Handcuffed by Her Hero (7 page)

“Have fun at
your appointment then, Zeke.”

“Right.”

 The sky wept harder
outside. The rainbow faded from the room.

“Ray-bi—” He
clamped his teeth hard. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s all
right.” She folded the bottom edges of the sweater on each other. Curled one
foot atop the other.

“Listen, if you
ever need me for anything…”

“Sure.” She pulled
her sweater origami apart. As her chin wobbled.

Fuck.

This is what you
want. This is what
she
needs. For one of the few times in your damn life, you’re doing the right
thing.

            Somebody just needed
to give that memo to the invisible bastard jamming the hot poker into his gut.

He grabbed his
jacket and keys before walking out into the rain bare-chested. The downpour was
like ice. He welcomed it. The poker got fizzled for at least one second.

Fate wasn’t so
kind with the next moment. Or the next.

There was a
saying on the squad that they had for times like these. He spat it out from
frozen lips.

“This hell
doesn’t want your sorry ass, fucker. Keep the boots moving.”

This was going
to be one of the best nights of her life. She refused to accept anything less.
After all, she’d waited six years, three months, two weeks and four days for
it.

With that
thought, Luna Lawrence smiled as she checked herself out in the full-length mirror
of Bastille’s submissives’ dressing room. She looked good. Damn good. That came
as a surprise. Her one-shouldered, dark green club dress played up her purple
eyes much better than the black she normally wore to the dungeon. The dress’s slick
fabric showed off all the right parts of her body, including the little rings
in her nipples and the dramatic tattoos down her arms. The gold high-heeled
gladiator sandals made her long legs look alluring and elegant.

Wow. Who knew?
She had to admit, she’d had her doubts when Zeke sent over his “instructions”
for tonight’s scene. The man had been in full-on “Master Z” mode when he wrote
the laundry list, which read like travel orders to Siberia at first. No
leather. No latex. No black. No panties. Okay, the last one had been easy to
oblige. But no black? Was the guy serious?

Of course he was.
Zeke wasn’t one shred comfortable about having to do this, and the “preliminary
instructions” were meant to drive in one statement on his behalf.

Tonight would be
dictated by
his
rules.

Luna had
grumbled but met every demand on the man’s list. No way was she messing this up.
She’d waited too long. Wanted it too bad. Wanted
him
too bad.

She tugged at
the dress and frowned at the weird sensation in her stomach. It felt like a
flurry of dry leaves. Ha. The last time she checked, Seattle was outside the
door. The term
dry
didn’t exist within fifty miles.

Nervous
did. And
unsure
.
Which made the insides of her thighs tingle in anticipation. In greater need to
feel that man’s body between them. Damn, she couldn’t wait.

How long had it
been since she’d prepared for the command of a Master who earned the name? A
man who knew that even the clothes on her body had to feel all wrong in order
for her head to start feeling right? Who knew that the key to her
submissiveness was triple-welded to her brain and all she craved was a Dom with
balls big enough to take a blowtorch to those bonds?

Plenty of men
had applied for the job. But on one hand alone could she count the ones who’d turned
her mind to fireworks and made her dreams come true. Zeke wasn’t represented on
that hand.
Not yet.
Tonight, all that would change. Tonight, if her
fantasies
really
materialized, all those faces on those fingers would be
wiped away by the man who’d finally,
finally
realize that when paint
touched its perfect canvas, it was best to thank fate and let the art explode. 

With Zeke, she
was going to be a Rembrandt.

The leaves in
her stomach swirled harder.

The door to the
dressing room opened, bringing a blast of the music now permeating the main
room. The mix of sensual synth and soaring opera was mixed for the club by one
of the city’s emerging DJs. Lively conversation joined the song, a marked
difference from the quiet of the club when she’d arrived forty minutes ago.
Luna savored the noise. It was Saturday night at the Bastille. A very special
Saturday night.
At last.

The folds
between her thighs tickled with a fresh wash of arousal. Fortunately, the new
arrivals in the room were Penny and Noah. Her friends each took a side of the
mirror to give reactions to her makeover.

Penny normally
went for aloof Goth with the help of her ink-black pixie cut and kohl-lined
eyes, but she didn’t even try for that shit right now. Her eyes bugged as if
Luna stood there in a Mary Poppins costume. “Fuck. Me.”

Luna rolled her
eyes. “No thank you.”

Noah held up
both hands, showing off perfectly-groomed nails. “And don’t look at me.”

Luna glanced back
at Penny. “Was that a good ‘fuck me’ or a bad ‘fuck me?”

Penny tipped her
head. “Just a ‘wow’ one, I think.”

“Thanks for
nothing, then.”

“C’mon,” Penny chided,
“does my opinion
even matter? This is what Z wanted, right?”

“With one
exception.” Noah rolled the words out in a sing-song before gliding behind Luna
in a cloud of scented baby oil and a creak of leather shorts.

“Damn it.” She
smoothed a protective hand over her head. “Guess I forgot.”

Penny smirked.
“Uh-huh.”

“Shut
up
.”
She fidgeted again. Her hair, a swath of black, lavender and silver down to her
hips, was her glory. It was no secret to anyone in the club. Nobody messed with
her hair. Until Zeke and his instructions.

“Right,” Noah
drawled. “Just like I ‘forgot’ Laird is bringing in that new
boi toi
from his gym to play with tonight. Just decided to wear my hottest leather
Daisy Dukes because I wanted to.”

“You can shut
up, too.”

“And you can
hold still.” Seemingly from nowhere, her friend flourished a hairbrush. He instantly
went at her with it, gathering every strand into a high crown pony tail. “Sweet
azaleas, what I want to do with this mane…” He pouted at her in the mirror as he
started to braid the length, almost pulling off “innocent” with his blond
schoolboy haircut and big brown eyes. “Don’t we have just a few extra minutes?
There’s this coiled bun I’ve always wanted to try on you—”

“
No
coils,
Daisy.” Penny grabbed the brush from him before spinning Luna toward the door.
“It’s finally time for the lucky Master Z dungeon spin.” Her friend lightly
kissed her cheek. “You look perfect. Have fun, beautiful biatch!”

Her friend’s words
resonated as she headed out the door. The “lucky” dungeon spin. If her friends
only knew how true the statement was. Penny and Noah had only heard the same
line as everyone else, that Zeke was back from deployment and requested her for
his homecoming Dominance session. She didn’t realize Luna had gotten her true
pass at the jackpot three months ago when Zeke had shown up at her door needing
key information for a mission that clearly meant more than “the usual.” She’d
helped him but had asked a price. Tonight was payment remittance time.

Hell. The term
made her sound no better than the criminals she’d pointed Zeke to that night. And
yeah, she’d had a shitload of guilty twinges about their “deal.” She’d actually
gotten to the point of scrolling to his name in her phone. Thirty seconds
later, she’d be the better person for letting his body out of a scene that his
brain clearly didn’t want.

But there was
the sticky. She hadn’t waited on this man for six years because of half-baked
hope. From the moment she’d first seen him stride into this club, an instinct
had flared inside her like no other. She felt like a griffin from the fantasy
books she’d snuck out of class to read as a kid, spreading its wings and
finally finding its life mate. Regrettably, Z’s griffin had still been snoozing.

She’d decided to
be patient.
Really
patient. At times, she’d even been generous—like that
afternoon three months ago. She’d given him the information for his mission
even when she’d learned he was out to save another woman with it. But that didn’t
concern her anymore. After tapping connections at the base, she’d had learned
all about Z’s mystery woman. Army medical corps. Cute but basic. Jogged in the
mornings. Downed smoothies for lunch. No smoking, partying or even regular
clubs. In a word, vanilla.

Not
the match for
Zeke’s griffin.

Her heart
pounded in time to the new boot steps in the entrance foyer. She’d recognize the
powerful footfall even if somebody threw a blindfold on her. She almost begged
someone to do just that. Though it would kill her not to watch him enter the
room, at least some of the water balloons in her body might change back to the
muscles they once were.

“Shit,” she
blurted. The cushion upon which he’d told her to wait for him was next to the
fireplace, across the room. There was no way she’d make it in time. But the bar
was right here. She grabbed a cold beer and popped off the top. Maybe if she
greeted him with it, maybe even from her knees—

“Wow. Thanks,
little flower, but Amstel isn’t my brand.”

Shit,
the awkward
sequel. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” She glanced at the guy’s
feet. Yep, there were the same heavy boots, same big-ass feet. They were
attached to equally impressive legs and surfer-god gorgeousness, which would’ve
had her running for whatever
was
his favorite brand, on any other night.
“There’s not too many size seventeens that walk through that door.”

Surfer god grinned.
He had one slightly crooked canine, which gave him a devil’s air, as well.
“Good call.”

“I know shoes.”

“Ah ha. Then the
guy you’re likely mistaking me for is my squad mate, Zeke Hayes. He’s the only
guy I know in Seattle who also wears a seventeen.”

She smiled back.
“Yeah. That would be him.”

“You’re in luck,
then. Saw him out in the lot. He’s parking his truck. He should be in here in
just—”

“Thank you.” She
felt awful for not letting him finish but hoped the fast peck on his cheek made
up for it. After a hasty dodge through the crowd, she made it to the cushion in
time. The velvet square caressed her ass and thighs as she arranged herself,
making sure the dress and her hair were still exactly what Zeke had specified.

She got in half
a calming breath before a second set of boots thumped into the club.

It was both
heaven and hell to wait here. In this location, she could keep her head lowered
but still steal peeks from the moment Max opened the red velvet curtains to let
him through. When that happened
…

Holy. Crap.

Screw the downcast
eyes. She couldn’t stop staring. The backdrop of those drapes was achingly
perfect for him tonight. He was regal. Beautiful. A black leather vest embraced
his broad torso, covering a pristine white button-down opened into a deep V
where his burnished skin practically glowed in contrast. The shirt’s collar
caught the ends of his hair, which hadn’t been re-cut to Army regs yet. Black
leather pants covered his legs, leaving no hard, huge inch of his thighs, glutes,
and calves to anyone’s imagination. That included the beautiful, long muscle
that dominated their apex.

Before she could
stop herself, she openly licked her lips. By every saint Da Vinci ever put to
canvas, God had hung that man with a beautiful cock.

Like Hampton
Court gone kinky, the crowd parted for Z like he was a young King Henry returned
from Cambrai. In truth, Z had probably been someplace worse, so the adulation
fit. Few in the club knew exactly what Zeke did for the Army, but it didn’t
take a genius to piece things together when he disappeared for months without
warning and no estimated return time. He was one of the elite, going out to
battle the worst of the bad guys, which meant everyone celebrated his returns.
But the cornerstones of his job, stealth and concealment, also meant he forced
every inch of the smile he gave in return to everyone now.

He didn’t look
any more comfortable as he approached her. Working to regulate her breathing—ha,
fucking ha—Luna pulled up her spine, dipped her head, and folded her hands atop
her thighs. She checked the angle of her legs again. One was tucked against her
backside, the other curled gracefully next to it. She was as “in place” as
she’d ever be.

Even without
Zeke’s air-altering presence, she would’ve detected him drawing near. Though
all conversations didn’t stop, it felt like they got tucked beneath a heavy
blanket. She expected the sounds that stood out in the resulting hush. Stunned
gasps. A few curious whispers. And of course, the snarky giggles.
Master
Zeke was playing with
her
tonight?
Like the good courtiers they
were, everyone buzzed with their bets about the outcome.

Go ahead, you
petty shits. We’ll see who’s satisfying him long after you’ve gone home to your
dream lovers and vibrators.

There was no
more time to indulge the musings. The scuffed toes and heavy buckles of Zeke’s
boots appeared in her view. The scent of him, musk and rain and man, filled every
corner of her senses. So much for feeling composed.

“You got the
memo.” He said it in a murmur only she could hear. The intimacy was a pin on
all the water balloons.

“Yes, Sir.” She
kept her head bent as he paced an assessing circle around her. “Are you
pleased?”

Shitty timing on
the question. He was behind her now. The disciplinary yank on her braid proved
that, along with the scratch of his beard against her ear. “Are you in charge?”

“No, Sir.” The
words left her on a breath. Yeah, she was officially a puddle now.

“Then no more
questions, Luna. The only words that leave your mouth tonight are ‘Yes, Sir’
and “No, Sir.’ Are we on the same page?”

She nodded, for
words weren’t possible.
Oh, God.
This was what she needed. A merciless
leash. A Master who held it without a tremor. He knew that already, didn’t he?
He just…knew. As she’d been so certain he would.