Lady Doctor Wyre (13 page)

“Forgive me,” he panted. “I wanted to make you come a dozen times.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she purred, grinding herself against him one last time before rising toward Sig. “We have days, weeks, months all alone on this luxury liner to fully enjoy ourselves.”

Cupping Sig’s face in her hands, she hesitated, searching his eyes. She wasn’t sure how much of his darker need he’d care to reveal before the other man, if he’d be ashamed or embarrassed in any way. “Do you need…?”

“Not this time.” Sig tumbled her on her back and lowered his mouth to her breasts. “After you came so close to death on Americus, I don’t think I shall ever be able to flirt with death again. However, I wouldn’t be offended if your sheriff happened to keep his shackles handy.”

The other man left the bed momentarily, and then she heard the clank of metal. Sig lifted his head, letting her see his reaction as the other man handcuffed his wrists behind his back. His eyes were dark, his mouth soft and lush.

“Tighter?” Gil asked, giving his arm a jerk.

“Yes,” Sig said in a thick voice that she well recognized. The other man tightened the restraints until Sig made a small sound of pain.

Wriggling lower on her body, he laid his cheek against the scar on her stomach. Her heartbeat quickened, her blood rushing and singing in her veins as though the assemblers he’d shared with her after her injury had suddenly zipped into high gear. Sig’s rapid breathing fanned across her skin, and the locket heated on her chest like a brand. He felt the magic too, the answering pulse of electronic signals that their human ears couldn’t recognize.

“Does it bother you to be like me now?”

“No.” She ran her hands through his golden hair. “Why should it? I created them. They fascinate me. I wouldn’t be alive here and now, holding and loving you both, without them.”

Stretching out beside her, Gil nibbled on her lips and trailed soft, gentle kisses down her neck. But he had had his turn; this was about Sig and meeting his needs.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and pushed him back on his haunches. His skin gleamed, darkened ivory gilded like his hair. Sweat glistened on his chest, his shoulders tight and straining against his bonds, while his erection curved invitingly. Leaning down, she reached back and released her hair to tumble across his groin and thighs. He shuddered and groaned at the pain in his shoulders, which she knew would only fuel his desire.

Dragging her head back and forth, she tormented him with the silken caress of her hair and the faint brush of her mouth until he shook and groaned and cursed beneath his breath, but she didn’t make him beg. Not Lord Regret. Although they both knew she could bring him that low if she chose.

She rose up to take him inside her. Bound with his legs bent beneath him, he couldn’t lie backward or thrust effectively, but that was fine. She rode him, taking him like he needed, claiming the pleasure from his body until he sagged in her arms and dropped his head against her shoulder.

Gil helped her get the handcuffs off and then she gathered Sig into her arms with the other man behind her. “That was…interesting.”

She arched her back slightly so that her backside pressed more fully into Gil’s groin. He was definitely interested in round two already, which didn’t surprise her in the least. “Would you like to be handcuffed, Sheriff?”

“If you torment me like that…and keep those pink stockings on…sure.” He thought a moment, and then added, “Perhaps. Well, I…perhaps…”

Sig laughed and nuzzled his face deeper into her breasts. “You’d best cuff his arms in front of him, Charlie. Take pity on him; he’s a beginner.”

She rolled over a bit and rose up on her elbows so she could look down at her men. Her throat tightened with emotion, and her eyes burned, but she had only joy in her heart. “Happy Solstice, Lord Regret and Marshal Wesson.”

Gil leaned up and kissed her, his big hand cupping the back of her head. “I like Masters better. I never gave you anything but my real name.”

“Then Happy Solstice, Gilead Masters. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my husband?”

He kissed her again, his mouth urgent, his fingers tight in her hair. “Absolutely, Lady Wyre. It would be my honor.”

“And you, Sigmund Regret, will you marry me?”

“Hmmm,” he drawled, letting the worry that had tightened his eyes fade away at her proposal. Her heart broke just a little all over again, because he’d been afraid that she’d tie him up, make love to him, but refuse to marry him in favor of Gil. “That depends, Lady Wyre, on where we’re going. We’ll have to find a planet that doesn’t object to polygamy.”

“By the way,” Gil said, “where are we going?”

“For now, our coordinates are simply the opposite direction of Britannia, with a restocking—”

“Shopping!” Charlotte added.

“Trip to the Bei-Jing port of Zijin. After that, wherever Lady Wyre wishes to go.”

“Zijin certainly has no love for Britannia, but it’s still rather too close to Majel for comfort. Imperial cruisers are in and out of Bei-Jing all the time. I don’t know, Sig.”

“They have tea,” he replied, his blue eyes twinkling.

“And silk,” Gil added, trailing his fingers along the edge of silk above her knee. “Lots of silk. Pink silk and white and blue and…”

“All right,” she retorted with laughter. “The Golden Dragon Kingdom it is.”

Sig kissed her knuckles and nibbled on her fingers.

Gil nipped her neck.

And she’d never been happier in her entire life.

“Happy Solstice, Lady Wyre.”

About the Author

Joely always has her nose buried in a book, especially one with mythology, fairy tales and romance. She, her husband and their three monsters live in Missouri. By day, she’s a computer programmer with a Masters of Science degree in Mathematics. When night falls, she bespells the monsters so she can write. Read more about her current projects on her website,
http://joelysueburkhart.com
. Lady Doctor Wyre is Joely’s ninth published title.

Look for these titles by Joely Sue Burkhart

Now Available:

The Connaghers

Dear Sir, I’m Yours

Hurt Me So Good

One sub to please the Master…in any way he wishes.

Hurt Me So Good

© 2010 Joely Sue Burkhart

Victor Connagher is no stranger to the Dallas BDSM scene. As CEO of a risqué cable channel that caters to adventurous adults, he ensures the lifestyle is portrayed in a positive light. He even supports a local bondage club. Yet behind the cool, confident mask, Victor lives in fear.

Once, and only once, he lost control of his inner Dom—and it cost him his fiancée. Now, no one knows how hard he works to keep his darker appetite for pain buried. No matter how much his saucy, confident associate producer makes his fingers itch to once again take up his riding crop.

Shiloh Holmes is a sub, but she’s no doormat. She’s always suspected Victor has the skills to feed her insatiable need for pain, and now she’s found the perfect way to crack his formidable control. Develop a new reality show, America’s Next Top sub…and dare him to compete.

Week after week, as Shiloh fearlessly challenges the real Victor to come out of hiding, he realizes his past mistake was only a blow to his pride. If he loses Shiloh, he could lose his heart.

Warning: Explicit sex, BDSM, reality television, a very reluctant Dom, an audacious sub willing to do anything to win for him, and one very wicked riding crop.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Hurt Me So Good:

Shiloh didn’t stop to think about what she was doing. While he was off balance—mentally and physically—she knelt and pulled his foot into her lap so she could exam his knee. He only wore a pair of black sport shorts and his hair was still wet. Shirtless, hair loose about his shoulders, and his muscular body practically bare, he didn’t seem as intimidating…just drop dead gorgeous.

It was much easier to concentrate on the surgical scars than soak in his bare chest. Gently, she probed his knee with her fingers, noting the swelling and soreness each time he tensed. She risked a glance up at his face.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Mal, I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up and set the phone on the bench beside him.
 

Before he could interrogate her, she asked in her most professional voice, “ACL and MCL tears, right? How many surgeries did you have?”

“Two, with a third on the horizon if things don’t improve.”

She wrapped her hands around his upper thigh and firmly drew his leg through her fingers, over his knee and down his calf.

On a low groan, he dropped his head back against the wall.

“Too much?”

“Hell, no. I can stand it harder if your hands are up to it.”

She repeated the long strokes, concentrating on the deep tissues above and below his knee to work out all the knots that had built up over time.
Think of him as a patient, not as a man you’ve dreamed about for months.

After a good fifteen minutes, he asked, “Where did you learn how to do this?”

His voice sounded thick and mellow, his muscles melting beneath her hands. What she wouldn’t give to give him a full body massage. “I took a sports injury class at a highly recommended massage school.”

“My knee has never hurt this good before. You’ve got magic hands, baby. I don’t remember anything on your resume about certification.”

She felt her cheeks heating, so she concentrated on her work. “I never worked as a massage therapist. Just a hobby, I guess.”

He leaned forward and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up to his. His fingers were gentler than when he’d touched earlier. Even his eyes were softer, and hot enough to melt her into a puddle. “You took that class for me.”

“A hunch,” she admitted. “If you lie down I can do a better job.”

He studied her for long seconds while her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. With a wide, startling smile, he set his phone on the floor and stretched out on the bench, shifting to get his long frame comfortable. She didn’t fail to note that he kept the towel he’d used on his hair strategically placed across his lap. “Well, then, I’d better think real hard about the best way to thank you.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stood and moved to the foot of the bench. “Getting my hands on your body is reward enough, sir.”

“V,” he replied in an easy voice. “Or Victor, I don’t care which. I might be a Master, but I really don’t care for all the formalities. I’m not interested in a slave relationship.”

With firm, deep strokes, she rubbed her thumbs down the top of his knee to the back on both sides, using cross friction against those sore tendons. “What are you interested in?”

“You, whatever that means.”

Ducking her head a little, she concentrated on his knee. After meeting his ex-girlfriend, she had her doubts.

As though he read her mind, he said, “I apologize for not telling you about Kimberly. She means nothing to me.”

She worked her hands up higher, kneading his quadriceps. “She wants to be on the show with us, along with Ryan.”

“I couldn’t care less. If you don’t want her there, tell them both to forget it with my blessing.”

“Why me?” She bit her lip and flicked her gaze up to his face to check his reaction. He had closed his eyes and his mouth was soft, his lips barely parted. She’d never seen his face so fully relaxed before. He could almost be asleep.
Good, maybe he didn’t hear my insecurities blurted out like a teenager.

“Did you see my picture at Silken?”

She shuddered at the memory. Not asleep, then. “Yes.”

“I should have demanded they give it to me instead of letting them keep it in their office like some sort of holy display.” He blew out a disgusted breath that made her lips twitch. “Which Victor was in that picture: the CEO of a sexy cable channel or the sadist?”

His thigh was heavily muscled from the years of physical therapy he’d invested to rehabilitate his knee. Dark hair sprinkled across his skin, matching the thin line of hair that led up his ridged abs to the darker patch on his chest. She licked her lips and thought about pressing her face between his pectorals. Would he allow her to breathe in his scent and rub her face on him? “You were all Master V.”

Softly, he whispered, “What did you see in my eyes?”

She clenched her thighs, trying to calm the need burning through her body. She ached, desire humming in her so loudly she was surprised he didn’t hear it like a siren call luring a ship to its doom. “Hunger.”

“That’s why you’re here with me now. Ryan and Kimberly think that picture is just a sexy photograph done as an old-time Western. They don’t see the real me in that picture.” He paused, waiting until she looked back into his face. His eyes bored into her. Even lying flat on his back with a swelling knee, he possessed the commanding presence of an emperor. “They don’t see the man who aches to use that crop on you until you beg me to stop.”

“I won’t,” she choked.

His eyes narrowed and he tensed beneath her hands. His breathing rasped loud in the silence. Blistering coldness flooded over her, along with a sense of his withdrawal.

Quickly, she explained. “I won’t beg you to stop.”

The tension bled out of him, but he closed his eyes, and his voice was gruff. “You will, baby. You will.”

“You don’t know me well enough to make that judgment.” Leaving his knee, she moved to the opposite end of the bench. She sank trembling fingers into his hair, seeking his scalp. He made a low purring sound and tipped his head back into her caress, so she swirled her fingertips along his temples. She drew her fingers back in firm strokes, as though she could pull out every last bit of tension and pain that lingered in his magnificent body.
 

“Every time I go home, Mama threatens to have my brother hogtie me so they can give me a proper hair cut.”

“Don’t you dare,” she growled out.

He arched a brow at her but didn’t open his eyes. Afraid she’d overstepped her bounds with him, she changed the subject. “You should ice your knee tonight to keep the swelling down.”