She blinked at him, her eyes widening the tiniest bit. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
He watched her walk down the hall until she disappeared into her bedroom. Then he cleaned the equipment, put it back, and took an icy shower.
Within an hour, she appeared in the kitchen wearing a light orange pantsuit. She didn’t say much on the drive to work, but his grunted responses didn’t exactly encourage conversation. He escorted her to her office, but he didn’t go inside. When she glanced back at him with questions brimming in her eyes, he crossed his arms in what he hoped was a forbidding manner.
“I’ll leave you to work. I have some things to do.” Without waiting for her response, he hightailed it out of there.
LYDIA WATCHED THE figurative dust settle in the vacuum left by Wilder’s speedy departure. Every part of her body ached from Wilder’s attentions, yet she felt none of the security that discipline usually brought. He had barely said a word to her, not that it mattered. She was too chicken to question him about anything important. The answers just might shatter her.
She buried her unease and spent the day meeting with her development team. Oasis didn’t believe in working alone. Five people were assigned to each wish. At any given time, they juggled between four and six wishes. A core committee of three was in charge of the logistics, and that was where Lydia worked. A manager and a security specialist rounded out the team, though they only sat in on meetings at the beginning when cases were chosen and vetted, and again at the end when everything was finalized.
Micah stopped by after lunch. He made nervous small talk for a few minutes, and then he excused himself from the room. That strange encounter did nothing to put her at ease.
Toward closing time and during a rare moment alone, she looked up to find Wilder leaning against the doorjamb. He wore loose-fitting faded jeans and a tight black long-sleeved shirt with some kind of white, etched tribal design ringing the middle. He hadn’t been wearing that when they left the house late that morning.
Strands of light brown hair fell over his forehead and brushed against his eyebrow. One thumb was hooked through a belt loop. He held a manila envelope in his other hand.
Her stomach tightened, squeezing into the size and consistency of a pebble. She smiled and hoped her fear didn’t show. “Hi.” She didn’t use his title, hoping with all her heart he would punish her for the omission.
He dropped his gaze and scratched his shoulder, a nervous gesture that wiped her smile away. Then he took a deep breath and crossed to where she sat. He tossed the envelope down in front of her.
“Keys to a company car. Paperwork closing out your nonwish. Your address is already programmed into the GPS. If you forget how to get home, just push the button, and it’ll tell you where to go. I’ve already removed my things from your apartment. The keys are in the envelope as well.”
She looked at the envelope but didn’t reach for it. He’d returned her rental car over a week ago. The bulky part toward the right was probably the keys. The lump in her throat paralyzed most of her body. She couldn’t lift her arms, but she could flex her toes. She curled them, clenching them like fists.
“I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?” She lifted her gaze to face his answer. She needed to know why, just when she thought they might have a chance at something more, he had shifted gears.
He shook his head and pursed his lips. He didn’t look up when he spoke. “No. You didn’t have a clear wish. This was meant to be an orientation. It got out of hand. I’m sorry.”
The apology took her by surprise, as did his detached demeanor. It got out of hand? That kind of slap in the face didn’t usually come without some warning. She stiffened, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders. “Wow. ‘It got out of hand.’ You’re such an asshole. I can’t believe I thought you were different.”
Ruddy pink flushed his cheeks and neck. “I know. I’m sorry. I know it’ll take some time, but I’m hoping one day we can put this behind us and be friends.”
Oh, the friend speech. How nice. How quaint. For a moment she wished she collected snow globes just to lob one at his head. Gathering her fractured dignity, she rose to her feet and pointed to the door. “I don’t see that happening. Please leave.”
* * * *
It took two days for her head to stop feeling like it was full of cotton. When she came out of her funk, she embraced the anger and took a sledgehammer to the white coffee table in the living room.
Chapter Ten
Wilder watched the image sharpen before his eyes. Using thirty-five-millimeter film might be old-fashioned, but he liked doing it the way his father had taught him. Growing up, he’d spent hours in the darkroom at his parents’ house, nursing images along until they were perfect. He could replicate the same photo with a digital camera and a computer, but he didn’t want to give up something he so enjoyed, something that brought back vivid memories of time spent with the most important man in his life.
At times like this, he could almost imagine his father with him, a presence he could barely see in the dim red light. What would his father say now, if he knew Wilder had busted through his sub’s hard limits? His father, who had taught him that a hard limit was just another way a partner said no.
No.
Not that.
And he hadn’t listened. He’d given in to his urges, completely disregarding her limits.
“A Dom’s number one job is to take care of his sub.”
So many lessons. Those, of course, had come later. When he was younger, the morals had been more general.
“If you’re going to bother doing something, do it well.”
“Treat people with respect, and that’s how they’ll treat you.”
Despite the clear image of Lydia elegantly bound in white ropes that contrasted spectacularly with her caramel skin and the serene expression on her face, he saw nothing but the hurt and shock that had finally manifested when he did the right thing and put an end to their facsimile of a relationship. It was better to get that out in the open so she could process it and move on. The faster she got over the way he’d disrespected her, the better off she’d be.
The incessant chiming of his doorbell pulled him from the downward spiral. Someone was pressing the damn button over and over. Probably Everett. His brother didn’t seem to care that Wilder needed some time off.
He hung the photo to dry, washed his hands, and made his way upstairs. By the time he got there, he’d resolved to disable the doorbell. He disengaged the dead bolt and yanked open the door. Cool air mixed with warm, and the glass of the storm door began to fog.
“What do you want?”
Everett, dressed in jeans and a brown leather flight jacket, grinned and hit the doorbell one last time. “You’ve been shut away in this house for over a week. I miss you.”
Wilder growled, turned on his heel, and headed to the box that housed the speaker for the doorbell. He knew Everett would follow. The door closed, blocking the chilly draft. The weather had definitely edged more toward winter.
Too impatient to get a screwdriver, he tore the housing open and disconnected the wires with his bare hands.
Everett winced. “I see stupidity has set in. Wait. I knew that already.”
Wilder replaced the housing and led Everett to the living room, where he flopped down on his oversize black suede sofa. He didn’t bother arguing with Everett’s assertion. They didn’t often go for very long without seeing each other, especially after Ever had been away for almost a week checking out a couple of wish makers. He missed his brother as well.
Before too long, Everett flopped down on the other sofa. He handed over a cold beer. Wilder twisted off the cap and tossed it onto the sleek oak end table next to his sofa. They drank in silence for several seconds.
“Want to tell me what made you run off with your tail tucked between your legs and hide in your darkroom?”
If he admitted his folly, did that make it more real? “Just taking some time off.”
/>
“Bullshit.” Leave it to Ever to call it like he saw it. “Something happened with Lydia. Spill, brother.”
The hardness of Ever’s tone caught Wilder’s attention. “Is she okay?”
“If you’re asking whether she’s more okay than you, I couldn’t answer that. She’s good at hiding her emotions, and I don’t know her well enough to pry. My educated guess and my gut feeling tell me you did some damage.” He sat up and took another sip, staring at Wilder intently.
Wilder looked away, peering at the seat of the sofa as if the upholstery were suddenly fascinating.
“She won’t talk about you or the time you spent together. She told Mom to mind her own business. Isla and the girls have tried talking to her, but she won’t say anything, and she wouldn’t go out with them last Friday. Pity. She’s a pretty good singer.”
He could imagine Lydia facing down his formidable mother. It would be a tense confrontation if one of them didn’t back down. Both were strong women. “Tell Mom to leave her alone.”
Ever picked at the corner of the label on his dark bottle. “Mom’s not callous or stupid. She’s pissed at you.”
She’d called several times. Wilder hadn’t returned anyone’s calls, but he’d listened to each and every message, hoping against hope to hear from Lydia. Of course, he had no idea whether she would castigate him or talk about work, completely ignoring everything that had happened between them.
Swallowing the bitterness in his throat, he grimaced and set his unfinished beer down on a coaster. “I violated her hard limits.”
Everett regarded him somberly, his green eyes glittering with confusion. “I’m sorry. I can’t see you doing that. Did she use her safe word?”
Wilder pushed to his feet. “No, she didn’t. But what choice did she really have?” He paced to the tall windows that showed a spectacular view of the valley below. If he used a telescope, he would be able to see inside Lydia’s living room windows. He hadn’t stooped that low. Yet.
“What does that mean? Of course she had a choice. If she wanted you to stop, she would have called a stop to it. Have you even tried to talk to her about this?”
Wilder shook his head. “Think about it from her perspective. She’s new here, knows nobody.”
Ever sputtered, interrupting with a loud thump that could have been his fist against the table. “She knows people. You helped her settle in, make friends, feel like part of the Oasis family. Micah picked you. Mom approved. They’re never wrong.”
Not usually. His mother had a sixth sense about people, and Micah was the best judge of character Wilder had ever met. Though he hadn’t wanted to take on a submissive, even temporarily, when Micah gave him this assignment, he’d accepted it without question. “I understand that. But did she understand that she had a choice? Maybe I’m not her boss, but I’m part owner. She knows that. I can’t assume she wanted me to push her limits when I know how much she’s invested in living and working here. What if she feared retribution on my part?”
Now his brother choked. Wilder turned to see Everett wiping his eyes, an incredulous expression on his face. “You think she was afraid to safe word because she thought you’d get her fired?”
Guilt and despair clutched at Wilder’s gut. “In her position, wouldn’t you be? I hurt her, Ever. I let her down. I betrayed her. Why should she have to go to work every day and face me?”
That fierce look had come back into Everett’s eyes, rendering them harder than emeralds. “You finally hit it off with a woman. You found one who likes to cook breakfast in the morning and let you tie her up in the evening. You bonded over mutual interests, and you genuinely enjoy her company. And then, rather than talk about what happened, you dumped her. I can’t say I’m impressed with you right now, Wild. But you’ve wallowed in self-pity for long enough. Get your ass to work this afternoon. You have a case to debrief. Nobody’s going to cover you anymore. Meeting’s at one.”
Wilder knew the case. Even though Lydia wasn’t on the team handling it, he couldn’t chance running into her. “It’s Friday. Give me the weekend. Move the meeting to Monday.”
“No can do, brother. The wish is set to begin tomorrow. This one needs to get done today, or there will be hell to pay. Don’t think Mom won’t fire your lazy, self-absorbed ass if you intentionally fuck up someone else’s wish.” With that, Everett set his unfinished beer down on the table, probably avoiding the coaster on purpose, and put his coat on. “You have two hours. Eat something so you’re not a grouchy son of a bitch, and take a shower because nobody should have to put up with the BO rolling off you.”
* * * *
Lydia filled her mug with gourmet vanilla and cinnamon coffee and headed toward Isla’s office. Though she hadn’t originally been slated to join Isla’s team, the two of them had hit it off so well that Macy Burke had made some changes. Now Lydia worked with the tiny Domme and Brock Turner, a handsome switch on the lookout for a woman who liked to take turns being in charge.
She sat down at the rectangular meeting table at the far end of Isla’s office and brought up the appropriate documents on her laptop. Being the first to arrive, she could take a few moments to make sure she was adequately prepared. Today’s fantasy had been subject to some last-minute changes that needed approval before either of the participants could move forward.
Micah came in next. He chose the seat directly across the table, throwing her an uncertain grin as he sat down. “How’s it going?”
She returned his smile and gave the required response to Wilder’s close friend. “Fine.” He had gone out of his way to be welcoming, and she had no reason to burn this bridge. After all, he was a nice guy as well as the head of human resources and a security specialist.
Isla and Brock came in and sat down. Brock had confided that he had once watched her bring a man twice her size to orgasm with the business end of a single tail and then force him to paint her toenails without using his hands.
“Let’s get started.” Isla didn’t waste time with pleasantries, especially since they’d all just had lunch together. “The background on this has been done already. Both parties are fully vetted.”
The door opened and closed. Lydia glanced up, and a startled gasp escaped her mouth.
“Wilder, so nice of you to join us.” Micah’s sarcasm could not be missed.
Wilder didn’t show any signs it affected him, though. His brows drew together as he stared at her. Was he angry or surprised to see her? Perhaps a little of both? He abandoned the expression for something neutral. “I didn’t get a chance to read the file again. What are the changes?”
He sat down, taking the only chair left, which put him at the far end of the table away from Lydia.
“Late and unprepared.” Micah smiled, a grim look that made Lydia shiver. “One wonders why you bothered to come to work.”
Whatever was going on between them, Lydia didn’t want to deal with it. She had enough heartache of her own when it came to Wilder. She answered his question. “Wish number five. The Dom won’t agree to all the sub’s terms.”
“Five?” Wilder frowned. “I thought this was case sixteen?”
“The teams reorganized,” Brock explained, his deep voice commanding and quiet at the same time. “And so did the case numbers.”
Wilder didn’t comment, but he did wave his hand toward Brock, inviting him to proceed. Fumes of anger simmered inside Lydia. She had been speaking, and he completely dismissed her role in this meeting.
Brock looked to Lydia expectantly.
She smiled in thanks. “The sub is an exhibitionist. She wants to be sold at a public auction and disciplined in front of a crowd.”
Wilder looked through an orange file folder. She had discovered the first week that he was one of the only people who used physical copies. He liked paper. He’d used an older camera and film to capture photographs of his knots. But then, he also read the paper each morning on his tablet.
“I don’t see that as a problem. It’s not a hu
ge deviation. The Dom will still end up buying her. There was always supposed to be an audience. It’s actually a triple wish. Lots of exhibitionists this month.” He glanced up, fixing his gaze on Isla. “The Dom doesn’t want the auction?”
Isla smiled. “He’s okay with the auction as long as nobody lays a finger on her, even the auctioneer.”
Wilder’s gaze sidled to Lydia. A fierce light entered his eyes, darkening them to match a moonlit sky. “Sounds right. Most Doms won’t tolerate anyone touching their subs.”
She felt her cheeks growing warm under his perusal. Why was he looking at her like that? It wasn’t as if she’d let anyone touch her. He was the one who walked out on her both times. Swallowing, she regained her composure. “As part of the auction, she wants to be forced to orgasm, to drive up the asking price before the Dom purchases her.”
He seemed to chew on that for a while.
Brock cleared his throat. “She won’t budge on that condition? It seems to me she’s testing her eventual Dom, asking to be disciplined. She also changed her limits, and now she’s specified no violet wand or TENS unit even though she knows those are some of his favorite things. We matched them based partially on that preference, and she’s well aware of that. Those things had been on her list of top turn-ons before.”
“This is insane.” Wilder pushed the file away in disgust. “Why would she do something like that?”
Isla and Micah shook their heads, clearly at a loss for an explanation.
Lydia traced her fingertip along a scratch in the table. “Maybe she wants him to claim her. Publicly. Impose limits. Push others. What’s the point in having a Dom if he just rolls over and never questions anything? Subs don’t want to be in charge. I bet banning electric play is really a soft limit. I think we should go ahead and tell him to proceed as he wants. We already know he’ll respect her safe word.”
Wilder stared at her harder, his eyes darkening even more. “Hard limits are set to make sure that all play is safe and consensual. If a sub can’t trust her Dom to respect those limits, it doesn’t make for much of a relationship.”
Wanting Wilder (Safe Word: Oasis) Page 17
