by Zoe Dawson
She pressed her fingers there, the pressure point hitting like an erogenous zone. He jerked, his dick getting harder, aching, but it wasn’t bad energy, it was something…more.
Then she tied his feet together. She started to knot, and he felt the bonds dig into him, tying him, making him helpless. He jerked, but she soothed him. “It’s all right. Find what you need.”
The ropes were tight, but he felt as if he was expanding. These implements she used causing a distance, allowing his body to make sense of the sensual input without being overwhelmed.
It linked him with Charlie, where she gave him an environment to allow him to open doors through his bound body. She was not his enemy like Natasha had been. She was a partner who wished to explore a space in which they both could find their own meanings. Deal with the frightening parts of their experiences and push forward with altered thoughts through waves of shared intensity. It wasn’t about being overpowered. It was about creating something together.
He opened his heart, cleared it of the chaos of pain, getting down to the core of his fear—being invalidated. As a victim Natasha disregarded his wishes, took from him something he hadn’t been willing to give—his body. She raped him against his will, but that didn’t mean she’d stolen his personal power. He saw the heat of it still pulsing inside him like a soft, golden glow that only got stronger as he stoked it. He saw the dark fear, and he rode it like a midnight stallion, breathed through that wild ride, pulling everything back to him with both hands open and grasping.
He saw the beauty in being broken down and in being built up. The way he could control panic and protect himself. It wasn’t about raw force, but a well administered brutality.
He claimed and acknowledged that he had never lost himself. He had just gotten blindsided. But, now, he could see.
He was present, feeling like he had the opportunity to completely let go and to be completely present at the same time.
“Power,” he whispered. “Freedom,” he shouted against the waves and the wind, against life and death, creation and inertia. It all coalesced in his chest as he met her steady, commanding eyes.
* * *
Charlie surged with the power Blue was generating. That was what she wanted for him, freedom from his torture because he’d never really left Kirikhanistan. He was still bound to Boris and Natasha.
She could feel the tension in his body, and she’d used that as a guide on how to knot, where to knot, and how much to tighten. She watched him as he communicated through the rope. “This is the moment,” she whispered, getting constant feedback from him, his reaction, body language, and the shared experience between them. He was changing, he was responding, he was learning and listening.
As the ropes had crisscrossed his body, Charlie felt the intensity of Blue’s manhood, the masculine energy he projected effortlessly, in the moment of that state of mind. The energy buzzed between them, and it had more to do with connection than it had to do with their chemistry. She’d never reacted so viscerally to a man before. But the moment she’d sat down next to him on the plane, he’d radiated his pain and suffering. Maybe it was because she was a rigger and understood the transference of energy. Maybe it was because he was very good at projecting it. Whatever it was, it had increased in tempo and intensity as she’d moved down his body, dragging the length of rope along his heavy thigh muscle to his ankle.
Charlie had sensed the resistance in him, realizing that there were still pieces from his past and his captivity that hadn’t fallen into place for him. She could understand that. All her own pieces had only just fallen into place over the past few days because of him.
He’d spent so much time denying what he knew about himself to be true that it had left him vulnerable. It killed her that he was keeping it from her. This wasn’t about sex, but it was tied up in violation. She would give him a safe space to understand that and find his own power again.
There was no resistance now, and Charlie felt the transference of Blue’s trust in her. It struck at something hard and deep inside her and hurt like hell. She closed her eyes at the pain, trying with all her might to absorb it. This was as much for her as it was for him.
The need for his trust was like a thirst that she had never quenched, not fully. That soft spot was her Achilles heel, and her eyes popped open as the hard knot inside her started to unravel. Oh, God. She stared at him, the water washing over him like a lover, making his skin glisten as the moonlight played with his shadowed curves and thick muscle. Blue’s physical form was exquisite, finely wrought. There was no debating that. Her eyes dropped to his groin where the scars were starting to go white, forever marking his body with what had happened to him. But it didn’t have to define him.
Her breath caught as her eyes travelled up his legs, then up his chest to his achingly handsome face, his full lips. He was staring at her, the blue of his irises almost black. He was so gorgeously bound.
She watched as he relaxed even more, slipping into something she called rope drunk. The place where he needed to be. His eyes went distant, his mouth dropping a bit open.
She felt it, the gentle tug of his will, the way he wanted her to move over him. She couldn’t resist as she crawled through the soft sand and swirling water, the waves pounding into her back, as tempestuous as the feeling moving between them.
“Yes,” he said softly.
She struggled to regulate her breathing. She had never felt this full, this strong, this soft. Female she thought, as her feminine energy suffused her, radiating out of her like spidery moonbeams. She straddled his lap, looking into his eyes, and she could tell he had never felt this powerful, this compelling, this hard. Male she thought, as she soaked up his masculine energy that he was projecting without even trying. Warrior. That defined them both. Healer. That also defined them as well.
Lovers. She gasped at the thought, and everything in her went liquid, pooling in her like the purest gold.
Oh, God. She loved him.
She was truly, madly, deeply in love with him.
And what he felt couldn’t be masked. Everything was just too raw between them. Too open, too needy, too fulfilled, too everything. He spoke his truly, madly, deeply love to her until it just mixed up inside her.
She took him, like they were meant to be here as the ocean surged and swelled with life, a living entity that made this planet habitable. She rode Ocean like a tempest, all air and force, and he was the beauty and power of the waves and water, deep secrets below the surface. None of it was sexual. They touched intimately, but there was no intercourse.
She sank into him, and worlds collided as they joined in the kind of dance that was as pure and true as the cosmos that swirled and whirled above them. He cried out, the intensity of their energy ramping up as they moved against each other in utter, blissful harmony.
“Kiss me,” he whispered. “Give me your breath.”
Cupping the back of his head, she breathed into his mouth, then covered his lips in a desperate, demanding kiss, and Charlie sighed in carnal pleasure, opening to the hard demand he projected. The taste of him tempted her, and he made a soft groan that told her to take more. Take it all, all he had. She held on to the back of his neck as he pumped, and she rode him, stars shooting off in her body as if they were arching in bright slashes across the sky.
At his urging, she drank from what he so willingly offered. He was so in control here. This bound man, without his hands to touch her, still had her by her throat, and there was nothing she could do but ride out every sensation, every scent, every taste, every touch.
Trust. Oh, God. She had always been looking for it and completely unaware that tying was giving that to her in a superficial way. But Blue was giving it to her in the most authentic, deepest way she’d ever experienced, and she craved more.
This was a dialogue between them, creating intense emotions, a dramatic joining of beautiful human artwork, and a deep mystical connection.
And then he touched her center, and she
exploded, and with it came the knowledge that she had been seeking so very long. Her keening cry wailed across the beach as baby turtles sought sanctuary. Her heart twisted, and she looked at herself and the dark, still oozing wound that she had never let heal—trusting only herself had kept her safe. It had enabled her to survive and not have to really face all her own pain like she was now.
She dropped her head to his shoulder, tears sliding onto his skin, his harsh breathing and panting breaths like music in her ears. There was the truth, shining and ready to be embraced, if she had the courage to do it: It was her inability to openly trust and let people in.
Her inability to be vulnerable was her cage, and it had locked her away as effectively as a prison. She might be in the navy, but she wasn’t part of it. She’d never let anyone in. Not Steve, not her fellow divers…no one.
But she didn’t know if she could let go, and in that moment, she understood Blue’s struggle. His body told her he was ready to give her everything.
She wasn’t sure she was capable of doing the same.
In that moment, her world shifted, and she tumbled into a black hole devoid of stars.
13
Scarecrow sat with his back against the mesh of his cage locker for support. Ever since Tank had come back from Panama City, Scarecrow had felt the overwhelming urge to go AWOL and jump a plane. The fatigue was hitting him hard after nights of not sleeping. He could barely get through PT today and had skipped the gym.
“Jesus. You look like death warmed over many times. What the hell are you doing to yourself?”
His eyes snapped open, and he sat up a bit straighter. Ruckus stood with his arms folded across his chest, his shrewd eyes boring into Scarecrow’s.
Married life suited his LT, and it was clear every time Scarecrow saw him with his wife, Dana, there was nothing but love between them. Of course, Ruckus would make it work, regardless of the long hours and the deployments. Dana was a trooper and supported him in everything. He admired her as well as Paige, Kid’s wife. She was cut from the same cloth. And Cowboy’s woman kept him happy, evidenced by the snap and pop in his eyes. Then there was Alyssa St. James. Tank had found himself someone special there.
Scarecrow hoped that one day he could be as lucky as his fellow teammates.
He rose and poked Ruckus in his lean ribs. “You’re getting a rubber tire, LT. Dana keeping you fat and happy?”
Ruckus huffed out a breath and captured Scarecrow with his patented stare. “That your lame way of changing the subject? You’re going to have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull the wool over my eyes.”
“Damn right,” Scarecrow groused under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I’m just having a hard time sleeping.”
“Guilt will do that to you.”
Scarecrow gave up his pretense and pressed his forehead to the grate. “I let him down. I freaking left him hanging because I couldn’t deal with what happened to him. I’m so pissed.” He didn’t mention that his parents were struggling, and it looked like he was going to have to head home soon and make some hard decisions about his father.
“Why are you still here?”
Scarecrow whirled around and said, “What?”
Ruckus pushed off the cage’s frame, his brow raised. “Go. Get this shit over with and then get some sleep. We all let him down, and if he gets back to us, we’ll make sure he understands that won’t happen again. We’re a team, Crow. We work together.”
Scarecrow’s throat got tight. Those words should have penetrated, but he couldn’t seem to get the words about his folks past his lips. This was his responsibility. He was their only son, and he had to be there for them.
He just hoped his mom would understand.
Then there were the reports about this woman, this mystery woman who had shown up and was now leasing some of his parents’ land. His neighbor had said she was pushy and foreign, seemed like she was interested in things going on around Red River, new folks and the like. He had to wonder who she was and why she was there. All his warrior senses were on red alert.
But first, he had to get to Blue and they needed to talk. When Wicked showed up, Scarecrow motioned him over. “We’re going to Panama City.”
Wicked’s mouth firmed, then he looked away. “About time,” was all he said.
* * *
Blue didn’t know what had just happened between them. He’d always been open and aware of the metaphysical, and even though he had feared this, it had altered him. He wasn’t sure how yet.
She wasn’t moving, and he said gently, “Charlie? Are you okay?”
She raised her head and her eyes were warm, but something had changed. It wasn’t lost on him that in a split second, he’d gone from liking her to loving her. He knew she felt the same way, yet neither of them said anything. He wasn’t sure why, but the rawness inside him kept him quiet. He was still so screwed up. And there was that threat that now hung over them. Not knowing who those guys were in that van made his gut twist. Somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with his capture and torture. He was reluctant to put Charlie in the same position Elena had been in. Loving and helping him had taken everything from her.
But here with Charlie, he had found part of his center, knew now that meditation wouldn’t be so difficult and frustrating. It was as if his heart had been halved but was now healing toward becoming whole.
He hadn’t thought beyond Panama City, beyond his banishment from the team. But now, he was thinking he wanted this woman in his life with a need that bordered on desperate. Even though he was still struggling with enlightenment, he wasn’t sure if he was responding to true feelings or twisted emotions. That, more than anything kept his love for her under wraps. That and those men.
And he was, technically, still her instructor.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Untie me,” he said. “Slowly.”
She smiled at him and brushed at her face, her hair tousled around her head. The beach was quiet, the birds gone to roost and the sand undisturbed. But there was activity below the surface. Small hatchlings yet to make their trek.
The beach was full of life…and death. But Charlie had driven home what she wanted to teach him. In that, he was thoroughly the student. But he’d found peace.
She crawled off him as a wave washed over them, driving her back. She hit his chest and took a shaky breath. Their eyes met, and she cupped his face, running her thumb over his bottom lip.
For a few minutes she searched his eyes, and he could feel the bond they had forged between them tighten. She must have felt it too as she stared into his eyes, her face telling him that she was deeply moved.
Then she crawled off and began with the last knot she’d tied. He wasn’t sure if she was doing it deliberately, but she brushed his skin so often, he had to think it was intentional. There was nothing static about the way she untied him. She went slowly, then sped up, varied her pressure. As he was unbound, he shivered as if the ropes had been cocooning him, feeling his nakedness. Being with her like that, feeling the sexual connection to them and not acting on it made him feel powerful, too. Being roped was quickly becoming an experience he was enjoying, the art melded with him and his beliefs. What he’d shared with her wasn’t as erotic as it was a profound connection. The binding had given him the safe space to push at the memories of his torture until they receded. It had been about freedom and letting go. He wasn’t quite there yet, but this experience had turned out to be so much more than he had expected.
Their intimacy, already strong, had been enhanced through the rope.
As the knots released, he felt as if trapped negative energy flowed out of him, dissipating into the water that surrounded him, joining with the ocean to flow outward and get lost in the eddies and currents until that energy was spent.
When she got to his hands, she took her time. He was still uncomfortable, but he could better tolerate her touch there.
As soon as he was free, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap.
“Thank you, Charlie. I need to talk now.”
“Let’s get out of here and back to my condo. I’m ready to listen.”
He sighed and brushed the back of her cheekbone. “You’ve always been listening.”
Back at her condo, they took a quick shower full of soft touches and warm kisses, both of them spent. Dressed in his boxers, he reclined on her bed as Charlie opened the French doors and a warm breeze lifted her hair. He opened his arms as she turned. She ran to him, snuggled up to him and sighed.
“It happened the summer I turned twelve,” he started, then told her how he had witnessed his best friend’s molestation. “I was shocked and disgusted. I knew it wasn’t right, but I was still young and naïve. Rory was never the same afterwards—drugs and alcohol. Our friendship was shattered. My parents wouldn’t acknowledge what had happened and insisted that I had to be mistaken. I felt betrayed by them, even though I loved them. I didn’t know what to do with all these feelings. That was the same summer I found a book on samurai, and I started absorbing their thinking. I had a room back at my house where I meditated and had my tea ceremonies.”
“You had?”
Feeling as if he had been turned inside out, he pressed his mouth against her temple and closed his eyes, his pulse uneven. “I trashed it after my LT told me I was off the team.” He regretted that. It was as if he’d destroyed his own peace, and in retrospect, he guessed he had.
“Oh, Blue.”
He drew a deep, shaky breath and pressed another kiss on the corner of her mouth, her touch slow and comforting as she softly stroked the angle of his jaw. She moved her head, releasing the fragrance of the wind and ocean. He inhaled deeply, combing his fingers through her hair, letting the satiny length slither through his fingers. Taking another deep breath, he straddled her, bracketing her face with his hands, as he braced himself on his elbows, the weight of his hips warm against hers.