Wanting Wilder (Safe Word: Oasis)

by Zurlo, Michele

  He could have prevented her from falling so far into subspace. When he whipped her perfect, plump breasts, he could have leaned in and teased them with his mouth. He could have sucked, alternating hard and soft pulls. His tongue darted out of his mouth, begging for the chance to touch her now.

  Even if she had given permission, he couldn’t fuck her in this condition. He would have had to keep her on the edge during the scene, watching to make sure she didn’t slide this far into that mindless place subs so enjoyed. Then he could have taken her to his bed and slid his aching cock into her warm, waiting channel.

  He carried her to her bed, rubbed some athletic ointment over the places where she would most likely hurt tomorrow, and tucked the covers around her sleeping form. Most of the marks he’d left would fade by morning.

  Then he took a cold, cold shower that did nothing to dampen his desire for the beautiful woman in the next room who didn’t want anything more than a temporary Dom. Hell, who was he kidding? She didn’t even really want a temporary Dom.

  * * * *

  Sounds from the kitchen penetrated the haze of sleep that still gripped Wilder’s brain. He stared at the ceiling. Despite his raging hard-on, he’d had no problem falling asleep the night before. Intense sessions always left him exhausted. He sat up and rotated his shoulders, one at a time, stretching the muscles he knew would be a little sore.

  He hadn’t whipped anyone in months.

  Fighting the urge to lie back down and close his eyes, he dragged himself from the bed and headed toward the kitchen. He felt battered. He’d check her body to make sure the welts were healing correctly, and then he’d head back to bed.

  Bright light streamed through the big windows in the living room, blinding him with early-morning brilliance. He made it to the kitchen, where he plopped down on a chair and put his head on the cold tabletop.

  She cupped her delicate little hand around his, wrapping his fingers around a hot mug. The welcoming coffee scent tickled his nose and invigorated his senses. He grunted thanks. She ran her hand up his bicep and squeezed his shoulder.

  He expected her to return to the chemist’s set of pots and pans she had littering the stove top, but she came around behind him and kneaded his shoulders. He groaned when she hit a particularly sore spot. She stopped there and worked the muscle, chasing away the knot.

  By the time she finished, the last vestiges of sleep had faded from his mind. She returned to cooking. He sipped his coffee and watched her luscious body move about the kitchen.

  She wore pink yoga pants and a loose shirt. He could only imagine how sensitive her skin must be underneath those flowing, soft clothes. Going a step further, he recalled the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, and how she had moaned and arched under his body as he’d buried himself deep.

  He was going to need another cold shower and another session with his hand. Watching someone make breakfast wasn’t supposed to be erotic, yet he couldn’t help but assign wanton intentions to her every movement. Even when she set a steaming plate of gourmet breakfast food in front of him, he admired the sexy way her arm curved and her breasts heaved. He didn’t recognize the food, but it smelled divine, so he dug in and did his best to ignore the woman sitting across the table. If she so much as touched her lips with her tongue, he’d be on top of her.

  “I’d like to go to work today.”

  Wilder took stock of his plate, noting that she’d waited until he was halfway finished with his food before making her request. He shook his head, the possessive need to keep her close winning despite the voice of reason shouting that she did need to go to work today. Other than giving himself perverse pleasure, he had no reason to deny her request.

  People she’d met the night before, especially his mother, would expect to see her. They would want to reintroduce themselves, check out her office as she unpacked, bring her gifts.

  Before she could mount a protest, he forced his rusty voice to give a reason. “I owe you a punishment.”

  “Yes, Sir. Of course. I meant afterward.”

  He grunted again, suddenly aware of how Neanderthal he must sound and hating the lack of culture he displayed. “Perhaps. We’ll discuss it after.”

  Her irises darkened, and he knew she was gathering patience and more persuasive arguments.

  Preempting anything she could say, he snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor next to his chair. “Strip down so I can check your skin.”

  She blushed, a dark rose staining her cheeks as she stared at her plate and refused to look at him. “I’m fine, Sir. I checked this morning.”

  Wilder grinned. “That’s four, Pet.”

  Now she looked at him. “That’s three, Sir. I refuse to accept a punishment for something that was your fault.” She threw her fork on her plate and made ready to storm off.

  He leaped up and grabbed her by the arms. She resisted, and he was glad. He needed to concentrate on something besides the way her body felt pressed against his and the heavenly mixture of strawberries and baby powder that overrode his senses when she was close.

  She fought him, struggling against his hold, but she didn’t kick at him, though her legs were free. He lifted her easily, banded his arms around her arms and chest, and hauled her into the living room.

  The large, white cube that served as a coffee table was too art deco for his tastes, but it did make a great place to tie a submissive, especially a bratty one who needed to learn to respect her Dom.

  He forced her down to the tabletop and held her torso there with a hand firmly planted between her shoulder blades. He needed both hands free to tie her up, but she wasn’t in the mood to make things easy. No matter. He could work with this.

  If she were cooperative, he could tie her in a comfortable position. Since she wasn’t, he used the available rope—he’d planned to tie her up as part of her punishment anyway—and wrestled her into a hog tie.

  He didn’t come away without battle injuries. She managed to smack the back of her head into his shoulder and plant a sharp elbow between his ribs. Adrenaline raced through his capillaries, leaving his skin flushed hot and his cock hard as igneous rock. He wanted to strip her bare, make her whimper and beg before he made her scream with pleasure.

  Because she hadn’t consented to any of that, he paced out of her field of vision to hide the tent in his sweats.

  “Damn it, Sir. I wasn’t finished eating breakfast.”

  Oh, he had something to put in her mouth. It would both shut her up and provide a little relief for the ache between his legs. He settled for a phallic-shaped gag that would force her to suck constantly. He eased it past her lips, enjoying the shock that widened her eyes as she realized it wasn’t the ball gag he’d used the night before.

  It looked perfect parting her luscious lips. They appeared so soft. He couldn’t resist tracing his finger along them after he secured the strap behind her head.

  She lifted her gaze, craning her neck to study him as she sucked and swallowed. Imagine her surprise if he filled the little chamber at the base with fluid to simulate semen and squirted it into her mouth. Next time, he promised himself, fervently wishing next time to be able to shove the real thing into her warm, wet mouth.

  Before he could exercise his better sense, he reached out and stroked feathery caresses down the sides of her face. Her skin felt like silk, and he wanted to kiss every inch of her body, to feel that smoothness beneath his questing lips and her heat against his naked body.

  As she calmed, she dropped her gaze, and her eyes widened the tiniest bit, as if she was trying to hide her reaction. He couldn’t have that. First he followed her line of vision to see what caused the miniflare.

  Fuck. How could he have forgotten the ache in his balls?

  He looked at her closely, carefully searching for any sign that his arousal made her uncomfortable. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the table, no doubt to ease the strain on her neck, but it hid her reaction.

  Too cowardly to
order her eyes open, he let her stay there like that. As punishment for himself, he forced himself to lift her clothes and look at her delectable body. He checked her for welts and bruises, running his fingertips lightly over her silky skin and telling himself this inspection wasn’t an excuse to touch her the way he really wanted. It was the ultimate exercise in self-control.

  A soft sigh brought his attention back to her face. She hadn’t moved or opened her eyes. Her jaw worked as she casually sucked at the plastic cock in her mouth. Her wrists and ankles were bound together behind her back, a position into which she had relaxed nicely. He had her shirt bunched under her arms and her stretchy pants pulled down to her thighs, and she appeared to be in heaven.

  He left her that way and sank down onto the couch, watching her with undisguised longing as she gave herself over to the oblivion of her punishment. She’s the perfect submissive, he thought. She asks for rough scenes, she submits to bondage, and she fights her punishments right up until she realizes she has no choice. I bet she’s still a wildcat in bed.

  LYDIA OPENED HER eyes to find Wilder sitting cross-legged on the sofa, eating the rest of his breakfast and watching her like she was Monday Night Football. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to make her crepes light and airy, but that blackberry sauce hadn’t been very cooperative. He didn’t seem to mind the heavier flavor. She watched the last bite disappear into his mouth, and she envied that morsel, a sharp pang in her chest echoing her wish to know the taste of his lips and the feel of his teeth nibbling on her flesh.

  Earlier he’d been aroused. There was no mistaking the massive erection outlined by his blue cotton sweats. But then, men got those in the morning, so maybe her presence had nothing to do with it. He hadn’t seemed to notice it.

  He set the plate down on the corner of the table farthest from where she lay and untied the laces of the gag. She sucked it clean as he eased it from her mouth. This was the first time she’d experienced a gag forcing her to simulate giving head. It had shocked her, pressing farther into her mouth than a ball gag. Once she’d grown used to the sensation, she found it relaxing. If only Sir had planned that as a prelude to the real event.

  “Feel better, Pet?”

  Yes, she did. The anxiety she felt at the idea of going to work, seeing all those people once more and not remembering their names, had all returned when she woke up that morning. At first she’d channeled her energies into making the best damn breakfast Wilder had ever eaten. But the meal had turned to sand in her mouth. With nothing to occupy her mind—she had realized Wilder wasn’t one for morning conversation that might distract her racing thoughts—that apprehension returned full force.

  How did he know exactly what she needed?

  She stared up at his handsome face and concentrated on his pale blue eyes. She still couldn’t read them, but the layers were peeling away. Now they made her feel comfortable and safe. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  “Hungry? Would you like to finish your breakfast?”

  Lydia had no clue how long she’d spent hog-tied on the table. Her shoulders weren’t sore, and neither were her knees and thighs. She estimated less than a half hour. “Yes, please, Sir.”

  He lifted her so that she was upright and kneeling on the table. Her shirt gave in to gravity and fell to cover her breasts. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  She watched him cross to the kitchen. With the open floor plan, really only a couple of columns separated them, so he hadn’t left her alone. Though she couldn’t see him now, she could hear him sliding her plate into the microwave. The high-pitched beep announced the end of the timed cycle, and he returned with her plate and a glass of water.

  He fed her. He perched on the table right in front of her naked pelvis and made no move to pull her yoga pants back up. She understood his reason for pulling them down—it was damn difficult to check skin that was still underneath fabric—but why in the world had he left them down? Did he think to teach humility? Well, he was going about it the wrong way. Being on display like this for him only made her horny—not that being around him didn’t already do that. She struggled to keep her thoughts clean enough to stop juices from flooding her pussy and alerting him to her arousal.

  Except each bite he eased past her lips established an intimacy and eroticism she couldn’t escape. When he pressed a forkful to his lips to test the temperature and then fed it to her, more than just her mouth watered. Her clit throbbed and ached. Cream trickled from her core and coated her thighs. All hope he wouldn’t notice the way he affected her fled. She wished he would tease her between bites, flicking his thumb over her clit or even plunging his fingers deep into where she ached to feel his thrusts.

  Abruptly he loosened the ropes. “Go get ready for work.” He growled the command in a strangled voice.

  Lydia jerked up her pants and ran. In her room, she grabbed a waterproof vibrator. Lubricant wasn’t necessary. She stumbled out of her pants, turned the dial on the toy, and slid it home. The climax started and stalled. It didn’t have the rough thrusting power of the man she wanted.

  Gritting her teeth, she pressed the vibrator as deep as it would go and held it there while she waited for the shower to warm up. She shed her shirt and socks, and she wrestled a shower cap onto her head.

  The bathroom filled with steam. Once inside the stall, she turned the showerhead until the water came out in sharp, stinging pellets. Then she fucked herself with the vibrator, not caring how long it took. She needed so badly to come.

  Except for when he’d tied her up in a position she’d never before experienced, he had been very gentle with her. She wished he’d been rough. She wished her punishment had been physical so she could have the heat and buzz of a spanking or a flogging tingling over her skin.

  She moved the vibrator, thrusting it against her sweet spot, and then sliding it out to stimulate her clit. She pictured Wilder finishing the scene the way she wished he would. In her mind, he set the plate aside and captured her lips with a savage kiss. His hand came up under her shirt and palmed her breast. He played there while he plundered her mouth, and then he lost patience and rent the fabric from her body. She didn’t care that it was irreparably damaged. She only cared that he was taking what she wanted to give.

  She whimpered as he abandoned her mouth in favor of her breasts, but it wasn’t a true protest. As long as he was touching her, she was blissfully happy. He bit and pulled at her nipples, and his free hand found her clit. He teased and tormented while she begged. Please. I want to feel you inside me.

  Heeding her at last, he hastily shed his clothes. She was still tied with her wrists and ankles behind her. He knelt on the table in front of her, letting her drink him in with her eyes, though she longed to feel him with her hands. Perhaps later, if she was very good, he would allow her that treat.

  He leaned back on his heels and lifted her until she straddled him. His thick cock slid into her wetness, filling her body and her soul. She whimpered at the sweetness and the delicious tension coiling low in her abdomen.

  At last the cliff was in sight. She propelled herself over it, crying out loudly as the orgasm rocked through her system. Exhausted, she collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, not caring one bit if he heard her shout of pleasure. Part of her hoped he had, just so he would know she needed more from him. Though the orgasm had been significant, she felt a little like weeping. Sometime later, the water turned cooler, rousing her from the stupor that had taken hold.

  She quickly finished her shower and got dressed. She found Wilder waiting in the kitchen, twirling his keys around his finger as he read something on his tablet.

  “I’m ready, Sir.”

  He looked up, startled. Red traveled up his neck, and he cleared his throat. “Great. Let’s go.”

  They didn’t get there until nearly one. Her shower had lasted for more than an hour. That was one impressive hot water heater.

  The afternoon flew. So many people stopped by. Many brought her small gifts for the of
fice or for her apartment. Wilder mumbled their names to her as each person hovered in the doorway, waiting to be invited inside, and he helped her unpack. She didn’t bother to protest because she knew he wouldn’t listen anyway. The different dynamic gave her a new perspective on his personality. He brought the same quiet intensity to arranging her office as he did to tying and weaving his ropes.

  Not long after they arrived, a tiny blonde appeared in the doorway. “Well, good afternoon! I was hoping you’d be in today. I’m Isla Carrington.” She crossed the room and extended her hand in a warm welcome.

  Lydia shook the woman’s hand. Standing next to each other, they were a study in contrasts. Isla had long, pale blonde hair that fell halfway down her back and wide, cornflower-blue eyes. She exuded warmth, confidence, and strength.

  “Good afternoon, Isla. It’s nice to see you.” Lydia filed through her brain to access her memories of meeting Isla. She remembered thinking the tiny woman—she couldn’t have been more than a hundred pounds—was the image of feminine sweetness and grace.

  “Isla works with team six.” Wilder grinned at the newcomer. “She’s one hell of a team leader.”

  Lydia would have blushed under the intensity of his praise, but Isla just returned his grin. “You bet I am. I brought a case. Amber, the leader of your team, just went out on medical leave.”

  Nobody named Amber had been at the cocktail party. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she’s okay?”

  Lydia turned toward Wilder to find his brow furrowed. He paused with the open flap of a box lid in his hand. “What happened?”

  “Contractions. Early. The doctors put her on bed rest. She’s going to finish her current cases, so don’t worry about that.” Isla gave a sympathetic smile. “Macy wants to make sure we don’t put more stress on her than we need to.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Wilder had that look on his face men got when women started talking about feminine issues. Half-baffled, half-freaked-out, he didn’t say anything more.