Penance (Long Slow Tease, #2)

by Mayburn, Ann

  Thank God she’d lubed the hell out of his ass, because when she shoved the slender vibrator in all the way with one surprisingly strong push of her hips he yelled. She reached around to the front of his body, toying with his cock while she pressed her breasts into his back, the warmth of her skin letting him know she’d lost his shirt that she’d been wearing at some point. The hard drag of her nipples felt incredible and he found himself quickly sinking deeper into their connection, becoming hyper aware of her every move even as a strange haziness seemed to dull his mind.

  “There we go. You’re so tight, Wyatt, my little virgin.” She nipped his shoulder and began to pump his cock. “So nice and hard for me.”

  Her breathing increased and she rubbed her hips in a slow circle, no doubt grinding the vibrator against her clit. Less than five seconds later she cried out and shuddered against him, her hand gripping his cock hard enough to ache, but the feeling of her coming against him almost had him climaxing despite the band cutting off his blood flow. She moaned and writhed against him, letting his body support her weight while she found her pleasure.

  “Mmmm, so good, again,” she purred and began to thrust in and out of his body.

  By this time he was pretty sure he was either going to pass out from the need to come, or his dick was going to explode. A raw, savage hunger filled him and he found himself thrusting back against her, grinding his ass against her hips, clenching his teeth as she stroked him. Their bodies fell into a perfect rhythm of give and take and he bit his inner cheek when she climaxed again, her harsh thrusts hurting so damn good. She came a third time before finally stilling behind him, her body limp against his.

  With a surprisingly gentle touch she removed the vibrator from his ass, leaving him a sweaty, panting mess. His whole body buzzed and the need to come was a hot, tight burn at the base of his spine, flooding him with hormones until he swore his skin was sensitive enough to feel the slightest breeze. God he ached, ached to find his release, but he would prove to his Domina that he was strong enough to give her all the pleasure she demanded. He belonged to her, all of him, and he would not disappoint her.

  “Wyatt,” she said in a low, warm voice. “Come to me.”

  He turned and his knees almost gave out as he got an eyeful of her beautiful, swollen pussy between her spread legs. She lay back against the pillows of the bed, naked and reaching out to him with one hand. He was embarrassed at the way his legs trembled as he approached her, but she slayed him with a look. God he’d missed this, missed losing himself in her, missed this soul deep connection between them that came from intense BDSM play.

  The look in her eyes, hunger mixed with love and trust, humbled him. A need to let her know how much she meant to him, how much he adored her filled him but his mind couldn’t form words at the moment so he went on gut instinct. Crawling onto the bed he began to kiss her feet, licking her little dainty toes and growling in approval as she let out a soft moan.

  The smell of her release tormented him and he looked up at her. “Domina, may I taste you?”

  Heat flared in her eyes and she nodded. “You may.”

  “Thank fuck,” he whispered, but it must have been loud enough for her to hear because she chuckled.

  Grasping her firm ass with both hands, he lifted her pussy to his mouth and began to eat it with a ravenous greed that had her crying out and clutching at his head. He lapped at her sex, licking up all her delicious cream, then began to suckle on her clit while rubbing his tongue over that tight little bud. The more he sucked, the harder it got until she was crying out his name and grinding her sex against his mouth. Her juice flooded his taste buds and he drank down every drop, his cock aching like an open wound with the need to be inside of her.

  Right before she was about to climax she ripped his face away from her hot little cunt and snarled, “Fuck me.”

  He moved over her, placing his arms on either side of her head then, lining his cock up and only holding himself back at the last second from pounding into her. No, he had to make this good for her, had to give her the pleasure she deserved. He leaned forward and tucked the head of his cock against her entrance before laying fully down on her body, trapping her beneath him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and shifted her hips, helping him slide into her tight, welcoming heat.

  So soft and silky wet, her pussy grasped his cock and he moaned, her body fitting against his perfectly.

  He pulled back and rocked into her, and after less than a dozen strokes she came again, whispering his name. Unable to stand it anymore, he leaned up and moved her so her ass sat on his thighs, her movements restricted as he used her body to fuck. Gripping her hips, he began to pound into her, growling out as she arched beneath him and tried to work her body against his as best she could. A low, sexy moan worked its way out of her and she bit her lower lip, her pussy squeezing harder on him.

  “Wyatt, wait,” she said.

  It was almost impossible to stop moving, the best he could do was bury himself in her. She reached beneath the pillow and pulled out a set of safety scissors. “Cut the cock ring off. I want you to fill me up with your come.”

  He almost came right then and there, so aroused his entire body tingled with erotic fire. After a quick snip the cock ring fell away and he lunged into her, hammering her pussy while she urged him to take her harder, faster. Then she began to bite him, hard enough that he wondered if she’d made him bleed, but not caring because he wanted her teeth marks on him, wanted that visible reminder that he was hers to do with as she wished. She owned him, heart and soul.

  “Oh, God, Wyatt, I’m going to come again. Come with me.”

  He buried his face against her slender throat and sank his teeth into her skin, holding on tight as she screamed and came apart beneath him. Bright lights burst beneath his closed eyelids as he threw his head back and roared when the first agonizingly good burst of his climax ripped through him, an endless series of waves of intense pleasure that had him jerking against Michelle, trying to get as deep as he could into her body, drowning in his love for her as she held him close and placed gentle kisses on every part of his body she could reach.

  “I love you so much,” she whispered. “You’re my life.”

  Words failed him once again and he slumped onto her, rolling just enough so he wouldn’t suffocate her, but keeping his still hard cock in her body. When he managed to open his eyes he found her watching him and smiled, a sense of rightness that had been missing from his life finally falling back into place. As they gazed into each other’s eyes he promised himself that he would never, ever, be separated from her again.

  Chapter 20

  Michelle sat at the small kitchen table of the beach house with Mud and Tuba both somehow managing to lay at her feet. She absently rubbed each dog with one foot, barely registering their soft fur against her toes. Outside it looked like it was going to be another glorious sunset and she tapped her pen against her lips, trying to figure out what she wanted to write down on the blank stationery before her. Earlier in the day she’d gone to a local boutique that made specialty paper and had selected a beautiful cream stationery with delicate orange and gold pressed flowers somehow mixed into the paper.

  The moment she saw it she knew Owen would like it, which made it perfect for her letter to him. She found the act of writing letters to people that would never get them to be therapeutic. Well, her mother would never get the ones Michelle wrote her, but she’d let her therapist read them. To her surprise she found that she was actually looking forward to her appointments with Lisa now, that talking with her was making a real difference in her life. Their conversations weren’t magic, nothing was cured overnight, but she was beginning to be able to see why she did some of the crazy shit she did, why she had such a hard time accepting that Wyatt loved her.

  And oh, how she loved him back. It had been three weeks since they faced the aftermath of the tornado in Sugar Land together and the last warm days of fall were coming to an end. They’d be
en back to her ranch a time or two and planned on returning for good soon, but she had a feeling they were going to end up buying a house on the beach before next summer rolled around. She liked the idea of spending the winter and spring months on her ranch, and she missed her horses. Right now Pants and Goddess were at what basically amounted to a horse spa outside of Houston where they were massaged nightly and given hundreds of acres to roam. Even better, the ranch worked with the local 4H club and her horses were spoiled with affection.

  She glanced at the clock, wanting to get her letter written before Wyatt returned from whatever errands he was running. Things were…really good between them. She had fully returned to her role as Wyatt’s Mistress since that morning after they first went to Sugar Land, and their relationship had deepened to the point where she truly no longer worried about losing him. That newfound security had allowed both of them to immerse themselves in each other with a deep trust that was both emotional and physical. It had certainly upped the kink factor of their playtime together. Just the memory of how hard Wyatt came while she was fucking him sent a delicious wave of tingles through her.

  With a sigh, she looked away from the ocean and the first hints of a pink-tinged sunset on the blank page before her. It was time to write her letter to Owen, and she couldn’t put it off any longer. Her hand shook as she pressed her pen to the paper, but she made herself write the first words.

  Dear Owen,

  It’s been years since the last time I felt your touch, was dazzled by your smile, and smelled your cologne. Every time I pass a man wearing your scent it hurts me like a knife slicing through my soul, and I want to grab that stranger who smells like you and bury my face against his throat, to pretend that you’re still here with me even for a moment, but no matter how hard I pray you won’t be returning to me.

  I’m still so damn angry that you’re gone, furious that you left me behind, yet so grateful for the time we did spend together. We were quite the pair, weren’t we? So young and brash, so arrogant in our immortality. I found my first wrinkle the other day and thought of you, wondered what you’d look like now, if you’d have lost all that beautiful red hair of yours or if I’d have given you grey hairs by now. I wondered if you would still enjoy eating an orange after sex. Did you know that for years I couldn’t eat oranges without crying? I had to ignore them whenever they were on the table because if I didn’t I’d end up sobbing, and in the military they don’t cotton well to their officers tearing up over fruit.

  I spoke to your mom and dad last week, told them how I was doing. They were surprised that I called, I’ve been avoiding them since your death, but it was really good to hear their voices, to know that they’d managed to find some sense of peace after your passing. I’m sure that the fact that your sisters have given them a mess of grandchildren to fuss over helps.

  I wanted that so badly for us, you know. To get married and have your babies, to live happily ever after with you. But you had to go and be a fucking hero, didn’t you? I bet right now up in heaven you’re shaking your head at me. Do you know I can feel you sometimes? Not as much as I used to, but right now I swear I can feel your heat against my back as you lean over my shoulder and read this. You know I hate people reading over my shoulder, but you always did like to rile me up so I would punish you. The term ‘topping from the bottom’ was invented for you.

  I miss you so much, but not as much as I used to. As I’m sure you know, I’ve fallen in love with someone else. Part of me wants to apologize to you for that, but another part believes that you brought Wyatt into my life. They say that once you die everything becomes clear and you understand the world in a way we never can when we’re mortal, looking through the glass instead of a mirror and all that. If that’s true, then you would no doubt have seen how very lonely I was and how I was isolating myself from the world, living only with the hope of dying. You were always so full of life that just being with you made the even the most mundane things exciting, but when you left it was like the joy in the world died with you.

  So when I felt that joy again with Wyatt it felt as if I were somehow cheating on you, like my ability to see the simple beauty of just living betrayed your memory. Yes, I know it is seriously fucked up and self-centered of me to not realize the gift you’d given me. I often wonder how long it took you to find Wyatt for me, to manipulate events so that he came into my life at the perfect time in the perfect place. If I’d met Wyatt anywhere other than the battlefront, like in the civilian world, I’d have been able to separate myself from him and pretend the way I was drawn to him was just a fluke. But out there, in that sandy shithole, I had to see him over and over again, to witness how good of a man he was, to slowly admit my own attraction to him. He always seemed to know when I needed him the most and I can’t help but wonder if you had a part in that too. Not to say that Wyatt and I don’t have a deep connection, but in those early days he would appear like magic when I needed him, showing up in places where he had no reason to be, but exactly where I needed him.

  And then when our convoy was attacked…you were there shielding me from the blast, weren’t you? There was no reason I should have survived that. I looked at the seat of the transport vehicle I was in once it was brought back to base. There were pieces of jagged metal imbedded all over my seat, but none of them hit me. The Marines that were in charge of dealing with the destroyed vehicles called it a miracle, but I knew it was you. You must have been so frustrated with me when I refused to love Wyatt. Here you were, giving me the love I so desperately needed but in my depression I couldn’t see it.

  I often wonder if my need for you is keeping you tethered to the earth, keeping you from moving onto whatever it is we are meant to do next. While I’m not sure what exactly happens after we die, I do know that energy never disappears, it merely changes form and what is the human soul if not energy? I know this is long, long overdue, but while I will always love you, I don’t need you anymore, Owen. I have a man in my life who loves me more than I ever thought possible, loves me without condition and in a selfless way that constantly humbles me. I’ve grown up enough now to understand what a gift that is and I promise I will love him back with all of my heart. See, I’ve realized that loving Wyatt doesn’t mean I no longer love you. The human heart isn’t a limited thing. Instead of viewing my love as something to be divided up and sectioned out, I came to realize that my heart just grows larger in order to accept even more love. Kind of like our favorite Christmas movie with the mean old Grinch’s heart growing three sizes that day.

  I’m going to collar Wyatt today. I contacted Petrov last week and had a collar specially made for him, a thick platinum chain, the kind men wear so that he will always be able to keep it on. There’s also a St. Michael medallion attached to it, with an inscription on the back for Wyatt. The chain was specially made to attach to a thick black leather collar with an O-ring on it so I can attach a leash to it if Wyatt and I choose to play in public, or if I just want to leash him. You did love to wear my leash, loved to walk behind me through the club with that visible mark of my ownership. I will always remember looking over my shoulder to make sure you were following me, to make sure that you hadn’t run off and left me because I wasn’t perfect enough for you. I’m so very sorry I let my insecurity bring us so much pain. You deserved better, and while I cannot go back in time and change things, no matter how much I may wish it, I can change my future and respect that every day we have here on Earth is a miracle and a gift.

  You will always have a place in my heart, but I won’t use you as an excuse for not allowing myself to love anymore. I will always remember you, will always wish things had turned out differently, but it’s time to let you go. You were an important part of my life, Owen, and some of my best memories come from loving you. Thank you for being there for me, for teaching me how to love, and most of all, for sending me Wyatt. For the longest time I beat myself up over loving Wyatt more than I loved you, but I’ve realized it’s just a different kind of love because
I’m a different person now than when you and I were together. It’s not that I love Wyatt more or you less, but that I know now how precious love is and how stupid it is to push it away out of fear of being hurt.

  So I guess this is where we say goodbye. Wherever you are, wherever you go, I hope that you have someone to love, that you have someone who loves you back. I’ll see you again someday, and when I do, I hope that you’re proud of me.

  Love Always,

  Michelle

  She stood and went over to the sink, grabbing a handful of paper towels and wiping her face down, trying to dry the tears before she soaked a hand towel in cold water and pressed it to her face. While Wyatt would know she’d been crying, she didn’t want him to think these were tears of sorrow. Well, they were, but they were therapeutic tears, a physical release of the pain she’d been carrying, nurturing even, all these years. Her soul felt strangely light, as if the words that were now on the paper had carried a dark weight with them in that black ink. After removing the towel she took a deep breath and went back to the table. She picked up sheets of paper now packed with her sprawling handwriting and began to fold them into paper boats, one by one.

  By the time she finished there were eight little boats sitting on her table and she smiled. On one of their first dates Owen had taken her to his family’s house on Lake Michigan and had shown her his remote controlled boat collection from when he’d been a teenager. She giggled as she remembered how much fun they’d had racing his boats after she’d gotten over how silly it had been to play with toys. At the time she’d thought it was immature, but now she realized she was the immature one for not accepting the simple joy of being able to play without putting on pretenses.

  She grabbed her pink and white floral patterned shawl from the back of her chair and slipped it over her shoulders. While her white sun dress had been enough during the heat of the day, the beach might be a bit chilly. The sun was now a fat, bright tangerine ball on the horizon and she carefully placed the boats in a plastic bag, but slipped the collar into the pocket of her dress. Wyatt should be back soon and she wanted to send Owen his letter before that happened.