by Mayburn, Ann
Right now she was sitting out on the deck reading a book on meditation she found interesting, if a bit flaky, as the gentle crash of waves soothed her. While she wasn’t into the whole inner light of god bullshit, she did like the way meditation could help focus her thoughts. Her therapist had suggested that she might want to look into it as a way to side-step the mental barriers her mind put up around the memories that lay at the root of her PTSD. Right now she was trying to remember times in her life when she’d been truly happy as a child and it was more difficult than she’d thought, even though she knew she’d been happy. It seemed like whenever she thought of her parents only bad memories dominated her thoughts. She realized that even before Owen’s death, she’d begun to withdraw from her family and never looked forward to being with them, hurting not only her parents but herself as well.
The soft breeze off the ocean blew over her bare legs exposed by her worn denim shorts and she put her feet up on the railing, sinking back further into the comfortable deck chair. Evening was once again beginning to fall, but instead of another beautiful sunset the sky was low and heavy, making her glad that the breeze kept the worst of the humidity down. Wyatt was right, looking out at the Gulf remind her of how small she was in the universe, yet to her man she was its center.
“Hey, baby, what’cha doin’?”
She turned to the sound of Wyatt’s voice, smiling as he stepped out of the house minus his t-shirt. As always the sight of his tattoo sent a surge of primal satisfaction through her. That was her mark, her brand on his body and even the thought that Daniella put it there didn’t bother her anymore. Hell, the other woman was putting Michelle’s seal on Wyatt’s magnificent body and she had to admit Daniella was very talented.
“Just reading.” She dog eared the page and set her book aside, looking up at him. “Let me see your hand.”
He grimaced and held his right hand out, his pinkie finger starting to bruise but not swell up too bad. “I can’t believe I hit myself with a hammer. My dad would have my ass for allowing myself to be distracted by you.”
She felt a momentary flash of guilt, but couldn’t help her grin. “It’s not my fault I spilled my water on myself. I’m so clumsy.”
He barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Yeah, right.”
Actually, she’d spilled her water on her white tank top on purpose. That silly twit, Kelly, from Front Line kept on flirting with Wyatt when she thought Michelle wasn’t around. Wyatt seemed oblivious to Kelly’s attempts to gain his attention and treated her like he treated all women, with respect. That seemed to only encourage the woman and she was always looking for a reason to work with Wyatt on whatever project he was doing at the moment. Today they’d been at a home near Houston working on making it wheelchair accessible for a solider who would be returning from Walter Reed soon after having lost both his legs in a helicopter crash over in Afghanistan.
Wyatt had been nailing some boards together and Kelly was practically draping herself over his body as she worked next to him with her t-shirt tied up under her tits, showing off her firm belly. While Michelle was secure enough with herself to know she was beautiful, Kelly was younger and cute and it had been irritating to see the girl throwing herself at Wyatt, yet again. So when Michelle come out with a bottle of water for her man she’d opened her own and ‘accidentally’ spilled it, making her shirt go transparent.
His reaction had been to slam his finger with his hammer as he started at her breasts. She’d felt bad that he might have really hurt himself, but had enjoyed being able to push Kelly out of the way to get to Wyatt. She was pretty sure he’d been oblivious about the byplay between the two women, but if that girl kept throwing herself on Wyatt she and Michelle were going to have a talk.
The possessive, dominant side of her personality had been trying to rise to the surface lately, pressing at the constraints she tried to keep on herself in order to be submissive to Wyatt. While she knew what to do and how to act, it was a constant strain to be something she wasn’t. For his part, Wyatt seemed comfortable taking on a more traditional protective male role, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he yearned for her to take back some control in their sexual relationship. Well shit, any control at this point. He called one hundred percent of the shots in their sex life, or lack thereof.
But now…now she was choking beneath the yoke of his control. The need to dominate Wyatt, to own him, to allow that wild part of her soul free reign was tearing at her. She wondered if he could feel it, if he could sense that she was ready to return to her role as his Domina. He’d been doing odd things these past few days, small, subtle hints like lowering his eyes in a way that made her think of him submitting to her. Or wearing a pair of sexy dark brown leather wrist bands that made her think of bondage. Something about the sight of his broad, tanned wrists wrapped up in that leather made her whole body hot every time she looked at him. He had the best hands, strong and calloused in a way that felt delicious against her skin when he caressed her.
He’d also turned up the heat on his teasing until she’d been ready to throw him on the floor and fuck his brains out. It was only her need to earn his forgiveness that held her in check, but she was beginning to wonder if maybe he was waiting for her to forgive herself. Once again her sessions with Lisa had led to a different way of thinking, of viewing the word. A less selfish place where she tried to not only pay attention to Wyatt, but to see things from his point of view. Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move.
With those thoughts in mind, she looked over her shoulder at him and let some steel enter her gaze. “Come here.”
He stiffened, in more ways than one. “What?”
“You heard me. Come here, Wyatt.”
Watching her closely, he purposely leaned against the doorframe. Challenging her. She could see it now, that clear indication that if she wanted him, she’d have to take him.
Her Wyatt, ever the Alpha male.
Giving her a smirk, he said, “Make me.”
“I don’t have to make you. You want to come kneel at my feet. Admit it, Wyatt. You’re dying for the touch of your Mistress. I’m going to give you what you need, what we both need.”
He took a step forward, then stopped. “I thought you were going to follow my orders.”
“I have. You and I both know that I’ve worked my ass off for you, done everything you asked of me. Now, come here.”
With a visible hitch in his breathing he came to her side, but didn’t kneel yet. Instead, he loomed over her. That was fine, she knew how to bring a man like Wyatt to his knees. The familiar, wonderful energy of her Top space began to race through her veins in a powerful punch of adrenaline and she took a deep breath. She felt stronger, better than she had in years and she had this amazing man to thank for it.
“Wyatt. Kneel down. I’m going to strain my neck looking up at you.”
Slowly, hesitantly he lowered himself until he was kneeling before her chair with his hands at his side, thighs slightly spread. Despite the indecision in his dark eyes his body relaxed and she smiled at him. He lowered his eyes and said in a low voice, “What is it, Michelle?”
Wrapping her hand in his hair, she jerked his head up so their gaze met. “It’s time to give the control back to me, Wyatt. I’m eternally grateful that you dragged me kicking and screaming out of the abyss of my own mind, but I don’t need you as my Dom anymore, if you ever were. I think that even in topping me you were still serving me, giving me what I needed no matter what it was.”
His eyes widened and she almost laughed at the look of shock on his face. “How did you know?”
“Because, I’m your Domina, Wyatt. I may be flawed, I may have issues, but you picked up the shattered pieces of me and helped me put myself back together. I’m not saying I’m cured, if there even is such a thing, and I know I still have a lot of work ahead of me to get to where I want to be, but I don’t need your punishment anymore. And you’re right. There is no physical pain in the world that can com
pare to what you put me through. Your disappointment in me cut deeper than any whip or cane.”
“I’m not disappointed in you.”
She gave his head a sharp shake, her hand still buried in his silky hair. “You were, and I deserved it. But I’m not going to make you sit through another session of me flogging myself over crap from the past. I need to know, are you ready to be my submissive again, Wyatt?”
He smiled at her, a big genuine smile that lit her up inside. Then she saw the pride in his eyes and her heart ached with her love for him. “Have I ever stopped, Domina?”
“Were you waiting for me to take control? Is that why you wouldn’t make love to me?”
He nodded. “I was hoping you would.”
She wanted to kiss him and choke him, so she released his hair before she pulled it out of his head out of sheer frustration. “You mean I’ve been suffering through your orgasm denial when I didn’t need to?”
“No, baby, you did need it. I knew you needed that time – not to earn my forgiveness, but to forgive yourself.”
Damn, when did he get so wise?
Cupping his rough cheek with her hand she rubbed her thumb against his lips. “Sometimes it’s scary how well you know me. Do you know what I’m thinking?”
He studied her face, then slowly smiled. “You’re thinking about paying me back for all that orgasm denial, aren’t you?”
The smile she gave him made him swallow hard. “Right now I’m thinking about tying you up, torturing you, then fucking you until every drop of seed is drained from your body.”
His mouth opened a closed a couple times before he finally said, “Please.”
Her hands shook as she stroked his face, her fingers taking in the strong bones beneath his rough skin, how his 5 o’clock shadow tingled against her fingertips, and the softness of his lashes beneath her fingers. She’d missed this, missed the right to touch him as she wished. He remained patient before her, but instead of looking down, he watched her with what she could only describe as adoration. Her nose burned and she blinked rapidly to keep the tears back. But they weren’t tears of sorrow; they were tears of joy.
As she ran her fingers through his hair she noticed new threads of grey among all the darkness, but in the unfair way of most men that sign of age only made him all the more appealing to her. He let out a soft sigh as her exploration dipped south, tracing over the pulse beating strong and fierce in his neck, over the broad sweep of his shoulders and down his arms. She touched the tendons and muscles, the skin and flesh that contained such a wonderful spirit. While her caress was sexual, it was also a bonding, a reaffirmation of their mutual devotion.
When her palms swept over his chest and the hair there tickled her a little frisson of lust moved in her blood. She scraped her nails over his hard pectoral muscles, not hard enough to scratch, but enough that he could feel a slight sting. His skin was so dark from his time spent outdoors and even though she’d gained some color, her lighter palm still stood out against his perfect bronze skin. It was at times like these she appreciated how big and strong he was and how delicate her body appeared next to his.
“Domina,” he said in choked whisper as she began to toy with his nipple piercings.
“Do you like that?”
He nodded and she leaned forward so she could rub her nose against his and brush her lips over his mouth while she tugged and played with his piercings. “Me too.”
While he’d given her back control of their sexual relationship, that didn’t mean she was ready to do a heavy scene with him. Being a Domme wasn’t just about whips and chains and all that bullshit. It was about moments like these, where every touch, every breath was laden with erotic promise. She could ask this man to do anything, anything at all for her, and he would. Her nipples tightened and after giving the beach on either side a quick glance in the darkening twilight, she leaned back and stripped off her shirt, then her sports bra.
Wyatt made a pained noise and she smiled down at him. “Not touching me as you wished was its own brand of torture, wasn’t it Wyatt?”
He nodded and his eyes were locked on her breasts, switching from one to the other while he shifted just the slightest bit on his heels. His knees were probably aching from kneeling on the wood, but he’d cripple himself before he admitted it. “Grab one of the beach towels on the railing and fold it before putting it beneath your knees.”
“Yes, Domina.”
Inwardly amused at how quickly he was moving and the slight tremor in his hands, she kept her expression serene and smooth. Wyatt needed to worship her, she understood that. It was part of what being a submissive meant to him – the ability to allow himself to worship the woman he loved without fear of rejection or ridicule. He could take all the time he wanted with her; that was her gift to him.
Though she had to admit, she might speed things along this time because she was dying to come. All those days of orgasm denial had left her in an almost hyper aroused state where just the act of touching him had made her pussy soaking wet. The thought of his talented, delicious mouth on her body had her staring at his lips and trying to figure out if his touch could possibly be as good as her memories insisted it was.
Wyatt smiled and knelt before her again. “I’m yours, Domina, including my lips.”
Cheeky bastard. “Starting with my neck, pleasure me. Take your time and save my nipples for last.”
He glanced over at the padded futon they kept on the deck. “If I may suggest, Mistress, can I pull the futon out so that I may touch you properly?”
What she wanted to say was ‘No, get that big dick out and fuck me right here, right now.’ But instead she said, “Of course.”
His cock pressed against his jeans as he stood and she caught him by one of the belt loops before he could move. “Stay.”
The audible shudder in his breath when she ran her fingertips over the beginning of the sexy v of muscle that led to his cock made her smile. With slow, easy movements she unbuttoned his jeans, then slid the zipper down. Today he wore a pair of pale blue boxer briefs and his cock strained against the soft fabric. The fabric was darker where his precum had soaked into the soft cloth and she tugged his jeans down until they pooled around his feet, leaving him standing before her in his boxer brief, so bright against his dark skin. He was truly beautiful, the symmetry of his body absolute perfection.
And by the grace of God, he was all hers.
She leaned forward and mouthed him through the fabric, the faintest tang of his precum greeting her tongue as she sucked him until the cloth was wet and clinging to him. Repeating the process, she licked and nibbled her way down his shaft until she reached his balls, held snug and tight against him by the cloth. Here she gently mouthed him, pushing against that delicate part of his body with her tongue and smiling against him when he groaned in what sounded almost like agony.
“Are you thinking about what it feels like to slide this big dick down my throat? How the muscles caress you when I swallow against the tip? Or are you thinking of how much I love to drink you down, to not let one drop escape.”
“I am now,” he replied in an unsteady voice.
She smacked his ass. “Behave.”
“Yes, Domina.”
Deciding that she didn’t like the laughter in his tone, she gently pulled his underwear down so his cock sprung out, long, thick and oh so ready to serve her. She rubbed her cheek against him, enjoying the softness of the skin covering his hard length, of the faint scratch of his pubic hair against her lips when she kissed the base and worked her way up. Moving back so her lips brushed the bobbing tip, she reached forward and sank her nails into his ass, grabbing a nice handful of those hard muscles. He flexed in her hands and she captured the crest of his dick in her mouth, slowly tonguing him while his groans blended in with the soft crash of the waves.
It was almost full dark and the clouds had parted to reveal a full moon on the horizon. She loved the way her spit shone on his cock, how his ass contracted and r
eleased like he was fucking her, like he was using the strength of his body to plow into her. Wanting him hotter she looked up and licked her palm before stroking him just how he liked it. He was watching her, his expression one of raw, animalistic hunger. If he had his way her ankles would be up to her ears and he’d be plowing into her right now.
The idea had merit.
After she’d gotten him to the point where she could see his jaw clench with his effort to hold back, she released him and gave him a gentle push, making him stumble with his pants around his ankles.
When he reached down to kick his pants off, she stopped him. “Leave them on. I want you hobbled.”
His grunt of frustration reached her as she stood and stretched leisurely. “Open the bed for me.”
He shuffled over to the futon and moved it so the couch turned into a small bed. While he was doing this she removed her shorts and panties so by the time he turned around, she was nude.
“You’re a fucking Goddess,” he whispered before grabbing his towel and sinking to his knees next to the bed. “Please, Domina, let me taste you. I’m dying for it.”
“What if I only let you taste me? What if I denied you the right to enter my body?”
“Then I would accept your choice. Licking your sweet cunt is heaven.”
“Charmer.”
He gave her an unrepentant grin, his teeth white against the dark tanned skin of his face. Inside a small nightlight burned near the front door, giving her just enough illumination to still admire the sweep of his jaw as she moved past him. Bending over in front of him, she looked over her shoulder and found his gaze focused solely between her thighs and she climbed up on the bed. He was practically salivating and that turned her on something fierce.