Handcuffed by Her Hero (20 page)

“Noooo!”

Her scream burned in her throat
and rang in her ears as she shot straight up in bed.

She reached for the glass of
water on her nightstand. It wasn’t there. That wasn’t even her nightstand. She
whacked her hand back to her heaving chest and peered around. Where the hell
was she? Everything was still dark and murky. Clouds roiled past a glass
window, dumping rain in deafening sheets.

She cried out in confusion and
kicked at the covers. There were so many of them, so heavy and thick. Lightning
flash bombed the room. Thunder bellowed. She shrieked in full again, her senses
caught in the ether between nightmare and sentience.

A set of arms formed from the
shadows. Terrifyingly strong, just like King’s. They grabbed her shoulders. She
screamed and twisted free. “No!” The force of her voice gave her strength,
yanking her back toward reality. “No, damn you!”

“Rayna.”

The voice was gentle and firm—and
achingly familiar. She stilled for a second. Major mistake. In that second, her
wrists were captured in dual iron grips then pinned to either side of her head.
She flailed and kicked but her quads were subjugated by a log-sized thigh.

“I’m not the docile one anymore,
damn it. No!
No
!”

“Rayna, honey…listen to me. Look
at me.”

She kept fighting. Bucking her
whole body. Squirming and writhing. Sucking down air in giant, desperate gulps.
Those inhalations made her smell the monster, which was confusing as hell. He
didn’t smell like sweat, mud, and halitosis. He smelled like cedar, smoke, and
mountain wind.

She swallowed and opened her
eyes.

Then let her mind wake up. And
her heart fall apart. “Zeke.”

His face warmed with a gentle
smile. “Hey.” He slackened his hold on her wrists.

“Your cabin.” Relief flooded from
her with the words. She grabbed the front of his T-shirt, pulled him close, and
nestled her head into his chest. “We’re at your cabin.”

 “And you’re safe, bird.”

Right after he rumbled it, he shifted
to roll off of her. Panic speared her like a rogue icicle. The worsening storm,
which had turned the afternoon into an eerie night outside, didn’t help. She dug
her fingers deeper into his shirt.

“Don’t go. I can’t—”

“All right.” He smiled softly,
his teeth white against the stubble that was now becoming a full beard. “I’ll
be right here, okay?” He patted a couple of pillows. They were as close to the
edge of the mattress as possible. She violently whipped her head.

“No. Too far. I’m—I’m still
scared.” Her voice was small and pathetic but she didn’t care. “And cold.” She
ran her fingers along the little gap between his T-shirt neck and his skin.
“And you’re so warm.”

He expelled a long breath.
“Rayna, you know what I’ll do if—”

She wrested the argument from him
by showing him what
she
yearned to do. With one hand yanking on his
shirt, she dove another into his hair. She wrenched his face down to hers,
fully ready with an open offering of her lips and tongue. Their mouths fused.
Their breaths mated. As the storm raged outside, they stirred a wanton, hot
hurricane inside. Rayna let the tempest take her, rejoicing as it ripped
through her blood, fired through her sex, and decimating her resolve.  

“Zeke,” she finally pleaded. “Help
me forget it. I need to make it all go away. Please!”

She watched his jaw tighten and
his eyes flare. A squall of dark humor passed across his face. “Fuck,” he
whispered. “You’re not talking about a chick movie and a foot rub, are you,
honey?”

“No.” She moved her hand to his
face, digging her fingers into his beard. “I want you to make me forget…just
like you made Luna forget.”

Zeke stared at her hard for a
long minute. Now
he
had to be the one dreaming. For the last forty-eight
hours, she’d been the merciless erotic torment in his mind but now she was his
wildest desires come to life, right here in his arms. With her lips parted, her
eyes imploring, and her body this close and warm…
Fuck.
“Dream come
true” was the tip of the goddamn iceberg.

But weren’t dreams the soul’s way
of reminding you what you couldn’t have? Who
was
the depressing dickhead
who’d said that? Oh, yeah. That was him.

With a resolution he couldn’t be
further from feeling, he uncurled her fingers from his shirt then cupped the
ones at his face long enough to press a kiss on her knuckles. “Honey, as much
as every bone in my body would thank me to do that…I can’t.”

As he forced himself to sit up,
her bewildered stare followed every move he made. “Why?”

How could she speak one word but
scratch at fifty corners of his composure? Even if her trembling tone didn’t
tip him off, he saw the self-doubt on her face, the way she glanced down at her
body, encased so adorably in his shirt and nothing else, and compared herself to
Luna’s “charms.” And clearly noticed every difference that he did. Then
instantly came to the ridiculously wrong conclusion.

“Damn it, Rayna.” He cracked his
neck. Wasn’t working. His thoughts still bounced in his head like ping pong
balls in a carnival guppy booth. “It’s not you, honey, okay?”

“So it’s you?” she retorted. “Is
that it? And I’m supposed to believe that how, Mr. Prom King of the Seattle
kink crowd?” She shot a derisive laugh at his stunned gape. “There isn’t a lot
Sage and I don’t share with each other, Z. I’ve known since before you went on
the last mission. But even if I hadn’t, the rocket science degree wasn’t
necessary to witness it at Bastille last night.” Her glare dissolved and again
she tore at his edges with her questioning eyes and wobbling lips. “But there’s
no subbie waiting line right now, is there? You can’t have your pick of the
bench. But you can have me, and—”

He surged to his feet. “My pick
of the bench?” Straining the outrage from it was impossible. “Is that what you
think? That I just stroll into the club and decide what workout I want for the
night? Like choosing to go run on the treadmill or play some basketball, huh?”

She twisted the drooping sleeve
of his shirt. Goddamnit, why did she have to look so sweet and small and sexy
in that thing? “I don’t ‘think’ anything, Zeke. I just want—I just—”

“You just
want
? Okay, you
just want what? Are you able to verbalize
that
much?” 

“Stop talking to me like I’m
seven. These aren’t words I’m spewing on a whim. I didn’t decide to pop them
out because I liked the sound, okay?”

“Right. Because you were thinking
so lucidly after having a nightmare that had you nearly tearing up this bedroom.”

He was being a semi-asshole.
Maybe more than “semi.” Still, she responded with tight calm, “From time to
time, Sage shares a few things with me about what she and Garrett have as
Dominant and submissive. I already know there’s a lot more to it than what
people assume. Now I’ve had a chance to witness it firsthand, too.”

He moved to the end of the bed
and locked his hands behind his back. “That’s nice. But you didn’t answer my
question.” After stepping one leg out and bracing himself in a full drill
instructor pose, he leveled his stare back into hers with unflinching intent.
“What. Do. You. Want. Rayna?”

She earned a new chunk of his
respect for not surrendering an inch of her own gaze. Despite the Gung Ho Mo Fo
act he flung at her, she gave back as good as she got, drawing up her shoulders
with admirable precision. But when she spoke…her words were complete woman. One
hundred percent a pleading, sexier-than-hell husk.

“I want you to look at me the way
you looked at Luna last night.”

Gut, meet a boot named Rayna
Chestain.

His breath left him on a heavy
rush. So did his anger. But the void left behind didn’t remain empty. He recognized
the feeling like rounding a corner and seeing an old schoolmate—the one who
liked to get in a couple of punches before letting him move on.

“That’s not a request I can
grant, Ray-bird.”

She rose up on her knees. “Why
the hell not?”

“Christ.” It roared out of him.
He threw up his hands. Another emotion two-by-foured his core without the
bully’s help this time. Despair didn’t need a sidekick. “Did your ‘firsthand’
experience include what I did to Luna last night, Rayna? Did you see the marks
on her body?
All
of them? Did you think about how she got them, about what
I did before—” The look that crossed her face, as if preparing herself to be
slapped, clutched the words short in his throat.

“Say it,” she rasped. “Before you
fucked her. There. I did it for both of us.”

“I didn’t fuck her.” She blinked,
seeming to believe him, though his ominous growl didn’t give her much choice.
“I wasn’t her Dominant, Rayna. I was her Top. There’s a massive goddamn
difference.”

She let out breath in frustrating
puffs. Her lips twisted. “But when you stood in my living room and told me you
were going to Bastille, and what you were going to do, I thought—”

“I know what you thought. It was
exactly what I wanted you to think.”

He pivoted and crossed the room.
Though it was the middle of the afternoon, the world was a swath of pewter mist
and black clouds. A perfect backdrop for this conversation.

Conversation? No. It wasn’t going
to be that. She was silent and still now, and he needed to just leave it at
that. He had to close her down from ever thinking they could explore a D/s
dynamic together. He knew damn well what would happen if he ever crossed that
line with her, ever accepted her at his feet and demanded a
Yes, Sir
spring
from her lips. As beautiful as the beginning would be, none of the end results
were remotely good.

Yeah, he should have left it at
the silence.

But her mute hurt tore at his
edges. Pulled and jabbed and peeled at his scabs.

Shit.

 “Letting you think I was going
to screw Luna was an easier way to break things with you, okay? I needed you to
see what I am, Rayna. How I’m wired.” He swung his gaze toward her again. “And
how that equates to a disaster for
your
wiring.”

As he expected, she was waiting
for him with eyes that looked like crushed emeralds—tossed on top of a bonfire.
“So you just decided to sever my wiring,” she charged. “Is that it?”

Hell. That mind of hers. Nothing
was a bigger turn-on and nothing made him want to throttle her ass more. Hard.
With a slotted paddle.

“I’m not going to jump on this
carousel with you. It’s going to leave us both dizzy and pissed. You don’t
understand half of what you’re asking me for, and—”

“God!” She climbed off the bed so
fast, she thought nothing of the peeks she gave him at her bare sex as she did.
He stood locked in a mix of stunned and stimulated as she advanced and smacked
the center of his chest. “They give you three golden rules in BDSM, right?
Safe, sane, consensual? Congratulations, Jesse James. You’ve already stolen the
third from me and you’re well on your way to making off with the second.”

He openly fumed at her—and seethed
with disgust at himself for doing so. God
damn
it, the brat had hit him twice
and he just fumbled like the fucking new guy with bad intel, disbelieving what
was happening but unable to pick up a damn radio and order a proper extraction.
Gawking. Helpless.

No. Way.

He hadn’t been helpless for a
very long while. He sure as shit didn’t plan on starting a trend of it now.

Rayna had made the mistake of
leaving her hand suspended midair in front of his chest. Now she drew it back a
little, as if contemplating whether to pummel him again. The follow-through was
a no-brainer. He whipped his own hand up, swallowing her fist inside his own.

“You want to discuss your sanity,
bird?” He shook his head with steady surety. “Trouble is, you haven’t gone
insane. You’ve gone bratty.”

Her eyes widened. She flinched
and attempted to pull back. He grinned and clutched her tighter. Yeah, that aroused
him. A lot. But this had nothing to do with his pulsing cock and everything to
do with teaching this little girl a lesson. Sometimes—many times—that involved
mission recon above the waist.

Not that she made the effort one
click easier. Instead of fighting him more, she tossed her fiery hair and
gritted her teeth in sexy challenge. “Bratty, huh?” One side of her sleek mouth
quirked up. “Aren’t you big, bad Doms supposed to put brats in their place?
Teach them a lesson?”

Damn it. She was really,
really
asking for it.

Openly sparring
with you doesn’t mean she wants you to subdue her, Hayes.

 
Even if she did,
it’d be too damn dangerous. Tait wasn’t here.
Nobody
was here. That was
the fucking point. Zsycho couldn’t come out to play if there wasn’t a babysitter,
especially with Rayna. Especially with how incredible she’d feel under him,
snarling at him…then finally, breathlessly begging him…

With a tight growl, he slid his
hold from her fist to her wrist. Using the extra stability for strength, he
yanked her closer to him, nearly punching her nose with his as he forced her to
stare at him. “Is
that
what you want, Rayna? A lesson? From me?”

She drew in a rickety breath. But
her eyes glittered with pure sass. “Hmm. What do you think, Master Z? Do I need
one?”

He shook his head again. The move
wasn’t so patient this time. “Ohhh, honey…”

“Well?”

“It doesn’t fucking work that
way, Rayna. Five minutes ago, you were about to kick in my family jewels
because of fighting off the cockroach twins in your sleep. Now you want me to
turn off the lights again and take you to subbie dreamland. But if we hit a
landmine on the way, your psyche is the casualty. Do you get that? Has Sage
explained
that
part of this shit to you?”

In spite of the challenge, he
made no move to let her go. She didn’t shift, either. Her chin jutted higher as
if daring him to go on. Who was he to disappoint?

“You’re pulling bratastic on me
right now. Doing a damn fine job, too.” He tapped her head with his free hand. “But
there are a lot of emotional insurgents in here, waiting for you to pop your
parachute, Rayna. If you’re ever on your knees for me, then the brat walks out
the door.
All
the way out. You won’t get to hide. You won’t get to pick
the reaction you think I want, or some cute answer from a story Sage has fed to
you about what she and Garrett did one night in the dungeon. I don’t teach
lessons like that.” He watched her pupils dilate in response, so gorgeous and
intoxicating, making it impossible to conclude in anything less than a low but
determined thunder. “So be damn careful of the one you’re asking for now.”

The message finally seemed to get
through. Thank God. Apprehension and expectation played over her face. He was
about to let out a breath and slacken his grip—when the defiance surged back
into every inch of her stance. “So…what? Is that supposed to scare me?”

Hell.

He let her go and moved back. One
wide step. Another.

Now you need to
turn around and leave completely. Now. Get your ass downstairs before you start
really contemplating how good it would be to chop that saucy attitude to pieces
in screaming, writhing, climaxing, sinfully submissive chunks.
 

“Yeah, bird. It sure as fuck is.”

She didn’t move except to slide
both hands to her hips. Christ. She was breathtaking. Her stance defined her
luscious curves in every damn way. Was she actually tapping one set of
turquoise-polished toes?

 “Well, it doesn’t.”

Goddamnit. Yeah, she was tapping.
And glowing. And tempting him with every rise of her beautiful breasts, every
tug of teeth at her cinnamon-dark lips, every drop of need in her open, honest
eyes.

XXX  -- She wanted this. And damn
it, he did, too.

He pivoted and took another step
toward the threshold. Rayna coiled her fists tighter at her hips. That pushed
the shirt harder at her breasts, stretching the parrots that matched her stubborn
toes. Fuck. His shirt got to feel up more of her than him, and
he
was
the one getting glared at like Caligula? This was wrong. On a number of
shit-laden levels.

“Well, it should.” He sneered it
viciously enough for the Caligula rep.

“Got that part, Sergeant. Are we
moving on now?”

For a moment, he was plunged back
into disbelief. For another he just blinked, unable to splice together the
sweet friend who’d gone fishing with him in August was this mouthy rebel who
tempted him with every lift of her chin and toss of her thick red mane.