Bound Guardian Angel by Donya Lynne Page A

than he already was.
    Micah took his time bathing him, but as the
water grew tepid and Trace’s fingertips shriveled into clam-like
nodules, Micah opened the drain and helped Trace from the tub.
    Trace couldn’t even speak. He was too
relaxed. Too lost in the tranquility that only came after a scene.
Only this time it was much deeper. Micah had taken him further than
anyone ever had, and he didn’t want to talk, move, or even breathe
for fear of losing this treasured, euphoric feeling.
    Micah seemed to sense his mental state,
because he remained quiet, and he moved with unobtrusive restraint.
As if he knew how precious and fragile the moment was.
    Micah guided him to the marble bench near
the shower, retrieved a towel from the precisely stacked linens
organized by color and thickness, then knelt in front of Trace as
he wrapped the plush softness around his shoulders. He gently
scrubbed the towel up and down his arms, over his head, across his
back, down his torso and legs, slowly lifting each foot to dry his
soles.
    All Trace could do was watch. And feel. And
indulge his placid senses.
    “How do you feel?” Micah asked, his voice
low and sedate.
    “Good.” Trace’s voice sounded deeper than
usual. Not having to guard against his inner beast made even his
vocal chords relax. “I’m calm.”
    Micah smiled. “We live to breathe another
day then.”
    Trace’s lips curved into a lazy grin.
“Thanks to you.”
    Micah wrapped his forearm behind Trace’s
head and pulled him forward until their foreheads touched. “I’m
here for you. I’ll always be here for you. I won’t ever let
anything happen to you, Trace.”
    Trace closed his eyes and breathed in the
warmth pouring out of Micah’s body. This was his friend, his
master, his confidante. His savior. Without the hope becoming
Micah’s friend had given him, Trace wasn’t sure he would still be
alive today. It was that hope—that Micah would agree to be his
master—that had kept Trace going.
    The wait had been worth every second. He’d
just experienced the most incredible scene in his memory.
    The hot wax, the tightening of his skin, the
controlled care and dominance Micah had exercised, the way he’d
been bound at the wrists so he couldn’t move and had to relinquish
trust in himself and pass it to Micah . . . all of
it had led to the most astonishing and glorious trip through
subspace he’d ever taken, culminated by the most intense orgasm any
of his masters or mistresses had ever given him.
    The release itself had been something beyond
reality. He’d been floating, sailing along inside his head, and
then Micah’s fingers had grazed his balls. The electric pulse of
arousal had awakened every nerve ending in his body, tossing him
into a furious spiral. He’d felt like a new star being born,
drawing every fragment of cosmic dust into his body as Micah’s palm
wrapped around his erection and began pumping. Within seconds, dark
matter exploded, sending heat into the universe, expelling light in
all directions.
    When he drifted back into consciousness and
found himself still on Micah’s table, his whole body had hummed
with electricity. He’d known then that he had another orgasm inside
him, on the verge of erupting. One that a simple, subtle caress
would release. A caress Micah had given him as he began his
aftercare.
    Trace had never come twice like that. So
hard, so completely.
    He wanted for nothing.
    Nothing, that was, except a mate of his own
who could do to him all that Micah had just done without requiring
his submission to achieve it.
    Don’t get him wrong, he relished this. He
enjoyed flying through subspace at Micah’s hands. The pleasure
experienced as Micah’s submissive was beyond compare, but he didn’t
always want to rely on being taken to another place mentally to
experience pleasure. He didn’t want to always be subjected to pain,
degradation, and being bound to find arousal. He dreamed of being
the master. Of being an active