A WILDer Wonderland - Sexy Stories Of The Season

by Angel Payne

  His cock burned her tender cleft with new heat. Rayna trembled and mewled, incapable of moving much more than that. While the ropes kept her safe, they also rendered her more helpless than cuffs and chains ever could. By the sound of Z’s sadistic grunt, he knew the exact same thing.

  “You’re shivering all over, ’bird. You cold? Need a blanket?”

  His taunt, given as he dragged the length of his penis through her most sensitive tissues, brought a mix of hot fury and delicious frustration. She didn’t know whether to yell or sob. In the end, a strained moan won out, courtesy of him guiding the barbell in his frenulum to the edge of her vagina and rubbing it there with excruciating leisure.

  “S-sir,” she finally managed to rasp. “Oh, p-please!”

  Sweet God, every inch of her craved him. She was on birth control and they’d gotten tested together, so technically there was nothing holding him back from driving all the way in—except that he was a rogue with an evil streak and the self-control of Saint Peter. That was fine, as long as he planned on letting her into Heaven sometime soon, too.

  She keened again as he wiggled the ropes against her ass. The tight ache of his makeshift plug, along with the feel of his cock head getting sucked by the first inches of her pussy, made every molecule in her sex go into overdrive. The ropes made it impossible to focus on anything else. She was his completely captive plaything.

  “You know what the sight of this plug in your ass does to me, honey?” Zeke’s voice was as unrelenting as his hands, which now used the ends of the ass harness to pull her back, giving her another fraction of his stalk. “Makes my cock leak that sweet precum all over your pussy. I know you love tasting me like that…maybe the next time I let you fly, I’ll let you suck on me a little before I spread you and fuck you. But right now, the sight of my juice all over your cunt just makes me want to do one thing.

  “I’m going to fuck you good and hard, firebird.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  With the ropes in his fists and her scream in his ears, Zeke heaved his little subbie all the way back, impaling her body with his.

  He groaned, lost in the deepest pleasure he’d ever known. Her channel was soaking wet for him, a grip of heat and tremors that wrapped his dick in tight bands of ecstasy. With every thrust, it got better. He coiled more torque into one of his arms, using only that one to pull on the harness so he could be free to smack her sweet ass every time he yanked her back. As if his cock needed any more incentive. Her cries, growing more exigent each second, told him that the tube in her anus was working its magic, too. That pressure on her G spot, in conjunction with his erection, made her damn close to climaxing from the inside out. Once she did, he’d be ready to layer it with the swipes to her clit that would send her over the edge.

  There was just one hitch to that plan. The fact that every plunge into her pussy made his dick scream louder for release. He clenched his teeth with the paradise-meets-purgatory torment of it. He needed to think of something else. Maybe like…cleaning his gun. Goddamnit, that always gave him a hard-on, too.

  The wedding. Shit yeah, he’d think of the wedding, and—and—

  Rayna in that gown. In that corset. With her hair all up, and her lips giving him that I-can’t-wait-for-you-to-fuck-me smile, and—

  “Damn. Oh damn, Ray-bird. Nobody makes me feel like this…the way you do. Nobody makes my dick this hard, my balls this hot—”

  “Zeke! Shit! Ohhhh, Sir!”

  The words spilled out on sobs that coincided with the deep, powerful pulls from her vagina. All it took was a few knowing strokes to her stiff clit and he dissolved the words into hoarse screams. As she reached her pleasure, he finally took his. The explosion was hot, blinding, dizzying. Orgasms were life’s leading perk, but sharing them with Rayna had elevated these moments to a joy that far surpassed the release from his cock. Spilling his seed into her body made him feel…whole. Completed.

  It made him feel like he’d finally found his home.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  The oath echoed in his senses at least a hundred times as he pulled out and leaned over her, murmuring his praise for her courage and beauty. He revised it to what the fuck as he yanked the fast releases on his knots, lowered and loosened her out of the ropes, and eased the balm tube out of her body. Though his panic eased during the familiar routine of aftercare, including Vitamin E oil on the spots where the ropes had chafed the hardest, the discomfort nagged the back of his mind like a top forty ballad with a shitty but addictive chorus.

  He blamed the mush attack on the wedding. Yeah, so he’d celebrated many weddings like this before. What better way to salute a buddy’s demise than paying ode to bachelorhood with a mind-blowing fuck? But none of those buddies had been his best buddy…which had to be the logical explanation for the violins that crashed his mental rock concert.

  “Hey.”

  The word, spoken with soft request, warmed the skin at the center of his chest. It matched the woman now sprawled atop him, her breasts pressed to his ribs, their legs tangled together in the blanket. Her voice was undemanding, filled only with her devotion. As he dipped his face to return her gaze, a satisfied subbie glow filled his vision.

  “Hey.”

  Rayna traced his eyebrows with a finger. “What’s going on up here, hot stuff?”

  He let those brows drop. Hell. Just this once, he needed to dig deep and do what he’d never done to her before. Lie. If this circle jerk in his mind was giving him a gut punch, it made no sense to make her share the misery, especially because he was sure a good night’s sleep would reset his control panel. Or so he hoped.

  “Well?” Rayna abandoned his brows to sift her hand back through his hair. “Unless it’s classified, you’re spilling, Sergeant.”

  Z took her hand and returned it to his chest. He kept his on top of it. “I’m—" He huffed and rolled his eyes. He really needed a good lie right now. But all he knew with this woman was the truth. In every word or thought they’d ever shared, even the crappy stuff, they’d always had their honesty. “Rayna, I’m not top forty.”

  She reacted to that as he assumed she would. By giggling into his chest. “Thank you, Sir,” she drawled. “Think I’ve got a good handle on that one by now.”

  He should’ve joined her in the laughter. Written the whole thing off with a bite of sarcasm, kissed her and given her another mind-melting climax. But another memory from today haunted across his mind like a vindictive ghost, keeping him somber. “You cried today.”

  Her brows scrunched. “Well, yeah. Several times. My best friend finally had the wedding she wanted. I was happy.”

  “Not every time.” He curled his free arm beneath his head, giving his gaze some elevation over hers. “Not every time, Rayna.”

  Brutal honesty. It was the hugest strength in their relationship and their most disgusting enemy. “Zeke, I—”

  “During the ceremony,” he cut in. “During that sappy Celine Dion song. You were looking down at your flowers, and your face was drowning in sadness.”

  Her gaze lowered. Her lips wobbled. “I just really like that song.” A nervous laugh toppled out. “When I was little, I used to fantasize I was dancing to it with Justin Timberlake. He’d broken up with Britney and only had eyes for me. Of course, Finn and Shane tormented me endlessly about it. They even drew a mustache on my favorite poster of him, saying he’d ‘thanked’ them after all my lip gloss stains from kissing it.”

  He still didn’t grab the bait of her humor. Instead, with his knuckles grazing her cheek, he murmured, “See? You want top forty. And honey, you deserve to have—”

  “Ohhh, no.” She bolted upright. He expected that, too. And much to the regret of his churning gut, he also expected the renewed emotion in her voice. “You’re not going there, Sergeant Hayes. We’ve been there already. You know how I feel! Why can’t you get it through that steak you call a brain sometimes and realize that I am helplessly, hopelessly, in love with you?”

  He released a he
avy breath while scooping her hand back in his. “And I with you, my little bird.” After he gently suckled her knuckles, he ran his thumb along her ring finger. “But one day, you’ll want the dance to Celine more than me. You’ll need the ring and the I dos and the guy who comes home to you every night…and there’s not a damn thing wrong with that…and fuck, how I wish I could be the guy wired to give it, but…”

  He let his voice trail off, getting ready for what always came next in this dialogue. She’d twist her hand tighter into his then hurl herself against his chest. After that, she’d tell him he had a Porterhouse between his ears again before begging him to take her to bed so they could screw each other into oblivion. After that, they’d be okay. He’d forget he’d ever been this morose on a day they should both be remembering only for its happiness.

  But his brain got done running the scenario—twice—and she barely moved.

  His lungs hurt. Her stillness…and the emerald pain in her eyes when she lifted her face toward him…tightened the terrible knots around his stomach, his lungs, his heart.

  “Zeke, do you want to release me?”

  That was no fucking help.

  She gave the words, which evoked the D/s lifestyle’s version of a breakup, in sparse whispers—but bamboo shoots under his fingernails sounded awesome in comparison. But the thing that sucked shit more? Her face was painted in the same shades of agony.

  “Damn it,” he snarled. “Of course not.”

  But he couldn’t change who he was, either. He couldn’t go back and park his ten-year-old ass in the middle of the living room so Mom wouldn’t leave that night. What would’ve stopped her from pulling the same shit on a different night? After that, even if he’d decided to take his chance on a foster family instead of living on the street, who knew if he’d have popped into adulthood any less fucked up? He had to live with the cards fate had dealt—but it was disgustingly unfair that she did, too.

  As if she’d watched that dialogue roll across his face, Rayna returned his hold with even harder pressure before rasping, “I’m not asking you to change, Z. I love this. I love us.”

  “I know.”

  He sent her a smile filled with gratitude and love, and meant it. But as he pulled her down to him for another soft kiss, his heart’s return shot to that was impossible to ignore.

  How long until it’s not enough? Until you want something different and I can’t deliver?

  In the Army, they had a word for situations like that.

  Discharges.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The wine was perfect. The candle glow was perfect. The crisp white table linen, topped by shimmering china and gleaming crystal, was perfect. The sweeping view of the city lights was beyond perfect.

  Rayna let out a soft but heavy sigh.

  Perfection was exactly the problem here. No, worse. It was fate’s gigantic hand, hovering in the air between her and Zeke, getting ready to give her a five-fingered-fister that was going to hurt like a concrete slab. She glanced at the other couples across the room. Everyone was marveling at the beauty of Seattle’s newest chichi dinner and dancing club, glittering in their trendy finery. She wondered if any of them also wished they weren’t here, swallowing against a chest that imploded in anguish and a heart that sobbed in apprehension.

  Tonight, perfection was the beginning of the end.

  After they looked over their menus and ordered from a waiter who was too damn dapper for his own good, Z poured her some more wine then sipped from his own. “Hmm. That’s good shit, for wine.”

  She nodded. His words were all Zeke; his tone was all park bench. Wooden and caked in crap.

  “You look incredible tonight, firebird.”

  She nodded again and managed, “Thanks. You, too.” But he always looked amazing in his charcoal dress suit. The ensemble was cut so similarly to his dress uniform, he’d already been asked for his autograph once tonight. Seattle still loved their “Dark Knight,” Special Forces style. She’d had a wonderful year since the adventures that had earned him the designation, being his lover, his submissive, and his friend—up until the muck-fest of a confrontation they’d had at his place three nights ago.

  On two of those three nights, he’d headed to his cabin in the Cascades, no invitation to her extended. Yesterday, he’d actually stopped by the base health clinic to see her, along with a sweet invitation for this dinner. But after she’d readily agreed and hugged him, thinking her Dom had finally gotten his shit together again and was back for her, he pulled away and kissed her good-bye—on the cheek. His phone call a few hours later, stating he had to stay late at the base for gear inventory and would be sleeping at his apartment instead of her place, only solidified the dread in her heart.

  When it came time to get ready for this date, she couldn’t bring herself to get into anything besides funereal shades, as well. She was pretty certain how this was going to go down and didn’t see how cringing in the powder room, bawling her eyes into slits, was going to look great against winter white. The black dress she chose instead, with its scalloped neckline, sheer lace sleeves, and A-line skirt, was the ideal choice. Classy for dinner but practical for soaking up a torrent of mascara.

  Just as they finished their shrimp-en-croute appetizer, the ten-piece band started to play. The group was known across the city for their ballroom-style takes on modern pop favorites. As a tango-influenced nod to Shakira’s Objection ended and became a slow waltz version of Bittersweet Symphony, Z stood and held out his hand.

  “Come on, honey. Dance with me.”

  She readily lifted her fingers into his. Never mind that the song was spookily appropriate; the sight of him encompassed everything she physically adored the most about him. His proud stature. His enigmatic smirk. His resolute jaw. And most of all, the magical blend of colors that turned his hazel eyes into her version of paradise.

  She made it a point not to look at those eyes now.

  The resolution was much harder to keep once they reached the dance floor. All too easily, memories flowed of the first time they’d ever waltzed, when Mua was still hunting her and they’d turned a muddy Cascades forest clearing into an impromptu dance floor. Z’s possessive hold on her waist had all but ordered her eyes to meet his…and her soul to twine into his. Every time they waltzed since then, usually in the cabin with the real world far away, she was helpless to look anywhere but at him…letting him see the heart he’d captured not long after that magical winter afternoon.

  Tonight, she gripped one of his broad shoulders while keeping her eyes riveted on the other. It didn’t help her equanimity by a shred. She could still breathe in his scent, pine and spice and musky man. She was still excruciatingly conscious of every huge muscle and hard angle in his body, especially as it took leadership of hers around the dance floor. She could still bask in his strength and warmth and try to accept the fact that this would be the last time she’d ever feel them.

  Grief welled in her throat.

  But hope fought back.

  Maybe she was wrong about this. Maybe she’d connected all Z’s dots backward and this picture wasn’t what she’d assumed. Maybe all he’d needed was a little man cave time, and this was his way of reconnecting after it. Granted, Z’s definition of “reconnection” usually involved Nine Inch Nails on the speaker and her in cuffs and tethers instead of heels and earrings, but since she’d known him, the man had always been full of surprises.

  She had to reprise all of it three more times before she believed it enough to raise her head.

  It was clear Zeke had been waiting for her to do so. His eyes were dark as scorched copper. His lips were stiff as a mausoleum effigy. His jaw clenched until it reached the same texture. He took her breath away with his beauty…and his solemnity.

  The song swelled through the air between them.

  I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down…I can’t change, no, no, no…

  Every word burned as the truth in his eyes.

  Rayna st
opped dancing and shoved at him. Well, tried to. With that damn speed of his, he had both arms secured around her waist before she could get more than a step away.

  “Honey.” His voice was a determined murmur. “Okay, listen. I didn’t want—”

  “What?” Spitting it was a formality. She could easily supply that answer now, couldn’t she? Me. You didn’t want me, right? And though I swore I wouldn’t hate this time when it came, I do. I hate it. Because I love you, Zeke Hayes. Blindingly. Dangerously. You now have the power to rip my guts out and turn them into emotional coleslaw. And you’re going to. Goddamnit, you’re going to.

  He huffed through his locked teeth. “I just didn’t want this to be shitty for us.”

  A bitter laugh spilled, piercing through the tears that finally came. “Put a pig in Prada and it’s still a pig,” she returned. “Buying me some shrimp and a good Pinot doesn’t make this less shitty. Would you please let me go?”

  He tugged her in tighter with one arm. With his free hand, he lifted her face toward his. “Listen to me. I love you. You’re the submissive of my fantasies and the woman of my dreams. But damn it, I can’t be the man of yours.”

  She wrenched her face away. “Now we can toss the pig into the river, because that’s water under the damn bridge, Sergeant.”

  His face turned ferocious. “The fuck it is, Sergeant.” He let her go, though his vehemence was like emotional hot glue, still rendering her helpless to move. “You weren’t the one standing there in that wedding, having to look at you struggle with your feelings for an hour. Having to watch all that longing on your face and knowing you yearn for that with me—”