by Angel Payne
As he and Rayna rushed from of the car, the clouds growled and the rain fell harder. Z snarled back before tugging Rayna into the elevator. Shit. Her costume was made mostly of velvet, which meant she now wore every chilled drop that had fallen on her. Despite his best efforts to warm her, his firebird was frozen to the bone.
“Fuck,” he muttered. The oath spewed from him a couple more times when they got to the door of his place. “Sorry, ’bird. I’m not used to the lock.”
Every word of it was true. He could easily count the number of times he’d actually spent the night here in the last year, keeping the apartment mostly as—
What?
A place of his own to “get away alone with his thoughts”? Negative on that order, kids. His thoughts weren’t exactly the kind a guy invited over for a few beers and a gut spill.
A restful retreat between missions? More sarcastic laughter echoed from his brain. If he wanted quiet, he headed for the cabin in the Cascades into which he’d sunk most of his design and decorating dollars. And if he wanted real peace, he slept at Rayna’s.
A “Master Zeke bachelor party pad”? He didn’t bother to let that one even play with the grenade pin. When he wanted to play Dom, the walls of the Bastille Club, where he was a staff Dominant, held more than enough equipment for his needs—all exercised on the willing body and soul of the woman by his side.
They truly had come so far together in a little over a year.
The best damn year of his life.
The fire-colored jewel that dangled from her black leather collar twinkled at him as affirmation of that. They’d made the most of every chance they had to feed the flames of their love, making sure the kindling of their friendship supported the bigger logs they’d placed on top. The result was a blaze that fed him, mind and soul, more completely than he dared admit.
And terrified him more deeply than he wanted to acknowledge.
As the lock finally gave for him, the woman scared him in other ways. Her teeth chattered like Morse Code for freezing my nipples off. The tendrils of her fancy hairdo were soaked slashes against the beautiful angles of her cheeks. Her lips and exposed shoulders began to match the peacock blue color of her gown.
“All those p-people b-beheaded by K-King Henry and Qu-Queen Elizabeth?” she stammered. “Th-they must have b-been the fashion d-designers for the c-c-court.”
He gave her a tender smile while cranking on the heater, though it was impossible to stop his gaze from wandering to the cleavage formed by her tight-laced corset. Sage’s dress had been more of a demure bridal thing, but the maid of honor had free reign to be more provocative in her purple and red gown, featuring a lacy neckline that pushed her breasts into very grab-worthy areas. Holy fuck, it was all he could do not to imagine just pulling them free from the fabric then pinching them until they were as red as her dress before shoving her skirts around her waist and—
“Sorry, ’bird,” he muttered instead. “I’m banging on the heat now.” He also walked over and turned on the flames beneath the artificial logs in the apartment’s excuse for a fireplace. “Isn’t as nice as what we have at the cabin, but it’ll have to do for now.”
An awkward silence arced between them. Neither of them had to speak the reason why.
Isn’t as nice as what we have at the cabin…
We. The word had never flowed naturally off his lips unless he was referring to something that had to do with the guys on his Special Forces team. He sure as hell never thought he’d be including a woman in the phrase beyond an invitation to one of Bastille’s private play rooms—let alone confusing one by looping her into a comment about his personal, solitary sanctuary.
Personal. Solitary. The words were a damn good credo for him. They’d served him well since the age of ten when the streets became his home, and gained more importance when discovering his kink gene nine years later. Hadn’t taken him long to learn that like many other things in his life, he reveled in sensual dominance the most when dealing it hard, fast, and rough. That was just peachy, but most of the time, he had to chill on his cravings for the sake of being a good Dom to his many submissives. And basing a lasting relationship on the affinity? That was like a wolf hooking up with a dolphin. Unwise and unnatural.
Yeah, the wolf card was best played with the “lone” part securely attached. Everyone knew their parts. Nobody got hurt. Pain was only best when it was consensual and clear.
So when the fuck had that all changed?
He grunted as he stomped down the hall to grab some dry towels for Rayna. Who says anything’s changed?
He’d opened his pie hole on the wrong words, that was all. Rayna knew where he stood, where they stood, and she was fine with it. Happy, even. Just because she’d been along for the ride the last few times he’d been up to the cabin—
The last five times.
—which didn’t mean shit beyond the fact that she was being his dutiful subbie, and—
Like she remembers good “subbie” behavior when she kicks your ass in burping contests during the drive up the mountain or reads you jokes in different voices to help you relax.
—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 that 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 that 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 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 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 snuck 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 Macgiver’ing any space into a playroom, 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.
