Long Slow Tease: Penance Part 14

Cupping her face with his hand, he tilted her chin up so he could look into her beautiful blue eyes. When their gazes met some of that sorrow and self-hatred he'd seen in her earlier had returned. He would have liked to have been able to lean down and kiss her, to tell her he was proud of her, but that darkness in her gaze stopped him. With a mental sigh he went about stoking her inner fire again.

"Next time I run you, I expect you to give it some effort."

Not smiling at the way she bared her teeth at him was a heroic struggle, so he turned away from her and snapped his fingers. "Crawl next to me."

Pretending he didn't hear her growl was even harder, but by the time they'd made it to the living room he'd managed to school his expression again.

He grabbed a large pale blue throw pillow from the couch and tossed it on the floor. "Kneel and open your mouth."

The sound of her moving behind him a.s.sured him she as doing as he asked. Ignoring her, he pulled out the big duffle bag full of BDSM toys he'd stashed behind the sofa and set it on the chair next to Mich.e.l.le. She watched him with wide eyes but he noticed her mouth wasn't open.

"I said open your mouth."

Blinking at him in confusion she opened her mouth wide.

"Hands behind your back. Lace your fingers together."

f.u.c.k she made such a pretty picture like this, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s thrust forward, the sun glinting off her golden hair, her pretty pink lips parted for him. But what made his b.a.l.l.s tighten and his d.i.c.k swell was the edge of dominance seeping back into her posture, her gaze. That intangible power that made her a Mistress battling to break free under the strain of maintaining such a submissive posture. He wanted to tease that strength to the surface, to remind Mich.e.l.le of who she was, of who she wanted to be, and he'd be lying if he didn't say what he was about to do to his beautiful woman wasn't turning him on.

Digging through the bag, he found the toy he wanted to play with and turned to Mich.e.l.le, displaying it to her and grinning when horror filled her expression as soon as she realized what it was.

Chapter 12.

At the sight of the mouth guard in Wyatt's hand it took every bit of willpower Mich.e.l.le had to keep her mouth open. She f.u.c.king hated mouth guards, hated how they were designed to keep her mouth wide open and unable to close. It was such an undignified piece of equipment, something that would have her drooling all over herself.

When she looked up at Wyatt she found him smirking at her she wondered for a moment how he knew she would hate wearing one of those things, but then remembered that he'd trained with Petrov. For the first time she felt a frisson of true fear at the thought of all the things Wyatt now knew about her. Petrov had been a merciless trainer, exposing her to pretty much everything the BDSM world had to offer, and she was pretty sure he'd told Wyatt all of her secrets.

Wyatt watched her carefully, as if waiting for her to refuse, expecting her to refuse. Pride stiffened her spine and even though she knew it was stupid, she didn't want Wyatt to think she was too weak to handle wearing that stupid thing. His constant barrage of comments while he ran her had somehow reawakened the compet.i.tive side of her nature, the part of her that wanted to be the best, to be the leader, to be on top, to be the Mistress. But at the same time whenever she looked at him she remembered his face, his pain when she'd seen him last in the hotel room and the need to seek his forgiveness overwhelmed her.

So even though it took everything she had to stay still, she obediently stayed still as Wyatt put the curved metal p.r.o.ngs of the mouth guard between her lips and fastened it around the back of her head. The guard kept her mouth wide open and even though she knew she couldn't, she tried to close her lips. Already she could feel the spit pooling in her mouth and she atempted to swallow it without much success.

With a soft groan Wyatt took a step back and her gaze went to his c.o.c.k, now hard and tenting out the fabric of his shorts. Arousal flooded through her, a feeling she hadn't experienced since Wyatt had left her. She'd forgotten how good it felt to be turned on and even as she inwardly cringed at how undignified she looked right now, she couldn't help the needy clench of her s.e.x. She wanted him, wanted to taste him, wanted to drink down his come and bring him pleasure. Wanted to do anything and everything he wanted if he would just forgive her.

"f.u.c.k, Mich.e.l.le," he said in a rough voice. "You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

When she looked up at him she saw a momentary flash of heat, of need in his eyes before he once again returned to that cold, emotionless expression that irritated the h.e.l.l out of her. She wanted to see his emotions, wanted to own them and rip down every barrier he tried to put up between them, but she no longer had that right. Then Wyatt pulled his shorts down just enough to free his c.o.c.k and everything but the need to have him inside of her anyway she could get it vanished.

He roughly gripped the back of her head with one hand and his d.i.c.k with the other. As he slowly ran the tip of his shaft over her spread lips, wetting them with his pre-c.u.m, she couldn't help her needy moan.

"If you're a good girl I'll come inside your mouth. If you're a bad girl and you move I'll jerk off into my hand. Understood?"

She nodded and clenched her fingers together, willing herself to not move, to not grab his hips and force him to give her his c.o.c.k. Slowly, ever so slowly he slid the bloated crest of his d.i.c.k into her mouth and she moaned in protest when she couldn't close her lips and form a proper seal around him. Instead she tried to rub the thick ridge on the underside of his erection with her tongue, the need to bring him pleasure, to make up for the pain she'd caused him driving her to an almost frantic state to make him come.

Wyatt's hold on her hair gentled, but he began to slide in and out of her mouth, each thrust taking him deeper into her throat until she was gagging.

"Open up for me, Mich.e.l.le," he said with a soft groan. "I'm going to f.u.c.k your throat."

She shivered, her nipples hard and aching while her p.u.s.s.y was wet enough that she wondered if she was leaving a damp spot on the pillow beneath her knees. When he pushed deeper on the next thrust she tried to relax as much as she could, delighting in the way he jerked and growled. A sense of power filled her, the power a submissive had over her Dominant, the power to please him like no one else.

The faster he moved the more aroused she became until she was moaning like he was f.u.c.king her p.u.s.s.y instead of her mouth. Her c.l.i.t was a throbbing bundle of nerves, begging for a touch. All the s.e.xual deprivation she'd put herself through seemed to catch up with her all at once and she was desperate for him to f.u.c.k her, dying for the feeling of Wyatt's big d.i.c.k in her p.u.s.s.y, needing him so bad that she almost wasn't aware when he began to come.

She had just enough time to draw a quick breath of air before he shoved himself all the way into her mouth, to the point where her nose was buried in his pubic hair and she was struggling to keep from gagging. A moment later his c.o.c.k twitched in her mouth and he cried out as she swallowed, her throat gripping his d.i.c.k as she greedily took his seed. Before he was done he pulled out enough that the last few explosions of c.u.m painted her lips.

When he stepped away from her she moaned in protest, needing him, needing relief from the terrible ache that suffused her.

To her shock he simply walked away, leaving her kneeling with her saliva and his seed dripping off her chin. The urge to squeeze her legs together, to touch herself, to just rub her p.u.s.s.y on the pillow was torture. Just one press against her c.l.i.t and she'd go off like a rocket.

Wyatt's voice came from behind her. "Don't move."

She whimpered, hurting with need.

From behind her came the sound of Wyatt moving around in the kitchen and she wondered what the h.e.l.l he was doing while she was kneeling here, dying to o.r.g.a.s.m. The taste of his seed in her mouth tormented her as did the wetness dripping from her chin and slowly running down her chest. She was drowning in his smell, his taste, and her mind could only focus on her need for him. Dozens and dozens of erotic scenarios poured through her until she was trembling.

She had no idea how long she'd been kneeling there, but when Wyatt touched her head to remove the guard she startled.

"Easy, baby. I'm just taking this off."

Her jaw ached when he removed the bit. Then he took a small hand towel and gently dried her face and chest, his touch so tender it brought tears to her eyes. Unable to help herself, she grabbed his hand not holding the towel and brought it to her lips, kissing his fingers, his palm, every inch of skin she could reach. Something inside of her had opened up as she sat, drowning in his scent and taste, a primal need, a burning desire to somehow show him how desperately she wanted him.

He allowed her to kiss him for a few moments before gently pulling his hand away. "I'm going to blindfold you now."

Looking up at him, she tried to take a mental picture of his face, then closed her eyes and nodded. A moment later cool, silky cloth slipped over her face. She opened her eyes and could only see the faintest hint of light from around the edges. Being blindfolded was another thing she didn't like. It made her dependent on whoever was leading her and she had a very hard time trusting anyone enough to do that. Even with Petrov she'd barely managed to keep the blindfold on for ten minutes before safewording out.

With a start she realized she didn't have a safeword with Wyatt and she opened her mouth to tell him that before quickly closing it again. There was no doubt in her mind he was aware that she didn't have a safeword, but was he keeping her from having one because he wanted a total power exchange relationship, or was it because he wanted her to know that she didn't need safewords with him, that she could trust him completely? One thing was certain, in taking away her ability to speak he'd forced her to focus on everything he said and did rather than her responses to his actions.

d.a.m.n, Wyatt was better at being a Dom than she'd given him credit for. The s.e.xual interaction was the easy part, but getting into the mind of a submissive was much harder. Not that she was truly submissive, but for him she would be, as much as she could. Then again, Wyatt did know what it was like to truly submit so he would have a natural understanding of what would and would not work. Or Petrov had...

Her heart hurt as she wondered if Wyatt had s.e.x with other women during his training.

When he took her hand she almost jerked away from him, her mind filled with images of him f.u.c.king one beautiful submissive after another. Of course he'd had s.e.x with other women, there was no way Petrov could have trained him otherwise. During her training with the man she'd slept with a variety of men, different submissives with different tastes to learn how to indulge different kinks. The terrible image of Wyatt coming inside some stranger made her throat close up with tears even as anger filled her.

She was barely aware when he pulled her down onto his lap on what she a.s.sumed was the couch. The need to jerk the blindfold off, to scream at him, to demand he tell her if he'd been with anyone else sc.r.a.ped at her self-control, her jealousy roaring out of control. Yes, she'd betrayed him, yes they'd been separated, yes in theory he'd been training with Petrov for some reason that most probably had to do with her, but Wyatt had f.u.c.ked other women.

Thankfully the blindfold absorbed her tears, but it couldn't stop the pained moan that seemed to come directly from her heart.

"Mich.e.l.le, did I hurt you? You may speak."

She licked her lips and her voice came out thick and scratchy as she whispered, "How many women did you f.u.c.k during your training?"

He froze against her, then relaxed. "Does it matter?"

Pain radiated through her and she tried to push off his lap, but he wouldn't let her. "Let me go!"

"Mich.e.l.le, you may no longer speak." He jerked her back against him and whispered, "None. I didn't have s.e.x with any of them."

She made a disbelieving noise and he had the f.u.c.king b.a.l.l.s to laugh. "Oh, I like you not being able to talk back. It forces you to listen to me, so hear me well when I say this. I would never betray your trust by going to someone else with my needs."

The unsaid 'like you did to me' hung in the air and shame pushed back her misplaced anger. She wanted to say she was sorry, wanted to apologize over and over, but she couldn't speak so she tried to tell him with her body instead. Wrapping her arms around him, she held him close and hugged him as hard as she could. Instead of pushing her away, as she feared, he held her closer and rubbed his nose against her neck.

"Every single f.u.c.king day I died a little inside without you being in my arms. Every single day I hated you for doing this to us, for doubting me, for not thinking I was strong enough to handle all of your needs. Never again, do you hear me? You will never, ever go to anyone again or I swear to G.o.d, I will leave you and never come back."

She nodded against his neck and held him with the desperation of a drowning swimmer. Making a low, hushing noise he stroked her back until her tears finally tapered off, the mask she still wore damp and uncomfortable against her face. When she reached up to take it off he stopped her.

"No, leave it on. I want you to wear it while I feed you. Now open your mouth."

He proceeded to feed her what tasted like a peanut b.u.t.ter and strawberry jelly sandwich, then some chips, then a chocolate chip cookie along with all the milk she could drink. When she couldn't manage another bite he finally relented. By this point she was exhausted, both mentally and physically, but she struggled to stay awake, not wanting to miss a moment of Wyatt pampering her a and he was pampering her a holding and cuddling her while he fed her, stroking her body and occasionally teasing her about her messy eating habits even though he was the one who was responsible for the milk splashing against her lips as he held a gla.s.s for her drink from.

She didn't protest when he stood and carried her, instead resting her face against his chest and taking in deep breaths of his scent. The world around her shifted as she realized he was carrying her upstairs to the loft and she loved the flex of his rock hard muscles while he held her close. He held her like she was fragile, precious even. Without words Wyatt managed to tell her in a thousand ways that he still loved her and if she wasn't so wiped out it would have started a fresh round of tears. When he laid her down on a soft surface that had to be the bed she reached out to him, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him down as well.

He gently gripped her hands and removed them from his shirt. "I have some things to take care of. I want you to sleep, Mich.e.l.le. Just relax and sleep for me."

The thought of him leaving her alone sent a thread of panic through her and she whimpered, reaching out to him again.

He sighed, but a moment later the bed shifted as he climbed on the mattress with her. "You know I'm spoiling you, right? Petrov would have my a.s.s if he saw me right now."

Shaking her head, she pulled his arms around her until they were spooning. The feeling of Wyatt holding her was heaven, bliss, everything right and beautiful with the world. She didn't give a f.u.c.k what Petrov thought, this was right. For the first time in what felt like years she relaxed fully, sighing in delight as Wyatt nuzzled the back of her ear with his nose before placing a gentle kiss on the lobe.

"Go to sleep, baby, I've got you."

She had no idea how much time had pa.s.sed, but when she woke the blindfold was off and the sunlight coming through the double gla.s.s doors leading out to the deck off the loft had a beautiful golden hue. Pushing up off of the bed, she stretched then winced as her legs cramped up on her. The pain had her cursing Wyatt under her breath even as her heart soared with the knowledge that he was really here. Not only was he here, but he didn't hate her.

Without a doubt he was still p.i.s.sed at her, but she had hope that there was some way to salvage their relationship.

She rolled over to move off the bed and when she did she noticed a noticed a note on the pillow next to her.

Mich.e.l.le, One of the first things I did after we separated was to find a good therapist to deal with my s.h.i.t. You're going to do the same. You need help, more help than I can give you on my own and I love you too much to watch you self-destruct again, so we're going to get you the tools you need to fight. In the dresser you'll find your clothes, get dressed in something comfortable and meet me downstairs.

Wyatt Her stomach clenched up and she gritted her teeth, hating the thought of going to talk to some stranger and spilling her guts. The therapists she'd seen after her breakdown over Owen's death hadn't helped her at all, in fact she was pretty sure they'd done more harm than good. One had thrown pills at her while the other kept insisting that everything stemmed from her relationship with her mother. The last thing she wanted to do right now was spill her soul to some a.s.shole paid to listen to her whine.

From downstairs came the sounds of Wyatt moving around in the kitchen accompanied by the smell of something delicious. Her stomach growled and she sat looking at the note, trying to figure out if she could somehow get out of it. Considering Wyatt had forbidden her to speak she didn't think so. She sat staring at the note for a long moment, battling between her almost obsessive need for privacy and her desire to please Wyatt. She traced her fingers over the part of the letter where he told her he loved her and decided it wasn't such a hard decision to make after all.

After dressing in a pair of light gray capris and a pale lime green top she made her way downstairs, her gaze immediately searching out Wyatt.

He was sliding a baked potato onto a plate, dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a dark t-shirt. She took a moment to admire him, to drink in his masculine beauty and her heart ached anew that she'd almost lost him. Fear suddenly overtook her, and before she was aware of it, she rushed across the room and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. Her mind spun with the irrational thought that he could be taken away from her, that he could die, that she could die, or that she would betray him again and drive him from her forever. She wasn't perfect, no matter how hard she tried, and men only wanted perfect women.

"Hey, easy there. Almost made me drop the steaks and that would have been a d.a.m.n shame."

He gently pried her arms from around him, but instead of pushing her away he simply turned so he could hug her closer. The fear subsided and her trembling slowed as she matched her breath to his, using his strength to ground herself. She knew her need to be perfect wasn't healthy, knew it was more harmful than anything else, but it was hard to let go of the habits of a lifetime. It seemed like from the moment she'd been born her mother had insisted on perfection, accepting nothing less.

Eventually Wyatt released her, then gave her a gentle push to the breakfast bar. "Sit down, we need to eat before we head out."

She almost asked him where they were going, but managed to close her mouth before the words escaped. They ate together in silence, and she found it oddly relaxing not to have to fill the air with chatter. While keeping her from speaking irritated the f.u.c.k out of her, it also gave her time to think rather than react. She wondered if that was part of the reason Wyatt was insisting on silence from her, so she would listen and think.

Their drive to the therapist was equally quiet and she had to fight the urge to ask him if he was mad at her. Of course he was angry with her, he had every reason to be, but his silence really bothered her. She probably would have tried to talk to him if he hadn't looked over at her, then reached his hand out. The relief she felt at his touch would have been comical if it had been happening to someone else.

Wyatt glanced over at her again. "While you're seeing your therapist, I'll be seeing my own."

She raised her eyebrows and he grinned. "What? You think I'd make you do something I wasn't willing to do myself? You should know better than that."

Shrugging, she bit her lip, trying to figure out how to talk to him without words. Finally she pointed to herself and lifted her finger to her temple and swirled it, making a weird face.

Wyatt burst out laughing. "What the h.e.l.l are you trying to say? No, wait, let me figure this out."

Feeling like she was playing an odd game of charades she made the 'crazy person' motion to her head again, the pointed to him and shook her head.

"Wait, so you're crazy and I'm not?"

She nodded empathetically and smiled at him.

"Oh, baby, don't you know I'm f.u.c.king insanely in love with you?" He looked away, but his hold on her hand tightened and he glanced back again. "Did you know Petrov used to be in the Russian KGB?"

She nodded and watched him as he turned his attention back to the road. "I hated him at first, wanted to kill him. But the more I talked to him the more I realized he's actually a really cool guy, and he's been through some s.h.i.t that rivals anything we saw on the battlefield and has more than one death haunting him."

While she'd known Petrov had probably done some crazy stuff, she had no idea that he'd actually seen combat. She made a questioning noise and Wyatt shook his head.

"Not my story to tell. Anyways, he helped me realize that there's nothing wrong with trying to get help with my PTSD. That it didn't make me weak or any of that bulls.h.i.t we told each other in the Marines. I don't have to tell you what a death sentence it would have been to my career if I'd sought out therapy while in the Corps, at least back in the day it would have. I heard it's getting better, but there's still that mentality that we have to be super human machines that have no emotions."

She snorted and when he looked over she rolled her eyes for good measure.

"Like you have any room to talk, Sapphire." His voice grew serious. "You're so d.a.m.n good at hiding your emotions, hiding any feelings that you think might make people believe you're human. You bottle your s.h.i.t up until you explode, or in your case, implode."

She didn't like his a.s.sessment of her, no matter how accurate it was, so she tried to pull her hand away but he wouldn't let her.

"It's your business what you talk with your therapist about, but I'd ask that you try and figure out why you feel like you need to be perfect. Why the thought of being human, of showing weakness, of letting me know about what you need is intolerable. Because I'll tell you what, if you ever go to another man for your needs because you think I can't handle them again it is over between us, got me?"

Tears flooded her eyes and she opened her mouth to apologize, but he stopped her. "No, you haven't earned the right to talk to me yet, Mich.e.l.le. I love you, but that doesn't mean I've forgiven you. That has to be earned. Got me?"

She nodded, her heart aching and the feeling of being worthless washing over her. He gently released her hand and they turned into the parking lot of a two story brick building with a view of the Gulf. The sign out front read 'Tides Therapy' and she took in the neatly landscaped flower beds bracketing the front doors. She went to open her door, but before she could Wyatt was there, helping her down. After he closed the door he turned and put his hands on her waist.

"I want you to know that I'm going to fight for you, Mich.e.l.le. I'm going to do everything I can to help you be the person you want to be, but you need to fight as well. I know you hate to show what you think of as being weakness to anyone, but you can't let your pride stand in the way anymore. I researched both our therapists and they come highly recommended, so don't think I'm just sending you to some random quack, okay? Trust me to do this for you."

With a sigh she nodded, then wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, taking in deep inhalations of his scent to fortify her.

After they entered the building and Mich.e.l.le filled out her forms, she was led to a surprisingly happy room on the second floor of the building. Most therapists' offices she'd been to had been big on the boring, neutral tones while this room was bright and sunny. The walls were a soft lemon chiffon and the furniture was done in a pale lilac grey shade that went well with the decor. A huge picture window looked out to ocean below and she smiled at the sight of little kids playing in the surf. A single candle was burning on the low, driftwood coffee table and Mich.e.l.le took a seat on the couch so she could continue to watch the families on the beach.

The door behind Mich.e.l.le opened a tall woman in her early forties with light olive skin and wavy chestnut hair entered with an easy smile. "h.e.l.lo, you must be Mich.e.l.le. My name's Lisa and I'm your therapist. It's nice to meet you."