Still (29 page)

Yuki saw his confusion. “Petrov was the Master who trained Michelle on how to be a Dominatrix.”

Irrational jealousy scoured through him. “Do you think Petrov will give us a problem?”

Stretching his arms above his head, James said, “Absolutely not. He’s been trying to set her up with a new submissive for the past three years. But she’s never done more than a casual encounter at clubs or private parties where she gets her needs met.”

Again, that stupid jealousy over the thought of another man touching her had him tensing. “I take care of her needs from now on.”

With a soft laugh Yuki rose from her seat and patted his arm. “Of course you do. Now why don’t you go out there and let your Mistress know that you’re strong enough for her tears.”

Chapter 14

With a grunt Michelle stabbed into a pile of loose hay and lifted it into the bed of the wagon behind the ATV. The sun burned down on her head and she was pretty sure she’d have a nice sunburn because she forgot her hat. Despite that, she continued to work and let the soreness of her muscles soothe her. She wanted to be exhausted, to not have to think and worry for one bloody minute. Tonight she’d sit in her bath with Wyatt, drink a glass of wine, and not feel guilty about it because she’d paid for that right with her hard work and pain.

A pair of her leather gloves hit the ground by the hay.

“Put these on or you’re going to give yourself blisters, and that would really hurt my chances of getting a hand job.”

What should have made her laugh instead unbalanced her, a new guilt added to the old, a bonus weight on her shoulders. He had to settle for a hand job because she wouldn’t let him have sex with her like a normal woman would. “Fuck you, Callahan.”

He calmly took off his shirt and tossed it onto a nearby bale of hay. The visible reminder of her claim on him shone in the morning light, the white stars on the sapphires adorning his chest glowing like a stars in truth trapped in a deep blue sky. She wanted to go to him, to let him hold her while she cried, but she was tired of being so fucking weak and messed up.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Is that an order, Lieutenant?”

She stabbed the pitch fork into the ground hard enough that it stood up on its own. “What the hell does that mean?”

“When you went to the tent to mourn the men who had died and I followed you, do you remember that?”

She crossed her arms, then nodded. There was no use in denying that defining moment in their relationship, hidden though it was at the time. That wonderful relief that he would guard her, protect her, and allow her to have a moment where she didn’t have to deal with the sorrow alone. Even if back then they hadn’t been able to touch each other like they wanted, his presence gave her strength.

Just like it did now.

“Well you told me exactly the same thing. If I didn’t listen to you then I probably won’t listen to you now.” He looped his thumbs into his jeans pocket, drawing her eye to the light dusting of dark hair covering the sectioned muscles of his abdomen. “You’re going to have to face the fact that I’m going to be there for you no matter what you need. So if you want to yell at me, go ahead. But I can think of something much more pleasant to take your mind off of things.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the blatant sexual invitation in his tone. He stood before her, so strong, so sure of himself. That man didn’t have any conflict about her. His feelings were as solid as his stance. He loved her, really, truly loved her, like Owen had. A wave of dizziness hit her and she braced herself against the pitchfork, trying to deal with her conflicted feelings, wanting him so bad the self-denial felt almost as agonizing as the heartache she’d endured over the last few years.

Trying to keep her tone light, bur failing miserably, she said, “What would that be?”

“How does an ice cream Sunday sound?”

The unexpected humor helped her cross the mental bridge between denial that bordered on self-hatred and a blessing. She took a step forward, her body mirroring the emotional abyss her heart was now crossing, the dead memories that kept them apart.

“Too cold.”

He smiled and took a step closer, his delectable nipples begging for her touch. Just like that her anger switched to need. She couldn’t be this close to him, with Wyatt giving off his ‘fuck me’ vibes without wanting him. Heat settled low in her belly and she suddenly wanted his face between her legs, right now.

His gaze scorched her soul. “Hot chocolate?”

“Too sweet.”

“What do you want? I am yours to command.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling a deep breath of his scent, trying to make this moment last. The words stuck in her throat, a painful chunk of icy guilt. She’d sworn, on Owen’s grave, to never love another. Desperate, she tried to open her mind, her soul, as much as she could and sent out a frantic prayer.

Please, Owen, if you’re up there and can hear me, please give me a sign if this is what you want for me. Please let me know it’s okay
.

Seconds ticked by and she opened her eyes. There weren’t any signs that she could see, no hawk flying overhead, no sound of trumpets. Turning her back on Wyatt, she searched more desperately, silently begging for something, anything to please let her take Wyatt as completely as a woman could have a man.

She was so terribly lonely.

Still, nothing unusual. Grief shook her and she turned back to him, bracing herself for having to once again push him away.

When he saw her face he dropped to his knees, tall enough so that his head was only a little bit below her collarbone. “Domina, I love you. No matter what you do or say, no matter how hard you try to push me away, I love you and I’ll wait the rest of my life for you to love me back if that’s what I have to do.”

Her mouth went dry and she stared helplessly at him. The truth of his words written on every inch of his body, but especially in his eyes. And, oh God, what beautiful eyes they were.

So warm, so enigmatic, and soul shattering.

In his eyes she found her miracle.

How could she have not wanted this? The connection between them strengthened until she felt as if she was drowning in him. His love rushed through her in a physical wave, leaving goosebumps on her skin in its wake. He waited, no doubt wanting her to say the same, but all she could do was whisper his name, trying to put everything she felt into it, every ounce of love that he’d poured into her doubled, tripled, and she tried to send it right back to him.

“Make love to me, Wyatt. I need your strength. Right now, we aren’t Mistress and sub, we’re two people who belong to each other. I want you to do what you want. I want you.”

He didn’t even bother to ask, instead standing and scooping her up into his arms. The moment his lips touched hers the rest of the world vanished, and she closed her eyes, drinking up his affection, starved for it. The more she gave the more he took, his teeth biting her lip, the firm roll of his chest against her body, the faint taste of apple in his mouth.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him closer, unwilling to break their kiss even for a moment. Sucking on his tongue, she jerked his hair in time with each pull and he groaned. With a harsh gasp he tore his mouth from hers and she was stunned to see that they were on the wrap around porch at the back of the house.

“Where.”

“Here.”

She tried to pull him back down but he shook his head. “Don’t want you or me to get splinters.”

Almost snarling with frustration, she looked around. “The porch swing.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He almost ran to the wide and comfortable padded swing hanging from the thick exposed rafters by sturdy chains. It was actually more like a daybed than a chair, big enough so that she could lay out here and read a book while watching her horses in the far pasture. Now she was more glad than ever that she’d found it, because when Wyatt set her down on the soft surface he had a feral look in his eye that confirmed she would have been the one with splinters in her back.

“Take off your shirt before I rip it off, Michelle.”

Her hands shook, but she managed to jerk the shirt off over her head. Before she’d even gotten it fully off Wyatt was on her, tearing down the cups of her white lace bra, exposing her tight nipples to his mouth. His wonderful tongue laved her breasts with long strokes as if licking away a wound. And it did feel like his touch was healing her, making her warm from the inside out. A memory of making love with Owen tried to capture her attention, but she managed to push it away and focus on Wyatt.

A clatter made her open her eyes and she realized he was taking off his boots without releasing her breast. Then he gave her nipple a sharp bite and held it between his teeth, his tongue flicking the tip. Before he’d been amazing in bed, but the unleashed Wyatt was devastating.

He got onto the swing with her and crushed his body atop hers, forcing her legs wider to accommodate him. The rough callouses on his hands felt like heaven against her skin. He mounded her breasts together, the hot pleasure of his mouth going from peak to peak making her arch her back, offer more of herself to his caress. For her part, she couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop running her hands over every inch of his flesh.

Finally he released her nipples and leaned up on his arms with a satisfied smile. “That’s how I like them, swollen and extended. Such a pretty, hot pink color.”

Groaning, she reached for him, wanting his kiss but he shook his head and rolled off the swing.

“Wait! Wyatt—”

“Hold on a minute, darl’in', I need to get out of my pants and so do you.”

Desire contracted her lower belly. She reached for the button of her jeans but he shook his head. “That’s my job.”

Captivated, she turned on her side, propping her head on her arm to watch him undress. God he was so fucking hot, so masculine. During their time together he’d started to put back on some of the weight and muscle he’d lost. His skin was a delicious deep brown from the sun, and when he pulled his pants down she found his tan line irresistible.

“Come here and hold onto the chain.”

He arched a brow but stepped closer. She leaned over and began to lick the delineation between dark and light skin, running her tongue over his flesh until she bumped into his erection. With a murmur of pleasure she lowered her mouth to the tip, inhaling his masculine scent as she slowly took him into her mouth, being careful to keep her teeth off of him.

Sure enough the chain he held rattled when she had him fully down her throat, and when she pulled back equally slow he trembled.

“Oh, fuck no.” He grabbed her hair and pulled her off of him. “You will not make me come in your mouth.”

She grinned and then yelped when he pushed her over onto her stomach. “What are you doing?”

“Be very still. Don’t move.” He squatted down to dig around in his pants and came back up with his big pocket knife. “I’m going to cut your pants off.”

At the sight of the blade's sharp edge she went perfectly still, her heart hammering inside her chest. But her heart didn’t speed up because of fear; no, it sped up because she liked knife play.

A lot.

His erection nudged at her as he leaned over and lifted the worn denim from her lower waist. She gripped the slats in front of her, using them to hold as still as possible. That was one of the challenges, to master her fear and anticipation, and not move a muscle. The last thing she wanted right now was an involuntary twitch leading to having to go get stitches in her ass.

He brushed the flat of the cool metal over her lower back, making her groan but not move. Then came the pulling and release as he carefully cut down first one leg of her jeans, then the other. During the entire process she never moved a muscle, but the potential for violence, the trust involved, had her soaking her panties.

“Lift your hips.”

She did and he pulled the remains of her jeans off her body. The warm air caressed her and his soft murmurs of praise about her beauty caused an entirely different warmth. When he cupped her mound she moaned and shivered.

“Do you like it when I use a knife on you? Because this soft, wet pussy tells me you sure seem to.”

The cool tip of the knife scraped over her right buttock. “Mmmm, yes.”

He turned her over and she stared up at him, memorizing every detail of his face. “I want to eat your pussy with your legs hanging off the edge of the swing.”

She was only too happy to comply, tightening in anticipation when he knelt before her. Then he held up his blade. “Spread your legs wider.”

After she did he leaned over her pulsing sex and cut the strings of her panties. Unable to handle the intensity of watching him, she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensations he was creating. The tip of the knife traced over her skin, hard enough to scratch. He began to draw concentric circles descending from her belly button, down her lower stomach, and towards her mound. The circles became tighter and tighter, parting the hair guarding her mound until he was almost to her clit. She held her breath, every muscle quivering with the effort of holding still. With slow, deliberate intent he circled her clit with the tip of his knife, almost touching, but not quite.

“Wyatt! Please!”

“Of course, Domina.”

Then he took the flat of the knife and smacked it on her clit three times, taking away any illusion that he was following her orders. Each smack sent a painful jolt through her swollen nub, but she embraced that pain as she’d been trained to do, allowing her body to switch it over to pleasure. The swing shifted and a moment later he was lapping at her, licking up her honey with broad sweeps of his tongue, growling like a starving animal the whole time.

All too quickly he pushed her to the edge of the cliff between aching need and blessed relief. She tried to slow him down, tried to pull him away, but he opened his mouth wide and licked at her like a man eating a juicy peach, trying to keep all the sweetness from flowing down his chin.