WILD Card -- A WILD Boys Novella (The Wild Boys of Special Forces Book 9)

by Angel Payne

  “Disguised it that well, did I?” He curled a smile of his own. “When all I thought about, walkin’ into your little office every mornin’, was how to get you exactly like this. Wait—no.” He swung around to mount the bed, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her with him. She now knelt on the mattress, wrists tethered to the bedpost, ass high and presented to him. “Exactly like this,” he revised with a growl.

  Jen lowered her head between her arms. The pose, so submissive, also felt completely right. “Thank you for the clarification, Sir.”

  “Sir?” Another satisfied vibration from his chest. “So that’s how it is, hmmm?”

  “Is there…a problem with that?” She finished by subtly wiggling her ass, though it was no small feat. With his hand sweeping back and forth across her cheeks, spreading the heat of his first swats, it was all she could do to be coy. She needed more of him, so damn badly. Needed him to touch her in other places…illicit places…

  “Not a problem at all.” But while his voice approved, he pulled his hands away. Bafflement struck, but only for a second. A fresh wave of arousal took over—as Sam reached to a control panel embedded in the bed’s footboard. After he pushed a button, the mattress began to raise up—but only beneath her legs. She would’ve laughed aloud, if the action didn’t heat her sex in a hundred new ways. A control number bed, the D/s version. Was there any end to what the Nyte’s creators had dreamed up in the way of kinky delights?

  The next moment, even that cognitive thinking was ripped away. Sam dug his hands into her hips, centering her lower body against the hump. Power radiated off his fingertips as he flowed them in, spreading heat across her buttocks.

  A gasp burst off her lips. A growl curled off his.

  “Fuck. Me.” His hands splayed, kneading her flesh, warming her skin all over again. “So bloody beautiful. So pink and sweet. But it needs to be red.” His touch roughened. “Your ass needs to bear my mark, girl.”

  Jen’s senses rolled. Her balance tumbled in the magic of his voice…the spreading heat from his possessive touch. “Yes,” she heard herself rasp. “Yes. Mark me…”

  He snarled low again. “Ask it properly. I want to hear that pretty word from you again. ‘Spank me, please—”

  “Sir.” She filled it in for him. Eagerly. Longingly. “Yes. Oh yes, Sir, please. Spank me. Mark me. Oh!”

  The exclamation took over for any more coherent words, as Sam lowered a thwack across her ass. While her flesh stung, her mind careened. Logic taunted, just out of reach. There was a reason she wanted this so badly, especially from him, but did it matter? All she wanted right now was his touch. All she needed was his dominion, full and consuming and perfect. Sam. Sam. Sam. For this moment, for this time, she only existed because of him. Through him.

  Another spank. Unleashed power. Reverberations of pain.

  She screamed. Or maybe just dreamed it.

  “Red light if you need to stop, mouse. I’m only just beginning.”

  She rolled her hips, letting the sting spread and dissipate. The tingles down her legs and through her sex…were incredible. “Don’t stop. Please, Sir.”

  “So certain.” Why did his voice suddenly sound weird? Almost…wicked? “So sure.”

  The answer came with a resounding crack—though the next impact to her ass wasn’t from his hand. It was the harsh stroke of leather, in the middle of her left cheek. As Jen struggled to summon a scream, another whoosh whipped the air. She took in the musk of the leather—before pain chomped into her right cheek. When he rained another blow to her left, the shriek finally manifested. The right again. Back to speechlessness, fighting to accept the agony that would soon bring ecstasy. Or so she hoped.

  She was already tempted to call red light, when Sam’s new growl filled the air. She’d never heard a sound like it. Deep. Dark. Dripping with carnality. Coarse with need. “I knew the crop would love your ass, darlin’. Knew that your skin would take my marks so perfectly.” Another rumble, twice as entrancing as the first, flowed as he whipped her again: two more blows on each stinging cheek. “Take it in, sweet Jenny. These memories in your skin…take them into your spirit, too. Twist them inside of you. Weave me inside of you.”

  She sighed. “You’re already there.”

  “Not deep enough.” He emphasized with another two strokes. “Let the pain open it deeper…then pour me inside the crack. Let me into the places that mean you’ll never forget me. That mean you’ll never think yourself unworthy ever again.”

  More smacks. More pain. More spaces, so far inside, that cracked open and flooded with the adoration, strength, and majesty in his voice.

  More of herself…surrendered to him.

  More of the composure she could no longer hold together.

  His passion set her tears free. They burst on messy sobs, and she didn’t care. A vision danced across her mind. She was five or six, twirling in the front yard with a “wand” made from a stick and some party streamers. She was magical and perfect…so many years before the world began to tell her she wasn’t. Before she became the dork, the brain, the geek, “the weird one”.

  Now, she danced in the light again. Streamers of pleasure and pain blew across her senses. The beauty of it was…intense. Blazing. Blinding. And everywhere in that heaven, there was Sam. Always Sam. Now leaning over her, brushing back her hair to collect her tears with his kisses. Pressing against her, so his heat and strength permeated her body. His satin vest caressed her back, his wool kilt scraped her ass…and teased further between her legs. As if she needed a reminder of how her body craved him as much as her soul did.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured. “Damn, Jenny…how beautiful you are to me.”

  Sensations continued to bombard. The streamers morphed into other images. They turned into his sinewy form, body rolling as he’d pushed into her, in his room fifty floors above. The teasing swipes of his kilt against her pussy were more instigators, making her tremble. And still, she sobbed in the throes of the breakthrough he’d given her. Which way was up? And did she care? She only knew she longed for more. Needed it like her next damn breath. Needed him.

  “Sam. Sam.”

  “I know, darlin’. I know.”

  She whimpered in protest. He didn’t know. She needed more of him. All of him…

  A crinkle of foil serrated the air. The kilt didn’t abrade her ass anymore. There was furnace heat…and the push of a steely knob at the cushions guarding her intimate tunnel.

  “I need to fill you.” He prodded in a little more, circling his hips to stroke every sensitive edge of her entrance. “Will you have me inside you, Jenny? Will you let me fuck your perfect little cunt?”

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  She didn’t remember saying yes. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe he’d just heard the cry that echoed from her heart, resonated through her being, drawing his cock inside her, as inevitable as the sun in her visions.

  As undeniable as her love for him.

  Ohhhh, shit.

  She loved him.

  The truth of it punched free as he peeled back the last of her defenses, replacing her barriers with the fullness of his body. Jen let it crash in, racking her in harder sobs, knowing this would be the only time she could. Between the tears she’d already shed and Sam’s relentless pace, she’d be able to weep for every woe in the world and get away with it at this point.

  “That’s it, darlin’.” He was none the wiser, either—thank God. “Give it to me, Jenny.” His words were harsh and hot in her ear; his teeth dug into the flesh beneath. “Take me deeper. Deeper.”

  She interrupted her sobs long enough to gasp as he shoved her dress higher. Then shriek as he reached beneath her bra, tugging hard at one nipple. Harder at the other.

  “Sam! Shit!”

  He twisted her nipple tighter. And again, the other. “Who am I?”

  “Sir.” She panted it out, hissing as he pushed his knees between hers, pushing them out farther. “You are…Sir.”

/>   He penetrated her deeper. “And who gives you all your pain…and all your freedom?”

  “You. Only you, Sir.”

  He growled low. Changed his pounding pace into a more determined drive. “And if we were still in the bar, who would you pick to fuck you?”

  “You.” The confession cracked from emotion. “It’s always been you. Just you.”

  He released a long breath against her neck. “Christ, Jenny. And it’s always been just you, too.” His thrusts were so deep, the clap of their bodies reverberated off the walls. The sound barely registered past the blood thrumming through her ears, especially as he snaked a hand between her legs from the front. “Come with me, beauty. Let it all go for me.”

  She couldn’t have denied him if her life depended on it. As his knowing fingers stroked her to orgasm, she wondered if she was dying. Surely heaven didn’t give this kind of gift and expect nothing in return. Her nerve endings were fire. Her heartbeat was chaos. Every inch of her sex was an inferno, blazing and bright, convulsing and cataclysmic, squeezing over Sam’s cock with the needy desperation of a Tolstoy heroine.

  Sam…

  “Jenny. Oh fuck…Jenny.”

  I love you…

  “Take it all from me now, too.”

  Yes!

  He shoved in hard then froze. Groaned hard as his cock expanded against her walls then shot off. Bellowed as he exploded again and again in the dark, tight embrace of her body.

  But the very next moment, Sam started pumping again. He threw a leg over, bracing his foot against the headboard, still slicing in and out, as if he hadn’t just climaxed with the gusto of a lion.

  “Goddamn, woman,” he snarled. “It won’t stop. I can’t—” Another rough groan. Harder, harsher thrusts. “Fuck. Fuck.”

  His lust whipped hers into a new frenzy. Within a minute, Jen’s sex grabbed him all over again, clenching his shaft as a new climax tumbled her into darker oblivion. “I can’t stop, either. I…can’t…” Unbelievably, it was better than the first. Waves of white heat demolished like a Biblical storm, ripping screams of ecstasy up her already-parched throat. Her senses dissolved. Her body shook.

  Her world was changed.

  The truth of it wrapped like ropes lashed to moorings in that storm, refusing to be loosened even after Sam released the cuffs and lowered the bed. It was still relentless as he pulled out, tossed the condom into the bin near the bed, then collapsed into the mountain of pillows—taking her with him.

  Without a word he tucked her head against his chest, evoking deep intimacy though they lay there mostly clothed. His lungs still heaved like he’d just burned through an intense flight, raising her up and down. His heartbeat roared like afterburners beneath her ear.

  “Holy God,” he muttered.

  I love you, her soul sighed back.

  “Well, there’s a fantasy crossed off my list.”

  She turned, propping her chin atop her folded hands, enough to watch the recessed lighting tease into his mesmerizing gray eyes. “Which fantasy would that be? Getting to play with this starship disguised as a bed?”

  “Close, but no.” He twisted her hair around his finger while biting his bottom lip, then lifting a shit-eating grin. The look was so hot, she swore she was wet again. “Gettin’ the chance to put my personal signature across your gorgeous backside.”

  Yep. Wet. Officially.

  She pulled in a breath, closing her eyes. “It was…very nice.”

  Sam pushed the pillow higher under his head, using the new angle to contemplate her more closely. “You mean that, don’t you?”

  She let her smile widen. “To be honest, my own fantasies have danced a little around it.”

  His gaze turned the color of smoldering charcoal. “A little…or a lot?”

  “Depends.” She met his stare directly, sensing he still didn’t fully believe her. “If it was one of my daydreams, then just a little. But if you caught me alone at home, thinking about you in bed…”

  “You’ve thought about me? In bed?” When she nodded again, he pressed, “And…daydreams. You’ve thought about me at the office, too?”

  She stalled for a moment. Maybe one more. Shit. Talk about blabbing oneself into a corner. How much did she reveal before it was too much?

  Or was anything too much?

  What was the worst thing that could happen? That she spilled her heart tonight, then things turned bizarro-kitty for Sam and her? Wasn’t like they’d have to endure the weirdness forever. Two weeks and he was bugging back to Scotland for good.

  Fourteen days. Somehow, two weeks of the awkwardness tango seemed a tinier price to pay than the lifetime after: the disgusting what-if of never saying anything at all.

  “You’re a damn hard one not to think about, Sam Mackenna.”

  The corner of his mouth jolted up. It was a look he’d flashed a thousand times before, part bashful and part resolved, but never had it carried tonight’s extra element: utter sensuality.

  “And you’re an impossible one not to think about, Jenny Thorne.”

  While she dealt with the flying senses and gooey bloodstream from that, his features twisted with a new expression. It didn’t make her uncomfortable but it sure as hell wasn’t easy to take in.

  “Is that…a problem?” she asked tentatively.

  “The fact that I cannot stop thinking about you?” A fraction of his grin returned. “No, mouse. Not that.”

  “Not that?” The echo didn’t lend a molecule of insight. “But there is a problem?”

  He pointed to the foot of the bed, where the cuffs still dangled as proof of the pleasure he’d just given—and taken from—her. “That was fairly much my fantasy. But now that you’ve admitted it met a few of yours, we’re sittin’ at an impasse.”

  “Why?”

  He cupped the back of her neck. Massaged his long fingers upward, against her scalp. “Because now it’s your turn.”

  “For what?”

  “For fantasies bein’ granted.”

  She laughed. Loudly. Couldn’t be helped. “Is that so?”

  The corners of his eyes and mouth tightened. “Hmmm. Yes. Impasse.” He rose to his haunches, once more giving him the advantage of height over her. Height—and the authority leant by that damnably gorgeous kilt. “But you should be forewarned. I’m wicked good at conquering impasses.”

  She laughed once more. Still couldn’t be helped, though nerves were more the motivation now. “Sayeth the high laird Mackenna?

  “Officially, my name’s more Irish, if you must know. But when the famine hit in the eighteen hundreds, someone hopped on a boat somewhere, then stuck his banger where it didn’t belong.”

  She grinned. “Imagine that.”

  He didn’t emulate her look. “You’re tryin’ to change the subject again.” Silent as a ninja, he grabbed up her hands. “Why?”

  She glanced away. Because I’m in love with you. Because I can’t deny it or ignore it any longer. Because every time you fulfill one of my fantasies, it’s better than what I ever thought or imagined it could be. And because if you do it again, I might not be able to keep any of this inside anymore—and I’ll ruin not just tonight, but everything we’ve built before now.

  “Sam.” She gently twisted her hands free. Without his to surround them, they were cold…lost. Stop it. Put on your big girl panties and get the hell over this. Now. “Okay, look—”

  “I am. With pleasure.”

  She could resist the seduction in his tone—but the rough burr he gave the final syllable? Dammit. Her gaze lifted like ions to a rain cloud. And wasn’t that the scarily perfect comparison? His eyes were combinations of silver and black that could only be described as perfect tempests. Like helpless leaves in those storms, everything inside swirled and tumbled before fluttering lower…even lower.

  “All right, knock it off.”

  “Knock what off?” he smoothly countered. “The lookin’ part? Or the ‘with pleasure’ part?”

  God. She didn�
��t believe the let’s-just-be-buddies-again thing any more than he did. But it wasn’t a storm they could dance in any longer. It was time for reality. Past time.

  “Both.” She was proud of herself. The big girl tone was very convincing.

  “Why?”

  She steeled her chin along with her resolve. Doing great. Just a few minutes more. “It’s late, Sam.”

  Though his hands stayed on his thighs, he leaned in by several inches, using his torso. “Which means what?”

  Damn. He still smelled as good as he had three hours ago. Maybe better. Lust suited the man—all too well. “That my best friend’s getting married in about twelve hours, and I owe it to her to be fully rested.”

  He pushed even closer. The resolve in his eyes, carrying the force of polished steel, sucked her breath away. “That one’s weak. You know that, right?” Before she could fume out a comeback, he pushed on, “You’d give Tess your all even if you had to tromp ten miles over glass in the snow.”

  She scowled. “Thanks for the imagery.”

  The expression didn’t last long. She had to abandon it for more enchantment, as he once more braced her face and yanked up her chin. “You’re mine for at least eight of those twelve hours…and I intend to use them well.”

  A rickety breath soughed down her throat. So much for him having the corner on lust here. “Sam—”

  “You have more fantasies about me, Jenny.” His head tilted. His fingers flowed against her hairline. “A lot more. Don’t lie about that one, either.”

  “Who says I’m lying?” Pure need returned to her voice in a rasp. Her lips were dry as sawdust. It made her shiver again. She combatted the fear by lifting a hand, clutching him in return. Her fingers slid into the thick ginger strands at the edge of his face. “Who says I even want to try?” She swallowed, letting her senses tumble in the storms of his gaze. Only for a moment. Just let me have this moment. “Oh, Captain Mackenna. If you only knew.”

  “Miss Thorne, if it’s anythin’ like my fantasies of you, then I do know.”