Long Slow Tease: Penance Part 13

"Stand up."

Once she managed to get to her feet she saw the first hint of emotion on his face, anger.

"What the f.u.c.k did you do to yourself? You're f.u.c.king skin and bones."

She opened her mouth to defend herself, to say she was okay, but she remembered that she wasn't allowed to speak before the first sound came out.

Shaking his head, he walked around her before coming up behind her back, close enough that she could feel his heat, but not giving her the physical contact she craved.

"Since you can't seem to take care of it properly, this body belongs to me," he murmured near her ear, sending chills down her spine. "And let me make something clear to you right now, Sapphire, I'm not going to go easy on you. You're going to hate me, and that's okay, because I'm going to give you everything you need. By the time I'm done with you you'll never go to another man for your pain again because you will know, without a doubt, that the agony I can offer you is more than anyone else ever could. Do you understand?"

She nodded and closed her eyes, fighting the urge to lean back into Wyatt. All she could keep thinking, all she could focus on was that he was here, he'd come back for her, she would do anything, anything to keep him in her life. When he moved around to her front again he stood almost close enough to kiss and she tilted her head up, silently begging him to touch her, to love her.

"I need your word on this, Mich.e.l.le. I need you to promise me you will do everything I tell you, even if you hate it, even if you think it's stupid and you don't want to. You may speak to make your promise."

"I promise, Wyatt." Her voice broke and more tears trailed down her cheeks.

For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, then his expression hardened. "Follow me, and remember, you do not have my permission to speak."

She wondered what he planned for her, but he didn't take her to any of the BDSM equipment. Instead he led her through the club and she took a quick glance around. People continued to watch them and she blushed beneath their scrutiny, but she couldn't see Yuki or James anywhere. When Wyatt led her out into the foyer she meekly took her purse from the bouncer and followed Wyatt out the front door, disconcerted by his lack of attention to her. Now that the shock of seeing him was wearing off she had a thousand, a million questions, but he'd forbidden her to speak.

Already his command chaffed at her, and she berated herself for her weakness. She'd sworn to him that she would do everything he told her, but it was much harder than she'd antic.i.p.ated to not break the first command he'd given her. They walked through the parking lot until they came to a big black truck that looked brand new. She had to bite her tongue when Wyatt opened the door for her and that new car smell filled the grey leather interior. The brief contact of his hand against her as he helped her up into her seat burned her. He closed the door and she placed her hand over the skin that still tingled from his touch, trying to seal in his warmth.

When he got in and started the truck she waited for him to say something, to look at her, but all he did was drive out of the parking lot. She stole glances at him out of the corner of her eye as they drove, little peeks that she hoped he didn't notice. Wyatt looked good, healthy and strong, probably the total opposite of how she looked. The fog of apathy that had overtaken her life was slowly beginning to lift, and as it did, she noticed small things about herself, like the fact that her nails looked like s.h.i.t. To anyone else that probably didn't seem like a big deal, but one of the things she'd always loved was her weekly manicures, at least while she was in the civilian world. When she'd been deployed her nails had always been bare and kept short, devoid of any kind of feminine touch.

The thought of being deployed brought her mind back around to Wyatt and she wondered how he was doing with his PTSD. Probably a h.e.l.l of a lot better than she was. She knew without a doubt that she'd been suffering from a form of PTSD for a long, long time now, at least since Owen's death, that had only been compounded by her time in the military, but she thought she had a handle on it. Or at the very least, that she could ignore it, but she had a feeling that part of her irrational behavior stemmed from her PTSD. She glanced at Wyatt again, taking in his profile, her heart rejoicing anew that he was here with her.

A brief burst of anger went through her as she wondered why Wyatt hadn't told her that he intended to come back, why he and Petrov hadn't let her know that he was training with her old mentor. That fact still shocked her and she leaned forward enough to look at Petrov's House patch on Wyatt's vest. Of all the things she thought Wyatt was doing while they were apart, training to be a Dom wasn't one of them. She leaned back in her seat and rested her forehead against the window, her thoughts at once speeding through her head and stalling to a complete stop as her mind struggled to adjust to the rapid changes in her life.

She must have fallen asleep because the motion of someone picking her up startled her awake, and she struggled against the sensation of being held.

"Easy, Mich.e.l.le, I've got you."

At the sound of Wyatt's voice she opened her eyes, the disorientation clearing as she looked up and found Wyatt carrying her. A m.u.f.fled sob escaped her, and she clung to him as best she could while he walked with her in his arms. It was still night outside, but to her surprise the air held the familiar tang of the ocean. When she looked around she saw that Wyatt was carrying her along a set of paving stones to a beautiful beach house elevated on stilts. It wasn't huge, more of a two story cottage, but it was painted a soothing pale yellow and had a wraparound porch that encircled the home with deck furniture scattered here and there. Farther down the beach gleamed the lights of distant houses but they were on a relatively isolated stretch of what had to be the Gulf of Mexico.

"Can you walk?"

She almost said something, then nodded instead.

He let her down and she reluctantly stepped away from him, yearning for his arms around her but unsure of her standing with him. Without another word he walked toward the house and she followed him as best she could in her high heels, having to take small steps from stone to stone so she didn't sink into the sand. On either side of the path and around the house long gra.s.s whispered against itself in the breeze off the ocean. She took a deep breath of the clean, salty scent and felt something loosen in her heart.

When Wyatt reached the weathered wood stairs leading to the entrance of the cottage he paused and looked over his shoulder at her.

"Take off your shoes, and your clothes."

For a moment she stared at him, but when he didn't relent she did as he asked with shaking hands until she stood nude in the dim illumination coming from the lanterns on either side of the front door.

If she'd been hoping for some kind of l.u.s.tful reaction from him she would have been wrong. Instead of desire she clearly read shock, then anger in his face. He strode over to her and jerked the clothes and boots from her arms, tossing them over to the side before he gripped her arm and spun her in a circle.

"Jesus Christ, you're a f.u.c.king skeleton. Were you trying to kill yourself? No, don't answer me. I'm so f.u.c.king p.i.s.sed right now that the last thing I want to hear is your bulls.h.i.t."

His words hurt and she crossed her arms over her chest, curling in on herself. She wanted to tell him that it wasn't that bad, but she could feel her bones as she hugged herself and when she looked down the bones of her hips stuck out from the concave hollow of her stomach. When he didn't say anything more, only turned away from her and took the steps up to the house, she followed him feeling like a pathetic, whipped puppy.

Once they were inside, Wyatt flipped on the lights, revealing a quaint living room decorated in pale blue and tan tones that opened up into a small kitchen. A set of stairs led to a loft that looked out over the living room, and a door off the kitchen opened to what she a.s.sumed was the bathroom. It was a very pretty, comforting place, and she wondered who it belonged to. She stood next to the front door, unsure of what to do as Wyatt stalked into the kitchen. He looked so odd in his leather among the soft, inviting comfort of the cottage but she felt even weirder standing there naked.

He opened the door to the refrigerator and looked up. "You're going to eat."

Her stomach cramped at the thought, but she didn't dare argue with him. She could tell that he was close to losing his temper, though she wasn't sure why he was so mad at her. Yes, she could stand to gain a few pounds, but he seemed to take the current state of her body as a personal insult. A small portion of her psyche was p.i.s.sed that he was ordering her to eat, but at the same time, she was just so d.a.m.n grateful to see him that she'd do pretty much anything he asked as long as he would forgive her, touch her, hold her, kiss her.

Look at her with something other than disgust.

Taking a covered dish from the fridge he set it on the counter and motioned to the small table in front of the breakfast bar that divided the kitchen from the living room. "Sit."

She did as ordered, a slight shiver working through her at the chill of the room. Wyatt absorbed every bit of her attention as she watched him move around the kitchen, warming up something that smelled good before pouring a large gla.s.s of milk. After grabbing a fork he brought her meal to her. Her stomach actually growled at the smell of what looked like some kind of beef stew. She wanted to ask him who made it, where he'd gotten it from, what they were doing here, and a thousand other things but she somehow managed to keep quiet, but it was a struggle.

"Eat. I'm going to go change. When I come back I want to see an empty bowl. You will no longer punish yourself by not eating. Punishing you is my job now."

Fear of disappointing him filled her, and she gave the amount of food a panicked look before glancing back up at him, silently pleading with him to not make her eat all of it. After depriving herself of food for so long her stomach had shrunk. She didn't think all that rich stew would fit or if she'd manage to keep it down. Wyatt studied her, then his face softened the slightest bit.

"Eat what you can, Mich.e.l.le. But the more you eat the more you'll please me."

Those words unlocked the part of her heart that needed to earn his forgiveness, and she picked up her spoon and began to eat. At first every swallow was a struggle as her stomach cramped up. She had to take deep breaths and force her body to accept the food. Soon the nausea pa.s.sed and she actually felt better, enough that she managed to drink all of her milk and ate more than half of her stew. By the time she was full to the point of feeling like she would burst she looked up to find Wyatt watching her from the blue couch in the living room. He'd changed into a pair of black lounge pants and a dark blue t-shirt that clung to his powerful chest and arms.

She'd been so wrapped up in doing what he wanted her to do that she hadn't noticed him return.

"Finished?" he asked in a low voice.

She nodded, her gaze going from the stew to Wyatt and back again, hoping she'd eaten enough to please him.

"Go use the bathroom then come up to the loft. It's time for bed."

Her heart surged at the thought of sleeping with Wyatt, of cuddling close to him and losing herself in his warmth, in his heat. She quickly used the bathroom and found an unopened toothbrush in the small vanity over the sink. After a quick brush, she examined her face and sighed, knowing that she could do nothing about the dark circles under her eyes. She stared at herself, wondering how Wyatt could ever be attracted to her when she did indeed look like a walking skeleton.

When she came back into the living room she found that he'd turned the lights off, but a golden glow came from the loft. She eagerly took the stairs, antic.i.p.ation filling her until she caught sight of the loft and her breath caught in her throat. A large, four poster bed took up most of the s.p.a.ce, but next to it was a sleeping mat with a pillow and a blanket. The gleam of metal caught her eye, and it took her a moment to realize that a chain and cuff had been attached to the bottom of the bed, a sight so similar to the one that she had on her bed at home that she knew immediately Wyatt was going to make her sleep on the floor.

He reclined on the bed, still dressed in his t-shirt and pants, and watched her intently. It hurt her heart so much that he wasn't going to let her sleep with him that for a moment she considered running out the front door, trying to escape the pain, but she was helpless to resist the need to please him. His forgiveness could be earned; he told her that and she trusted him, believed him. Wyatt wouldn't lie to her. She was the liar in this relationship.

With a heavy heart, she walked to the side of the bed and knelt without being told.

"Put the cuff on, Mich.e.l.le."

She did as he asked, wishing it was his fingers strapping the black leather cuff to her ankle. It had been lined with sheepskin and was comfortable, but it was also the tether that kept her out of his arms, a visible symbol of her submission to him. Seeing the cuff on her ankle made her want to jerk it off, to establish her independence, but she couldn't. Tamping down her dominant nature was a struggle, but when she looked up at Wyatt she managed to keep from removing it. He stared at her until she dropped her gaze. His fingers traced over her cheek a moment later in a soft caress that brought tears to her eyes.

"Sleep, Mich.e.l.le, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

He turned out the light and she laid down on her mat, drawing the thick blanket over herself. It wasn't the most comfortable place she'd ever slept, but also not the worst. She turned so she could look out over the dark living area and listened to the soft sounds of Wyatt moving around in the bed and his quiet breathing, and behind that, the dim roar of the ocean coming through a partially opened window somewhere. Part of her hoped that he would engage in some s.e.xual play, tease her the way she teased him when he'd been the one chained to her bed, but he didn't and she soon found herself drifting, matching her breath to his until her body relaxed and she sighed, the tension slowly leaving her.

Staring out into the night she began to pray, thanking G.o.d for bringing Wyatt back to her and begging Him to help her find a way to be worthy of his love again.

Chapter 11.

Wyatt woke with a start, his heart racing as he looked around the unfamiliar room in a panic, trying to identify what had awoken him. Then he heard it again, a soft feminine whimper that had him vaulting over the side of the bed, fearing that somehow Mich.e.l.le had been hurt during the night. The sun had just begun to break over the horizon, giving him more than enough light to see Mich.e.l.le, and as soon as he did, his heart broke all over again at the sight of his formidable Mistress reduced to...this.

The sight of the restraint on her ankle shamed him, made him feel like an abusive a.s.shole, but he had to stop himself from removing it. He needed to be strong, not for himself, but for her. He knelt next to her, smoothing her hair off her sweaty face, stroking her until her soft cries ceased and she settled. Sometime during the night the blanket had shifted off of her and as he counted the b.u.mps of her spine his stomach clenching at how frail she'd become during his absence. Yuki had kept him up to date on Mich.e.l.le, but he had no idea how bad she was until he saw her last night, looking ready to faint at any moment. Then when he'd seen her nude he was pretty sure he was the one that almost pa.s.sed out at how thin she was.

Unable to find a release for her inner pain, she'd turned to torturing herself, and he hated her a little bit for that but hated himself more that he'd let Petrov keep them apart this long.

Wyatt knew logically he needed the time apart to get his own life in order, but he feared that Mich.e.l.le had paid a hard price for his absence. While he was busy learning to Top, going through daily therapy, and starting his custom furniture making business, Mich.e.l.le had basically sealed herself away from the world in her house. It had killed him to not be able to reach out to her, to rea.s.sure her that he was coming back, but he'd held strong for her. He just never thought she wouldn't be strong enough to hold out for him.

For a moment he wavered with his course of action for the days to come, but that was his heart talking, the part of him that wanted to coddle Mich.e.l.le and serve her. His brain knew Mich.e.l.le needed more than his love, she needed his determination and his help. It would kill him to have to maintain this facade of cold indifference, but Mich.e.l.le had to feel like she was earning her way back into his life, that she was paying the price for betraying him. Even the fact that she'd gone to Petrov for a beating no longer bothered him as much. Wyatt had spent a great deal of time learning not only the mechanics of BDSM, but the psychology as well. He'd talked to dozens of people who had been in the lifestyle for years and came to realize that while Mich.e.l.le's need for penance was unconventional, it wasn't unique. Many people used pain as an outlet for emotions they could no longer control, feelings that threatened to drown them. It was just such a foreign concept to Wyatt that it had taken him awhile to get it, but now that he did, he knew what he needed to do.

But, first things first. He had to get Mich.e.l.le physically healthy again before he could start to help her rebuild their relationship on solid ground.

After giving her a soft kiss on her cheek, wishing he could do a whole lot more, he went to the dresser on the other side of the room and looked through the drawers for Mich.e.l.le's exercise clothing. Yuki had sent him a box of Mich.e.l.le's things, and he selected a pair of silky pink jogging shorts and a worn grey t-shirt along with thick socks and functional underwear including a sports bra. He set her clothing on the bed then took out her running shoes and put them on the mattress next to her clothes.

She slept through all of it, her soft breathing the only sound in the room.

He stared at her for a long time and watched her sleep. She was beautiful beyond compare even in her brittle state. Her long, golden hair spread out around her, and he promised himself that if he could get through today without cracking he would give himself the pleasure of brushing it tonight. Yes, he was supposed to be her Dom, but his heart wasn't really in it. The only reason he was capable of the hardships he was about to put her through was because by doing this he was serving her. It didn't make sense, but that was the truth of the matter. In his heart he knew she needed this, needed his tough love, so he would endure when all he wanted to do was fall to his knees before her and worship her, to make her smile, to make her laugh until that strength that he so loved managed to rise above the depression that had overtaken her life.

He took a deep breath and put his game face on, knowing that by the end of the day she was going to be calling him every dirty name in the book.

"Sapphire! Get your lazy a.s.s out of your rack and get the f.u.c.k up!"

It did his heart good to watch her immediately scramble to her feet while she frantically scanned the room with a look of fear as she tried to figure out where she was.

He hadn't lost his touch as a drill sergeant after all.

When her gaze landed on him she blinked, then scowled and opened her mouth before shutting it so quick she almost amputated her tongue.

Keeping his expression cold, giving her his best 'don't f.u.c.k with me' face, he nodded to the bed. "Get dressed and meet me downstairs."

He left before she could answer and went downstairs to the kitchen where he took a carton of eggs out of the fridge then started to make breakfast. Before he'd managed to pour the scrambled eggs mixed with high calorie cheese into the pan on the stove Mich.e.l.le appeared, her legs still beautiful despite the lack of their usual muscular tone. She must have found the package of hair bands he'd left on the dresser because her hair was pulled back from her face, making her blue eyes look enormous in the morning light.

Looking away, she went and used the bathroom, returning a few moments later and standing uncertainly on the other side of the breakfast island.

"Sit down. We're going to eat then we're going for a run."

He could almost hear her groan of despair as she sat at the table, then raised her leg to begin stretching out her feet and ankles. The sight of her distracted him, so he turned back to the food, quickly finishing it up and serving her a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and a big gla.s.s of orange juice along with b.u.t.tered toast. As they ate, she kept sneaking shy peeks at him and he had a b.i.t.c.h of a time keeping his hands to himself. He wanted to stroke her, to touch her, to bury his face against her neck and inhale her unique scent. He'd missed her so f.u.c.king much and now she was here, but he couldn't touch her without jeopardizing everything.

As soon as she was finished he stood and grabbed her plate before setting it in the sink. "After we get back from our run I want you to shower, then you'll do the dishes, nude. You aren't allowed to wear clothes when we are inside, and it's my prerogative if you wear them when we're on the beach."

A pretty blush heated her cheeks and fire flashed through her eyes before she gave him a stiff nod. Yuki had keyed him into the fact that Mich.e.l.le hated doing housework, so he planned to use that to his advantage. One way or another he'd get her to lose control and speak without permission, and once she did he would have a chance to show her just how tough he could be when she needed it. And he'd be lying if the thought of what he wanted to do to her wasn't making blood rush to his c.o.c.k. f.u.c.k, he'd been seven weeks without s.e.x, yet surrounded by s.e.x at the same time and his libido was making him feel like a teenage boy on v.i.a.g.r.a.

But good things came to those who waited, and he was going to have fun making his Mistress spitting mad.

An hour later, he was running behind Mich.e.l.le, d.o.g.g.i.ng her every step of the way back to the beach house. He knew that at this point it was only her stubborn nature keeping her going, but she looked ready to pa.s.s out. If she hadn't been swearing at him under her breath with every step she took he'd be more worried about her, but if she was well enough to curse him, she was well enough to keep running. They were currently jogging through the packed sand where the ocean met the seash.o.r.e and he took a deep breath, loving the smell of the Gulf.

The sun beat down on them and he was glad they were almost back because while he wanted Mich.e.l.le to suffer, he didn't want her sunburned.

She was slowing down, her feet dragging, so he decided to up the pace just to be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"Move your f.u.c.king a.s.s, Sapphire. I want to see nothing but ankles and elbows. Jesus, when did you turn into such a f.u.c.king weak little girl?"

That got her to the wooden boardwalk that led through the gra.s.sy dunes to the house, but when she tried to climb the first step she stumbled and landed on her a.s.s on the sand. Instead of getting up she fell back, her chest heaving and the sand sticking to her sweaty skin. He examined her carefully, giving her a moment to gather her breath, before lighting into her again. While he couldn't cane her like Petrov had, he could make her suffer in ways that would make her stronger. In a weird way he was putting Mich.e.l.le through his own version of boot camp, and just like every recruit who'd ever been chewed out by a drill instructor, Mich.e.l.le was probably hating his guts right now.

"What the f.u.c.k, Sapphire? Are you just going to lay there like a piece of dog s.h.i.t waiting to dry up in the sun? Pathetic."

She opened her eyes enough to glare at him, and it made him happy to see that the cringing, defeated look no longer marred her gaze, at least for the moment. He waited for her to speak, but even though her mouth opened and closed, and her lips formed words, she didn't say anything. Wyatt had to give her credit, she'd managed to keep her temper longer than he thought she would, but that was okay, he had all the time in the world to give Mich.e.l.le all the tough love she needed to forgive herself.

"If you're too much of a f.u.c.king pansy to run, then you'll do some mountain climbers for me."

Oh, yeah, that p.i.s.sed her off.

She sat up, glaring at him, sand coating her now and her sweat-soaked shirt clinging to her body. With obvious effort she rolled over to her front and began to do mountain climbers, her legs and arms shaking. After a dozen she collapsed again, her lungs heaving.

He got right down on the ground with her, putting his face next to hers as he yelled at her.

"Get the f.u.c.k up and climb, lieutenant! a.s.s in the air, let's go! Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up!"

She tried, but her arms refused to hold her and she face planted. When she looked up and he saw how her face was coated with sand like one of those facial masks women liked to use he couldn't help laughing. As soon as he did her temper snapped and she threw a handful of sand at him.

With her lips pulled back in a snarl she screamed, "f.u.c.k you!"

As soon as the words left her mouth she got wide eyed and slapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

He had her now.

He stood, grabbed her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, easily bearing her weight as he jogged down the boardwalk with Mich.e.l.le bouncing on his shoulder. One of the things he'd done during his training with Petrov was get back into working out like he used to in the Marines and his body was in prime shape. Mich.e.l.le, on the other hand, was about as weak as a day old kitten and he planned on using that to his advantage.

When he reached the outdoor shower beneath the house, he carefully slid her off his shoulder. The shower was little more than a shower head, a small shelf with soap and some smooth stones to stand on, and a handle that would open the cold water tap. "Strip."

It took her longer than usual because of her shaking limbs, but once she was naked he thrust her beneath the shower, grinning to himself as she shrieked at the cool water.

"I'm going upstairs to shower. I expect to see you up there as soon as you're done."

He quickly raced up the steps and into the house, grabbing a change of clothes before he took his own shower. After throwing on a pair of loose tan shorts and a t-shirt from his favorite bar in Austin, he went back out into the kitchen area and found a nude Mich.e.l.le kneeling next to the front door. She'd knotted her wet hair atop her head and was in a lovely submissive kneeling position, her thighs slightly spread so he could see the ball-tightening sight of her pink s.e.x and golden curls. Evidently she'd stopped shaving her p.u.s.s.y while they'd been apart and he mentally added a spa visit for her to his list of things to do.

Walking slowly, giving himself time to appreciate the view of her fragile body, he stopped close enough that he could feel her breath against his hand. She closed her eyes and tension filled her, making her tremble slightly. He would have given his left nut to know what she was thinking right now, but they weren't at the point where he could trust anything she said yet.

Still, she'd done what he'd asked of her this morning so now, finally, he could reward her with a small bit of affection.