Wanting Wilder (20 page)

His mother’s stark terror seized Wilder’s heart, and he felt like he was having an attack too. His father was a moderately fit man, though he didn’t exactly eat healthy foods. Even so, Wilder hadn’t seen this coming. “I’m on my way.”

He called Micah and changed their tickets to the next available flight. Micah was almost family, and he wouldn’t want to stay in Florida when the man who was his second father was in such serious danger.

On the way to the airport, they stopped by Lydia’s hotel. From the parking lot, he could see the door was closed. Most of the doors of partying spring breakers were open. People wandered from one room to the other, laughing and touching, kissing and joking.

She’d said they were going shopping and to lunch. Given how little time had elapsed, he figured she wasn’t back yet.

“Write a note. Slide it under the door.” Micah rarely affected a demeanor this serious. That role was usually reserved for Wilder.

He found nothing in the rental car to use, so he bolted up the stairs and knocked on one of the open doors near Lydia’s room. A woman sat on a man’s lap. Both wore only bathing suits. They looked up, puzzled at his intrusion. “Can I have a sheet of hotel stationery and a pen?”

She nodded to a nearby desk. Wilder wrote his note and slipped it under her door.
Lydia, Family emergency. Had to go home. Please call. Wild

He scratched out the digits of his phone number and prayed she would understand. And then he prayed for his father.

* * * *

Present day

Just as he made it to the last item on the list, basically a paragraph indicating Lydia was ready to assume her full responsibilities at Oasis, Micah came into his office and closed the door. He sat in the chair Lydia had vacated and waited for him to finish.

Wilder didn’t want to hurry, so he closed his laptop and faced his friend. Micah’s brown eyes were dark and somber, and his lips were pursed in a frown. That didn’t bode well.

“What’s wrong?”

Micah shook his head. “I just wondered how things were going with Lydia. I haven’t seen you around all that much, and she’s always busy.”

Since Micah was the one who had scouted Lydia as a candidate for the wish coordinator position and put together her wish, Wilder could see how he would feel responsible for her well-being. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Fine. I’m getting ready to close out her wish. She’s settled in okay.”

“And after that?” Micah nailed him with a challenging stare, one that demanded answers.

Wilder was used to Micah expressing an interest in his personal life. They were friends. But he wasn’t used to an attitude that almost bordered on hostility. He took his time to formulate an answer.

“I’ve seen how you behave around her. Don’t try to pretend she doesn’t mean more to you than just an assignment.” Micah growled. His fingertips flexed where he rested them against his thighs.

This behavior made no sense. Wilder crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair. “What’s going on? You’re pissed off about something.”

Micah jumped up and paced the three steps it took to cross the office. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I just don’t want to see you blow this.”

“There’s nothing to blow.” Wilder was starting to absorb some of Micah’s agitation. “She has strict hard limits. Even if she meant more to me, I’m not sure the feeling is mutual.”

“You won’t know unless you—”

Wilder held up his hand and got to his feet. Fury simmered just below the surface, most of it directed inward. “I do know. Eight years ago, when we were in Fort Lauderdale, that was Lydia. She never called, man. She made it clear she didn’t want me in her life. I have no reason to believe that’s changed.”

He wanted to have a reason. If she had once indicated that she wanted more from him, he’d gladly give it. Right now, he’d give anything just to kiss her and hold her in his arms.

Micah shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. “Maybe she never got your note. Maybe she thinks you abandoned her. Maybe right now she thinks you don’t want her.”

Wilder shook his head. She couldn’t have missed the note. It would have been right there when she opened the door. There was no point in grasping at straws. “I’m going to end the wish. Then I was going to ask her out. I guess I’ll know for certain whether or not she has feelings for me.”

* * * *

The alarm clock pulsed, the high-pitched beep rousing Lydia from a deep slumber. She’d found sleep elusive the night before, right up until about an hour before she needed to wake up. Wilder had been somber and quiet on the drive back from work, and when she expected him to order her to the living room for their nightly bondage session, he had suggested they watch a movie on television and turn in early.

Vivid memories of sitting at that diner assailed her. She’d stared at the empty seat opposite her in the booth, waiting for the man she called Sir, for nearly two hours. The waitress had stopped asking for her order and had switched to giving her sympathetic looks. At first Lydia hadn’t accepted that he would stand her up. She’d worried, her heart thumping madly at the thought of him hurt, until she made it to his hotel room to find members of the maintenance staff dismantling the crude wooden structure Wilder had built around the bed to hold her for bondage.

She’d asked after him, only to find he’d checked out that morning. She had returned to her hotel and cried in the shower. Thankfully, Brigit refrained from mentioning Wilder at all. They’d continued their vacation as if she hadn’t fallen for a man who had irrevocably changed her life and her perception of her sexuality.

Back then, he’d displayed no warning signs to indicate that things were about to end. But she couldn’t miss the neon blazing above his head last night at dinner and then afterward, when he’d suggested a movie instead of bondage. She tried not to read into it, but she knew the expiration date for their wish had come and gone. Perhaps he was trying to break it to her gently. After all, she felt they’d developed a genuine friendship over the past week. More than that, she had come to need him—not just the bondage or the discipline, but his company. Having him in the same room or knowing he was just down the hall made a huge difference in her psyche. Pangs from the heartache of their previous association had faded to the background, and now they returned full force.

She threw on her yoga pants and an oversize shirt, and she headed to the bathroom to freshen up.

Splashing cold water on her face helped chase away the lingering effects of sleep for now. This evening would be brutal if he expected her to stay awake. If he tied her in a comfortable position, she might just fall asleep.

She opened the refrigerator, her mind numb and her thought processes absent. Her gaze landed on the carton of eggs. Nothing fancy this morning. She decided to make an omelet. He’d been asking for her hash a lot, and the secret to her recipe, but she didn’t have the energy to make it.

He emerged from his cave ten minutes later, and she set a steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of him. She didn’t say anything, mostly because she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He wasn’t talkative in the morning, but he generally responded to anything she said. By the time the meal was over, she usually had him laughing or smiling about something.

She liked his smile. It lit his eyes, and she liked the way they smoldered with the passion he kept bottled up. She hoped to tap into it before it was too late, but she didn’t know how to do that without throwing herself at him. And she sensed he wouldn’t be amenable to such a forward gesture. When she’d sat on his lap for two karaoke songs, he had been a perfect gentleman.

She set the plate in front of him, and he stared at the omelet and bacon. She waited for him to somehow acknowledge the food—he usually at least thanked her—but he didn’t move.

She held her breath, expecting him to ruin the day. It was better to get it all out in the open. Avoiding the inevitable had robbed her of sleep. She was sure she would face many sleepless nights while she adjusted to life without the friend and the Dom who had become such an integral part of her life. Again. She could have used Master V’s advice, but she still didn’t have the heart to confront him. Not yet.

“You made eggs yesterday.” His voice didn’t have that scratchy sound it usually did in the morning.

The stress of the moment was too much to bear. She snapped at him. “If you don’t want my food, then make your own damn breakfast.” Without waiting for his reaction, she snatched up his plate and dumped the contents into the garbage disposal.

He gripped her shoulders hard, and she whirled out of his grasp. Maybe because she was so tired, her reflexes failed to save her for long. He closed his hands around her upper arms, iron bands that dug into her flesh and gave her some courage. If he was going to end things, he wouldn’t bother disciplining her. There would be no point. He shook her once and pulled her closer, almost near enough so that her chest grazed his. Almost. She whimpered in frustration, but he just stared at her, a hard set to his jaw and an unreadable glaze to his eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she struggled not to choke on it.
Please kiss me. Please pull me close and let me know I’m not the only one who feels what’s between us.

At last he growled and let loose a string of obscenities that had feral heat rising to flood her chest, neck, and face. Lydia loved dirty talk, but she wasn’t used to hearing such vehement oaths. She flinched, ashamed of her wanton reaction in the face of his rejection.

Stubble lined his jaw, blending against the summer tan that hadn’t quite faded from his skin. She wanted to feel it scraping her inner thighs as he held her open and feasted on her juices. But she found herself bent over the kitchen table, her breasts flat against the wood surface, the coolness bleeding through her shirt’s thin cotton.

He pressed his hand into her lower back, holding her down. “Will you accept your punishment, or do I have to restrain you?”

She willed her body to remain still. “I accept it, Sir.”

He peeled down her yoga pants, shoving them to a point just below her butt cheeks. That first smack proved her a liar. She bucked her hips and shoved against him, the violent movement knocking over her glass of orange juice. She needed more than a simple spanking to come to terms with what the day would bring.

Sir wasted no time. He hauled her to the living room and shackled her to the big, white, laminate-covered table. It was an eyesore, but it served a very useful function. Stretched out, facedown, her arms and legs bound out of the way with quick-release restraints, she could barely move. Then he added a thick leather belt that buckled around her lower back like a half corset, and he secured that to the table as well.

Though she couldn’t move from this strict restraint, she screeched as she fought anyway.

His shadow fell over her, and she looked up to find him with a gag in his hand. It was the phallic-shaped one he’d used on her a week ago.

“Open your mouth, Pet. I guarantee you’ll need a gag for this.”

Part of her dreaded his wrath, but a larger part wanted so much to feel something at his hands that she didn’t care whether he chose pleasure or pain. The only thing she couldn’t handle right now would be if he untied her and told her to get ready for work. She opened her mouth and let him feed her the silicone cock when she craved the real thing. The harsh flavor was yet another punishment.

In short order, he fastened the gag in place. Then he lifted her shirt over her head. Due to the restraints, he couldn’t remove it completely. He left it covering her arms, another point of restraint. She rested her cheek against the soft fabric. The stretchy material of her pants already held her thighs together. He hadn’t pulled them up when he gave up on the spanking in the kitchen.

The falls of the flogger whistled through the air, and the sharp sting against her ass brought tears to her eyes. Immediately she went still. She didn’t want the oblivion of subspace, but she needed this pain to process the ache deep in her chest.

Only he didn’t continue with the punishment. Six lashes, and the dull thump on the floor told her he’d dropped the flogger. It wasn’t enough. The sting was already fading.

She protested through her gag when he released her ankles, but he didn’t acknowledge her with so much as a tap on her calf. Soft nylon encircled the place where the cuff had been, and she calmed at evidence of harsher restraint. When he came around and released her wrists, she behaved. He pulled her shirt the rest of the way over her head and tossed it on the sofa.

He lifted her so that she knelt with her knees spread apart, and she prayed he’d touch her weeping pussy. Already her nipples pebbled in anticipation.

But he ignored them and hooked a long, skinny pole through her elbows, threading it behind her, forcing her shoulders back and her chest forward. Then he wove the rope in a simple pattern that bound her arms to the pole. True to his passion, he included her torso in his design. Sir elevated bondage to an art, even when the way his lips pressed together indicated grim intent. When he finished, lines of rope circled each breast. They flushed and swelled, begging for attention.

Sucking on the gag, she stared at his face in rapt fascination at the mix of frustration and determination that lent danger to his presence and ramped up his sexiness. The scent of coffee and something distinctly Wilder rolled from him. She fought not to bury her face in his neck when he bent close to double-check the lines.

When he tilted his head to the side, she admired the play of his muscles beneath his light blue cotton shirt, and she watched an artery throb in his neck. She wanted to kiss it, touch it, lick it, anything to hear him moan with pleasure.

He tugged at a rope that crossed her collarbone and stopped suddenly, his finger caught between it and her skin. She glanced up and glimpsed a flash of untamed hunger in his eyes. She swallowed hard and fought to breathe.

His gaze dropped to her hand, but she made no move to signal him to stop. On the contrary, she would die if he stopped.