by Angel Payne
“This,” he rasped. “I want this. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for two days. All I’ve been craving since the moment my dick left you before.”
A fresh burst of tears pooled in her eyes. “Me, too,” she said. “Oh, yes…me, too.”
A look mixed of pain and joy creased his features. “You’re so beautiful,” he uttered. “So goddamn perfect…bound for me like this, open for me like this, taking every inch of my dick like this.”
“Yes,” Rayna whispered. “All of it, Sir. Please.”
He rammed his lips over hers again before ordering, “Beg me for it again. Plead with me to shatter you.”
“Yes,” Rayna responded. “Yes. Make me come with your cock!”
His jaw hardened to dark stone. He curled his fingers into her hips, gripping her with inescapable force. He handled her like a toy for his pure carnal pleasure, and she gave herself over to the joy of being just that, her breath escaping her on harsh gasps in time to every brutal crash of their bodies. With every thrust, his cock seemed to grow. His flesh shoved at hers, forcing her to accommodate him, giving her no quarter for comfort or ease. He took. She gave. Then he gave so much back to her. Fire. Friction. Tightness. Tension. Heat that built and grew, pulsed and pounded…
And released.
“Oh!” She cried it in pure shock. The orgasm overtook her from the inside out, radiating in a shockwave that really rendered her limbs to the consistency of a yarn doll. “Oh my God. What the hell?”
Zeke bent his head to kiss her hard. “Let it come, little bird.” His voice was husky and thick. “Fuck. That feels so good. Let it come, because when you do, I’m going to burst deep and hard inside you.”
“Zeke!” His nasty words worked their magic. A second climax claimed her, more intense than the first. It ripped her mind free from what remained of its moorings, sending her over into the abyss of surrender. She was lost in an ocean of raw sensation, overcome by pure white heat as Z poured his come into her a moment later on his own long, roaring groan.
She was washed in new beauty again—but this time there was no analyzing the flood, let alone controlling it. The tears poured, untamed and unabated, as a blend of sorrow and elation tore back so many shackles in her heart.
She wanted him inside her forever.
But all too soon, he slipped away.
She mewled in protest as he pulled out. With an efficient swipe, Z pulled off the condom. She didn’t know where he put it, only grateful that he barely budged from her side as he did. With equal efficacy, he released her arms from the rope and then stroked them, his gaze scanning every inch of skin where he’d cinched it around her. Apparently satisfied she was all right, at least in a general physical sense, he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Once she was there, he laid her carefully on her side before climbing in behind her.
The feel of his huge body did nothing to stop the flood now bursting from her senses. She dragged in air, hoping to calm the storm down, but her ragged breaths were just a blatant reminder of how thoroughly he’d turned her inside out.
What the hell had just happened?
Would she ever be the same again?
Would they?
“Ssshh.” Z issued it into the hair he’d started to finger comb off her face. His tone was deep and resonant, as if he’d just read her damn mind. “Let it all come, bird. Let it all out. I’m not going anywhere.”
She twisted to face him. With a watery smirk, she asked, “Is that an order, Sir?”
His answering chuckle made his whole face go warm and sexy. “Sure as fuck is.”
She laughed, too, which provided the tears with another escape hatch. Zeke rolled her over, gathered her close, and stroked her hair as she choked her way through another sob fest.
“I’m sorry,” she finally blubbered.
“I’m not,” Z murmured back.
“I don’t understand all this.”
He lifted her chin with a finger. When she looked into his eyes, the passion that had darkened them swirled with rich caramel hues. “I do.” He gave her a fast kiss. “And it’s probably the best gift you’ve ever given me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Better than the Yoda T-shirt I found for your birthday?”
He broke into a grin. “Yeah. Even better than that.”
“Explain?” She tilted her head.
“Later.” Anchoring the back of her head with his hand, he tucked her against his chest again. “Rest. I’m going to get up in a few and find some cream for your ass. Then you’ll sleep. A lot. Then we can talk.”
Though his voice was still full of command, there was no mistaking the encroachment of real life on them once more. She sighed deeply. It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected this part. She’d knelt for him with the full knowledge that no woman would ever hold that the space at Z’s feet forever.
Knowing it and accepting it were two different things.
She turned her cheek against his chest and gazed at the couch across the room. And conceded that she’d never look at that thing the same way as long as she was here.
And wondered if she’d look at anything the same way again.
And realized, even with the entire Seattle PD and a vengeful madman looking for them, that no moment in the last twenty-four hours terrified her more.
Chapter Thirteen
He woke up alone. And was puzzled why that bothered him so much.
A glance at the clock told him it was two a.m., though that wasn’t the reason for the disconcertment. In Special Forces, one lived by the timetable of the mission. This was often the team’s lunch hour. The immediate circumstances weren’t a valid excuse, either. After funneling so much of himself into the needs of a subbie, it was often a relief when they sneaked off to freshen up, letting him relock himself the way the he liked best: in silence and seclusion. The good ones figured that part out pretty quick.
But she isn’t just a “good one,” is she?
She is the perfect one.
“Fuck.” He threw his forearm over his eyes, as if that would blot out the memories of her kneeling for him, opening for him, climaxing for him…giving herself to him. “You need to stop this right now, moron,” he told himself. “Perfect or not, it’s past tense now. It was good. It was a damn great adventure. End of story. She scratched her D/s itch, and you were the lucky bastard who got to help. She’s done. You’re done. It was great. Move the hell on.”
Even considering anything else with her would be a catastrophic mistake. His past was knife fights and naps in garbage dumpsters. Hers had been homecoming games and cupcakes. His present was missions, bullets, and terrorists. Hers was bandages, healing…and cupcakes. The last time he checked, bullets didn’t go well with frosting.
That didn’t stop him from wanting one last embrace.
Where the hell was she?
He sat up in bed, realizing that he didn’t hear her in the bathroom. A quick look across the room didn’t reveal a light under the door, either.
He swept back the covers and left the bed in one flow of movement.
Since he’d put his shorts back on when he’d gotten the cream for her ass, he only had to throw his T-shirt on now. He did that while crossing to the doorway to the landing. Once there, he stopped and listened to every corner of the cabin.
Aside from the post-storm drips off the roof and trees outside, he heard nothing.
There were no lights on downstairs, either.
Where the hell was she?
Following protocol from years of training, he clamped down the urge to yell for her. Instead, he padded to the upstairs lockbox, quickly keyed in the code, and yanked out the Springfield .45 caliber stored within. With a fast flick, he opened the chamber and loaded a couple of bullets. He slid his thumb to the safety, preparing to flip it off if need be, and then took the stairs down two at a time, absorbing his weight with his knees and regulating his breathing so he made no more noise than a feather.
Which was what he fe
lt like when he got to the ground floor and saw her again.
Moonlight shone through the back deck window, though the silver streams danced with the storm clouds, making the living room look like a mystical rainforest. Rayna, covered again to her knees in his Henley, stood in the middle of it—if that was the proper term for her pose. With one leg raised with its foot braced against her other knee and her hands pressed over her heart in a diamond shape, she reminded him more than ever of a fairy-tale bird.
She was gorgeous. Amazing. If he hadn’t been all over her and inside her six hours ago, he would have even doubted she was real.
He couldn’t decide whether to keep staring at her or order her to the couch so he could redden her ass again for scaring the shit out of him.
Not scratching that itch again, jackass. Remember?
The next moment, she took care of his dilemma anyway.
“Put down the gun and come join me, Sergeant Hayes.”
Her voice was as ethereal as the light that surrounded her and soft as the smile she tilted at him. The fact that he stood there with the weapon didn’t seem to stun her in the least—which dazed him so much, he complied without a word. She rewarded him by extending a hand, pulling him next to her.
“You should be sleeping, bird.”
She arched both brows as she angled him to stand as she did, facing toward the panorama of cliffs and mountains that seemed to undulate beneath the clouds and the full moon’s glow. “Are you really going to try that one on me, SF boy?”
“And are you really going to call me ‘boy’?”
She turned her face up to him. Her eyes were full of dark-emerald solemnity. “Then what do I call you?”
Hell. That was the sixty-million-dollar question, wasn’t it? He looked away instead of answering her, all too aware of the words that pushed way too close to the edge of his discipline. You can just continue with “Sir.” How does that sound? Or maybe I’ll just tell you how it sounds. Maybe I’ll tell you about all the submissives who have offered it to me in so many scenes but how none of them filled my spirit with the satisfaction you did. How my body has never been pumped with such need. How the word never gave me what your lips did…
“What are you doing?” he asked instead.
“Just getting the chakras in line.”
She centered her stance again. This time she kept both feet on the floor. Without letting his hand go, she lifted her arms like a swan about to take flight. If his evasiveness ticked her off, she chose to play it close to her vest. Well, her chest. Like he could avoid noticing the sight, between her pose and the deep V of flesh exposed by the neckline of his shirt. Damn it. From his vantage point, he could see all the way in to the dark gold circle of her left areola, including the deep pink streaks left behind by his teeth. He smiled in grim triumph. He couldn’t touch her anymore, but she’d sure as hell remember he had, at least for a few days.
It would be so easy to use their handclasp to drag her close again. To ram her against him, devour her in a kiss, shove that shirt up past her waist, and—
“Come on, Z.” Her voice fell back into its gentle mist again. “Join me.”
The steamy fantasy bugged out like a greenie grunt under heavy fire. “Nah. Thanks. I’m good.”
“Yes, you are.” She curled a silky smile. “But how’re your chakras?”
He seriously needed to just let go of her. But goddamnit, he couldn’t. As his arm went along for the ride through a sweeping circle of hers, he muttered, “Bird, I don’t do chakras.”
“Really? Because you sure as hell tangled with a few of mine.”
Shit. How did he address that without coming off like an elephant on rice paper?
With a nervous snort, he rotated and adopted the same pose as her. “Is that good or bad?”
He watched her face carefully as she considered an answer. Her forehead crinkled just a little before she replied, “A little of each. So breathe in the next time we go up, okay? Hold it, then let it out slowly.”
He rolled his eyes. “I…don’t—”
“In,” she decreed. Up their arms went. He snorted his way through obeying her. “Now let it out. Slowly.”
“Christ,” he grumbled—though damn if the action didn’t spread a nice layer of warmth through him. As she lifted his arm again, he ditched the snort in favor of really filling his lungs all the way.
And sneaking in a stare at her.
And marveling at what he saw.
With her hair a bright mahogany mess, contrasting with the porcelain serenity of her profile, she was as fascinating to him as the first day they’d sat and talked in the garden at the embassy in Bangkok. He took in the little curves at the corners of her lips, the gentle rise of her neck, the straight strength of her shoulders. There always seemed something new to notice about her, something else about her beauty that took his breath away.
And here she was…all his. Dressed in his damn shirt. Still covered in his bites.
Filling his cock with craving her beneath him again.
“Z.”
“Huh?” he stammered. “What?”
“You’re not breathing.”
A shrill ring saved him from having to answer or apologize. The satellite phone.
He rushed into the kitchen to pick it up. The ID showed Garrett’s landline, but he still didn’t say anything when he picked up. It was anyone’s guess as to how far Mua’s influence stretched now.
“Zsycho? Annyeong?”
He expelled a relieved breath. There was only one person who spoke Korean in a tone as pretty as his face. “Runway.” He used Ethan Archer’s radio call sign in return. “Hey, man. What the hell are you doing at Hawk’s place?”
“Helping you out, assface. Most of the team’s here. It’s our new command center, I guess.”
His mind jumped three steps ahead to the next conclusion. “Which means you’re not using the team facilities at base.”
Ethan’s own rough breath clouded the connection. “No.” Defeat weighted the word. “That’s part of the reason for the zero-dark-fuck-me call.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He grunted against the thick, dreading ball curling in his gut. “What’s the word on this rodeo?”
“Not bueno,” Ethan supplied. “Your horse is limping, Z.” He paused for a second. It sounded like a bunch of people had just come into Garrett’s condo. “Hawk, Slash, T-Bomb, and Moonstormer just got back from running Franz back to the base. He had to file you as AWOL, Zeke. I mean, officially.”
The ball turned into a lead brick. He knew Runway couldn’t see his nod, but he went through the motion anyway. “Yeah. Got it.”
“He didn’t want to, man.”
“I know,” he returned. “But I expect things weren’t pretty when he took all our findings to the Chief of Police.”
“And the mayor,” Ethan added.
“Shit.” He couldn’t hide the surprise from that one. “Does Franz think Mua’s got a squeeze around nut sacs that high?”
“He wasn’t ruling out the possibility, especially when the mayor backed up every page of the book that the chief wants thrown at you.”
Goodbye anxiety, hello rage. Two things happened in that second to cause the twist. First, remembering the incident that had led to this mess to begin with, how those bastards were preparing to leash Rayna up and drag her back to Thailand like an escaped zoo animal. Second, watching her round the corner in front of him now, her face darkened by apprehension—and the purple bruise at the side of her face that still bore evidence to their cruelty.
“If the asshat wants to throw books, let him come,” he snarled. “Hawk is always telling me to read more anyhow. We’ll all learn something too, such as how half their police force is on the take from a criminal who’s supposed to be locked up in their highest security box.”
“We’re all on that tack with you, Zsych.” There was more scuffling, as if the other guys heard Ethan say his name and were literally gathering around in a circle of su
pport. “He’s not getting away with this bullshit anymore. Franz has given us the keys to the jeep and told us to throw down the throttle on exposing him, along with every ankle-grabbing fuck stick in the PD or otherwise who’s jumped in his mud puddle.”
“Outstanding.” The support of his team, who were the closest thing he’d ever get to brothers, filled his chest with a furnace of gratitude. He relaxed enough to let Rayna push him down onto a barstool so she could do a recheck and bandage change on his own souvenir from the Mua-nettes. “So what am I doing next?”
“Uhhhh…” Ethan grunted. “What do you mean what are you doing next?”
There was a brief scuffle on the line. The next voice he heard was Garrett’s. “You maintain that twenty, Zsycho,” he barked. “Your invisibility is our best ally. With them all on the prowl for you, we have much less clog on the line for these firewall jumps into their system.”
Z scissored his jaw and nodded again. “Agreed,” he said. “As much as I hate admitting it…agreed.”
The chatter behind Garrett faded. Even so, his friend lowered his voice. “Level with me, Z. You gonna be okay for a few days while we get this twister roped in?”
He snorted. “If I say no, you going to check Rayna and me into the goddamn Four Seasons?” He followed it with a chuckle that felt a little manic. “I’m sure I’ve been in rougher scrapes than this. Just remind me what they were when this is all over.”
Garrett was quiet for a long moment, which tossed the brick of dread back into Z’s stomach. They both knew what he was trying to reference by rough scrapes. They also both knew he’d trade those hundred times he’d almost lost his life for this single moment of looking at the end of his military career. And his personal freedom.
Angrily, he fired, “Look, everything’s hunky-dory here, okay? I’ve got cash stashed in the safe. I’ll run down to the general store for food and supplies. They’re floating my military ID pic on the news blasts, right?”
“Yeah.” Garrett let out a laugh now, too. “The one you look nothing like most of the time.”
“Especially now. With a hat and glasses, I’ll blend even more with the locals.” He glanced back over to Rayna, who was done with her futzing at his wound and now scooted up onto one of the kitchen stools. She gave him a sweetly supportive smile while wrapping his shirt around her knees for warmth. The action let him see a tiny piece of her ass, so cute and tawny and pinchable. That did not make his next words easier to say. “Hawk, did you ever make good on that plan to sneak Sage up here?”