He grinned. “You’ve got a deal.”
Frank walked her across the hall, where they found Ted looking mellow and Calvin moving as if his ass hurt. Which it probably did, in more than one sense of the word. No wonder he looked so pleased with himself. I know just how he feels, Alex thought, every bit as smug.
Next weekend would probably be even more delicious.
CHAPTER THREE
Cap joined Frank in accompanying Alex out to Ted’s battered green Jeep, one of a row of kinkster cars parked along the curb in front of the house. Ignoring the glare he got from the driver, Frank opened the rear door for her, then pulled her into his arms.
The kiss tasted hot and sweet, her tongue stroking and circling his as he sampled the softness of her lips. His spent cock stirred as arousal slid lazily through him.
When they finally drew apart, Alex gave him a sensual smile and traced a finger over his bare chest. “I’m looking forward to next week.”
“Me, too.” Reluctantly, he stepped back to let her slide into the backseat. The vehicle was already running, a rumbling testament to Ted’s impatience to be gone. “Take care.” Frank closed the car door and stepped back on the sidewalk. Alex gave him a little wave as the Jeep pulled away.
“Judging by that kiss, it must have gone well,” Cap observed as red taillights disappeared.
“Yeah. Alex surprised me. Subs don’t often manage that.”
“Did she?” They turned back toward the big brick Colonial.
“She challenged me to hand-to-hand.” Reading Cap’s lifted brows, Frank added, “No kicks or blows. It was more of a judo thing. Two out of three throws.” He felt his mouth stretch into a wicked grin. “Winner fucks the loser.”
Cap laughed as they walked back into the house. The basement soundproofing was good; no audible cries or thumps sounded from downstairs. “Sounds like you won either way. I assume you did win?”
“Oh, yeah. After I underestimated her on the first engagement and she put me on my ass. She’s good. Got me in a joint lock. Could have snapped my elbow like a bread stick.”
“I’m not surprised. She’s been training with Ted for years.”
“That’s what she said. I gather he’s something of a badass.”
“Former Green Beret.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I piss him off. He’s pretty fucking protective.” They passed through the living room with its stone fireplace and elegant fine leather furniture.
Just beyond that, the Millers’ kitchen looked something out of the Food Network programs Frank had grown addicted to. White-painted cabinets piped in burgundy surrounded stainless steel appliances that testified to Joanna’s love of cooking.
Cap walked over to the coffeemaker that steamed and burbled on the gleaming black Silestone counter. Frank inhaled appreciatively. The air smelled like fresh beans from somewhere they grew expensive coffee. “What’s the story with this ex-Dom of hers?”
“Like I said, he was a dickhead.” The old SEAL turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a tiny white pitcher of cream, then rattled around in drawers and cabinets looking for the sugar bowl, mugs, and a couple of spoons. “Most of us become Doms because it turns us on when a woman gives herself. Then you have your plain vicious bastards. It can sometimes be tricky for a sub to tell the hardasses from the assholes until things get the hell out of hand. That’s what happened with Alex—fell in with a Dom who liked to use his fists even more than a crop.”
“Her Dom beat her?”
“Once. Only once. And then she kicked his ass.” He poured them each a cup. “That’s why Ted kept giving you the stink eye. He feels guilty he didn’t figure out what Gary Ames was before the prick started using his fists.”
Frank swore viciously.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said when she told me.” He paused, doctoring his coffee as Frank did the same. “For what it’s worth, Alex made ol’ Gar pay, but the cocksucker did get in some nasty shots—including kicks—before she managed to put him down. He had thirty pounds and two inches on her, so she had to work at it.”
“You and Ted bury him in the county landfill?”
“I was seriously tempted, but Ted convinced me jail would suck at my age. I hate it when Ted’s the voice of reason. Sure sign you’ve fucked up somewhere.”
“I admire your self-control.”
“Wasn’t easy. For what it’s worth, Alex made sure the little shit was charged with domestic violence.”
“Good for her. Did he get any time?”
“Probation. Apparently he’d never beaten the hell out of a woman before, so the judge decided to give him a stern talking-to.”
Frank wasn’t surprised. South Carolina law treated criminal domestic violence like one man beating another man in a bar, instead of the brutal act of betrayal it actually was. “So where does this future corpse live?”
“Sorry, ’fraid somebody beat you to it. Literally. Clubbed him like a baby seal a month ago.”
“And you say he’s not in the landfill?”
“Hey, don’t look at me. Alex’s daddy wasn’t exactly a fan either. Luckily, we were all in Columbia with ten thousand of our closest witnesses.” When Frank lifted his brows, he explained, “Her father’s the Harrison High football coach. They were playing Irmo.”
“Alex is Ken Rogers’s daughter?” The man was practically a legend. He’d led the Harrison Hawks to four state championships and was universally worshiped by every man who’d ever played for him. In Morgan County, that seemed to be most of them.
“Yup.” Cap bared his teeth over the rim of his cup. “As for the douchebag ex, his murder hasn’t been solved. Hell, they only managed to ID him from his tatts.”
“Sounds messy.”
“Oh, it was. The killer did a really thorough job on his head with some kind of thick, heavy object. Flashlight or a rolling pin or something equally well deserved.”
Frank toasted Cap with his mug. “Long may he rot.”
“The world is a better place.” A companionable coffee-drinker’s silence fell. Finally Cap asked, “So you enjoyed your scene with Alex?”
“That’s putting it mildly. Though she’s not particularly submissive. Basically told me if I was looking for something twenty-four/seven, she is not my girl.”
“No, Alex doesn’t submit anywhere but the bedroom. But the question is . . .” Cap contemplated Frank, his blue gaze shrewd. “She may not strike you as particularly submissive, but is she submissive enough?”
Frank hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I do know she has my attention.” My complete, undivided attention.
Cap smiled.
* * *
Alex leaned her temple against the cool glass of the left rear passenger window of the Jeep. Calvin was gossiping cheerfully in the front seat, something about another gay couple. She let his voice wash over her, her mind drifting to the pleasure of Frank’s hips slapping her ass, his cock grinding deep and hard just where she needed it. There’d been a raw heat to the scene she’d never known with any other lover. Even—especially—Gary.
Cal looked over the seat at her. “PoPo, did you even hear a word I said?”
Ted spared her the embarrassment of a confession. “Hell, no. Bastard’s got her halfway to subspace. I hope your ass is up to eight hours in a patrol car, Rogers, no matter how many stripes he put on it.”
“Nope, I’m stripeless. We didn’t do any impact play.” Though “halfway to subspace” did have the ring of truth.
Calvin twisted in his seat, the better to peer. “Yeah, well, he obviously did something, PoPo, given the way y’all vanished for the better part of an hour. When you did come back, you looked dazed. Frank looked like a cat with canary feathers clinging to his muzzle.” He gestured at her hair. “Red canary feathers.”
“Canaries,” she informed him loftily, “do not have red feathers.”
“Tell it to the guy picking plumage out of his teeth.”
“I
told you, he didn’t touch a hair on my head.”
“Didn’t say he got them out of your head, PoPo.” They’d often seen each other naked, given the kind of parties they went to. He knew the carpet matched the drapes.
“Pig.”
“Oink.”
“So if he didn’t beat your butt,” Ted interrupted before they could really get going, “what did he do?”
She grinned, suspecting there was probably a feather or two in her own teeth. “We wrestled.”
Ted took his eyes off the road just long enough to flick her a skeptical glance. “You wrestled the jolly Dom giant?”
“Two out of three falls.”
Calvin looked at his Dom. “And she did the falling.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. Fell right for the fucker. He’d better not be another Gary, Alex. I came so close to putting a bullet in that bastard . . . If somebody hadn’t done the world a favor, I probably would have. Assuming your daddy didn’t beat me to it.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. Alex’s father had hated Gary with a burning intensity she’d never before seen the Coach display. And he hadn’t even known the kinky details; Alex was definitely not Out to Daddy. “Gary notwithstanding, I am not in love with Frank.”
Ted snorted. “Yet.” His voice dropped to a muttered growl. “Fuckin’ frogman.”
Cal glanced at him in the dashboard light. “Frogman?”
“The original version of the SEALs. Specialized in underwater demolition during World War Two. When they started doing other kinds of missions in the sixties, the brass renamed them. SEALs—Sea, Air, and Land.” Ted was a human wiki when it came to military history.
“Back to Frank . . .” Alex began.
“Oh, yeah, by all means, let’s talk about your new crush.”
“Jealous, boss?”
“I thought I whupped your ass enough tonight, subbie. Guess not.”
Ignoring the byplay, she tried to put the night’s experience into words. “Gary would be brutal, and I’d kind of like it. But Frank kept protecting me from getting hurt even by accident. And it was . . .” She broke off, remembering the burning intensity of the moment. “Incredible. I’ve never felt like that. Not ever.”
Cal blinked over his shoulder at her, then looked at Ted. “Well, fuck.”
The older cop cursed. “She is completely gone on the son of a bitch.”
Alex supposed he had a point. But the real question is, how does Frank feel about me?
* * *
He heard himself roaring, deep-throated bellows of rage as his arm lifted and fell, smashing the flashlight into the man beneath him. Blood flew as he knelt astride his target, until his nose was filled with the beefy smell and his mouth tasted of copper.
All he wanted to do was punish the bastard for what he’d said. For saying Alex had lied to him, played him. For saying Bruce could never give her what she needed.
When he finally stopped, he was too tired to lift the flashlight, and something gummed his lashes shut. Reeling to his feet, Bruce scrubbed his free hand across his eyes, blinked hard. Managed to clear his vision.
And froze.
The face of the man beneath him was no longer recognizable. His skull was shattered, jaw hanging misshapen and bloody. Broken. His arms were flung wide. The first blow had knocked him cold; he hadn’t managed to fight back.
I murdered him. Oh, God, I murdered him.
Staggering, Bruce looked down at himself. He was covered in blood. His hands, his chest, his face.
Murder. I’ve committed murder.
There was blood on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling. He whirled, stumbled one step, two. The scarlet carpet squelched underfoot.
His stomach rebelled, cranking his body double. He vomited until his nose burned, the taste and smell of blood filling his consciousness, making the sickness worse.
When he was done, he staggered out of the blood-covered living room, searching for the bathroom. He needed to rinse out his mouth.
He found the sink and turned on the tap as he grabbed the soap and began to wash his bloody hands. Lifting his head, he looked into the mirror over the sink.
His father’s face looked back at him.
* * *
Bruce’s eyes snapped open. Panting, sick, he stared into the darkness. A nightmare. It was a nightmare.
But not just a nightmare. Far too much of it had been real. I’m a murderer. Six weeks ago, he’d beaten Gary Ames to death.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Bruce rolled out of bed. At least the dream had done one thing: reminded him there was no going back. Being a hero in his mother’s memory was no longer an option.
All he had left was serving as the instrument of his father’s revenge on those who’d betrayed him.
* * *
She dreamed of hard male hands and a rough voice crooning erotic orders.
Which was why waking up with a cat’s ass in her face was so disconcerting. “Meow!” the ass said in a distinctly demanding tone.
“Jesus, SIG, get your butt out of my face.” Alex batted the Siamese’s chocolate-tipped tail away from her nose.
“Meow.” SIG Sauer turned and rolled his fuzzy head against her chin.
“All right, all right, I’m up. Way to ruin a perfectly good wet dream, furball.”
Tumbling reluctantly out of bed, Alex bent to pick up last night’s dress and hang it up in the closet, as she’d been too pleasure-drunk to do the night before. Scratching her ribs through the black Morgan County Sheriff’s Office T-shirt she’d worn to bed, she wandered into the bathroom, SIG bitching at her heels. She took care of business to the sounds of the cat’s increasingly irate Siamese curses.
“Keep your fur coat on. I’ll feed you in a minute.”
There were only four rooms in the old house, not counting the bathroom her great-grandparents had built onto the back porch five decades before. Alex padded out of the main bedroom, through the den, and into the kitchen, avoiding SIG’s affectionate attempts to trip her on the way.
In the kitchen, an elderly white refrigerator hummed and rattled across from an equally ancient electric stove. A rubber dish drainer sat on the counter beside the stainless steel sink, dark brown to match the wallpaper’s crowing roosters. Yellowing lace curtains hung at the tiny window. The morning sunlight shone through them, casting golden light and lacy shadows on worn, brown-speckled linoleum.
But old though the house was, she didn’t have to pay rent. She’d inherited it from her grandmother, and had been damned glad to get it. Besides, she was doing good to afford cat food on a deputy’s salary. Renovations were out of the question.
Worn linoleum felt cool underfoot as she got SIG a can of cat food from one of the cabinets. The can opener ground over the sound of his increasingly frantic meows. “Oh, for God’s sake, you’d think you hadn’t been fed in a week.” Alex dumped the can into his bowl, and watched him plunge his head into it with a satisfied feline growl.
Which reminded her of the much deeper growl Frank had produced while plunging his cock into her helpless cunt. God, what an arousing scene. As she filled SIG’s water dish, she tried to remember the last time she’d burned that hot for a man. And came up blank.
No surprise. If she’d special ordered her ideal Dom, Frank would have been it: towering, chiseled, and just sadistic enough to be interesting. The mere thought of him made cream flood her pussy until she gave serious thought to going in search of her vibrator.
Oh, why not? It was only noon. She didn’t have to be at the department until five thirty, when everybody was supposed to gather for the sheriff’s birthday celebration. There was plenty of time for a kinky fantasy and a nap before she had to get up again. Then she wouldn’t have to actually be on duty until midnight.
Heat flaring beneath her skin, Alex walked through her home office with its laptop and treadmill into the bedroom. The house was too small for hallways.
The bedroom beyond was sunny, with a rocking
chair in one corner and a queen brass bed she’d found tarnished and sagging at Goodwill. She’d refurbished it over several weekends, buying a new mattress and box springs before polishing away the tarnish, dreaming of cotton ropes and adventurous lovers.
Now it was covered with a wedding ring quilt her grandmother had made when Alex was a child, every stitch placed with loving, blue-veined hands. Rag rugs covered the hardwood floor, and lace curtains hung before the one tall, narrow window. The room smelled like dusty old house and the ghosts of mothballs past.
Rummaging in the mirrored vanity that held her makeup, Alex found her pink rabbit vibrator, Thumper. After stripping off her panties and Morgan County tee, she flung herself down on the bed, her mind already on Frank. The vibrator began to hum as she spread her vaginal lips and traced the toy over juicing flesh.
God, the look of him. So incredibly male, big, and brawny as he swung that whip in breathtaking arcs. The steady crack of the popper as it landed precisely where he’d intended, accompanied by Tara’s erotic moans. Danger and seduction and dominance—everything calculated to strip a woman of her instinct for self-preservation.
She eased the vibe into her core, shallow thrusts at first, then deeper and deeper. Catching her breath as it filled her, its pink gel ears finally teasing her clit with delicious quivers of pleasure.
Alex gasped, imagining being tied and helpless while that whip bit her ass and straining thighs. Frank’s feral gaze on her, hungry as the hard jut of his cock behind his blue-jeaned fly, accompanied by the click of riding boots. Building her heat until she thought she’d burst into flame from sheer lust. Until even he couldn’t take it anymore, and his zipper hissed, loud in the gasping quiet, and he thrust deep, so deep, seeming to fill her all the way to her back teeth.
Her hips pumped helplessly, her mind leaped to the memory of the way he’d stalked her, that gorgeous cock swaying . . .
The first notes of the Beatles’ “Let it Be” rose above Thumper’s delicious hum.
Without Restraint Page 4