Blue stood naked in the shadows behind the open set of French doors in the mansion Charlie’s father had left her, looking over the second-floor garden. Lush greenery and the kaleidoscopic colors and sweet scents of hundreds of flowers in full bloom filled the space.

Everything was pristine again, Charlie’s home back to normal after the damage wrought by automatic gunfire and badass Navy SEALs.

The sun was sliding behind the mountains, the air cooling and blowing gently across his skin, the quiet before the storm. Sometimes, every now and then, when he least expected it, all the jumbled-up pieces of his past would streak like a bolt of lightning across his brain, frying synapses and circuits and throwing him into an abyss of chaos.

He took a long, steady breath, letting it spiral into his body, lazy and gentle, and fill his lungs. Tonight, there would be death. Here. But it would be something good.

Before…before the night in the basement of that dark place, he didn’t think he’d known things, not the way he knew things now. How he’d been treated had morphed him into the complicated man he was today, fucking him up but good. His memories could not be escaped. Other portions of his brain had been walled off. He could feel the walls, but he couldn’t get around them.

And another part of his brain had been opened up, unblocked, let loose; foresight, a stream of it, not always good for anything, but sometimes good for what he needed. Like tonight.

He let his breath out, slow and easy, and softened his gaze. The Kirikhanistan mission had been a cluster fuck from the moment they’d inserted at the drop zone. The rebels had no idea what kind of shitstorm they had unleashed, had never imagined that their empire would be brought down by one lone Navy SEAL.

He wasn’t tame by any standards, even with the medical training he’d received. He hadn’t taken a vow first to do no harm. No, he’d vowed to do harm in the name of Uncle Sam. Red, white, and fucking Blue. He wasn’t out to save lives unless they were the valued and precious lives of his teammates, his band of brothers who had gone to great and dangerous lengths to get him out of that prison, bring him home. How could he let them down? How could he let his own mind destroy what he was?

Fuck. He dealt with the ugliest and most dangerous badasses on the planet. That’s what he signed up for. He’d taken out the Golovkins. His mission was complete, for now.

Behind him, he heard Charlie rise from the bed. He let his eyes drift closed and took another soft breath.

He could still feel her, still feel where Charlie had been on his body, could still feel the pleasure she’d given him. No one made love like that sweet angel.

His future with her was certain. For a moment, no longer, he halted his breath, held it inside, then released it gently back into the night.

That life was part of him, for better or for worse, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that most of the time it was for the worse, that his service had demanded a price he’d paid willingly, and would continue to pay.

He took another breath and slowly opened his eyes. The shadows were deepening across the garden, melding into one darkness, the veil of night spreading out from the horizon.

Smoothing his hand low across his belly, he let out a sigh and waited. Charlie moved quietly, but he could sense her growing nearness, sense the warmth of her desire and the warmth of her body reaching out to surround him. When he felt her come to a stop behind him, when he felt her hand slide around his waist and draw him close, another softer sigh left him.

She was shameless, this angel he’d fallen for. All of twenty-eight years old, she’d known more about his body than he had, known more about what he’d needed, more about what he’d wanted. To this day, she knew more about giving him pleasure than she should.

“Close your eyes,” she said quietly, her mouth brushing across the back of his neck.

Yes… He let his lashes fall and inhaled the scent of a thousand flowers.

“Bow your head.” Her voice was so sure, so gentle, and yet so undeniably firm.

He obeyed.

“Submit to me, my beautiful, strong Ocean Blue,” she whispered with a soft laugh, and he felt her teeth graze his skin, so lightly at first, then harder, never enough to mark him, but enough to let him know she was there, in control, and that if she so chose, he would be helpless…helpless.

It was time for that, and he was ready to face it.

Fucked up Blue, so helpless, bound, and gagged. So frightened. So terrified. Violated.

The angel slipped a loop of soft rope around his wrist and drew it tight. Then she wrapped the rope around one of the brackets she’d set into the wall above the French doors and pulled, surely, steadily, until he was stretched taut with only his toes touching the floor, his arm raised above his head.

“I’m ready for—”

“Yes, you are,” she said, her voice so calm.

And she was right.

The blindfold came next, tight enough for him to feel, tight enough for him to know it wasn’t going to accidently fall off.

There were no accidents in this exchange. Ever.

The cloth was soft. He felt the edge of it across the bridge of his nose and across his eyebrows, creating darkness, the place of fear.

The loss of sight was complete.

His breath sharpened, then evened when her mouth came down on his in a drugging kiss. Wet, serious, taking and wanting, her tongue pushing deep, again and again, consuming his mouth, demanding more, and he gave her everything he had. It was the only way. He slid his free hand up into her hair, tangling his fingers through the mid-length strands, holding her close and moving over her mouth with his, pressing himself against her curves, the rock hardness of his body coming up against the softness of hers. The taste of her filled him, the gentleness of her breath against his skin, the strength of her arms around him.

Then she was gone, and he felt a strip of cloth going around and around the bottom half of his face, covering his mouth, fitting snugly against his jaw, wrapping around the back of his head and coming up the other side, binding him, stealing his voice, enough cloth to keep him from being able to scream.

His heart started to beat faster, to race, and her hand was there, sliding down his torso and cupping his engorged dick, her palm warm, her fingers strong but gentle.

His panic eased, but an edge of fear remained and grew sharper when her hand left him. He felt her at his feet, tying his ankles together with the other end of the rope. It took some time because of the intricacy of the knots and stringing the rope through the ring in the floor to keep him from being able to move, at all, in any direction.

When she was finished at his feet, she brought the same rope up and tied it around his waist. The tug of each successive knot tightened the one before, one after the other. He knew what came after his waist, and he started to fight, but she caught him to her firmly, her hand capturing his free arm and holding it behind his back.

She tied it there, tied his wrist to the rope at his back, and he was in bondage, in the limbo of the unknown. Fear and anticipation rolled through him, holding him in place more surely than the ropes, bringing him to a perfect standstill, balanced on his toes, his raised hand gripping the rope leading from his wrist to the bracket on the wall—and being careful to breathe. He waited.

---

Charlie took a step away from him and dragged her hand over her breasts.

God help her. What a piece of work. Just looking at him was enough to make her come. The arch of his feet, the hard contours of his legs, the incredible musculature of his torso, the heavy muscle of his ass, his whole body licked with a sliver of light. He damn near shimmered, his skin so bronzed. Thick, ridged abs, that smooth, buzzed golden hair, and two bands of black across his face—it had started with a connection of pain, this affair with him that would have both of them locked up or at the very least sanctioned, dishonorably discharged. They had needed to break the rules, needed the illicit and unconventional. It had been the only way the navy could get them back, these two well-trained, priceless human beings they had invested in for more than a decade. This was their private way to search for what each of them wanted, something he needed, something she craved.

It was dark and sweet, so hot she ached even when he was inside her.

Yeah, they were healing each other this way; she was loving him this way.

To make him whole again. And she needed to bind him, watch him, get him off while he was bound. She needed the domination. Tying was the path open to her, part of her.

In the darkness of her mind, her trauma lingered even after all these years. Even with her training, she’d never come this close to being whole.

He wasn’t going anywhere until she released him. That was the point. No half measures would do for her fierce warrior. The man who worked without a net—all the time, every time.

And every time, he pushed her straight to the edge. The gag and the blindfold kept her right there, balanced on the edge between her commitment and her conscience. It was a damned uncomfortable place to be—and yet it turned her on. She knew her boundaries. She knew his, thanks to all the times they’d explored the fear tied to his sexual abuse and torture at Natasha’s hands. Charlie had spent days designing the rigging, testing the knots, practicing tying them, but no submissive she’d hired had ever done what Blue was doing.

That was because Blue wasn’t submissive. He was dominant, but he was allowing himself to be submissive. That’s what she needed—a man confident enough in his own masculinity to give her what she needed so she could give him what he needed. Timing was everything with this thing they were doing, and when it was time to let him go, it was time to let him go. The knots needed to release them. Finally, release the last part of his fear. And they would.

But until then, he was bound.

Until then, he was hers to do with as she wanted, and what she needed was to put her mouth on him, show him pleasure in this safe place. Taking the hard, jutting heat of him, into her mouth and giving him release, peace. He was so virile, so powerful, his body sculpted by lengths of hard muscle and the strength of the heart that kept him alive when Natasha had mindfucked him.

She loved him with every breath she took, and a lot of what she loved was the mystery of him. Thirty-three years of growing and being molded, understanding what was important, having the courage to say no, doing what he believed in, and never taking the easy way out. Then pushing, fighting, overcoming BUD/S and brutal training, deep-to-the-core sacrifice, dangerous covert ops, and silent, but deadly, clandestine missions, cheating death and giving life and taking it with his big, gorgeous hands. Talking, thinking, analyzing with that big, beautiful brain.

He was part of her the way no one ever had been before or would after. She would never forget these feelings. She was in the navy, she supported the mission, but she had never been so proud or felt so safe knowing this man and the other men he worked with were on the job 365/24/7 foregoing comfort, family, holidays and rest to give everyone in the US the chance at life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Giving their all.

And that smile. Oh, my God. That man’s smile….

She opened her mouth on his throat, the thought of him turning her on more than his bondage. He groaned, but there was still fear in it. Grazing him with her teeth, licking his skin, the taste of him, his fear, was something she remembered on her tongue. She would never hurt him, never mark him, except with the invisible brand of her mouth. The ropes were tight, but not brutal. He was stretched out and strung up—not the way he’d been in Kirikhanistan, but the way he needed to be here. The way he needed to be healed, find his wholeness, let go of his need to dominate everything in his attempt to block out what had happened to him.

And with each taste of his skin, with each inch of his body she loved with her mouth, her need for dominance subsided, even as he stilled and his fear of submission dissipated. One coin, two sides, the opposites of their energy, hers feminine and submissive, his masculine and dominating. He’d been traumatized, but they were healing. They would work together to continue that process.

It had been why they had been so drawn to each other.

Blue was hers and she belonged to him.

She grasped his erection, and he jerked against the ropes. Sliding her palm over him, she then added her tongue to the rounded tip. His hips surged, his back arching.

He always made it good for her in bed, but this was where he laid his true claim, when he gave it up to her in the lost darkness of his mind, poised on the promise of pain, but finding pleasure instead. Admiration, gentleness, submission to overcome the memory of being raped and forced.

No one could take this journey with him to the blackest edges of his psyche better than her. He was a SEAL, she had to push his boundaries, and then push farther until the abyss opened up and swallowed him whole—but she never let him fall alone.

Never.

His muffled groan sounded above her, and a shudder went through him, the tremor of it running the length of his body. He was scared, and that openness was something only a man who had known the deepest courage could exude.

Oh, God, he was so sexy, so hard and heavily muscled, so delicious. She opened her mouth wider and slid her tongue over him, again and again. His every reaction went straight to her groin and made her hot for him, made her feel hot and wet. He tasted earthy and thick, and she knew exactly what to do.

She closed her mouth over him, his hoarse cry settling in her like golden sunlight, releasing the knot of fear inside her even more.

How she loved this man.

He said her name. Even muffled, she recognized it—as she took all of him to the base, working her mouth to give him the most pleasure, teaching him all over again how to trust, how to let go of the demons who rode him both in sleep and in waking. He shuddered and groaned, making the pain and the fear go away, giving him the purity of her love, attention and respect.

His body undulated, but he was so securely bound, he couldn’t move much. He groaned again, deeper, looser, and she knew it was time to take him where he needed to go. Exchanged the stroke of her fingers for the silken swirl of her tongue and the suctioning pull of her lips.

With a ragged groan, his neck arched as she took him slow and deep, using her tongue in incredibly erotic ways to show him how good it could be. Over and over she drove him to the brink, only to ease back just enough to keep him right on the edge, keeping his passion, his desire for her sharp. She lingered and played, as if there was no other place she’d rather be than right here with him. As if they had all the time in the world and she wanted to make this last.

There was a place in his mind where sex and fear had come together, where he’d learned control was an illusion, where helplessness had filled his world, strength had failed him, his training had failed him, his will had failed him, and he’d cracked, split open, lost his nerve and himself. He could never really go back to the way he was before. He was forever changed. She knew that so well, as her life had been irrevocably changed the day she’d crashed into the ocean. But he was teaching her about coming back to herself, having the courage to know all those dark things and still have hope for a future.

The path to his healing was here, right here. It wasn’t enough to make him come. She’d done that for him in bed. What he needed now, what she needed, was for her to make him come apart…completely, totally apart.

She reached for the rope at his back with her free hand, taking hold of it just below his waist, and she pulled, stretching him tighter—and she teased him with her tongue, teased him until his groans became a sob, a soft sound of distress and longing.

So sexy and starting to come undone for her. Her Blue, her surfer boy, her Navy SEAL, her broken pieces…it was time to mend.

No more shame, no more humiliation, just love given and taken, received and accepted.

Her mouth enveloped him once more, all the way to the base of his erection, then back up again, sucking him harder, faster, deeper. He was so hard, the tightness telling her he was close.

She gave the rope a short tug, freeing the hand she’d tied at his back. He immediately brought it around to the back of her head, tunneling his fingers through her hair and holding her closer, pressing himself closer, begging her to do what she was doing only faster, only harder, and to please, please, please…suck on him.

She heard him in every cell, heard him in the back of her mind and on the tip of her tongue. When she gave him the release she’d been building to, it was all over for her scarred warrior. His body went tight, his head went back, and release flooded through him, making his skin hot. She let him ride his wave of pleasure to the end, let it break over him and drive him goddamn crazy.

Oh, God. They knew. Together they knew they weren’t in control of this.

They weren’t in control of anything with them, and that kept them hooked, heart and soul.

She pulled the rope and felt it loosen, felt it slip and slide and pool onto the floor, felt him do the same, his body suddenly going limp. She didn’t let him fall. She never let him fall.

Never ever.

She held him, keeping him close. When he was in her arms, she pulled the gag down, and with the delicious taste of him still warm in her mouth, she kissed him, long and deep and slow.

He buried his face against her throat, his tears washing down her skin, his body convulsing with the release of everything until, at last he was washed clean.

And with his yielding, the purge of his pain, fear, and shame, came her solidity, confidence that idenity she’d lost so long ago had been retrieved, claimed. Blue had given it back.

Now, now, they were changed for the better to be able to fight on. Do what had to be done, save themselves and get the answers they needed to continue to fight oppression, cruelty, terrorism, and evil.

She rocked him against her as he subsided, kissing his forehead, his perfect, full mouth. She pushed up the blindfold and met his clear, aching eyes, moisture heavy on his thick lashes. She cupped his face, her palm rasping against his golden stubble, her thumb wicking at his cleansing tears. She dragged his head against her chest and just held him. His arms tightened around her waist, her tears dropping onto his rough cheek. Nothing but intensity and a deep, solid bond existed in their world. She was his…only and always his.

She’d embarked on this journey from her family trauma into shibari as a way to find some meaning in her world. The art had given her the tools she’d needed to move away from that trauma, to find the trust that she could give again, to give it freely and without measure.

And with their embrace, they let their old selves die, and there was nothing left but the promise of what they, these new, enlightened people, could have. That future was bright with hope and love. So much love.