Penance (Long Slow Tease, #2)

by Mayburn, Ann

  She looked up at him, her greedy gaze taking in his body, her lungs drawing in his scent until she was close to hyperventilating while he continued to stare at her. She was vaguely aware that they were being watched, that a circle of people stood back a respectful distance as Wyatt looked down at her, but she didn’t care. Her mind still couldn’t grasp the fact that he was here.

  “Wyatt...”

  He held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “No, Michelle, you do not have my permission to speak. Nod your head if you understand.”

  For a very brief moment her dominant side tried to assert itself, chafing under his command, but it was quickly lost beneath her soul-deep gratitude that he was here.

  Oh, God, he was here and she needed him so much.

  After she nodded he looked down at her with that inscrutable expression of his. In a way it reminded her of the look he would use when he was about to make his men do mountain climbers until they puked because of some infraction. A cold, merciless expression that let her know he wasn’t fucking around. She became entranced by his dark gaze, falling into him until she was so wrapped up in staring into his eyes that she startled when he finally spoke.

  “You have one chance to make things right between us, Michelle.” She started to speak and he barked out in his deep, commanding drill instructor voice, “I said be quiet. What part of keep your fucking mouth shut do you not understand?”

  If she thought she was about as shocked as she could get, she was wrong. Wyatt wasn’t messing around, he wasn’t even the same man she thought she knew. Whatever Wyatt had done in Chicago, whatever he’d experienced had made him hard, cold, and almost scary. She’d never been on the receiving end of this side of his personality, having only seen him display it while working with his Marines, but she found herself falling back into a strange mixture of both her military and submissive training. Right now, he was her superior officer, her Dom, and she needed to pay attention to what he was telling her or pay the price.

  When she didn’t say anything more, he continued. “You have one chance to make things right between us, Michelle, one chance to fix this. You owe me an enormous debt for betraying my trust, for betraying our love, and for your arrogance and selfish pride.”

  Tears cascaded down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother to deny it. She did owe him and she would do anything he asked to make things right between them. Her heart thawed just the tiniest bit and hope began to warm her. When he reached down and brushed her tears away with his calloused palm she tried to kiss his hand, but he moved before she could.

  “Listen up. If you agree to my terms I will own you for the next four weeks. You will agree to be my submissive. That means you will do what I tell you, when I tell you. You will try your fucking hardest to fulfill every one of my wishes, every one of my commands. If I think you’re shirking even the tiniest bit, I will punish you. You will pay for your betrayal, over and over again, until I’m satisfied that you’re truly repentant, that you won’t betray my trust like you did ever again. If I think you’re not serious about serving me, I will leave and never come back. This is your last chance, Michelle. Nod if you understand.”

  She nodded so quickly she was sure she must look like a broken bobble head doll, but she didn’t care. He was giving her a chance to make this right, to perform her penance and prove to him how sorry she was. Part of her, a tiny spark hidden deep beneath the fog of her guilt and sorrow, bristled at the idea of kneeling before him, but her love was far stronger than her pride.

  “Good. From this point on speaking is a privilege you have to earn. You are very, very good at hiding behind your words, Michelle, of twisting the truth to suit yourself and trying to bullshit your way out of being honest. That isn’t going to happen between us anymore.”

  She nodded again, willing him to see that she understood, that she would be truthful with him.

  “Stand up.”

  Once she managed to get to her feet she saw the first hint of emotion on his face, anger.

  “What the fuck did you do to yourself? You’re fucking skin and bones.”

  She opened her mouth to defend herself, to say she was okay, but she remembered that she wasn’t allowed to speak before the first sound came out.

  Shaking his head, he walked around her before coming up behind her back, close enough that she could feel his heat, but not giving her the physical contact she craved.

  “Since you can’t seem to take care of it properly, this body belongs to me,” he murmured near her ear, sending chills down her spine. “And let me make something clear to you right now, Sapphire, I’m not going to go easy on you. You’re going to hate me, and that’s okay, because I’m going to give you everything you need. By the time I’m done with you you’ll never go to another man for your pain again because you will know, without a doubt, that the agony I can offer you is more than anyone else ever could. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and closed her eyes, fighting the urge to lean back into Wyatt. All she could keep thinking, all she could focus on was that he was here, he’d come back for her, she would do anything, anything to keep him in her life. When he moved around to her front again he stood almost close enough to kiss and she tilted her head up, silently begging him to touch her, to love her.

  “I need your word on this, Michelle. I need you to promise me you will do everything I tell you, even if you hate it, even if you think it’s stupid and you don’t want to. You may speak to make your promise.”

  “I promise, Wyatt.” Her voice broke and more tears trailed down her cheeks.

  For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, then his expression hardened. “Follow me, and remember, you do not have my permission to speak.”

  She wondered what he planned for her, but he didn’t take her to any of the BDSM equipment. Instead he led her through the club and she took a quick glance around. People continued to watch them and she blushed beneath their scrutiny, but she couldn’t see Yuki or James anywhere. When Wyatt led her out into the foyer she meekly took her purse from the bouncer and followed Wyatt out the front door, disconcerted by his lack of attention to her. Now that the shock of seeing him was wearing off she had a thousand, a million questions, but he’d forbidden her to speak.

  Already his command chaffed at her, and she berated herself for her weakness. She’d sworn to him that she would do everything he told her, but it was much harder than she’d anticipated to not break the first command he’d given her. They walked through the parking lot until they came to a big black truck that looked brand new. She had to bite her tongue when Wyatt opened the door for her and that new car smell filled the grey leather interior. The brief contact of his hand against her as he helped her up into her seat burned her. He closed the door and she placed her hand over the skin that still tingled from his touch, trying to seal in his warmth.

  When he got in and started the truck she waited for him to say something, to look at her, but all he did was drive out of the parking lot. She stole glances at him out of the corner of her eye as they drove, little peeks that she hoped he didn’t notice. Wyatt looked good, healthy and strong, probably the total opposite of how she looked. The fog of apathy that had overtaken her life was slowly beginning to lift, and as it did, she noticed small things about herself, like the fact that her nails looked like shit. To anyone else that probably didn’t seem like a big deal, but one of the things she’d always loved was her weekly manicures, at least while she was in the civilian world. When she’d been deployed her nails had always been bare and kept short, devoid of any kind of feminine touch.

  The thought of being deployed brought her mind back around to Wyatt and she wondered how he was doing with his PTSD. Probably a hell of a lot better than she was. She knew without a doubt that she’d been suffering from a form of PTSD for a long, long time now, at least since Owen’s death, that had only been compounded by her time in the military, but she thought she had a handle on it. Or at the very least, that she could ignore it
, but she had a feeling that part of her irrational behavior stemmed from her PTSD. She glanced at Wyatt again, taking in his profile, her heart rejoicing anew that he was here with her.

  A brief burst of anger went through her as she wondered why Wyatt hadn’t told her that he intended to come back, why he and Petrov hadn’t let her know that he was training with her old mentor. That fact still shocked her and she leaned forward enough to look at Petrov’s House patch on Wyatt’s vest. Of all the things she thought Wyatt was doing while they were apart, training to be a Dom wasn’t one of them. She leaned back in her seat and rested her forehead against the window, her thoughts at once speeding through her head and stalling to a complete stop as her mind struggled to adjust to the rapid changes in her life.

  She must have fallen asleep because the motion of someone picking her up startled her awake, and she struggled against the sensation of being held.

  “Easy, Michelle, I’ve got you.”

  At the sound of Wyatt’s voice she opened her eyes, the disorientation clearing as she looked up and found Wyatt carrying her. A muffled sob escaped her, and she clung to him as best she could while he walked with her in his arms. It was still night outside, but to her surprise the air held the familiar tang of the ocean. When she looked around she saw that Wyatt was carrying her along a set of paving stones to a beautiful beach house elevated on stilts. It wasn’t huge, more of a two story cottage, but it was painted a soothing pale yellow and had a wraparound porch that encircled the home with deck furniture scattered here and there. Farther down the beach gleamed the lights of distant houses but they were on a relatively isolated stretch of what had to be the Gulf of Mexico.

  “Can you walk?”

  She almost said something, then nodded instead.

  He let her down and she reluctantly stepped away from him, yearning for his arms around her but unsure of her standing with him. Without another word he walked toward the house and she followed him as best she could in her high heels, having to take small steps from stone to stone so she didn’t sink into the sand. On either side of the path and around the house long grass whispered against itself in the breeze off the ocean. She took a deep breath of the clean, salty scent and felt something loosen in her heart.

  When Wyatt reached the weathered wood stairs leading to the entrance of the cottage he paused and looked over his shoulder at her.

  “Take off your shoes, and your clothes.”

  For a moment she stared at him, but when he didn’t relent she did as he asked with shaking hands until she stood nude in the dim illumination coming from the lanterns on either side of the front door.

  If she’d been hoping for some kind of lustful reaction from him she would have been wrong. Instead of desire she clearly read shock, then anger in his face. He strode over to her and jerked the clothes and boots from her arms, tossing them over to the side before he gripped her arm and spun her in a circle.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking skeleton. Were you trying to kill yourself? No, don’t answer me. I’m so fucking pissed right now that the last thing I want to hear is your bullshit.”

  His words hurt and she crossed her arms over her chest, curling in on herself. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t that bad, but she could feel her bones as she hugged herself and when she looked down the bones of her hips stuck out from the concave hollow of her stomach. When he didn’t say anything more, only turned away from her and took the steps up to the house, she followed him feeling like a pathetic, whipped puppy.

  Once they were inside, Wyatt flipped on the lights, revealing a quaint living room decorated in pale blue and tan tones that opened up into a small kitchen. A set of stairs led to a loft that looked out over the living room, and a door off the kitchen opened to what she assumed was the bathroom. It was a very pretty, comforting place, and she wondered who it belonged to. She stood next to the front door, unsure of what to do as Wyatt stalked into the kitchen. He looked so odd in his leather among the soft, inviting comfort of the cottage but she felt even weirder standing there naked.

  He opened the door to the refrigerator and looked up. “You’re going to eat.”

  Her stomach cramped at the thought, but she didn’t dare argue with him. She could tell that he was close to losing his temper, though she wasn’t sure why he was so mad at her. Yes, she could stand to gain a few pounds, but he seemed to take the current state of her body as a personal insult. A small portion of her psyche was pissed that he was ordering her to eat, but at the same time, she was just so damn grateful to see him that she’d do pretty much anything he asked as long as he would forgive her, touch her, hold her, kiss her.

  Look at her with something other than disgust.

  Taking a covered dish from the fridge he set it on the counter and motioned to the small table in front of the breakfast bar that divided the kitchen from the living room. “Sit.”

  She did as ordered, a slight shiver working through her at the chill of the room. Wyatt absorbed every bit of her attention as she watched him move around the kitchen, warming up something that smelled good before pouring a large glass of milk. After grabbing a fork he brought her meal to her. Her stomach actually growled at the smell of what looked like some kind of beef stew. She wanted to ask him who made it, where he’d gotten it from, what they were doing here, and a thousand other things but she somehow managed to keep quiet, but it was a struggle.

  “Eat. I’m going to go change. When I come back I want to see an empty bowl. You will no longer punish yourself by not eating. Punishing you is my job now.”

  Fear of disappointing him filled her, and she gave the amount of food a panicked look before glancing back up at him, silently pleading with him to not make her eat all of it. After depriving herself of food for so long her stomach had shrunk. She didn’t think all that rich stew would fit or if she’d manage to keep it down. Wyatt studied her, then his face softened the slightest bit.

  “Eat what you can, Michelle. But the more you eat the more you’ll please me.”

  Those words unlocked the part of her heart that needed to earn his forgiveness, and she picked up her spoon and began to eat. At first every swallow was a struggle as her stomach cramped up. She had to take deep breaths and force her body to accept the food. Soon the nausea passed and she actually felt better, enough that she managed to drink all of her milk and ate more than half of her stew. By the time she was full to the point of feeling like she would burst she looked up to find Wyatt watching her from the blue couch in the living room. He’d changed into a pair of black lounge pants and a dark blue t-shirt that clung to his powerful chest and arms.

  She’d been so wrapped up in doing what he wanted her to do that she hadn’t noticed him return.

  “Finished?” he asked in a low voice.

  She nodded, her gaze going from the stew to Wyatt and back again, hoping she’d eaten enough to please him.

  “Go use the bathroom then come up to the loft. It’s time for bed.”

  Her heart surged at the thought of sleeping with Wyatt, of cuddling close to him and losing herself in his warmth, in his heat. She quickly used the bathroom and found an unopened toothbrush in the small vanity over the sink. After a quick brush, she examined her face and sighed, knowing that she could do nothing about the dark circles under her eyes. She stared at herself, wondering how Wyatt could ever be attracted to her when she did indeed look like a walking skeleton.

  When she came back into the living room she found that he’d turned the lights off, but a golden glow came from the loft. She eagerly took the stairs, anticipation filling her until she caught sight of the loft and her breath caught in her throat. A large, four poster bed took up most of the space, but next to it was a sleeping mat with a pillow and a blanket. The gleam of metal caught her eye, and it took her a moment to realize that a chain and cuff had been attached to the bottom of the bed, a sight so similar to the one that she had on her bed at home that she knew immediately Wyatt was going to make her sleep on the flo
or.

  He reclined on the bed, still dressed in his t-shirt and pants, and watched her intently. It hurt her heart so much that he wasn’t going to let her sleep with him that for a moment she considered running out the front door, trying to escape the pain, but she was helpless to resist the need to please him. His forgiveness could be earned; he told her that and she trusted him, believed him. Wyatt wouldn’t lie to her. She was the liar in this relationship.

  With a heavy heart, she walked to the side of the bed and knelt without being told.

  “Put the cuff on, Michelle.”

  She did as he asked, wishing it was his fingers strapping the black leather cuff to her ankle. It had been lined with sheepskin and was comfortable, but it was also the tether that kept her out of his arms, a visible symbol of her submission to him. Seeing the cuff on her ankle made her want to jerk it off, to establish her independence, but she couldn’t. Tamping down her dominant nature was a struggle, but when she looked up at Wyatt she managed to keep from removing it. He stared at her until she dropped her gaze. His fingers traced over her cheek a moment later in a soft caress that brought tears to her eyes.

  “Sleep, Michelle, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  He turned out the light and she laid down on her mat, drawing the thick blanket over herself. It wasn’t the most comfortable place she’d ever slept, but also not the worst. She turned so she could look out over the dark living area and listened to the soft sounds of Wyatt moving around in the bed and his quiet breathing, and behind that, the dim roar of the ocean coming through a partially opened window somewhere. Part of her hoped that he would engage in some sexual play, tease her the way she teased him when he’d been the one chained to her bed, but he didn’t and she soon found herself drifting, matching her breath to his until her body relaxed and she sighed, the tension slowly leaving her.

  Staring out into the night she began to pray, thanking God for bringing Wyatt back to her and begging Him to help her find a way to be worthy of his love again.