“Master, I-I don’t—”
“Shhhh. Just feel, pet. That’s all I want you to do. Take a deep breath and relax. Let your senses guide you.” He pressed a soft kiss to the spot behind her left ear. “I won’t let go. I swear I’ll never let you fall, baby. Trust me.”
Lyssa turned and rubbed her cheek against his. “Kiss me.” The plea was soft, gasped as she struggled to catch her breath. It took everything she had to follow his instructions and relax.
His lips rubbed against hers, parted them so his tongue could stroke inside. The same careful motions of advance and retreat echoed the systematic insertion of the plug into her backside. Lyssa moaned and writhed, sliding her body along his, conflicted in determining if she wanted to aide or fight against the probe.
“Press against it,” Mike encouraged as he placed kisses across her cheeks below the edge of silk covering her eyes. “Let it in. Feel how it stings and stretches, burning through you, making you wet. Ready. I can smell how turned on you are.”
The soft rumble of his voice amped up the intensity of the desire flowing through her. She couldn’t halt the whimper as she rolled her hips, flexed down onto the pressure filling her rear, and fire danced through her core.
“Don’t come, love. Not yet.” Mike’s teeth nibbled the tendon stretching down the side of her neck. “It isn’t time yet.”
“Oh please, Master,” Lyssa begged, her voice rough with need. Her body shook in reaction as the third, then the fourth curve slid inside. The sting and burn intensified; she shifted onto the tips of her toes, dragged her weight upward by pulling on the chains holding her arms in place. The wood of the post creaked and groaned. Need weakened her resolve as sensations built within her. Waves of emotions she’d kept firmly reined in tugged at their restraints.
The fingers cupping her ass bit into the round flesh. He lifted her off her feet. Lyssa gasped with relief, her head dropping onto his shoulder as she fought to bring her body back under control.
The reprieve didn’t last. Her breathing had barely evened out when Mike whispered his warning against her lips. “Hold tight, love.” His mouth covered hers, sealing in the cry when he released her slowly at the same time he finished seating the plug. Fire seared, poured a trail from her stretched ass to her clenching womb.
She bucked against him. Climax hovered close; control scrabbled for purchase on wet, slippery ground. The brush of his fingers didn’t distract her from the pending explosion ticking toward detonation. Her vaginal muscles contracted and released, seeking relief where none was present.
“Master, please,” she sobbed, her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from beneath her lashes. The silk banding her head slipped free.
“Open your eyes, Lyssa.”
Lyssa’s eyes fluttered open, gaining focus in slow increments. The tip of his cock slid between her swollen folds and rubbed at the entrance to her body. With the same tortoiselike pace, Mike tunneled through gripping muscles and wet tissues until his hot, thick shaft filled her completely.
“Look at me.” His voice demanded compliance.
Lyssa gave it without hesitation. The fire engulfed her, but she held it off. Waiting. Anticipating his approval. Dreading a refusal. Her gaze focused on his. She watched him as he watched her. The flush to his cheeks, the narrow ring of brown around his dilated pupils assured her he wasn’t as unaffected as he sounded.
“Listen to me, pet. I want you to hear this and know I mean it.” He eased his body out of her, ignoring the pulse and flex of muscles fighting to keep him inside.
Lyssa sobbed, shook her head, but didn’t lose contact with his penetrating gaze. “
Please
.”
“Whether you admit it or not, you belong to me. Not just for this month, but always. Forever.”
He shifted forward, filling her again. The hand behind her wiggled the plug, increasing the overfilled sensations spreading through her.
“Forever,” he repeated, tugging her closer. His retreat was faster, the return firm. Hard. Just what Lyssa needed but not enough.
“Yes,” she agreed. Anything if he’d just do it. Just let her come. Holding off, resisting the fire sizzling through her veins, singeing her insides was driving her mad. “Please, Master. Please let me come.”
“Even if you deny me with your dying breath”—the expression in his face, the heat in his eyes softened—“I love you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart seemed to explode, and the fire within her erupted. It shot through her body, stiffening her legs, stopping the breath in her lungs, melting her brain, and turning any coherent thoughts to mush. She was barely cognizant of Mike’s hands clutching her against him as the convulsion spread outward, growing more intense with every wave coursing through her until it culminated in a gush of fluid coating both her and Mike where their bodies melded.
Her eyes flew open, and she stared in stunned amazement at the wicked grin and satisfaction filling Mike’s expression. “That’s so fucking hot, Lys.”
Exhausted, her body spent and still pulsing with aftershocks from her climax, Lyssa shook her head. “I’ve never—”
Mike’s grin grew wider. “Can you do it again?”
“I-I didn’t kn-know I c-could do it this time,” she stammered.
“Ah, perhaps I’ll just have to work you a little harder next time, hmm?”
Warm, firm lips smothered her groan. Lyssa succumbed to the urge to wrap legs that felt like wet noodles around his waist. Her internal muscles contracted around his thick flesh, tempting her toward another release despite the wash of lethargy sweeping over her.
Denial was futile. Containment of her unruly emotions was crucial. If it meant crushing the last bit of hope slowly taking form in her heart, snuffing it out forever in order to protect herself, she’d do it.
Chapter Twelve
Easing out of the bed, Mike worked silently to pull on his jeans before drawing the Sig Sauer from under the mattress. He kept it tight against his leg as he left the room without waking Lyssa. Exhaustion kept her motionless beneath the covers as Mike watched her from the doorway for several minutes. Before he moved down the hall toward the kitchen, he tucked the P226 into the back of his waistband.
They’d be getting up in a few hours to meet the models at his studio again. He’d cleared away the cameras and tripods while Lyssa dozed. As soon as Tumaini had tiptoed back in just after sundown, Mike had helped a very sleepy Lyssa dress, loaded her into his truck, and brought her home.
Tired as he was, though, sleep had eluded him. No sooner had his eyes closed than an image of Trent would flash through his mind. Or LaTreace. Sweat sheened his skin when he’d pictured Lyssa anywhere near some of the scum he’d gone after in the last few years. Instinct told him something bad was coming. Tin Man—Trent—admitted he’d heard Mike was on leave, but that didn’t mean he’d accepted it. Not to mention some of the other operatives on the team. Glenda and Wizard were the first who came to mind.
The svelte blonde Russian could coax honey from the bees, but she wasn’t a lady to cross. If she thought his taking leave could set back any of the multilayered investigations the team was focused on, she’d be on his doorstep, Tokarev TT-33 in hand if her smile didn’t work.
Wizard, on the other hand, was just flat-out scary. A six-feet-five Chinese man with jade green eyes wasn’t someone you could ignore or miss. If there was one thing Mike admired, it was that Wizard was good at hiding in plain sight. And when he wanted something, he got it. His magic centered on his ability to remove obstacles—human or otherwise—to achieve his goals. If his aim was to capture a key player in an organization, he could work any number of spells to get that person. Lately, though, Wizard’s plans had been thwarted by an elusive person yet to be identified.
If Wizard determined Mike’s presence would be best used somewhere other than San Diablo, it wouldn’t surprise Mike if he suddenly woke up one morning in Wizard’s fortress in central China. And keeping Lyssa in the dark was getting harder to do. Especially after he’d explained the circumstances surrounding his adoption of Tuma. She’d stayed quiet, but that wasn’t likely to last very long. If she decided to drag Bryce and his father into her plans to get more information, it would not only complicate matters but possibly put his entire family at risk.
For the first time in the nearly twelve years he’d been part of Operation Zulu Team, Mike regretted his decision to become an operative.
Taking a deep breath, Mike rested his hands on the kitchen counter and tried to relax. He let his mind drift for a moment, the details and information dropping into safe little compartments for him to analyze.
It was unlikely Wizard or Glenda could make it here without him knowing. Both were currently deployed in Asia and Europe respectively. Tin Man, on the other hand—he could have left almost immediately after he called to ask about LaTreace.
Again instinct kicked in the second Mike thought about LaTreace. Things didn’t feel right. Tin Man would take care of her, but the woman had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Mike knew the situation she’d been placed in wasn’t dangerous, just sensitive.
Mike rolled his head on his neck. Pushing away the thoughts distracting him, he turned his attention to what unsettled him most. The exhaustion pulling at him wasn’t physical but emotional. He hadn’t been wrong when he’d assumed Lyssa would remain mute about her feelings. The woman was obstinate. Hell would house figure-skating penguins before she’d ever confess to loving him.
Which frustrated the crap out of him. There were moments when he wanted to use everything he knew about how her body responded to force the words from her. It was that sense of desperation that drove him from her bed to pace the darkened confines of her kitchen. Food would never satisfy the craving he battled daily. He doubted Lyssa realized the measure of control she’d ceded over to him this evening by the simple act of calling him Master without him prompting her. But he was sure once she realized it, she’d begin reinforcing her walls, pronto.
“If she would only stop and think.” Unfortunately that was exactly what she was doing, but she was applying skewed logic. Mike knew her barriers were connected to childhood traumas. It had taken his brother eight years to get past Mattie’s walls and defenses, and Lyssa had experienced six years more exposure to the derision and abuse meted out by their father. Then there was the fact that Lyssa’s mind didn’t trust her heart. As Mattie had mentioned the morning after the masquerade, it was her head he’d have to convince, not her heart. And the—
A movement along the side yard drew Mike’s attention from his thoughts to the windows facing the edge of the property. The motion sensors that triggered the floodlights must have malfunctioned. With his heartbeat increasing and adrenaline beginning to stir, he continued to watch. Until he confirmed it as a possible threat to Lyssa’s safety, he’d wait.
When the shadow separated itself from the hedge marking the boundary between Lyssa’s house and the one on the left, Mike removed the pistol he’d tucked into the back of his jeans and checked the alarm pad near the door leading into the garage. The display was black, no lights or words flashing along the LED strip.
Whoever was out there knew how to deactivate security systems, which meant his intentions weren’t to be trusted. There was no way he’d allow anyone close enough to harm his woman. Mike tracked the man as he moved toward the backyard and the covered patio. Easing the dead bolts open, Mike stepped into the garage. From there he slipped through the door leading onto the side yard, making sure to stay as quiet as possible.
He’d scouted around Lyssa’s house in the days since they’d struck their bargain. The placement of the various shrubs and plants along the side of the house were familiar, and he used their shadows to move in on the intruder. “Better to prepare for an enemy and live, than expect a friend and die” was one of Trent’s favorite sayings. In that moment, Mike took it to heart. Friend or enemy, whoever was skulking around out here was about to learn a hard lesson regarding manners.
Mike approached from behind, noting the man was built along lean, compact lines, similar to Bryce. He suspected the intruder might be as strong as Bryce, and the way the guy moved without making much noise warned Mike surprise would be to his best advantage. Slipping the safety on his gun, he returned it to the back of his jeans and then made his move.
Going in low, Mike aimed for the man’s knees, sending him crashing into the flower bed. His suspicions about the other man’s fighting ability weren’t wrong. The fall would have stunned an untrained thief; this one came up swinging. His right fist slammed into Mike’s shoulder as Mike shifted out of the way. Using the momentum of the blow, Mike grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled him forward while moving aside and rising to his knees. Without the leverage of Mike’s body to stop him, the man landed face-first on the damp grass, his right arm pinned beneath his torso.
Mike gave him no opportunity to wriggle loose. With his free hand, Mike twisted the man’s left arm up and back, pinning the hand between his shoulder blades. The scuffle ended as Mike shifted his leg so his knee pressed over the kid’s forearm and his shin kept the kid’s upper body secured to the ground. With his right hand free, Mike tugged the gun from his jeans and tapped the threaded barrel against the intruder’s cheek.
Leaning in close, his voice soft, he demanded, “Who sent you?”
“I’m sorry. I was trying—”
Mike heard movement nearby. Every instinct braced him for the worst. He’d rattled quite a few cages over the years. Despite the anonymity of his position with OZ, traitors weren’t unheard of, and identities were often compromised.
Shifting his position and weight, he secured the arm he’d twisted against the kid’s back beneath his leg and settled his knee at the base of his prisoner’s skull. He tapped the barrel of the P226 against the kid’s cheek a second time. “Not a sound,” he warned. The kid had been trained somewhere. The lack of noise and speed with which he’d reacted to Mike’s attack was evidence of that. Which meant the threat of a dislocated shoulder or broken arm wouldn’t slow him down, but the surety of a broken neck immediately immobilized the guy.