Still (8 page)

The thick sheepskin rug had proven surprisingly comfortable to sleep on and the pillow Michelle had tossed him smelled like her. He’d felt like an idiot, but had fallen asleep taking in deep breaths of the mixture of her shampoo, perfume, and natural scent. The soft whisper of her breathing had soothed him, and he’d found himself breathing with her, easily drifting off.

Moving very slowly, he unhooked the ankle cuff as quietly as possible, cursing when the links rattled. Rubbing the stiffness out of his muscles, he stood and looked down at her. She didn’t stir so he took a moment to stare at her, to examine the woman who’d fascinated him from the moment he first laid eyes on her. Her long, sun streaked blonde hair lay around her head in a halo and he touched the curl nearest to him. He’d never seen her with her hair down before. Even at Aaron’s funeral her hair had been swept back in an elegant twist.

No, he didn’t want to think about that funeral right now, not when he’d just found a port in the storm. Murky memories of sitting at Aaron’s grave spun through his mind like razor wire. He’d found the perfect piece of wood earlier in the day for making a cross, he could see the shape in the wood, waiting to be coaxed out by his hand. So, late that afternoon, he’d gone to Aaron’s grave with the wood, his knife, and a bottle whiskey. Fuck, he was lucky he hadn’t sliced his damn hand off. If that caretaker hadn’t stumbled across him when he did…well he didn’t want to think about that right now, either.

Instead, he focused on Michelle. She had refined features and an elegance about her he found hard to put into words. He’d watched a movie a while he was in Walter Reed, some cowboy movie from the nineties on cable, and the moment Sharon Stone appeared on the screen he’d had to rub his eyes because she looked so much like Michelle. There were slight differences in their features, but they could have been sisters.

Either way, that exquisite woman now lay before him in a pair of sexy white cotton panties with a rumpled silk sheet covering everything but her lower back and ass. His Marine buddies would never believe he’d made it into the Ice Queen’s bedroom. Well, it was on her floor but, fuck, it was still her bedroom. Hell, he hardly believed it himself. Her lips, soft in sleep, parted and she mumbled something before turning onto her stomach. When her even breathing resumed he moved quickly to the bathroom, the call of nature pulling him away from his obsession.

After taking care of business, he brushed his teeth, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He knew he’d been treading in dangerous waters lately, but it had been hard to make himself care. He was drifting, having no purpose really and nothing to be excited about anymore. While he didn’t miss the war, or the bullshit everyday stuff of the military, he missed having a goal, something to strive for. He’d tried working at his dad’s company, thought about going back to school, and had basically done nothing as far as socializing other than drink and avail himself of the occasional one night stand.

What shamed him even more was that Michelle recognized his downward spiral when they’d met at Aaron’s funeral. After the service she’d found him taking his first drink of the day at his truck, too emotionally fucked up to hold out any longer. She’d looked like a cool dream in an ice blue suit that made her dark blue eyes seem all the more striking. It was also the first time he’d ever seen her wearing makeup, and he’d been knocked on his ass by how fucking kissable her lips looked with a sheen of pink lip-gloss. Then she’d laid the smack-down on him and, before he knew it, he was in her car on their way to his apartment.

The conversation they’d had about her being a Dominatrix had been one of the most surreal moments in his life. He’d never, ever imagined getting off on a woman tying him up the way he sometimes liked to tie his lovers up. But, even then, his dick had almost instantly swelled rock hard as soon as she started talking about it. After that, he’d done a bunch of research that left him more confused and aroused than before. He’d vowed that he could never do that stuff for her, and yet here he stood with an aching erection and the marks of a cuff on his ankle.

If it had been anyone but her he would have thrown away the card she gave him after the funeral, but he’d kept it, tucked it away in his wallet. Over the ensuing weeks, he’d pulled it out dozens of times, looking at the elegant scrawl of her handwriting. The paper retained a trace of her perfume, an elusive hint of the woman who’d once touched it. When his brother-in-law had asked him who to call Wyatt told him to grab Doc’s card and call her. Sure, he’d been really drunk at the time, but hadn’t he been waiting for an opportunity to call her? A time when it wouldn’t have to be him doing the talking, but someone else? A random third party who could say the words he’d been choking on, that he needed help…that he needed her with a desperation that scared him.

Splashing his face with hot water he tried to wash away the invisible grime that always seemed to coat his skin after drinking. As he dried his neck, he wondered what was on the paper she’d said waited for him in her drawer. She must have written it before she came to pick him up, and that made him curious as to how she’d been so sure he would stay the night. Then again, he’d always been a complete fool when it came to Doc, and he was pretty sure she knew it.

With a sigh he tossed the wet washcloth into the hamper and slowly opened the door to the bedroom. She was still deep asleep and he envied her the ability to relax like that. Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, he grabbed the envelope with his name on it from the side table. The room was too dark to read, so he went out into the hallway and closed the door after himself.

Not sure where to go, he wandered down the hall following the bright light coming from a glass door. Gauzy curtains hung down over the other side of the doorway and he wondered what they concealed. Curious, he opened the door and parted the curtains. Humid warmth bathed him and he stepped forward, grinning as soon as he got on the other side. He’d never seen a room like this in person before.

It was a conservatory, a greenhouse with high, vaulted ceilings. Easily twice the size of his living room, the smooth stone floors were warm beneath his feet as he wandered to the center of the room. Tall palm trees almost touched the glass roof, and exotic flowers grew everywhere in raised beds that somehow looked like natural rock formations. A small pond bubbled over in the corner and the glass window-walls looked out onto a vast field enclosed by a wooden fence.

A trough sat near the house and he figured that this must be one of the grazing pastures for her horses. In the center of the room stood a collection of wrought iron furniture covered with overstuffed cushions done in a delicate and utterly feminine floral pattern. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he realized that the gauzy curtains at the entrance to the room served a purpose.

Not only was this a greenhouse, it also appeared to be a butterfly habitat. Now that he was paying attention, he noticed dozens of different butterflies either flitting about or sitting on leaves and flowers, their elegant wings slowly opening and closing. He made his way over to one of the chairs and sat down, awed by the sheer beauty of this place and the kind of mind that could have imagined it in the first place.

He blew out a low breath and fingered the envelope, turning it over and over, wondering what it contained. A butterfly landed on the black wrought iron table in front of him, a beautiful specimen with wings like black velvet, spattered with bright blues and golds. When he opened the envelope it took off, leaving him alone with her words.

Dear Wyatt,

I have a proposition for you, one that I think will be mutually beneficial. For the next month I want you to become my submissive, to serve me as I desire, to give over all the control to me and trust me to take care of you. If, after that month, we decide to maintain our D/s relationship we will discuss a new contract and set of terms.

His cock certainly seemed to enjoy the thought. Blood rushed to his groin as he imagined different scenarios with her, each more erotic than the last. But wait, he was getting ahead of himself, there was still more to read.

During our first days together your role will be as my service submissive. I don’t know how much you know about the lifestyle, so I’ll explain it. When you act as my service submissive you will assist me and perform tasks I set for you as directed. These tasks will include but are not limited to drawing my bath, turning down my bed, helping care for my horses and any other chores I deem appropriate
.

Fuck, that wasn’t quite what he was thinking, though he liked the bath idea.

From there, depending upon your behavior, I will either continue to train you as my submissive or I will send you, at my expense, to the best program in the country for dealing with PTSD and substance abuse. And wipe that fucking scowl off your face; you and I both know you’re not handling your shit right now. You’re using alcohol to make the pain go away, and that sad story always ends in tragedy
.

He rubbed his eyes, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into with a woman who knew him well enough to know what his reaction would be to her words. He’d only recently admitted to himself that maybe he wasn’t doing as well out in the civilian world as he could be, that maybe the shit that had happened over in the sandbox was affecting him more than he first thought. A cold wind blew across his soul as he thought about how tempting the idea of ending it all had been last night deep in his alcoholic haze.

There, in that peaceful graveyard, he’d envied the dead.

Another butterfly danced through the air in front of him before finding its way to a flowering vine that twined up the trunk of one of the trees. There was a flow to the room, a design that made everything work together in harmony. The warm, moist air felt good against his skin and he briefly considered going to sleep out here, but time was running out.

So this is where we stand, Wyatt. You can either agree to become my submissive for a month and see where this takes us, or you can go home. I won’t say that I wouldn’t be disappointed if you left, but I understand that my lifestyle is not for everyone. I see something in you Wyatt, something special. I’d like to help remind you of the joys life has to offer. If you agree I want you to take off your shirt and go draw a bath for me. When you’re in my presence I want you barefoot and shirtless, always. If you decide this is not for you, wait for me downstairs and I’ll make sure you get home okay
.

That was it, nothing more. He tossed the letter onto the table and stood, cracking his knuckles before he began pacing. Why the fuck was he even considering this? He didn’t have a submissive bone in his body. He’d always been the one who called the shots in bed, who swept women off their feet, not the other way around. Then again, men spent their entire lives trying to find a woman like Sapphire. He’d be a fool to let this opportunity slip away.

He needed to think about this in a logical manner, not with his cock. What did he have to lose? Not his self-respect, he’d already lost that last month when he’d been busted for drunk driving by his brother-in-law. Not his freedom, he didn’t even know what to do with it now that he had it. And his sanity was questionable at best.

What did he have to gain? At the very least it would be a much needed distraction from the endless memories of battle. Out here, in the middle of all this land, he didn’t have to worry about the sound of an engine backfiring making him want to hit the deck, or when someone drove to close to him worrying if they were a suicide bomber. Then again, he couldn’t stay here forever. He’d have to return to the real world eventually, and he worried that he’d be even more broken than before he came here.

Yeah, Sapphire didn’t seem vicious, but what did he really know about her?

He fingered the scar tissue on his lower abdomen, the physical reminder of how she’d saved his life.

Before he could change his mind he turned on his heel and left the butterfly room. His feet were already bare so when he opened the door to her bedroom his footsteps were hushed. She appeared to still be asleep so he went into the bathroom.

Warm sunlight spilled over the marble floor, bringing out the veins of bronze and peach in the creamy stone’s surface. Her enormous bathtub took up the far wall of the bathroom and he grabbed a couple towels before heading over there. Shit, he’d seen smaller hotel Jacuzzis. Along the side on a small built-in shelf there was a variety of different soaps. He grabbed a bottle of some orange stuff and turned on the water. Opening the cap he took a hesitant sniff and was pleased to find it smelled like vanilla and peaches.

After pouring the bubble bath into the slowly filling tub he noticed some buttons on the side of the wall. One button turned on lights in the water, and another started the jets. The third button made a TV rise up from the other edge of the tub. It would be nice to sit in a hot bath with a cold beer and watch football. Even better if Michelle was cuddled against his chest watching the game with him. Damn, he could get used to this place.

Unsure what to do now, he refolded the towels and fidgeted, testing the water now and again. When the tub was finally full he turned the water off and glanced towards the bedroom door. Sapphire stood there with an unreadable look in her eyes. She still wore the t-shirt she’d slept in and her white cotton panties, which made her smooth, slender legs look a mile long.

His mouth went dry and he swallowed hard. “I-uh, ran your bath.”

“I see.”

When she didn’t say anything else he stood and gestured to the water. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Sit down.”

Raising his eyebrows he did as she asked, sitting on the wide tile edge around the tub, and tried not to groan out loud as she crossed the room. Even in bright sunlight she was flawless, all creamy skin and golden hair. When she stopped before him he reached out to touch her, but she shook her head. “No, Callahan, touching me is a privilege you haven’t earned yet. Now close your eyes, and don’t peek. I’m trusting you not to.”