Handcuffed by Her Hero (13 page)

“Ohhh, shit,” she whispered. Hell
was certainly preparing a place for her right now, because her eyes weren’t the
only body part obsessed with him. Every one of the nerve endings between her
thighs came alive in bright need, making her clench back a gasp. She watched
him cross in front of the fire and fantasized about tackling him right there, in
front of everyone.

The tension got worse the next
second.

Tait laid the woman on her side
along one of the couches. He settled at her feet. There was room for Zeke on
the cushions near her head but Z didn’t sit. He kept lapping the circle of
ottomans in front of the fire, eating up the space like a dynamite fuse that
wouldn’t blow.

Tait threw a questioning look at
Garrett. “Let him burn through it,” Garrett murmured to the guy. To Sage and
Rayna, he added, “Holy fuck, I hope he burns through it.” A scowl creased his
brow. “On the other hand, that means he’s gonna drop hard.”

Rayna looked to Sage. “He’s going
to what?”

Sage tugged her closer so she
could speak softly. “After an intense Dominance and submission scene, when the
adrenalin and endorphins fall, the participants often take a physical or
emotional tumble. Sometimes it’s both.” She nodded toward the couch. “Tait’s
made sure that Luna’s got a shitload of aftercare: Gatorade, ointment,
blankets. It’s Z we’re all worried about.”

Sage’s confession made Rayna gape
back at Z. She couldn’t fathom him dropping from anything, especially knowing
what he’d been like as far as fifteen years back. But before fifteen
minutes
ago, she couldn’t imagine confronting the man in this state. His frenetic
energy stirred the flames beyond the grate every time he passed.

One thing finally halted him.
Luna herself. Her eyes, half-closed and unfocused until now, opened a little
wider. She sobbed and reached for Zeke. He crouched to her side in a second,
running a long, gentle thumb along her forehead. Even from where she stood,
Rayna saw the dark concern in his eyes, the silent questions across his face.

When the woman shifted a little,
Rayna understood why.

She stifled another gasp. Luna’s
back, butt, and upper thighs were at least twelve shades of red. Dark slashes
formed a sadistic crossword puzzle in her alabaster skin, with bruises and whip
marks taking the place of consonants and vowels. It was all so ugly, it was
beautiful.

But Luna’s face riveted the eye
more. By anyone’s ranking, the woman was already stunning, with a full mouth,
thick eyelashes, and high cheekbones. She became awe-striking when she opened
her huge lavender eyes, tears glittering, and stared at Zeke with open
adoration. His reaction wasn’t so gooey. Rayna watched his jaw go taut and his
shoulders tighten. Still, he spoke to Luna with measured care.

“You did real good, little girl.
You were great.”

“Zeke.” Luna’s sigh was soft as a
prayer. Her smile made her look like she’d dragged on the best doobie ever
rolled. “Thank you. Oh, God—”

“Ssshh. Rest.”

“But I need to tell you—”

“
Rest.
I won’t ask again.”

Zeke exchanged a glance with
Tait, who nodded reassurance that he’d stay with Luna. That seemed a really
good thing, because Z gained his feet again like an untamed animal. He skipped the
circuit around the ottomans to stalk down another dark hallway. Rayna rushed to
watch his silhouette in that corridor. His arms were coiled, his hands turning
to fists. He slammed the wall twice before careening to the opposite side of
the hall, yanking open a door and staggering into the room beyond.

Garrett lunged to follow him.
Rayna did the same. At the guy’s threatening glare, she squared her shoulders
and pointed at Sage. “Save it for her, Hawkins. Do
not
try to stop me.”

With a dark glower, Garrett stepped
back. Rayna sprinted down the hall. By the time she got into the room, Z had
sagged against a large steel cage there, gripping its bars like he was already
locked inside. The chamber was outfitted like the Taj Mahal in satin drapes and
a giant round bed, but it could’ve been the damn Four Seasons and she wouldn’t
care. Her only focus was the man she rushed to, pressing herself against his massive,
heaving back. When Zeke flinched, she pulled out the perfect words to whisper.
Things a teenage hero had used to soothe her fifteen years ago.

“It’s okay. I just want to help.
I’m here and it’s going to be okay.”

A weighted moment passed.
Another.

Of all the reactions she finally
expected from him, his outraged snarl definitely wasn’t on the list.

Anger. Confusion. Torment. Guilt.
Shit, the guilt.
This was what it must feel like to be the goddamn
Incredible Hulk, only there was nothing incredible about it. Not a single
fucking thing.

Things went even worse when a
bird got into the dungeon. Not just any bird.
His
bird. Z thought he’d
imagined it at first, somehow summoned Rayna’s scent and presence through the
sheer force of his imagination, considering how many thoughts had been filled
with her since the beast had completely taken over.  

He tore through his brain, trying
to reassemble what had happened. It’d been sometime after he spiraled Luna
through her third climax. Her sobs had filled the room as he traced her whip
marks with one hand and cupped her mound with the other. He’d crooned his
approval and actually meant every note of it, for both her and him. He’d given
her what she needed, yet kept his head screwed on straight. The debt had been
paid, and Psycho Zsycho was nowhere in sight.
Thank fucking God.

Yeah…
there.
It was that
moment, letting those words intrude, that started his supersized mistake. He’d
dropped the mental defenses without considering how high his senses were really
revved, how it could all sneak up on him in one dumbshit second and fill his
imagination with the sole face he was struggling to block from this night he’d
been duty-bound to live.

Inside a second, Rayna was
everywhere. Blown up in his mind to the size of a goddamn megaplex screen. Not
just any picture, either. He saw her gasping into her pillow as he possessed
her body with his. He heard her screaming with ecstasy in the orgasm he gave
her. And when Luna had moaned, wordlessly begging for more, he’d only heard
Rayna’s husky alto beneath the sound.

The same voice that vibrated in
the air now, so real and terrifying. With every word, she reminded him of the
leash he’d let the monster have—of exactly what he’d done to take Luna to her
fourth climax. The strikes. The welts. The lashes. Her sobbing need for all of
it.
His
hunger to give it to her. And the dark, savoring pleasure he’d
gotten from every twisted second of it.

Psycho Zsycho hadn’t just come
out to play. He’d nuked the whole goddamn playground.

He roared at the fucker now. The
effort spiked him with enough adrenalin to push from Rayna. He staggered a few
steps and fell onto a little bench that Max surely must’ve gotten from
Liberace’s estate sale. He would’ve laughed at the gold velvet cushion if he
wasn’t so afraid of what might spew from him along with it. Tears or puke; they
were equally humiliating.

To be sure he did neither, Z
forced words out. “What—the fuck—are you doing here?”

For a long second, she was silent
and fidgety. She was so gorgeously out of place in her pink hoodie, white
sweats, and cushy winter boots. He didn’t have the strength to go subtle with
the stare he swooped over her. Fuck, what he’d give to get her inside those
bars, cuffed and stripped, awaiting his pleasure.

Luckily, she grabbed that gist loud
and clear, too. Her fingers were tense as they worked her sleeve ends against
her palms. “I—I had to talk to you.”

“Now?”

Emerald fire flared in her eyes.
“Yes, damn it.”

She darted a glance around the
room. Summoning a moment of lucidity, he wondered what her impressions were, of
what she must think of the ornate spanking benches with their red wrist cuffs, the
round bed with the spreader bars and chains, the small stage that was pre-set
with a submissive’s V chair and a St. Andrews cross. All of it was so much his
normality, of the planet he lived on. It was so different from hers. Did it
horrify her, as it had the few vanilla women he’d dared bring here? He couldn’t
remember their names now, let alone the disappointment he’d felt in their
disdain, if any. But having to think about Rayna fleeing in shock and disgust…

A barb lodged in the lining of
his gut.

Fuck. This was so much easier
when he’d been dictating the terms, when he called the shots. When
he
left
her
, not when she stood appraising a room in the club that was like
his second home, and thinking—

What?

Well, she wasn’t
hyperventilating.  But a longer scrutiny told him she wasn’t truly seeing
everything, either. That was the farthest he dared go in the effort. Staring at
her more meant she’d captivate him more. Which would lead to him getting her
onto the bed with him. Or better yet, into that cage. Christ, the things he
could do with her in that cage…

He clamped his jaw against a groan.
Just when he thought his erection had found its manners again the fucker
pounded at his pants, cheered by the chemicals left over from the insanity
that’d gone down with Luna. Mentally, he was a mess. Physically, he was a
machine primed for anything. A goddamn lethal combination.

He breathed hard, trying to
summon words again. “Rayna, I’m working at the nice guy thing here, okay? It’s
not
a good time.”

She twisted the zipper of her
jacket. When she took a breath, her breasts strained at the T-shirt beneath, as
perfect and round as he remembered.
Shit.
He closed his eyes. Like that
was going to help—especially as she shifted even closer, filling his senses with
her warm cinnamon scent.

“Are—are you okay?”

He lurched off the bench. “No,
damn it.” Fuck, she smelled
so good.
“You really need to—” He flung an
arm up, muscles coiling, fingers trembling. “Stay there. I mean it!”

Another wrong move. If he was
rational right now, he would’ve realized that. The woman gravitated to
suffering and a need to eliminate it, like Mother Theresa poured into
Aphrodite’s body. Instead of backing off, she picked up speed.

“Zeke—”

“It’s not a goddamn request!”

Desperation was an ugly CO. The
bastard guided his arm to the whip rack before he could summon a shred of
restraint. An Axel El Diablo ended up in his grip. Under normal circumstances,
the whip would’ve felt incredible, a piece of high craftsmanship in his hand.
He didn’t waste time on that now. He flicked the thing with vicious speed, making
the triple tails singe the air like a blow torch through rice paper.

Finally,
finally,
she
skittered the right direction. Back. At last,
her face contorted with
the emotions that needed to be there. Shock, confusion, fear. Oh yeah, couldn’t
forget the fear, no matter how much it made him feel like spewing his dinner. Maybe
it
was
a good thing that she’d come. That she’d finally seen, touched,
and smelled all of this. That she now got how his planet could never share the
same galaxy with hers, let alone the same solar system.

Nausea hit him again. A bowling
ball of a headache joined it. More dizziness followed. The confusion of seeing
her here, followed by the realization she wasn’t an apparition, capped by his
free fall from the helicopter of Top space, had him reeling like the end of a
three-day op without sleep. No, this was worse. There was no bad guy to show
for the ordeal. Only a head full of pain, a cock full of lust, and a gut full
of frustration. And yeah, he heard his heart’s screams about its omission from
that list. He snarled inwardly at that.
Nothing’s changed since yesterday,
you bonehead. Where Rayna’s concerned, you
don’t
get a vote.

He needed some air. He needed
some solitude. Goddamnit, he needed a worm hole and clearance for the other
side of the universe.

At least he could easily get the
first two. After jamming the whip back into the rack, he wheeled and stalked
out the door out to the room’s adjoining patio. Not every room in Bastille had
one; he’d just gotten lucky to stagger into this one, where Max had erected a
walled pavilion that continued the harem theme outside, much to the delight of
club members who enjoyed under-the-stars fornication. Nobody “daring to bare”
outside tonight. Those fuck-friendly stars were in hiding too, leaving nothing
but a black midnight and a chilled October wind to greet him.

Z sucked in the cold with
gratitude, dumping himself into a chair fitted in protective plastic for the
winter. The covering was damp. It had rained earlier and he smelled more on the
air. Thank fuck for that. The scent was a blessed one-eighty from the spiced
temptation of Rayna’s essence. He bent his head back, letting the drizzle
drench his face, allowing his equilibrium to swim.

“What the hell are you doing?
It’s freezing out here.”

Her voice didn’t stun him now. He
would’ve been surprised, if not relieved, if she’d left now. That didn’t make
the ache in her tone any easier to handle.

“Go home, Rayna,” he growled. “I
know you need to talk. I’ll call tomorrow, okay?”

 There was a rustle as she sighed.
She’d probably folded her arms, getting all gorgeous and huffy on him.
Fuck.

“I got the message the first time
with the mighty whip stunt, okay? But somebody’s got to keep you from dying.
Might as well be me.”

Incredulity prompted one of his
eyes open. Oh, yeah. Huffy. Gorgeous. Damn her. “What the—”

“You’ve been sweating. In leather
pants and nothing else. Now you’re sitting in midnight rain, shirtless and
hatless, all but inviting hypothermia into your bloodstream for a nightcap.”

“Thanks, WebMD.”

“You’re being stupid.”

“I’m a soldier, damn it. I’m used
to a little rain.”

“Let me help—”

He stopped her by slamming a fist
to the stone table. The glass stones in its fire pit jumped against the cover
tarp from the impact. Both his eyes were open now. And shit, so were hers.
Those deep green fantasies were even more exotic in her fury, especially when
she parted her lips at him, too. He wanted to tame that mouth in at least fifty
ways. He was hungry to bite it, growl orders against it, open it wide for the
invasion of his. And that would be just the start.

“If you ‘help’ by even one more
step, what I’ll do to you would be—”

“What?” she bore down by another
step. “What
would
it be, Zeke?”

He dropped his head. Stared at
his curled fists. How easy it would be to just open them up and reach for her.
To tangle his fingers into her beautiful strawberry strands and drag her back
inside by them. To lay her out on the bed and kiss her senseless while he
cuffed her down, yanked those sweats off, freed his cock and—

With a guttural moan, he hit the
table again.

“It would be what neither of us
needs.”

Despite the dictate in his tone, Rayna
didn’t budge. Hell. She wasn’t going to let up on this sheet check, was she? 

Fine. He knew how to do this. He
did it for a living, goddamnit. Inwardly, he streaked his face the color of the
jungle and imagined his loaded gat in his arms with a shitload of hostiles on
his ass. With that new fortitude, he lifted his face and drilled her with a
steeled stare.

“Go home, Rayna. I mean it.”

For a long second, she still
didn’t move. For another, she shifted only those incredible lips of hers. Their
hopeful defiance vanished, replaced by a bitter twist. They tightened as the
depths of her eyes started to glisten silver, though the tears never liquefied.
Without another word, she turned on him and disappeared inside the dungeon.

Zeke waited for the relief to
come. It didn’t. He dropped his head back and peered into the thickening mist. “Thank
you for coming, ladies and gentlemen,” he snarled. “That officially concludes
the Zeke Hayes fuck-up-alooza for the night. Be sure to buy your T-shirt and
keychain on the way out.”

A new flood of light from the
building jerked him upright. Rayna appeared again, head aglow with a burnished halo,
shoulders set, head high. She let the door close without giving him a passing
glance. Instead, she fished her car keys from her purse.

He rose but she still didn’t look
at him. Her only movement was a nod at the pavilion’s little side gate. “I
assume this alley will get me back out to the street?”

“Affirmative,” he muttered.

“Good.” She paused long enough so
he caught a glimpse of her profile—and the tiny wobble of her chin. “I don’t
want to see…everyone again.” Even without her pause, he would’ve deciphered her
subtext.
Everyone
meant
Luna
. “Tell Sage I’ll be in touch.”

He let out a frayed sigh.
Pathetic. But it was either that or the command, right on the tip of his
tongue, for her to stay. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Will do.”

The clang of the gate behind her
was filled with brutal finality. Thanks to the soaked pavement, he heard every
wet
thwop
of her retreating steps. The high alley walls took care of the
rest, pinging back every word she softly railed at herself during that walk.

“Great. Way to go, Rayna. That
went about as wrong as it could have, huh? Maybe, girlfriend, you do need to go
back to the jungle. Maybe you really are just a stupid little squaw.”

He forgot to breathe again.