Power Players Box Set- The Complete Series

by Cassia Leo

  “You think I’m joking? Do I look like I’m joking?” He pauses for a moment, then he continues without giving me a chance to respond. “I told you yesterday that I had a very important case for you, and what was your response?”

  I think back to yesterday and it takes a moment to remember what I was doing. “It was the end of the day on Friday. I told you it would have to wait until next week because I was taking Jade to get her shots.”

  “So you think Jade’s immunizations are more important than my life?”

  “What? Are you—Did you seriously just ask me that?”

  “Answer the question!” he roars.

  I stare into his eyes for a moment, then I shake my head. “I am through arguing about this. The next time you give me an assignment this important, you be up front with me about it or I swear to God, Knox, I’ll quit.”

  He cocks an eyebrow and chuckles. “You think that’s it? You think you’re getting off that easy?” I turn to walk out of his office and he grabs my arm. “Not so fast, Mrs. Savage. I don’t think you’ve been properly punished for your bad judgment.”

  I spin around to give him a piece of my mind, when I notice the bookcase behind his desk slowly swinging backward. I watch, completely mesmerized, until it stops moving and I glimpse the blackness beyond.

  “What’s that?”

  I recognize the hungry look in Knox’s eyes when he responds. “Your penance.”

  Chapter 6

  Knox

  The fear in her eyes is a turn-on. But the fear quickly turns to excitement when I hit the light switch and she steps into the new dungeon.

  The walls are a deep maroon color and silver drapes hang from the ceiling to the floor, framing mirrors that are meant to look like windows. Hanging on the walls between each faux-window are various punishment tools: whips, paddles, brushes, feathers. Then there are the restraints: ropes, chains, cuffs, belts, and even a straitjacket. Gags and blindfolds are in the bedside table with various other toys.

  There is one plush gray sofa at the far end of the room and a couple of armchairs flanking the entrance where we’re standing. Up against the wall on the right stands a rolling “wheel of pain” with wrist and ankle straps. Just beyond that is a plain canopy bed with a regular mattress—no spikes—for recovery. But above the bed hangs an intricate suspension system, which I suspect we’ll have lots of fun with in the future.

  She turns to me after she’s had a look around, and she can’t hide her excitement. “You had this planned all along?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Is Carlos Rivera even real?”

  “Yes, he is very real. And he was ordered to take me out.” I press a button on my phone and the wall closes behind me. “But he’ll never find me in here.” Taking a step toward her, I slide my arm around her waist and pull her against me. “So I guess that means you still need to be punished.”

  Her breathing quickens as I brush my lips over hers. But she knows the rules. She’s not allowed to kiss me unless I give her permission.

  Keeping my lips pressed against her, I pull the skirt of her dress up and slide my hand between her legs. I smile when my fingers find the soft flesh, freshly-waxed and soaking wet.

  “No panties. Such a good girl,” I murmur in her ear as I press my thumb against her clit.

  I pull back and tilt my head as I look at her face. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, as if she’s waiting for something. Removing my hand from between her legs, I reach up and slowly slide my thumb into her mouth. The corners of her lips turn up slightly as she sucks softly on my thumb.

  “That’s right, baby.”

  I slide my thumb out of her mouth, and she opens her eyes. I shake my head, and she quickly closes them again. Taking her hand, I lead her toward the bedside table.

  “Strip.”

  She begins pulling her dress over her head as I pull a blindfold out of the bedside table. When I turn toward her, she’s standing patiently with her eyes closed, trying not to smile. She’s not wearing a bra.

  I take her nipple between my index finger and thumb and squeeze, gently at first then a bit harder. She winces at the pain, so I lean forward and take her it into my mouth to soothe her. She lets out a soft sigh as I trace my tongue in a light circle around her nipple.

  I move behind her and tie the blindfold in place. Then I sweep her hair over her shoulder to expose her neck. I trace my fingertip lightly down the back of her ear and neck, smiling as goose bumps sprout over her shoulders. I continue down her spine until I reach her perfectly round hips. She’s holding her breath as she waits for me to do something.

  I lean forward and whisper in her ear. “Don’t move.”

  Peeling off my shirt as I cross the room, I retrieve a length of rope and black wooden paddle from where they hang on the wall. Then I tie her wrists low on the bedpost so she’s forced to bend over. Leaning over her, I reach between her legs to find her clit. She whimpers as her knees begin to buckle.

  “Are you comfortable, princess?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes…?”

  She moans, trying not to collapse as I caress her slick bud. “Yes, Master.”

  Her legs tremble as I massage her slow and then fast, and I know she can’t take much more before her legs turn to rubber and give out beneath her. I remove my hand from between her thighs and she gasps.

  “Wait. Please don’t—”

  “I didn’t say you could speak.”

  “But I—”

  I switch the paddle to my right hand and swat her, not too hard, but enough to quiet her. Instantly, her legs straighten up so her ass is higher in the air. Her way of begging for more.

  “Are you ever going to make me wait when I give you an assignment?”

  “No, sir.”

  I trace the cool edge of the paddle over her round hips, then down the side of her thigh. “How many spankings do you think you deserve for such a grievous error?”

  “Whatever you think I deserve. You’re always right, sir.”

  I glide the paddle between her legs. She lets out a desperate whimper as I move it gently back and forth between her folds. Just the sight of her luscious ass and the moisture glistening on the paddle is getting me rock hard. I want to push myself inside her right now, but I must be patient.

  Sliding the paddle out from between her legs, I land another soft swat on her backside. Her cheeks are getting a soft pink now. I caress her skin softly to soothe her, and her breathing slows down as she relaxes. Four more swats and I toss the paddle to the floor.

  I bend over her and twist my fingers through her hair to turn her head. My other hand reaches forward, grabbing her nipple and twisting until she lets out a soft squeal.

  “Do you want more?” I whisper in her ear.

  “More. Please.”

  “Please…?”

  “Please, Master?” Her plea comes out high-pitched as I squeeze my fist around her hair. “Oh, my God,” she pants.

  I unbuckle my belt and unfasten my pants, and she screams as I push myself inside her. Another thing I love when Rebecca’s pregnant is how she feels tighter. As if I needed any more reason to lust after her.

  She’s so fucking wet. She loves the paddle more than anything else. I pierce her slowly, watching my cock as it slides in and out of her perfect pussy. Then I grab her hair again and ride her hard. Letting her cries fuel my desire until I come like a fucking rocket blasting off inside her.

  I untie her wrists and scoop her up in my arms so I can lay her down on the bed. It’s recovery time. Now I get to take away all the pain and build her back up. I must admit, this is my favorite part.

  Chapter 7

  Rebecca

  My abdominal muscles and my arms ache from the tension and release. Not to mention the stinging on my skin. I let out a thankful sigh of relief when Knox lays me on my side on the cool comforter.

  I love the paddle the most. It makes me feel like a naughty schoolgirl, which is my favorite fantasy.
But I knew Knox would go easy on me today considering I was already so tired when we walked into our new dungeon. He’s a very considerate master.

  He retrieves a soothing balm from the bedside table and lies next to me so he can rub it over my cheeks. His hands are warm and firm as he smooths the balm over my skin. I just want to scoot back and melt into him.

  “Does that feel better, princess?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He grabs my hip and pushes me forward so I’m lying on my belly. He rubs my back for a while, kneading the tension away until I’m completely relaxed. Then he moves down to my legs, lightly massaging the backs of my thighs. As his fingers whisper over the sensitive area where my thigh melts into my cheek, I feel myself becoming engorged with anticipation.

  He grasps my hip again and turns me onto my back. His sky blue eyes are filled with a deep longing as he gazes down at me. Then his hand lands gently on my abdomen.

  “Let’s have one more after this one. Just one more.”

  I smile as I reach up and wipe the sweat from his brow. He turns his face into my hand and lays a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist. How can I ever say no to this man?

  “Are you afraid I won’t be quite as appealing when I’m not pregnant?”

  He leans forward and kisses my cheekbone. His hand travels down my abdomen; then he whispers in my ear. “You are beautiful whether you’re pregnant or not. There is nothing and no one more appealing…” He traces the tip of his tongue across my top lip. “…than my princess.”

  His hand glides over my hip and around to my ass. He lightly drags his fingertips over my tender skin, just hard enough to get me even more aroused. Then he grabs my ass with his massive hand and pulls me onto my side so he can press his body against mine.

  He rubs his cheekbone against mine and I can hardly breathe. I wrap my arms around his neck and drape my leg over his hip so he can enter me. His solid chest is pressed against mine as our bodies rock back and forth in unison. A sensual dance of healing and forgiveness.

  He kisses me hungrily as he grinds his hips into mine. “Just one more.”

  I throw my head back and let out a throaty chuckle. He seizes the opportunity to suck on the hollow of my neck. Then his hand slides down between us so he can massage my clit as he moves in and out of me.

  Each thrust compresses his finger against my flesh, like a greedy finger pressing a slot machine. And by the trembling in his shoulders, I can sense that we’re both about to win the jackpot.

  “Oh, Knox,” I breathe, my body shaking as I finally get the orgasm I was denied earlier.

  His cock twitches as he lets go inside me. I close my eyes to savor the warmth of his manhood as it fills me up. I clench the walls of my pussy around his cock and he smiles. His cock continues to twitch as he softens inside me. I do this a few more times as I kiss him and drag my fingernails over his back. And soon he’s hard again.

  “I’ll give you one more if you give me one more,” I whisper in his ear.

  “I can do better than that.”

  After six years together, I know there’s nothing Knox wouldn’t give me. And giving him one more child is hardly a compromise considering everything he does for me and the kids. And my mom. All he asks in return is that I belong to him. And that’s hardly difficult. I love being his.

  But I am not his possession. I am his fuse. I’m the fuse that lights him up. That keeps him ticking. He can’t function without me, and I’m useless without him.

  From the moment he dragged me into that abandoned garage six years ago and I looked into those electric blue eyes, I knew my life would never be the same. I knew who he was the moment I felt that electric energy. I knew he was Marco.

  “You don’t know me, so don’t bother sifting through those pretty little thoughts.”

  I smile as I think of those words he spoke to me six years ago.

  No, I didn’t know Knox Savage. I made him.

  THE END.

  Turn the page for a preview of Unmasked, a dark and suspenseful erotic romance series.

  PREVIEW OF UNMASKED

  Chapter 1

  The monsters we can’t see are the scariest ones of all.

  Six blocks and the guy walking on the opposite side of the street is still going in the same direction as me. I don’t spook easily. I’m used to walking the streets at night. In fact, I only walk the streets at night. But something about this guy doesn’t feel right.

  I can’t see his face.

  This shouldn’t scare me, since he can’t see mine either, but being able to see another person’s face naturally puts us at ease. This is one of the reasons some people despise talking on the phone. And also why I have had zero friends and boyfriends in all my nineteen years on this planet. No one ever sees my face. Ever.

  Even when I applied for my job at the gas station. I told the guy on the phone that I had a day job and I’d have to conduct the interview in the evening. Besides, I was applying for the nightshift position at the station. The guy bought it. The day job was a lie. The truth is, I don’t go out during the day. I haven’t been outside during daylight hours in years.

  I don’t have one of those diseases that make you break out in blisters when your skin is exposed to sunlight. My reasons for not allowing anyone to see my face in the light of day are much more vain than that, and it started the day I was born. My biological mother took one look at my face and begged them to take me away. I’ve been hiding ever since.

  So it shouldn’t make me uneasy that I can’t see this guy’s face, but something about the way his hoodie covers it and the fact that he never turns his head is giving me the creeps.

  The gas station is in my sight now. Just a block and a half away. I can make it there.

  The streets of downtown L.A. are crawling with all kinds of shady characters at night. It’s like when you turn the lights out on a filthy apartment and all the cockroaches come out of their hiding places. The drug addicts and whores dominate this area. The homeless and the lost wanderers, picking through the garbage, looking for a place to lie down for the night. Then there’s the drug dealers and gang members who try to lay low, but they have to come out and stake their claim and make their deals every once in a while.

  Downtown Los Angeles is not a place where a scrawny nineteen-year-old girl like me should be walking the streets at night. But that’s exactly why I do it. People see me walking down the street and they smile, thinking I’m an easy mark. They can rob me or rape me, maybe even murder me, and they’ll get away with it. I won’t put up a fight. But they don’t know me. I’m far from easy.

  The monsters we can’t see are the scariest ones of all.

  You probably think it’s impossible for someone to be afraid of little ol’ me when I’m walking these streets, but you’d be surprised. Our face is what we show to the world. It’s how we’re recognized. It’s how we’re remembered. Our face is our identity. When you hide your face, you’re hiding your identity, and this makes people very nervous. In our feeble little minds, the only people who hide their faces in public are criminals and clowns.

  Everyone’s afraid of clowns. Criminals, on the other hand, are either feared or revered.

  Hiding my face is how I make it through the streets of L.A. without getting raped and murdered. Those who don’t fear me are fascinated by me.

  Well, that and the fact that there’s always someone watching over me. He watches from a distance because he knows better than to get too close.

  I haven’t spoken to my father since I moved out eight months ago. I’ve walked these streets every day since then, and I’ve only seen him on a dozen or so occasions. But I know my father. He was black ops for the army until my mother made him quit when he was just twenty-eight. Now he has his own private investigation firm. I’ve only seen him following me in his silver Audi S4 a dozen times because that’s how many times he wanted me to see him.

  But even without my father watching over me, I can take care of myself. No one knows t
hat better than my father. He trained me.

  I glance across the street at the guy in the hood and a gold Mercedes SUV drives by for the second time since I left the house six minutes ago. Now I’m even more nervous. I can deal with just about any deadly situation thrown at me, but I can’t outrun a car.

  I glance around the familiar neighborhood, looking for an escape route in case the car is working with the guy across the road. The gas station is just a block away on the other side of the street. The guy in the hoodie will get there before me. So I can’t bolt for it and barricade myself inside.

  A strange chill passes over my skin as my instincts kick in. I should probably turn around, but I hate admitting defeat. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, half a block from the gas station.

  Then the gold Mercedes is back, but it’s not coming for me. It cuts across the double-stripe painted in the middle of the street, driving against oncoming traffic, and pulls up next to the guy in the hoodie. A white Honda driving on the other side of the road blares its horn at the Mercedes. The shrill sound of the horn fades away as the guy in the hoodie approaches the Mercedes.

  Bzzzzz. The soft buzz as the window rolls down on the Mercedes. The guy in the hoodie is fast. He pulls out a gun and shoots the driver of the Mercedes within a second of that window going down. From here, it sounds like a Desert Eagle .44 fitted with a supersonic suppressor. Not a very good silencer, but there aren’t many options in silencers when you’re packing that kind of firepower.

  The guy in the hoodie opens the driver’s side door and I can hear him grunt as he pushes the driver’s dead body into the passenger seat. Then he drives off and pulls into the gas station. Shit!

  I spin around and take off running back to my apartment. I race down Hope Street with a speed that would make some Olympic athletes envious. I’m a well-trained weapon, but one of the most important lessons my father taught me is that sometimes your best weapon is your ability to run.