Some of her steel returned to her spine, but her cheeks were rosy from drinking. "I never doubt you."

"Then you have no need to be concerned about me talking to another woman a even the one who trained Owen."

Terrible pain flashed through her gaze, followed by hard guilt. "Don't, please. I can't talk about him right now."

He could practically see the emotion seething beneath her skin and wondered how long they had before she totally lost it. While part of him wanted to pick the scab off her emotional wound, this wasn't the place to deal with the fallout, not when there were so many people watching them, some with pity and others with a smugness that made him want to bash their faces in. Protective instincts flared within him and he gathered Mich.e.l.le into his arms.

"I've got you, sugar. Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

She nestled against him and let out a long sigh. "Distract me, Wyatt. Keep me in the present. I'm so d.a.m.n tired of letting my past destroy my future."

"You know we can't play here tonight. Not after drinking."

"I'm sorry about that. Especially with your issues with alcohol. It was very selfish and cruel of me. Please forgive me for ruining your night."

"Come on now, no need to nail yourself to the cross. Booze and misery go hand in hand. I should know, but it doesn't take the pain away, does it?"

She let out an almost haunted sigh. "No, it doesn't."

Yuki moved into his line of sight next to the bar. "Wyatt?"

He looked down at Mich.e.l.le and gave her a small smile. "I have a surprise for you."

She looked between him and Yuki. "You both know I can't play tonight."

"That is true," a deep male voice said from across the bar.

Yuki smiled and actually squealed like a pre-teen meeting her favorite band when she said, "Petrov!"

Wyatt was watching Mich.e.l.le as she turned and beamed at a man with a full head of silver hair and piercing blue eyes. He was probably in his late sixties, built like a brick house, and radiated control. Dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a black leather vest covered in patches, he smiled at Mich.e.l.le with obvious affection.

"Welcome back, baby girl," he said in a voice that held a thick trace of an Eastern European accent.

The man's sweet talk didn't sit well with Wyatt, but what p.i.s.sed him off even more was the instant relief he felt coursing through Mich.e.l.le. She turned as much as she could in Wyatt's arms and reached out across the bar, gripping the other man's hand in hers. "It is so good to see you."

He looked up at Wyatt and raised a brow. "So, who is this Alpha male you've managed to seduce into submission?"

Mich.e.l.le didn't release Petrov's hand or even turn to look at Wyatt. "This is Wyatt Callahan."

Petrov gently pulled his hand from beneath Mich.e.l.le's and extended it to Wyatt. "It is truly my pleasure to meet you. And don't worry, I don't have any nefarious intentions towards your Domina."

Feeling slightly chagrined, Wyatt shook his hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

The other man laughed, a booming sound that echoed even above the music. "No wonder you don't like me."

Mich.e.l.le reached back and stroked Wyatt's face with her fingertips, relaxation flowing through her now. Either that or the shots she'd been pounding down were kicking in. "Where's Maya?"

"She's out there somewhere, probably indulging in some kind of debauchery with the bride." He winked at Wyatt. "My wife has a taste for Topping women and I like to indulge her now and then. Part of the fun of marrying a switch."

Yuki cleared her throat. "Wyatt? Shall we? It's time."

Mich.e.l.le tensed slightly. "What's going on?"

In an effort to ease her Wyatt began to softly kiss along her neck as he spoke, "I want to give you a gift that Yuki, James and I have been working on for you. Something that you'll love."

Turning abruptly, Mich.e.l.le's gaze went right to the suspension area. "You're going to do a performance?"

"Yes."

She froze beneath his hands and a chill practically radiated from her. "Are you asking for my permission to have s.e.x with Yuki?"

"What?" Yuki nearly screamed in Mich.e.l.le's face. "No, you ungrateful b.i.t.c.h. We're going to do a suspension scene for you. I know how much you love the flying eye candy though now I should have your a.s.s blindfolded and force you to sit and listen to the crowd."

Wyatt exchanged a glance with Petrov and the other man tapped the counter to get each woman's attention and said in a low, calm voice, "Ladies, let's take it down a notch unless you want to do some oil wrestling for your penance."

Each woman immediately simmered down and Wyatt found himself slightly in awe of the older man.

"Think about what I said, Domina," Wyatt whispered into Mich.e.l.le's ear. "I love you and only you. Trust me."

Petrov took Mich.e.l.le's hand in his again. Now that Wyatt could look past his jealousy he noted that there was nothing carnal about the action, only comforting. "Come with me, baby girl. I have a viewing area set up for us, the best seat in the house."

Mich.e.l.le tried to keep from fidgeting as she sank into the black leather couch with Petrov. Her head was spinning slightly and she knew she drank way too much. But it was either get drunk enough to numb her mind or succ.u.mb to a raving, screaming fit of sorrow.

All because of that f.u.c.king picture in the women's locker room.

She was sure Petrov and Maya hadn't even thought about the image of Owen hanging in the women's locker room. It was a large, tastefully done black and white photograph of his freshly canned back and a.s.s. She'd been the one who had put those marks on him and remembered the wicked smile he gave her as he posed, showing off his stripes. He had a wonderful a.s.s for beating, and when she saw the images, memories came crashing down, leaving her trying to stifle her sobs as she took a shower. If there hadn't been so many people in the room she would have touched the photo, wet the gla.s.s with her tears as she tried to find some comfort with a physical memory of her first love.

Time seemed to overlap and she had to fight her mind to stay in the present. Everywhere she looked, everything she touched reminded her of Owen, and she felt a deep shame, not only because of her role in his death, but because she'd replaced him with a man she was pretty sure she loved more than she'd ever loved Owen. And that brought guilt of epic proportions roaring down on her. Owen had been the first person to love her unconditionally, to show her that there was a world outside of the carefully constructed prison her mother had made for her. Most people couldn't understand how profound of an impact he'd had on her life, but he'd been her everything. The first ray of sunlight in the desolate darkness of her young adult life.

Even now, sitting on this leather couch, she couldn't help but picture Yuki tying Owen up for Mich.e.l.le's pleasure. This was before Yuki had met James and the two women would often torment Owen together. Yuki never did anything s.e.xual with him, but she loved to tie him up. Now she watched her friend strolling around James and Wyatt as they stripped. Tonight Yuki was wearing a perfectly tailored men's suit with no shirt beneath that looked fantastic on her slender figure. She had her hair pulled back in a severe braid, her face bare of makeup except for deep red lipstick, but she still looked beautifully feminine.

Someone to Mich.e.l.le's left made a ribald comment about Wyatt's muscles as he began to disrobe and she wanted to yell at them that he belonged to her. He was her submissive, her man, her everything. Jealousy flared back to life and she almost choked on the mental image of Wyatt talking with Mistress Daniella. His easy smile and the way he examined Mistress Daniella had been like an emotional slap in the face.

How dare he look at another woman like that?

Petrov patted her leg. "Eyes on the stage. Your friends and your submissive went to a great deal of trouble to do this for you. Look at how nervous Wyatt is. He needs your rea.s.surance that this is okay. Think about how far out of his comfort zone he is."

While part of her, an angry and selfish part, wanted to tell Petrov to f.u.c.k off and stop lecturing her, the tiny portion of her brain not saturated in vodka told her to shut the h.e.l.l up and pay attention to what he was saying. Petrov knew his way in and out of a submissive's mind to the point where it was almost scary. h.e.l.l, he knew his way around her mind as well. He should. He'd been her confessor.

To Mich.e.l.le's surprise her voice came out slightly slurred as she said, "I don't deserve him."

"Please, spare me the melodramatic self-pity. Whether or not you deserve him is irrelevant. He loves you, so you will be worthy of that love."

Her heart cramped but she managed to focus on the stage again. Wyatt had stripped to a pair of black boxer briefs and a leather harness. At the sight of the harness and all that bare, bronze male flesh her body went tight and hot. His dark gaze caught hers and held as Radioactive by Imagine Dragons came from the speakers. All around them play slowed as more and more people gathered to watch Yuki, and with good reason.

Yuki was a shibari artist, and when the bars used for suspension play lowered from above, Mich.e.l.le was interested to note that they looked like they'd been made by Yuki. Her signature scroll work was embossed on the bars and she realized Yuki would have had to build the rig special to support and balance both James and Wyatt. Smaller bars extended out from the main one and she could imagine how beautiful it would look once Yuki got the suspension right, like a mobile made of steel and flesh.

Blue lights flooded the small stage area and Mich.e.l.le gasped as both James and Wyatt a.s.sumed parade rest. Yuki stalked around James first, sliding her body against his as she tied him up with black rope. Around and around she made her bindings, creating the perfect harness for James' body. He shivered beneath her touch, his c.o.c.k big enough to strain against his briefs.

Mich.e.l.le darted a glance over at Wyatt and found him watching her. Holding his gaze, she gave him a slow smile and he visibly took in a deep breath.

"My," Petrov said just loud enough to be heard over the music, "he does respond well to you. One smile and his c.o.c.k is getting hard. I wonder what he would do if you flashed him that lovely p.u.s.s.y. I bet you aren't wearing any underwear."

She giggled, the alcohol making her restless. This was perfect. Right now, she didn't have to think, she could just go with it and trust Petrov to take care of her. Through sheer willpower he'd helped her work through Owen's death better than any professional therapist.

Leaning over, she braced her hand on his leg and whispered, "I love him. I haven't told him yet, but I do, with all my heart. It's a secret so shhhh."

Petrov cupped her chin turned her gaze to the stage, forcing her to watch Wyatt as he tensed beneath Yuki's fingers. "You should tell him. You should scream it from the mountain tops."

Her jaw trembled in his grip. "I don't deserve him."

"Yes, you do. Let him love you, Mich.e.l.le. You deserve a chance at happiness."

"I saved his life," she choked out. "He was dying in my arms and I managed to keep him alive. Why couldn't I do that for Owen?"

To her shock Petrov gave her cheek a slap that wasn't hard, but stung. "No, none of that. Now, before your submissive comes over here and tries to kick my a.s.s with his arms bound, I suggest you focus on their performance."

"Okay," she whispered and slumped back into the couch.

When she met Wyatt's gaze tears filled her eyes at the anger and concern tightening his mouth. Yuki kept glancing in her direction and she took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. Wyatt needed her. She'd deal with her pain later.

Slowly licking her lower lip, she began to trace her fingers over her chest as if she were feeling the ropes that bound his. Immediately his c.o.c.k jumped against his briefs and she felt a real smile curving her lips. He was so handsome, and her heart ached to believe that he could love someone as damaged, as imperfect as her.

Yuki soon had both men hovering off the ground. The crowd broke into applause and cheers that were loud enough to almost drown out the music. Then Yuki began to slowly spin the men, the rods holding them apart, so perfectly balanced that the slightest movement made it shift. All it took was one touch of Yuki's finger and they would move and sway in glorious displays of bound and flexing muscle. Wyatt had his eyes closed and a relaxed expression that reminded her of how he got when he was getting near his version of sub s.p.a.ce. The thought of Yuki bringing him to that state started the unwelcome burn of jealousy, and she tried to brush it off, but the terrible emotion wouldn't be denied.

From that point on, every touch, every stroke of Wyatt's skin as Yuki checked the bindings, had Mich.e.l.le clenching her hands into tight fists. By the time the performance wound down a the men's bodies couldn't take full suspension for extended periods a Mich.e.l.le was practically drowning in rage. Petrov had left a few minutes before to handle an issue the bartender was having and Mich.e.l.le sat alone in a cold fury. As Yuki cut Wyatt free she laughed and gave him a kiss on the lips. Mich.e.l.le was ready to claw her best friend's eyes out.

As soon as he was free, Wyatt came for her still clad in only his briefs and leather harness. The lines of the ropes cutting into his skin made her want to reach out and rub him until they faded, but instead she stood on unsteady legs as he neared, her anger and the sense of betrayal eating her alive.

When he got close enough she saw the clear imprint of Yuki's lipstick on his mouth and she lost it. Before Wyatt could take a breath she slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

"My best friend! You had to f.u.c.k my best friend!"

The color drained from Wyatt's face and he put his hand to his mouth, pulling it away to reveal that she'd split his lip.

They both stared at the bright red blood on his fingertips and Mich.e.l.le was pretty sure she was going to throw up. Except she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, her stomach too upset for more than a few bites of food. Now the remains of the vodka boiled in her gut and she struggled to take it back, to speak beyond her impending nausea.

Before she could get her voice to work a large hand cuffed the back of her neck and clutched her like an errant puppy. Petrov's enraged voice sent shards of shame, anger, and guilt crashing down around her, making her frighteningly sober for one brief, terrible moment. "Excuse us please, Wyatt. Your Mistress has lost her mind."

James rushed up to Wyatt and physically held him back as he lunged at Petrov. "Get your hands off of her!"

Blood streamed from his split lip into his mouth and Mich.e.l.le's stomach lurched again. She made a gagging sound, trying to fight back the need to vomit, and Petrov swore softly. "I'm going to take her so she can throw up in private then I'll bring her back to you, I promise."

She had no idea if Wyatt replied because her mouth was flooding with moisture and a harsh sweat broke out over her whole body. Petrov dragged her through the club, and the moment they made it into the women's bathroom she ran to a stall and shoved it open, emptying the contents of her stomach until her abdominal muscles ached and cramped. She'd think she was finished until the image of the pain and absolute betrayal in Wyatt's gaze came flooding back.

Without a doubt she was the worst thing that had ever happened to Wyatt. He needed someone strong, someone sane to help him with his own issues. She never should have come to him in the first place, never should have believed that she had a chance at the kind of happiness Yuki and James had. At the thought of her best friend and the horrible accusations she'd made, she let out a wrenching cry.

"You are a mess," Petrov said in a not-unkind voice as he hauled her over to the sinks.

Washing her as if she was a child or an invalid, she cried as he wiped the sweat from her face and made her wash her mouth out repeatedly until the foul taste of the vomit was gone. By the time she came back to herself a little bit, she realized he was braiding back her hair. He'd done that often for her during their training, a soothing motion that never failed to help her center. When she was little, her mother used to braid her hair every night before bed, while singing her songs and making her feel loved.

He sat her on the edge of the counter with ease, dabbing at her face. "I'm afraid your makeup is gone."

She let out a brittle laugh. "Everything is gone. I should be whipped, Petrov. I hit my submissive in anger. I abused the man I love. I'm a monster."

"I don't think it's that dire, but things are definitely damaged between you." He handed her a wad of paper towels and let her wipe her face. "Now the question is what are you going to do to fix this?"

She balled up the paper towels and clenched it hard enough that her hand hurt. "I'm so messed up, Petrov. And Wyatt has his own demons to deal with."

"What do you mean?"

Chewing her lower lip, she vaguely wished she was still drunk so that it wouldn't hurt anymore. "We both experienced things during the war that changed us."

His blue eyes softened in understanding. "PTSD?"

"Yeah."

"Are you both getting therapy?"

She blinked at him, confused. "Why would I need therapy?"

He took a deep breath, then another as if striving for patience. "Mich.e.l.le, you promised me you would see a therapist."

"I can't find any I want to talk to," she muttered. "None that understand what it's like to be a s.e.xual dominant, that's for sure."

"You can't go on like this."

Her first instinct was to lie, to tell him everything was fine, but the memory of Wyatt's face as she slapped him made her soul hurt. "I know."

A sudden idea came to her, a way that she could really atone for her guilt and begin a new phase in her life. Petrov had helped her with it before, but would he do it again? It would have to be in secret, because if Wyatt found out he'd forbid her from doing it, not understanding her need for penance.

But Petrov would understand.

"I need your help."

He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. "You know I'd do anything for you. We all would. Despite your attempts to alienate yourself from them, you still have people here who care about you deeply and only want the best for you."

"I need you to help me find absolution."

The arms around her tightened to the point of pain before he released her and took a step back. Uncertainty showed on every line of his face. "I don't think that is a good idea. You have been drinking."

Desperation clawed at her as she finally realized the only way to move on so she could be worthy of Wyatt's love. It was so simple yet complex at the same time. An act of true penance that would cleanse both her mind and soul. "Please, Petrov. I'll come to you tomorrow morning when I'm sober. I need this."

"Why? Why not go talk to a therapist or any of a million other ways?"

"Because those ways don't work for me. I've tried, I've worked my a.s.s off to try and move on but the only thing that has helped has been doing penance. Please, you have to help me with this."

"Mich.e.l.le..."