuck.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been fantasizing about what you’d look like in those and nothing else but…” His head started an appreciative back-and-forth roll. “My imagination sucks ass.”

  Her head fell lower, a natural reaction to the gruff edges of his voice. With her gaze fixated on his huge hands, now resting on the thighs that bracketed the strained bulge beneath his zipper, she adjusted to a position that best showed off the shoes for him. “Thank you, my Sir,” she softly replied.

  An approving rumble emanated from his chest. God, she loved making him do that. It always told her Z was on his way to his happy Dom space, trusting her enough to throw down his own walls and be the man to deliver the control she craved—and he needed.

  “Goddamn, you please me.” His voice was an extension of the thunder, rough and dangerous. It brought her head up a little, and her gaze was captivated by the gleaming lust in his.

  “Then I’m happy,” she whispered.

  A deep breath expanded his chest. Warmth spread through her body before drifting to pool in the tender layers of her sex and the darkest corners of her vagina. That arousal thickened when he spoke once more, his graveled rasp transformed into a full Master’s growl.

  “You’ll please me again by following me to the truss, little bird” —he rose and turned, clearly expecting to be obeyed—“on your hands and knees.”