Page 162 of Lucky 14

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

I knew the answer before I asked. I asked to see if Wyatt would tell me a lie to make himself feel better.

He didn’t. And somehow, that does make me feel better.

In the last few weeks, I’ve found my resolve dropping. Wyatt’s system has given me the space I’ve wanted. They’ve been present, engaging me in conversation over meals and sticking their cold feet on me at night, but never tried to use me to make themselves feel better.

It’s hard to get attached as a therapist. I can never get out of my goddamn head. I want to make the best choices for me in an imperfect world, and that’s fucking hard to do.

Wyatt’s jaw is clenched, and he won’t look at me. There are lines of tension through his body, and I know it’s because he’s afraid. And just the same as it’s been since I met him, I don’t want him to be scared.

I want him to be happy. And not in some codependent way where I need him to be happy in order for me to be happy. I’ve spent the last few weeks making sure I’m happy on my own. Managing my own emotions. Meditating. Breathing. Mourning.

What else does one do after surviving a fucking murder island?

The mourning kicked me in the ass. I had to mourn Elijah, even though I barely knew him, and I had to mourn Connor all over again. At a deeper level, I had to mourn the idea that life isn’t stable. It can literally change at any moment and rip things away that you love and care about. You can’t avoid loss by running from love. Running from love is a loss itself.

And here I am, wanting to love more. Because I care about Wyatt. I care about Oakley. And I care about Kyan. Not because I need them to make me happy. But because I’ve seen them. And I fucking care.

With a quiet rush, the last of the wall of my reservations crumbles into pieces around my feet. I want to stop running from the fear. I want to live again. Maybe for the first time since I was a kid.

I straighten, looking at the man beside me. He taps his finger on the railing.

“Knees.” My voice comes out soft.

There’s a beat, and then Wyatt turns to face me for the first time.

“Knees.” The demand is there again, but harder this time. I know how to help Wyatt overcome that fear. I also want this. I fucking want this. Even if I have to lose it.

Wyatt looks at me like I’m not sure what I’m talking about, so I snap my hand up to his shoulder, putting my lips up to his ear. “Bad boy.” I squeeze his muscled shoulder, and he shivers.

“What are you doing?” He’s hesitant. Probably wondering why I’ve done a 180. I need to show him I’m serious.

Suddenly, I have an idea.

“Take your shirt off,” I say.

Wyatt still looks confused, but does as I say. His muscles ripple as he takes it off, and pleasure fills me at his obedience. He’s strong enough to ignore me, but he chooses to obey. It’s some sort of fucked-up power structure, like a wolf that sits when I give the command.

“Pants too.”

Now Wyatt hesitates. He’s either testing me, or he isn’t confident. Both of which I don’t like. My role right now is to take control, and his is to give it.

“Fine.” Slowly, I hook my fingers under the hem of my pants and drop them down. “If you want me to piss on them, leave them.”

Wyatt’s eyes widen, and his pupils blow, and I fucking love it.

“Your job is to obey. My job is to worry about the why. You didn’t obey fast enough, so now accept your punishment.” I pull my pants completely off, and the way Wyatt looks at me can only be described as worship. I see the stress of everything slip away from the edges of his eyes.

“Make me come.” I put my leg up on one of his thighs, baring myself in front of him.

This time, Wyatt doesn’t wait. He kneels, burying his face in my pelvis, pulling a deep breath in. Then he lets out a little groan and eats. He licks and nips and sucks, immediately tingling my clit, throwing glances up at me. I see the question in his eyes. Will I piss on him right now?

I just smile, and he buries his face deeper. Wyatt eats me until I see stars. I wait until my muscles are clenching, and then I come all over his face. The waves of pleasure overwhelm me, and I groan, grinding into him.

I wait until he’s eaten me through the orgasm. I’ve had some clients with a piss kink before, and I’m fairly certain the turn-on for Wyatt is the degradation. The ownership. The idea of degrading him is hot to me too. There’s something about the way he turns his eyes up at me, knowing how dangerous he is. How he could take my life with a blink of the eye, and yet he chooses to let me call him a bitch. I’ve touched myself in the shower thinking about it, and from that, I know that I need a few minutes afterward to loosen up the muscles so I can piss.

“Get your dick out,” I demand, and Wyatt slows his eating, those dark eyes turned up at me. I see his hands move to obey, but he doesn’t stop eating me, which just makes me continue to tense. I step back, but Wyatt just scoots forward, chasing me.