In Chaos
Undercover book 3 of 3
Marissa Blush
ADALIND WHITE
Copyright © 2019 by Adalind White
All Rights Reserved
Contents
Chapter 1. Skye – “Belle”
Chapter 2. Nick – The Day
Chapter 3. Skye – Detective Walker
Chapter 4. Nick – Quiet Obsession
Chapter 5. New Skye
Nick
Skye
Nick
Chapter 6. Nick – Old Fears
Chapter 7. Nick – The Spice
Chapter 8. Skye – “Marion Brunel”
Chapter 9. Skye – “Maleficent”
Chapter 10. Nick – Active, on Paper
Chapter 11. Skye – “Miss Marion”
Chapter 12. Skye – “Mashenka”
Chapter 13. Nick – Old Ghosts
Chapter 14. Skye – “Home”
Chapter 15. Skye – “Miss”
Chapter 16. Nick – Active, in the Field
Chapter 17. Nick – Extraction
Chapter 18 – True Love
Skye
Nick
Chapter 19. Skye – “Skye”
Chapter 20. Skye – Trust
Chapter 21. Skye – Flight
Chapter 22. Nick – With You
Chapter 1. Skye – “Belle”
The cool steel against my skin made it difficult to focus on anything else. It affected me worse than the uncomfortably short dress I had been instructed to wear. This was a very special treat. I was rarely allowed to wear my collar outside the house. I looked at the taxi window ignoring what happened beyond the glass, eager to catch a glimpse of the steel band encircling my neck.
The hem of the dress rode up my thighs. I looked at Him out of the corner of my eye. His gaze wasn’t on my uncovered flesh but the tension in His body reassured me that He was aroused. I was hooked on the awareness that He was pleased with me.
A tiny ripple of excitement went through my body at the memory of what happened when my Master wasn’t pleased. His punishments unleashed a darker shade of pleasure. I was curious if He enjoyed me more when He had to discipline me or when I obeyed. I didn’t want to know. Either answer would make me want to do more of whatever He preferred, and I enjoyed both types of pleasure equally to give one of them up.
Right now, I tittered on the edge of disobeying. The command had been simple. I wasn’t allowed to touch my clothes for the duration of the cab ride from our home to the opera. I wondered if I should test the loophole He left open for me. If I spread my legs wide, the soaking panties would slip aside and I could touch my flesh without fiddling with my clothes.
As I was considering misbehaving, I reached behind my head without thinking. My trembling fingers touched the O ring hidden under my shoulder length hair. The chain that attached to it waited for us in a drawer in our special room.
“Play nice, Belle,” Master whispered in my ear.
His fingers interlaced with mine, and He gently pushed my hand away from the ring. His husky voice released a new wave of pleasure all through my body. I squeezed my legs tighter, in a frustratingly useless attempt to attain some degree of relief. For months, only my Master’s touch or His command provided release.
I took my hand away, and He kissed my temple.
“Good girl,” He said with His lips pressed into my skin.
The surge of pride inside me was immediate. As it always happened, the need to please Him was overwhelming and taunting at the same time. I wanted Him to adore me like the good slave I was, but a part of me wanted to resist the power He had over me.
Good thing I wasn’t in therapy anymore or I’d probably talk to my department shrink about my need to submit to the man I loved and also test him.
My hand crept along my body, hovering over the dress. It stopped above the line where the fabric ended and my bare skin was exposed.
His hand was still at the back of my neck. I longed to feel Him grab a handful of my hair and pull at it. He knew just how to do it to make it hurt without disturbing my hairstyle. My breath picked up in expectation. My fingers itched to tug at the hem of my dress to cover myself a few inches more.
Every time we played games in public, my anxiety levels shot up. I trusted Him not to humiliate me in public, but I couldn’t help the panic that people would find out who I really was. His slave. I relished the hard-won title. But it was ours. Our secret and ours alone.
I chanced a glance at Him. His eyes were trained on my hand. His vaguely curious expression didn’t tell me if He wanted me to obey or to tug at the chain of my submission.
It took a few seconds to make up my mind. Our night out had barely started. He surely had things prepared for us if I behaved well. For one thing, it was the first time we went to the opera. For another, He had asked me to wear the collar and that hardly ever happened. I needed tonight to go well if I wanted another scene in public.
I placed my palm neatly on the seat, without touching my body. His shuddering breath surprised me. I hadn’t realized He’d been so tense. I turned my head to Him, ready to apologize for even considering to disobey, but He pressed his lips on mine. A hard, closed-mouth kiss. I dug my nails in the seat to stop myself from opening my mouth. My kisses were His to command.
“You’ll be the death of me,” He said while His mouth was crushing mine.
#
The view from our box was breathtaking. Beneath us, dozens of rows of chairs upholstered in dark red velvet waited for their occupants. A few people, elegantly dressed, were already finding their way to their seats. All around us there were other boxes, and other tiers beneath and above us. I knew it was a big place, but the ringing in my ears started when most of the auditorium was empty.
He took the long coat off my shoulders leaving me half naked in my very short black dress with its deeply scooping back.
“You may sit,” He said, and kissed my shoulder before He walked away to hang our coats on the wall.
The damn dress rode mid-thigh as soon as I sat down. I tugged at the hem as much as I could without worrying about displeasing Him. The command had been for the cab ride. He knew all too well that my anxiety threshold was very different during our public power exchange scenes. Rearranging with my dress would be a small comfort and I could trust Him to allow it.
I looked at the empty chairs. He was going to sit next to me, and two strangers would sit unbearably close to us while he was going to ask me to do things. I hadn’t seen the toy which was probably in His pocket, but I noticed when he took the remote control. Although it looked exactly like a car’s remote key, it commanded a toy that brought me to orgasm whenever He wished.
The musicians in the pit started tuning their instruments. The noise matched my frazzled state of mind. What did He have in store for me that night? I could count on my Master to make more of it than a night at the opera in uncomfortably revealing clothes.
Would this be the night where he pushes me past my endurance? Pain I could take, in all physical challenges, I obeyed without hesitation. Sometimes I tested the limits of His orders or His patience just to see what He would do. Revealing myself in public could be my breaking point. Tonight, I feared I might disappoint my Master.
At such moments, when my heart was beating madly in my chest. I cursed myself again for not setting this hard limit. We’d talked about soft and hard limits when we started. I hadn’t known just how bad I was in public scenes. That first time was a near fiasco, in which only His ability to read the terror in my body language had saved the scene. After that, we reviewed our limi
ts several times. He’d been amused at my refusal to set limits to our public scenes, but hadn’t pressed the issue.
Why was I so stubborn about this? Why did I need to check how deeply He knew me? Why did I need to test each time if He would ask me to do something that would make me spew out my safe word?
His gravelly voice interrupted my hurricane of anxiety and self-recrimination.
“Come here,” He said, offering me His hand to get out of my chair.
I took it and used my other hand to pull down the stupid sexy short dress.
Oh, God. He was going to make me walk around half naked, with the steel collar around my neck. Even with the O ring hidden, even if chokers were a fashion item for most people, even if the Master didn’t ask me to do anything other than to walk among people, they could still see me. The real me.
His eyes were nearly fully black. He must have seen the fear in my eyes. And He liked it. I could hardly breathe anymore. The room was beginning to spin in a vortex of red velvet. His black eyes held me, and the sound of His voice broke through the panic.
“Do you trust me?” He asked.
Why would He ask this now? Trust. Did I trust Him? Did I trust that He won’t do anything to harm me? Did I trust that He knew me better than I knew myself?
“Yes,” I said, answering all my own questions.
He leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips.
“Good,” He said.
The thickness in His voice made my head spin, but in a different and far more pleasing way than before.
I followed Him to the door to our box. He stopped without reaching for the doorknob. Instead, He drew the thick velvet curtain and we were plunged into darkness.
“This is one of the advantages of box seats,” He said. “People who arrive late can walk in without interrupting the performance.”
“Oh,” I squeaked.
“If the door opens, the light from the corridor doesn’t show in the auditorium. The late comers close the door behind them, and then they open the curtain to get to their seats.”
My trembling subsided while He spoke in the professorial tone that always calmed me down.
“Kneel,” He said.
My knees buckled at the same time as the panic rose inside me. He couldn’t ask me to do this. We were in one of the most public places I could imagine. We’d seen the Deputy Commissioner in a box on the other side of the hall.
“Is the door locked?” I asked in a strangled whisper I hardly recognized as my own voice.
“No,” He said.
I couldn’t see His expression. All I could guess from the tension radiating from His body in the dark was that He wanted this to happen.
There were four seats in our box. Two people could arrive any second. What would happen when someone opened the door?
The safe word rose in my mind. I hated it. I had chosen it because it was easy to say, and easy to mouth even if I couldn’t trust my voice. I had also chosen it because it disgusted me and I’d only use it if I was terrified for my safety. In the six months we have been playing these games, I had never had to use it.
He was holding my hand in the dark. I could feel the long fingers encircling my wrist, pressing into my skin. He wasn’t trying to cause pain or to force my decision. He simply monitored my pulse. We’d done this with professional equipment before. He’d dared me to raise his pulse above a certain number. He’d commanded me to keep mine under a threshold while he did things to me. Intense, wonderful things.
He already knew my anxiety level. If my pulse got any faster, He might stop the scene. I had to make it work. I had to. I wanted to. I wanted the experience He prepared for me.
He must have a plan; in case the door opens. Maybe it was locked after all. Maybe He had someone outside the door guarding it. I could just about live with the fact that another man outside the door would guess that I had been giving Him a blow job. More than just live with it, I realized as I dropped obediently to my knees. I enjoyed the idea of one person, certainly bound by secrecy, would know that I was pleasing my Master.
The sound of the zipper sliding down wiped out most concerns. The grip on my wrist became momentarily tighter. He wasn’t taking my pulse anymore. He led my hand to His cock.
My sweaty palm wrapped around the thick, almost completely rigid shaft. I loved it like this. Swollen, not yet fully erect. Hard enough to make it difficult to wrap my lips around its girth. Hardening completely in my mouth.
I leaned in, feeling for the mushroom tip with my lips. He exhaled sharply when I touched the spongy surface. I smeared the beads of liquid over my semi-permanent, smudge-free lipstick. My pussy pulsed and a few drops of honey dampened the wisp of black lace between my legs. I wished I could see myself, lips glistening with His precum, kneeling in front of my Master.
“Open your mouth,” He commanded.
I couldn’t remember a command easier to obey. The sensation of His cock hardening in my mouth was one of my many addictions. I forced myself to go slow. I wanted to relish the way it felt to pop the thick head in my mouth. My tongue swirled around it instinctively and I was rewarded with a groan escaping His lips.
“Make me come quickly, baby,” He said.
At home, this could be a difficult challenge. If he wanted to hold back, I had to work very hard to make him come against his will. With his cooperation, it could take anywhere from ten minutes to under sixty seconds.
I opened my mouth wide and He thrust forward, sliding half his impressive length in my mouth. Taking him all the way was a skill I acquired with a lot of practice, but it didn’t come easy. I had to work my way to deepthroating him in small increments, and it wasn’t the most suitable way to get him to come quickly.
I started bobbing my head, trying to get Him deeper in my mouth. The swollen tip hit the back of my throat, and the familiar choking sensation brought tears to my eyes. I shivered with pleasure at the mental image of the smeared mascara around my eyes as I sucked him off.
He was uncomfortably thick for my mouth. I tried to loosen my jaw without releasing the suction, and slowed down the pace. Why did I have to hurry? I loved doing this so much. I wanted to take my time. To feel every delightful sensation. To make Him feel the exquisite torture of approaching orgasm.
Pain seared through me when He grabbed a fistful of my hair.
“Faster,” He said, and slammed His hips forward.
I choked again, but my mind cleared enough to remember the command. I had to get him off quickly. Blood roared in my ears covering the sounds of the musical instruments being tuned. I wrapped my palm around the base of the shaft, tightening the grip while I picked up the pace. I smashed my lips into my own hand over and over again, going up and down his shaft as fast as I could.
His heavy breathing and the muttered encouragements set me on fire. I desperately wanted to make Him come, fast and explosive. I wanted to be the cause of His ecstasy.
He pulled at my hair while He guided my head, setting a faster pace than I could keep on my own. Pain shot constantly through my scalp, my throat, my knees. The skin around my lips stretched agonizingly with the effort of keeping my abused mouth open wide enough to accommodate his girth. Everything hurt and I couldn’t get enough.
His cock twitched, buried deep in my mouth. I tried to calm down my breath through my nose while my mouth was violently invaded. I couldn’t move under that brutal siege, and I didn’t want to. He shuddered and released his seed in the depths of my throat.
I rested my forehead on his hip while he arranged himself back. I smiled lazily at the sound of the zipper going up.
He helped me stand up and kissed me gently on the lips while he drew back the curtain. The light had dimmed in the concert hall but I couldn’t help a frisson of fear that once more I was visible to the world.
“It’s about to start,” He said and rubbed a thumb on my cheek bone. “Go to the bathroom to fix your makeup.”
“How
bad is it?” I asked, wiping as best I could under my eyes where I expected the mascara to have run.
“It looks good, Belle,” He said with a contented smile.
I tugged at my dress, uncomfortable again at the thought of parading half naked in public. With the opera about to start, I could hope that not a lot of people were roaming about the corridors or if they did, they’d be in a hurry, but I still didn’t like it. He took a step back and held the long coat for me. I beamed at him gratefully.
“Take this,” He said, handing me a little black box. “After you put it in, send me a message. Then go to the crystal mirror at the end of the corridor and stand in front of it for a minute without making a sound.”
That was my reward. A minute-long orgasm, alone, watching myself as I struggle not to react visibly to what he was doing to me. For such perfect moments, I kept telling myself that I should stay. Just one more night. Then another. And another.
I wrapped myself tightly in the long coat and put the box in the pocket. Inside the box was the toy to which my Master had the remote control.
Chapter 2. Nick – The Day
The details of my current case floated around in my head until I got out of the car. I’d never truly leave work at the office, but it was getting easy to stop obsessing over each detail when I was at home.
Before Skye moved in, the only reason I kept the house was a way to punish myself for surviving my childhood. Now, my step quickened to the front door. If she was already at home, I’d gather her in my arms. If she hadn’t arrived yet, I’d start to prepare dinner for us. I would think up new games for us while I set the table.
The lack of 70s flower power songs blasting on the sound system was a good indication she wasn’t there. I pressed play and Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit started immediately. Skye, who hardly took prescription drugs when she was sick, didn’t love the song for the mentions of pills. She didn’t need to take drugs to get new experiences. She loved the song because she identified with Alice, the crazy brave little girl who went down rabbit holes and passed through mirrors.
In Chaos (Undercover Book 3) Page 1