by Mayburn, Ann
A hard knock came from the door before Yuki peeked her head in, looking only at Petrov. Her subtly applied mascara had smeared a bit and her face was red from crying, a fact backed up by the thick rasp of her voice. “Michelle, you’re a fucking bitch, but you need to get out here before Wyatt loses his mind.”
“Petrov? Please?”
He nodded, weariness making him actually look his age for once. “Go and call me in the morning.”
“I will. Thank you so much.”
Chapter 6
Wyatt closed the door to their hotel suite gently, instead of slamming it hard enough to break the frame like he wanted to. His nerves were hanging on by a thread, and he’d been staving off a PTSD attack since the moment Michelle slapped him. His anger, no, his rage was choking him with the need to destroy something. While he’d never hit Michelle, trashing their suite was sounding better by the moment. The last time she tried to hit him he’d stopped her before she’d actually managed to strike him back in that hot and dusty supply tent in Afghanistan. Back then, he hadn’t trusted her not to hurt him, but this time he just stood there with his hands at his side, never expecting her to strike him in anger. Fuck, that sweltering tent in the desert seemed like a million years ago and miles away from his current surroundings.
Tonight, he stood in the perfectly temperature-controlled environment of the presidential suite of some massive hotel, its name forgotten. The suite was huge, five rooms, and looked like some swank apartment from a glossy magazine. Everywhere he glanced there were expensive objects, exquisite art and furniture, and pure luxury. He was so far out of his element that keeping his mind on the present instead of the past wasn’t a hardship. Especially when his gaze landed on Michelle, standing in the middle of the room, giving him such a forlorn look that he wanted to gather her into his arms and choke her for her stupidity at the same time.
But he couldn’t, not yet.
They needed to get some shit straight first before he imploded.
He jerked his head. “Take those clothes off, clean up, and go put a robe on.”
With a quiver in her lower lip she nodded, moving quickly out of his sight. Once she was in the bedroom he ripped at the tuxedo strangling him. The jacket hit a burgundy leather chair and the expensive cuff links went flying as he tore his shirt open. Across the room a bar stocked with expensive alcohol mocked him. How damn ironic was it that between the two of them, it was Michelle who got drunk and did something fucked up.
He went into the guest bathroom and examined his lip. She’d caught him just right so it split against his tooth and he poked at it with his tongue. It didn’t faze him in the least, but he knew Michelle would be freaking out right now. He hadn’t spoken to her, nor did he respond to her soft begging for him to forgive her on the limo ride back from the club. With Yuki and James trapped in there with them, he’d kept silent and looked out the window the whole way back.
Michelle had eventually started to cry softly, but he didn’t relent. Her mind wasn’t in the right place, he could feel that, but damned if he could figure out how to help her, or how to diffuse her irrational jealousy. Talking with Mistress Daniella had set Michelle off and straight to a bottle for comfort. Something more had to have happened between the two women for Michelle to go this crazy.
After washing his face and rinsing out his mouth, he looked into the mirror and promised himself that he would be there for her, no matter what.
With that in mind he left the bedroom and made his way back to the living room. Michelle was curled up in a black suede chair, looking out at the lights of downtown Chicago. Wrapped up in the fluffy white robe with her face freshly washed she looked barely old enough to drink and oh, so fragile. Every protective instinct in him flared to life, and he quickly crossed the room before crouching next to the chair.
“You okay?”
She blinked rapidly, then her lower lip began to tremble, but she fought her tears. “Oh, Wyatt. Only you would be worried about me after I treated you so terribly.”
“I’m plenty fucking pissed about that, but what happened tonight wasn’t really about me, was it? Why are you so afraid that I’m going to cheat on you? What did I do that made you even think I was capable of that? I mean fuck, Michelle, how can you think that I would throw away everything that we have for some random bitch at a party? Or that I would ever betray you with Yuki?”
“It’s not you.”
“If you say that trite, fucking ‘it’s not you it’s me’ bullshit, I swear to God I’m going to choke you.”
She shook her head and looked at her hands, a tear sliding down her cheek and off her chin. “Before Owen and I got engaged he…he cheated on me with Daniella.”
“What?”
Up to this point Owen had practically been a saint from what everyone had said. And Michelle had loved him enough to marry him. Of that Wyatt was sure. But what kind of fucking asshole would cheat on a woman like Michelle?
“We were on a break, kind of.” She sighed and wiped her face on the edge of the robe’s sleeve. “I was only twenty when I met him and he was twenty-three. We were kids who had no idea how to have a real adult relationship. Or at least I didn’t. Growing up I wasn’t allowed to date and when I did talk to boys it was at my father’s political functions where I couldn’t be sure if they liked me, or were just kissing my ass. Once I got out of the house and into college with Yuki as my roommate, I went kind of wild and dated a bunch of guys but never let anyone close enough to my heart to actually give myself a chance to fall in love with them. Then I discovered BDSM with Yuki and the structured environment allowed me to have complete control of my relationships, allowed me to set up rules and regulations that further allowed me to separate myself from any man attempting to be anything other than a sexual partner. Owen was the first guy that managed to get past my bullshit to the real me.”
“Stand up.”
She gave him a darting glance and complied. He sat down in her spot then pulled her down onto his lap, the wide and deep chair easily accommodating both of them. Michelle remained stiff against him so he turned her away from him and facing the window instead. Her frame relaxed minutely and he took in a deep breath of her scent, grounding himself in a smell that was unique to Michelle. Sometimes talking to someone was easier if you didn’t have to look at them. He’d learned that during his PTSD therapy. The sympathy in his shrink’s eyes killed him when he was trying to get the shit inside of his soul out. He didn’t want her pity. He just wanted her to listen while he drained some of the poison that was slowly killing him.
The hush of the well-insulated hotel room settled around them and he began to softly stroke her thigh beneath the robe, making sure to keep his movements gentle and soothing.
Michelle sighed. “We fought, a lot. Both of us were still trying to figure out who we were and we’d gone and thrown BDSM into the crazy mix. After one particularly vicious fight I kicked him out. We were apart for two weeks when Yuki told me that she’d seen him at our club with Mistress Daniella. They’d broken up before I met Owen, but I knew about her. The thought of her touching Owen made me ill.”
“Are you sure he was with her?”
“Oh yeah.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Petrov tried to stop me, after all Owen was co-owner of the club, but I managed to sneak past him that next Friday night and I…I saw them together.”
The raw pain in her voice killed him. “Sweetheart, I would never, ever do that to you. I’m not some immature kid trying to figure out which head to think with. I’ll admit I wasn’t always a great guy to date, but I’ve never cheated on a woman and I never will.”
She didn’t say anything for a little bit and her body relaxed into his. Then she turned so she could look at him. “What I did was inexcusable.”
“You’re damn right, it was. Which is why when we get back in Austin you’re going to a therapist.”
“What?” Her slightly reddened eyes searched his face and he could see the stubborn spark flaring within
her.
“You heard me, L.T. You are not holding your shit together right now, both you and I know that.”
She looked away again and he hated the way she tried to avoid him. “I won’t deny it, I’m fucked up, Wyatt. I wish I was strong enough to walk away, to spare you this, but I can’t leave you. I love you too much.”
Now it was his turn to say, “What?”
In a lithe move she turned in his arms, her fingertips stroking the cut on his lip. “I love you with all of my heart, and still I did this to you. I hurt the one man in the world who I would die to protect.”
“No. Fuck that. You’re not going to tell me you love me then turn it into a pity fest.”
Surprise flared in her eyes and she sat up a bit straighter. “I am not having a pity fest.”
He gripped the back of her neck and brought her face down to his. “You will tell me you love me and you will do it right.”
For a moment she struggled against his hold, then sighed and nodded. “If you’ll unhand me I’ll try. You deserve to know exactly how I feel about you.”
With a slight flush of guilt he took his hand from the back of her neck, all too aware of his red fingerprints on her skin.
To his surprise she stood and removed the robe, letting it drop around her feet in a fluffy mound of white fabric. Framed by the city lights she was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen. Beautiful, graceful lines that flowed in a perfect curve of hips and breasts, slender shoulders that carried so much weight and fragile body that housed such a strong, damaged heart.
She knelt gracefully before him and rested her hands on his thighs, looking him right in the eye as she said, “Wyatt, I love you. I loved you when our eyes first met in the cafeteria and I wondered who that handsome bastard was who had the balls to devour me with his gaze. I loved you when my world was falling apart and you gave me someone to fight, to hold long enough to put myself back together. I loved you when you looked up at my, dying in my arms, and still managed to ask if I was okay. I loved you when I saw you at Aaron’s funeral, loved you when you were strapped down to that stupid chair in the police station, and I’ve loved you every morning that I’ve woken up in your arms and every evening that I’ve fallen asleep in them. I love you more than any woman has ever loved a man, with a singular intensity that should scare you. I love you because you’re brave, honorable, and yet human. I love your perfections and your imperfections, everything that makes you who you are. I love you, Wyatt, because you are my heart.”
He thought his own heart had stopped beating as he stared into her brilliant blue eyes, slightly puppy and reddened from her crying. Her gaze didn’t waver, didn’t hesitate, and he knew without a doubt she meant every word she’d said. Deep, way down deep in his soul something finally relaxed and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Leaning forward, he placed his hands over hers where they rested on his thighs. “I loved you the moment I saw this fucking amazingly hot blonde in the middle of the desert, her soft beauty like a drink of cold water to my soul. I loved you when you wouldn’t let me go, when you made me fight to stay alive just so I could see you again. I loved you when you called me on my bullshit, when you made me face the bitter truth of my own self-destruction, and when you gave me something to live for that was stronger than any of the fucking demons PTSD could throw at me. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, more than I thought was even possible, and just when I think I know exactly what love is, I wake up the next day and realize I didn’t know shit because every day I love you just a little bit more. You’re my woman and I’m your man. It’s as simple as that, baby.”
They moved as one, closing the space between them, their lips touching in a soft kiss that was more of a meeting of their souls than their bodies. His cock hardened painfully behind the zipper of his expensive tuxedo pants and he scooped Michelle up onto his lap, dying to be inside of her. She moaned into his mouth and ground herself against the soft fabric covering his crotch, the heat of her cunt burning against him. He swore she was wet enough that he could feel her soaking into his skin.
With eager hands she reached between them and quickly opened his pants enough to pull his cock out. The feel of her cool, silken fingers drove him crazy, but when she lined him up with the entrance of her sex he shuddered at the first wet, hot kiss of her pussy. A moment later she slowly slid him into her body, their lips never separating as they slowly tongue-fucked each other, their movements mimicking the slow slide of his cock inside her sweet fucking body. God she felt good, like a silken fist gripping him, holding onto his shaft and teasing him with little fluttering contractions of her muscles as she groaned into his mouth.
“I love you, Wyatt.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
He gripped her hair in one hand and her ass in the other, leaning forward so her clit pressed into his lower abs, her body cradled against his, the scar from where she’d saved his life pressing into her smooth, warm flesh. They began to move together, an unhurried thrust and retreat that built the fire between them until it was a flame that boiled his blood. Her love for him was in her every touch, in every kiss, and he lost himself in the perfection of his woman. If he lived to be a thousand years old he would never tire of Michelle, never want anyone but her.
With a soft moan she began to ride him faster and he kept pace with her, allowing her to push them towards their mutual satisfaction. The clench of her little pussy grew even tighter and he nipped at her lower lip, the faint sting of his split lip opening again not fazing him a bit. She licked at that little wound, placed gentle kisses on his mouth and ground her body into his with sharp snaps of her hips. The need to come, to fill her up with his seed, to mark her as his had him gripping her hips and forcing her to ride him faster, harder. She abandoned his mouth and clutched at his shoulder, still covered by his shirt.
“Come with me,” she whispered.
“I’ve got you, baby, take your pleasure. It’s all yours, all of it.”
Her body arched into a perfect bow and he tried to freeze this moment in his mind, to always remember how beautiful she looked with her lean muscles rippling, her pretty nipples stabbing upwards in rock hard points as the soft mounds of her breasts shook with her harsh breaths. A moment later his sight dimmed as his own orgasm slammed through him and Michelle came with a soft wail, shaking in his arms while he held her close, pouring himself into her willing body and wishing this moment and this complete alignment of their bodies and souls would never end.
For a long time they sat in the chair, his slowly softening cock still inside of her wet heat as she lay against his chest and hugged him tight. He had no idea how much time had gone by before she shivered a bit, the sweat cooling on their bodies. With a low groan, he helped her off his lap, then used her robe to clean them both before shedding the rest of his clothes. Exhaustion pulled at him and he dragged Michelle into the bedroom, quickly turning down the silken sheets before pulling her into the softness with him, wrapping his body around hers and smiling as she made her little purring sound of happiness.
“I love you,” she whispered into the darkness and snuggled closer.
“I love you,” he murmured back and placed a kiss on her shoulder. “Get some sleep.”
She tensed for a moment. “I’m going to a spa in the morning. Think you’ll be all right on your own?”
“Sure, I can hang out with James or just laze around the hotel room like a spoiled kept man.”
The tension left her and she gently bit his wrist. “I should be back by lunchtime.”
“Mmmm.” His heartbeat slowed and he nuzzled his face against the back of her head, inhaling her scent. “G’night.”
Her voice held a trace of laughter as she whispered, “Goodnight, Wyatt.”
Chapter 7
Michelle knocked on the door to Petrov’s apartment above the dungeon and nervously put her hands into the pockets of her dark pink jacket. When she’d left Wyatt sleeping this morning she al
most woke him up to confess where she was going and what she was doing, but she knew he would have stopped her. She couldn’t allow that. If she was ever going to be able to be happy with him she needed this, had to have it. Only after atoning for her past could she move on with her future.
She had to pay for her failure to be everything he deserved, for betraying Owen’s memory, for never being good enough, for letting all those men and women die in a foreign land because of her inability to save them after an attack.
No matter how hard she tried, she was never good enough.
A few moments later Petrov’s wife, Maya, opened the door with a gentle smile. Though Maya was a black woman in her early fifties, she had the kind of timeless beauty that made her look like she was only in her early thirties. She kept her hair short, almost shaved to the skull, and that displayed her exquisite cheekbones and exotic dark eyes. Dressed today in a flowing pale green dress that accented her deep chocolate skin, Maya stepped back and motioned Michelle inside before drawing her into a hug.
“It’s so good to see you again.” She held Michelle at arm’s length and studied her with a critical eye. “Are you sure about this?”
Swallowing hard, Michelle nodded. “You know I need this.”
With a soft sigh Maya cupped Michelle’s cheek. “I don’t claim to understand it, but I know you do. I take it your submissive didn’t want to come with you?”
She looked away, towards the stairs leading to Petrov’s personal dungeon. Her heart rate tripled and a strange, disconnected feeling started to come over her. “No, he can’t stand to see women being hurt.”
“But you explained to him why you need this, right?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the antique coat rack next to the door. “Is he upstairs?”
