Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (111 page)

The purely masculine chuckle hits me like a strike of lightning between the thighs. “I’m pretty sure I’m trying to ask you to marry me,” Wil abruptly says. “That is if you’re willing to have me as your husband.”

“Wil?” his name is a burst of breath from my shocked lungs.

A fingertip settles over my lips, silencing me. “Shh… I’m not finished. You need to know something first. Six months ago, I was worried. We’d had sex every day for a month. I knew your schedule, and I made sure to be with you several times when you were at your peak. I scheduled an appointment after you got your period.”

“You’re not sick are you,” I say in a panic around his silencing fingertip.
Words like cancer and death streak through my mind. My heartbeat goes into hyperdrive as my imagination runs wild. Life without Wil wouldn’t be worth living.

“No, Pixy,” he gently murmurs. “I’m not sick. I’m also not very virile. I’ve held this in for so long. I was so scared of how you’d react. I have a very low sperm count. There are many factors on whether or not I can ever have children. It depends on you, too.
I was given a twenty percent chance inside a clinic and less than ten percent the old fashioned way. I don’t expect you to give me your future if you’re not okay with that, and I couldn’t lie about something so major. I thought about it, lying, but it was the wrong way to start a real life together. I feel like we’ve been treading water. I can’t live that life anymore. It’s why I’m trying to be more open, and less private and secretive.”

“Let’s get dressed and go get hitched,” I eagerly say, tugging on Wil’s hand. My enthusiasm has Wil laughing
a happy sound of pure joy.

“I think we can wait until morning, don’t you? Are you sure you’re okay with this?
” Wil sounds self-conscious and vulnerable, and it kills me to hear such a strong man sound broken.

“You think I was joking about getting up and going right now? I wasn’t. I’ve been waiting thirteen years for you to ask me that. I was a naïve shit, but I’m not anymore. If my need for you hasn’t abated after all the trials we’ve been through, then nothing is going to diminish it.
I don’t need a fancy wedding or a huge ring or an extravagant honeymoon. That’s not the kind of woman I am. I think all of that is bullshit. What I do need is you- that’s it- just you. All I need is you.”

“Oh, Pixy,” Wil sighs in relief. “Are you sure? I… what about…”

“I’ll negotiate with you. Five years. We’ll give the old fashioned way five years. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go to the doctor. If that doesn’t work, then it wasn’t meant to be. We have Zane- let’s not forget that we’re already blessed. I couldn’t imagine my life without Stanton, so I can assure you that Zane thinks you are irreplaceable, just as Torian sees us as irreplaceable. I’m going to run on faith for this, Wil.”

I try to pull away from him, but his arms become tighter than a bear trap. “C’mon, let’s go get us hitched,” I tease, pulling out the West Virginia accent that makes his ears bleed.

“Get back here,” Wil growls, rolling over me and settling his hips between my thighs. He wiggles until he’s comfortable. “Morning, our family, and a Justice of the Peace, we will get married- that’s not extravagant, that’s not a rush, and that’s not girly- totally practical. I’ve waited, too, Pixy. I want the people that matter to us to witness our union. I want to be your husband.” Wil’s voice is filled with so much emotion that it draws tears to my eyes.

“If a badass bitch is willing to marry m
e, then I must be a man,” Wil cockily says. I snort at him, and it turns into a series of giggles.

“Never doubt your manliness, Leviticus Wilson. Which of my last names is changing to Wilson?” 

“Both,” Wil growls, “Faith Wilson and Cynthia Wilson, both have a ring to it. Now we will both be called Captain Wilson.”

“Ugh, that’s gonna suck. Maybe I’ll hyphenate,” I tease.

“Not gonna happen, Pixy,” Wil says as he performs a practiced move that is guaranteed to push a gasp from my chest. “Let’s make love while we meditate.” We both groan in pleasure when he circles his hips, moving his cock deep inside of me. “No mutual masturbation. I want to connect with you physically while we connect spiritually.”

I instantly turn off my mind
and tune into Wil- the very essence of Wil. We are already connected in body, our bodies joined at the groin. This is the first time we’ve tried to fall into perfect symmetry while having sex. We don’t move. Wil slows his breathing to match mine, but the speeding heart rate takes a lot longer than usual. Minutes trickle by before we sync our breathing and heart rhythm. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we connect on a deeper level.

The closeness, the intimacy, is staggering. The intensity is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. We connect- bond, on a deeper level than sex. This is why I didn’t want to be with Dexter- why I will never take anyon
e to my bed that I don’t feel an intense connection with. What is the sense of five minutes of mediocre pleasure followed by ten seconds of orgasm? I’d rather experience a meld of the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual.

Sparks radiate around my body, my nerves firing in elation. It is the ultimate in control- controlling the urge to thrust, to ride. My body is screaming at me- screaming to breathe faster, to pump my blood faster, to rock my pelvis against Wil’s. I deny every request, and it makes me feel powerful.

I begin to whimper because Wil is moaning as his cock jerks and beats inside my pussy. Losing control over my muscles, they begin to spasm. My breathing is next. My slow, controlled inhalations and exhalations turn into labored breaths. My heart races, fluttering within my chest as if trapped within my ribcage. Still connected, Wil’s physical responses struggle to keep up with mine.

“Pixy,” Wil half shouts my name.

A deep moan pours from his throat as his cock shudders inside me. I close my eyes and let myself go- I fall off the edge of pleasure and into the abyss. Sounds of ecstasy fill the room and I don’t know where Wil’s end and mine begin. His heart beats within my chest, and mine within his. My lungs service his breath. We meld into one being, and share the most powerful release of our lives.

“I love you,” I say for the first time to another human being and truly mean it on every level possible. It isn’t a frivolous statement, something said in passing to a relative. It isn’t the
I think I’m in love with you
, I said to Wil over a decade ago. I’ve said things like
I love you because or I do this because I love you or I say this because I love you
, but I’ve never just said,
I love you, Wil
. “I love you, Wil,” I say with so much conviction that I begin to cry.

Wil’s breath hitches in his throat, and it takes him several tries to speak. “No one has ever said that to me and really meant it. Thank you. You will never know how much this means to me. I love you, too, Pixy… I always have, and I always will.” 

*Time Lapse*

Restraint
-KING timeline.

Note:
lapse is due to the issue of not wishing to write the doldrums of everyday life. No important events in Syn’s life transpired within this timeframe. There will be time lapses between most chapters, but will be noted in the internal dialogue. I apologize for the rough transition and flow. With a book of this magnitude, it would go on forever if I filled in the gaps.

~Chapter Ninety-Seven~

I lean against my front door and just smile. I know there must be people that come home from work and just want to run away and never come back. They despise their spouse and resent their children- both choices they personally made. They hunger for their boys’ nights out or a random hookup after working a job they equally hate- another choice they made. I work sixty hours a week on a slow week,
I am the Game Master, and then I spend my nights off at a BDSM club policing idiots. I have the occasional release when Dexter has too many submissives and not enough wrists to flick- pressure release, not the sexual kind. But when I walk in my front door, I dump all that shit with my coat and shoes. My home is my sanctuary, and I can’t imagine not wanting its warm embrace.

My home is off limits to anyone I
didn’t personally invite. We are a family of introverts who will happily turn you away at the door. I will meet you on your own turf, because mine is sacred. I even turn my siblings away unless I asked them to visit.

My turf. M
y rules.

I’ve always stuck to the shadows. I’m an observer. I like to know what I’m walking into, always. I use this ‘me’ time to acclimate to my surroundings. My family knows that if Momma is leaning on the door, you don’t talk to her until she enters the living room. They know me, all of me. I could have just left a fatal accident scene or watched a home burn to the ground with all of the owner’s earthy possession inside it, or I could have just
diverted an illegal play and slapped the hand of some naughty gamer, or I could have just whipped an even naughtier submissive. I wear so many hats that I need this time at my front door to remember who I am- I’m not Captain Cynthia Wilson or Master Syn or Game Master Faith- I am Faith or Pixy or Momma or Aunt Faith. For me, my home is my own personal slice of West Virginia. I feel like the girl I would have become if my life hadn’t been intercepted by agony and violence… and that is why my private life has extremely strong boundaries in place.

My family
knows I’m here, and they give me my space to shove the shit in a box until I leave the threshold again. Stanton is absent this evening. Ironically, when I called my big sister, she didn’t answer her phone. When interrogated, both always give me a blank stare- it must be true love… or that’s just me wanting them to be happy. Aunt Amelia is absent, but she is on another date. I hope I’m as randy as her when I’m in my sixties- the woman has a libido that rivals a teenage boy.

“How are my three favorite men doing this evening?”
I ask from my perch, not quite ready to leave my slice of indifference- the outside world is clinging to my flesh, and I fear that one day, I won’t be able to shed it at the door.

I spent another torturous evening dealing with Restraint. I swear, I get a break in one area of my life and everything else goes to shit. The game has been quiet, mischievous, and fun. They players are all scheming within the rules, nothing too vicious- vicious in comparison to the past- that was murderous and deadly. Currently, most pla
ys are monetary, social, career-ruining, or matchmaking- nothing most can’t handle.

Restraint has been a thorn in my side- sucking the life from my veins like a gigantic bloodsucking mosquito. I’m very happy to have an ally- finally Regina was crowned Queen, and I’m thankful that she is taking her reign seriously. We work we
ll together, as one tries to put a collar on Ezra and the other snaps a leash on it. It was hard not to bond over initiation horror stories and hard liquor.

After enough time, I’m able to leave the stress at the door. “How ya doing handsome,” I ask Zane. He tucks
his white-blond curls behind his ear and offers me his cheek. I delicately kiss the softest skin on the planet, and then I rest my cheek against his. All of my family has these squeezable chipmunk cheeks, including me, but not Zane. At twelve, he’s already starting to get that chiseled manliness that makes his father and Cortez breathtaking. Zane won’t ever be called cute. He will get more handsome every day of his life.

A wet smacker hits my other cheek, Torian being impatient and not waiting his turn.
I get so little affection from Zane, and I value it. Torian knows this, so I flash the brat a disappointed look. But instead of looking cowed, it just makes him smile wider. I wait a heartbeat before I make him squeal.

“You’re so bad,” Wil says with a chuckle.

“Tori has the patience of an infant,” I say with affection. “He deserved to get his chipmunk cheek nipped.” I lean over and bite his other cheek, but he doesn’t squeal this time- pity. At fourteen, I hardly ever get to see him act like a little boy.

Wil’s legs part, offering me a seat on his lap since the sofa cushions are at max-capacity. Wil and the boys are watching a reality show on
The History Channel
. I don’t think I could watch an hour of men driving on icy roads- my brain would bleed. But I’m not going to watch the show. I’m going to watch my guys watch the show.

I curl up on Wil’s lap, and tuck my face against the side of his neck. I breathe in the scent of home, and I finally feel the stress of life swathe right off me. My fingers curl in the fabric of Wil’s t-shirt as I nuzzle the side of his face. He uncomfortably shifts his weight beneath me, pressing his growing erection into the side of my hip. He clears his throat, simultaneously telling me to move my hip and behave.
I shift a bit until we aren’t touching
there
. I’m only in a cuddly mood- I’m not thinking sex.