Wanting Wilder (Safe Word: Oasis)

by Zurlo, Michele

  This behavior made no sense. Wilder crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair. “What’s going on? You’re pissed off about something.”

  Micah jumped up and paced the three steps it took to cross the office. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I just don’t want to see you blow this.”

  “There’s nothing to blow.” Wilder was starting to absorb some of Micah’s agitation. “She has strict hard limits. Even if she meant more to me, I’m not sure the feeling is mutual.”

  “You won’t know unless you—”

  Wilder held up his hand and got to his feet. Fury simmered just below the surface, most of it directed inward. “I do know. Eight years ago, when we were in Fort Lauderdale, that was Lydia. She never called, man. She made it clear she didn’t want me in her life. I have no reason to believe that’s changed.”

  He wanted to have a reason. If she had once indicated that she wanted more from him, he’d gladly give it. Right now, he’d give anything just to kiss her and hold her in his arms.

  Micah shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. “Maybe she never got your note. Maybe she thinks you abandoned her. Maybe right now she thinks you don’t want her.”

  Wilder shook his head. She couldn’t have missed the note. It would have been right there when she opened the door. There was no point in grasping at straws. “I’m going to end the wish. Then I was going to ask her out. I guess I’ll know for certain whether or not she has feelings for me.”

  * * * *

  The alarm clock pulsed, the high-pitched beep rousing Lydia from a deep slumber. She’d found sleep elusive the night before, right up until about an hour before she needed to wake up. Wilder had been somber and quiet on the drive back from work, and when she expected him to order her to the living room for their nightly bondage session, he had suggested they watch a movie on television and turn in early.

  Vivid memories of sitting at that diner assailed her. She’d stared at the empty seat opposite her in the booth, waiting for the man she called Sir, for nearly two hours. The waitress had stopped asking for her order and had switched to giving her sympathetic looks. At first Lydia hadn’t accepted that he would stand her up. She’d worried, her heart thumping madly at the thought of him hurt, until she made it to his hotel room to find members of the maintenance staff dismantling the crude wooden structure Wilder had built around the bed to hold her for bondage.

  She’d asked after him, only to find he’d checked out that morning. She had returned to her hotel and cried in the shower. Thankfully, Brigit refrained from mentioning Wilder at all. They’d continued their vacation as if she hadn’t fallen for a man who had irrevocably changed her life and her perception of her sexuality.

  Back then, he’d displayed no warning signs to indicate that things were about to end. But she couldn’t miss the neon blazing above his head last night at dinner and then afterward, when he’d suggested a movie instead of bondage. She tried not to read into it, but she knew the expiration date for their wish had come and gone. Perhaps he was trying to break it to her gently. After all, she felt they’d developed a genuine friendship over the past week. More than that, she had come to need him—not just the bondage or the discipline, but his company. Having him in the same room or knowing he was just down the hall made a huge difference in her psyche. Pangs from the heartache of their previous association had faded to the background, and now they returned full force.

  She threw on her yoga pants and an oversize shirt, and she headed to the bathroom to freshen up.

  Splashing cold water on her face helped chase away the lingering effects of sleep for now. This evening would be brutal if he expected her to stay awake. If he tied her in a comfortable position, she might just fall asleep.

  She opened the refrigerator, her mind numb and her thought processes absent. Her gaze landed on the carton of eggs. Nothing fancy this morning. She decided to make an omelet. He’d been asking for her hash a lot, and the secret to her recipe, but she didn’t have the energy to make it.

  He emerged from his cave ten minutes later, and she set a steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of him. She didn’t say anything, mostly because she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He wasn’t talkative in the morning, but he generally responded to anything she said. By the time the meal was over, she usually had him laughing or smiling about something.

  She liked his smile. It lit his eyes, and she liked the way they smoldered with the passion he kept bottled up. She hoped to tap into it before it was too late, but she didn’t know how to do that without throwing herself at him. And she sensed he wouldn’t be amenable to such a forward gesture. When she’d sat on his lap for two karaoke songs, he had been a perfect gentleman.

  She set the plate in front of him, and he stared at the omelet and bacon. She waited for him to somehow acknowledge the food—he usually at least thanked her—but he didn’t move.

  She held her breath, expecting him to ruin the day. It was better to get it all out in the open. Avoiding the inevitable had robbed her of sleep. She was sure she would face many sleepless nights while she adjusted to life without the friend and the Dom who had become such an integral part of her life. Again. She could have used Master V’s advice, but she still didn’t have the heart to confront him. Not yet.

  “You made eggs yesterday.” His voice didn’t have that scratchy sound it usually did in the morning.

  The stress of the moment was too much to bear. She snapped at him. “If you don’t want my food, then make your own damn breakfast.” Without waiting for his reaction, she snatched up his plate and dumped the contents into the garbage disposal.

  He gripped her shoulders hard, and she whirled out of his grasp. Maybe because she was so tired, her reflexes failed to save her for long. He closed his hands around her upper arms, iron bands that dug into her flesh and gave her some courage. If he was going to end things, he wouldn’t bother disciplining her. There would be no point. He shook her once and pulled her closer, almost near enough so that her chest grazed his. Almost. She whimpered in frustration, but he just stared at her, a hard set to his jaw and an unreadable glaze to his eyes.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she struggled not to choke on it. Please kiss me. Please pull me close and let me know I’m not the only one who feels what’s between us.

  At last he growled and let loose a string of obscenities that had feral heat rising to flood her chest, neck, and face. Lydia loved dirty talk, but she wasn’t used to hearing such vehement oaths. She flinched, ashamed of her wanton reaction in the face of his rejection.

  Stubble lined his jaw, blending against the summer tan that hadn’t quite faded from his skin. She wanted to feel it scraping her inner thighs as he held her open and feasted on her juices. But she found herself bent over the kitchen table, her breasts flat against the wood surface, the coolness bleeding through her shirt’s thin cotton.

  He pressed his hand into her lower back, holding her down. “Will you accept your punishment, or do I have to restrain you?”

  She willed her body to remain still. “I accept it, Sir.”

  He peeled down her yoga pants, shoving them to a point just below her butt cheeks. That first smack proved her a liar. She bucked her hips and shoved against him, the violent movement knocking over her glass of orange juice. She needed more than a simple spanking to come to terms with what the day would bring.

  Sir wasted no time. He hauled her to the living room and shackled her to the big, white, laminate-covered table. It was an eyesore, but it served a very useful function. Stretched out, facedown, her arms and legs bound out of the way with quick-release restraints, she could barely move. Then he added a thick leather belt that buckled around her lower back like a half corset, and he secured that to the table as well.

  Though she couldn’t move from this strict restraint, she screeched as she fought anyway.

  His shadow fell over her, and she looked up to find him with a gag in his hand. It was the phallic-shaped
one he’d used on her a week ago.

  “Open your mouth, Pet. I guarantee you’ll need a gag for this.”

  Part of her dreaded his wrath, but a larger part wanted so much to feel something at his hands that she didn’t care whether he chose pleasure or pain. The only thing she couldn’t handle right now would be if he untied her and told her to get ready for work. She opened her mouth and let him feed her the silicone cock when she craved the real thing. The harsh flavor was yet another punishment.

  In short order, he fastened the gag in place. Then he lifted her shirt over her head. Due to the restraints, he couldn’t remove it completely. He left it covering her arms, another point of restraint. She rested her cheek against the soft fabric. The stretchy material of her pants already held her thighs together. He hadn’t pulled them up when he gave up on the spanking in the kitchen.

  The falls of the flogger whistled through the air, and the sharp sting against her ass brought tears to her eyes. Immediately she went still. She didn’t want the oblivion of subspace, but she needed this pain to process the ache deep in her chest.

  Only he didn’t continue with the punishment. Six lashes, and the dull thump on the floor told her he’d dropped the flogger. It wasn’t enough. The sting was already fading.

  She protested through her gag when he released her ankles, but he didn’t acknowledge her with so much as a tap on her calf. Soft nylon encircled the place where the cuff had been, and she calmed at evidence of harsher restraint. When he came around and released her wrists, she behaved. He pulled her shirt the rest of the way over her head and tossed it on the sofa.

  He lifted her so that she knelt with her knees spread apart, and she prayed he’d touch her weeping pussy. Already her nipples pebbled in anticipation.

  But he ignored them and hooked a long, skinny pole through her elbows, threading it behind her, forcing her shoulders back and her chest forward. Then he wove the rope in a simple pattern that bound her arms to the pole. True to his passion, he included her torso in his design. Sir elevated bondage to an art, even when the way his lips pressed together indicated grim intent. When he finished, lines of rope circled each breast. They flushed and swelled, begging for attention.

  Sucking on the gag, she stared at his face in rapt fascination at the mix of frustration and determination that lent danger to his presence and ramped up his sexiness. The scent of coffee and something distinctly Wilder rolled from him. She fought not to bury her face in his neck when he bent close to double-check the lines.

  When he tilted his head to the side, she admired the play of his muscles beneath his light blue cotton shirt, and she watched an artery throb in his neck. She wanted to kiss it, touch it, lick it, anything to hear him moan with pleasure.

  He tugged at a rope that crossed her collarbone and stopped suddenly, his finger caught between it and her skin. She glanced up and glimpsed a flash of untamed hunger in his eyes. She swallowed hard and fought to breathe.

  His gaze dropped to her hand, but she made no move to signal him to stop. On the contrary, she would die if he stopped.

  Abruptly he finished with the ropes and pulled away. She followed his progress as he crossed the room, and she watched him fish around in a drawer that looked like a file cabinet. She didn’t recognize the contraption he lifted out. He messed around with it, grabbed a few more things, and returned.

  She studied the device he set on the table in front of her. It looked like a black leather oval had been cut in half through the part with the shortest radius. She estimated it to be about fifteen inches high. A six-inch-long fleshy pink dildo protruded from the top. A shorter, matching arm curved from the front of the phallus, tilting up to form a platform coated with thin plastic ticklers.

  It had an electrical cord with a three-pronged plug. That meant powerful vibrations. Lydia stared at it. She had specified no penetration, but she didn’t want him to follow that rule. Not now. Their relationship had evolved, and she wanted this acknowledgment that it had deepened, that she meant something more. She craved a Dom with the balls to call her on the strict limits she’d set. Or a man who cared enough to ask if she wanted to renegotiate.

  He disappeared behind her, and she felt her yoga pants slide until they bunched around her ankles, joining the ropes holding her in place. He banded his arm around her waist, lifted her effortlessly, and slid the machine between her legs.

  Then he squeezed a good amount of lube from a bottle onto his hand. Lydia closed her eyes and enjoyed the too-brief sensation of his fingers massaging it over her clit. His wrist brushed against her thigh as he coated the attachments.

  Finally he guided her hips down until the tip nudged her entrance. He held her there. She hovered just above certain pleasure. His breath tickled her neck. “When I let go, you’re going to ride this thing. You will not come. If you stop, if you pause at all, I will paddle that luscious ass of yours until you’re doing exactly what I want you to do. Nod if you understand.”

  She nodded. He let her go, and she lowered herself gently onto the thing.

  While he allowed her that consideration, he didn’t let her get used to the feel of it stretching her intimate muscles. He used inhuman speed to hook up the extension cord. Then he flipped the switch. Vibrations shook her entire pelvic region. They rocked her pussy, inside and out. They licked against her clit and stimulated her ass. The tingles even made it all the way to her breasts, mingling with the feelings already there courtesy of the ropes.

  The sharp crack of the paddle jolted her from analyzing the new sensations. She thrust her hips forward in response. He brought it down on her tender flesh again, but she’d assumed a rhythm by then. He’d primed her well, and an orgasm wasn’t far off.

  She rocked slowly, trying to hold it off, but she lost the battle. Strong and unrelenting, it took her hard. She cried out, and her rhythm faltered. Though they lacked much power, three more sharp smacks brought her mind back from the edge of oblivion. She fought through the trembling to banish the weakness in her thighs, and she resumed fucking the vibrating machine.

  He tried to slip a mask over her eyes. She fought, tossing her head to get it away from him. She didn’t want her sight taken. She wanted to see him. She needed to see him, to know she somehow affected him. He twisted her nipple hard, and she protested through her gag. It was punishment, but she craved this pain and strict discipline. As long as he continued to mete out consequences, he wouldn’t leave her.

  And she reveled in the riot of sensation ricocheting through her body. She craved his firm hand and gentle touch.

  In the second it took her to process the pain in her nipple, he secured the mask over her eyes. She screeched in protest, but the gag turned her sound into a moan. She thrashed and struggled. He hadn’t tied her to anything, and now he sought to remedy that mistake. If she’d cooperated, it wouldn’t have been necessary. The position could be confining if she behaved.

  But she didn’t want to behave. She wanted to push him to punish her until he couldn’t resist the sight of her, bound and helpless, wearing evidence of his dominance. She wanted to snap the iron control that helped him keep his cock in his pants.

  He stood on the platform next to her, his thighs brushing against her shoulder and head. All too soon, he attached the pole through her arms to chains in the ceiling. She lost the ability to move from side to side. He’d left her with only the mobility to fuck the machine between her legs. She wanted him between her legs, pounding into her without mercy, leaving no doubt in either of their minds that she belonged to him. Only him.

  The next orgasm took her just as hard, but her attention was elsewhere. He’d begun double flogging her front side. The falls fell on her constantly, giving no respite, no chance to think about anything. He whipped her breasts and pussy. The leather kissed from her thighs to her nipples, and the powerful vibrations rocketed her up the side of that cliff.

  She moaned as another orgasm built. Completely lacking control, she couldn’t fight it. The darkness, whi
ch usually brought comfort, made her feel so alone. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she came again.

  The whips stopped, but nothing else changed. With relentless cruelty, the vibrating thing kept doing its job.

  WILDER LEANED AGAINST the fireplace surround. The smooth marble cooled his back for a few minutes before his body heat negated the effect. He wanted to close his eyes, to block the erotic sight of Lydia riding the sybian. He’d ordered her not to come, but she had climaxed spectacularly three times. The vision, burned into his brain, would haunt him for the rest of his life. Closing his eyes only brought the image of her riding him with as much enjoyment and enthusiasm.

  He’d already broken several of her hard limits, and he felt like the biggest jerk on the planet. But she hadn’t signaled him to stop. As he watched, he wondered if she didn’t signal a halt because she wanted this or because she was afraid she’d lose her job. Even though he’d informed her that their activities wouldn’t affect her job one way or another, he couldn’t be sure she believed him. The line of trust between them was tenuous at best.

  What if she is only putting up with this because she’s afraid of losing her job? Fuck. He ought to be shot.

  She stiffened with the force of another orgasm and lifted off the machine a little. If he had faith that she craved this kind of treatment, he would force her to have a few more. Since he didn’t, he turned the machine off, lifted her off it, and untied the ropes. He slid the mask off and let it drop to the platform.

  He sat her on his lap and held her as she sagged against him. The warmth of her body penetrated his clothes and satisfied part of his longing. The sweet scent of her sweat and cream combined with whatever strawberry product she used, chasing away that contentment.

  He stroked her hair because he couldn’t help himself. It calmed the storm of doubt and desire raging inside, but it didn’t chase it away.

  When her trembling ceased and her chest heaved with a sigh, he pushed her forward and set her on her feet. “Go get cleaned up, and then I’ll take you to work.”