Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security Book 2)

by Marie James

  “And you’re a Trekkie? How are you this perfect?”

  She wipes her pretty lips on her cloth napkin before reaching for her glass of water.

  Somehow, even though this place has a full bar, we independently decided against alcohol. Another thing I love about her is that she doesn’t seem to need the help of liquid courage to be here with me.

  “I dabble,” I answer, once again lowering my hand to the soft skin just below the hem of her skirt. “I don’t know a single computer person that doesn’t appreciate the epicness that is Gene Rodenberry.”

  “They exist,” she responds with a frown.

  “I sense a story there.”

  “So there was this—”

  “Your check, sir.” The waiter is no longer smiling, and his hints of wanting to clear the table have grown bolder as our evening has continued. This is the first time, however, that he’s been bold enough to push the receipt book across the table.

  “Thank you,” I say, reaching for my wallet.

  Relief washes over the waiter’s face.

  When he returns with the credit card slip, I tip him generously. It’s not this guy’s fault that we’ve talked for hours, and I feel bad for the possibility that he missed out on seating other hungry people while Whitney and I got lost in each other’s stories.

  “Ready?” I stand, offering her my hand, managing to hold back my sigh when her skin touches mine.

  We’ve both been freely stealing brushes and soft touches, but being able to grip even just her dainty hand makes me want to do very dirty things to her.

  Hell, her smile pulls the same response from me. And I won’t even think about the reaction her laughter pulls from me.

  “I had a lovely time,” she says as we wait outside for the driver.

  Anna did me a huge solid by offering to help with my date tonight. Seems Deacon and the other guys do gossip about me when I’m not around, and since Anna has become a fixture at the BBS offices, she’s in on the chatter as well.

  Whitney keeps a hold of my hand as she climbs into the backseat of the town car, only reluctantly giving it up to slide to the far side so I can follow in behind her.

  The atmosphere in the restaurant was light, filled with smiles and enthusiastic stories that made both of us laugh until we had to wipe our eyes with our napkins. We were the winners of several glares from others for our enthusiastic responses to each other, but we ignored them easily.

  Inside the car, with the dark of night surrounding us, only interrupted by the streetlights and neon glow of closed businesses, it’s a whole other story. Everything shifts, taking on a magical and undeniable sexual feel. Even as a small smile plays on her lips as she watches the green light ahead shift to yellow before turning red has the ability to seduce me.

  Her legs are once again crossed, revealing more of her thigh now than she allowed when I first escorted her inside the car before dinner. I want to see this as an invitation, but there are so many things to be discussed before I can take things with us even an inch further.

  “Look at me,” I growl.

  When her head snaps in my direction, her mouth opening a soft inch, my cock thrums in my slacks.

  “Hard limits,” I whisper.

  To my surprise, her eyes stay on mine when I expected her to look toward the front acknowledging the driver Anna assured me had the utmost discretion.

  “Canes.” She swallows. “Knife play. Severe beatings. Humiliation.”

  “And?” I urge, loving that we were still on the same page.

  “Asphyxiation.” I nod.

  “No breath play at all?”

  I’m not touching her, and that serves a purpose. I won’t coerce her into something she doesn’t want to experience with me. We should probably have this conversation in the daylight, with about ten feet and a glass wall between us because the chemistry firing between us may be compromising her truths.

  “Soft limit then?”

  “You tell me,” I say, sitting back further in my seat, increasing the limited distance between us.

  “Soft limit,” she says after a long moment of consideration.

  “What else?”

  “Hard limits?” I nod. “Infantilism.”

  “Can I call you baby girl?”

  She nods, that perfect throat of hers working on another swallow.

  “Is that all?” Her eyes are focused on my lips, and fuck if I don’t want to skip to the good stuff. “Here.”

  Her gaze follows my finger when I point to my eyes.

  “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “You have the right to say no to anything.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ll tell me if you think of anything else, before it happens or when you realize you don’t want it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Soft limits,” I continue, noting that the driver is making very wide circles around our block to give us time for this conversation. Boy is he getting the biggest tip I can manage.

  “Umm.”

  Her eyes begin to shift, but she catches herself.

  “Anal play.” Her eyes dart over my shoulder, and I give her the reprieve. “I’ve never done that. I don’t know if I’ll like it.”

  Jesus, I could make this woman sing with a single finger in her ass.

  “Willing to try?”

  “Yes.” Her breathless reply is instant.

  “What else?”

  “I’m having trouble concentrating.”

  “Me too,” I confess. “But this conversation is necessary.”

  “I know. Being tied up and left alone. I need to hear or see you.”

  “Blindfolds okay?”

  “Yes.” Her pulse is pounding in the middle of her throat as she shifts in her seat.

  “Spanking?”

  Her perfect teeth dig into her lower lip as she nods, and if I wasn’t in love with her already, the rose color flushing her cheeks would’ve done it for me this instant.

  “Does just the thought of my hand swatting that perfectly round ass of yours make you wet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Musts?” Her eyes drop, and I fight the urge to reach out for her. “Tell me what you need.”

  “Commands. I don’t do well with anticipating needs. I don’t want to disappoint.”

  She could watch me jack off from the other side of the room, and I know it’ll be the best orgasm I’ve ever had.

  “What else?”

  Her eyes lift to mine once again. “Praise. I need to know if I’m doing something right.”

  “What else?”

  “Orgasms.”

  She smiles when I do. She may regret that after a half dozen in one or so, but I’m willing to test the limit with her.

  “Fantasies?”

  Her cheeks now look like red apples, and I can tell she wants to break eye contact, but my brave angel holds steady.

  “I—umm—” She snaps her jaw closed.

  I wait her out. Pressure during this conversation has no place.

  “Abduction.”

  Before I can stop it, my eyebrow pops up. She looks away, and her eyes not on me isn’t something I can handle. Limits, hard or soft, requirements and fantasies are something couples should be able to talk about without judgment or pressure. She’s taking my reaction the same way, and I can’t stand to see her hide her face in embarrassment.

  “Whitney?” I caress the side of her face, hating the threat of tears glistening on her lower lashes. “Look at me, baby.”

  There’s hesitation in her movements as she turns her head back in my direction.

  “My cock is so hard right now,” I confess. “The thought of shoving a gag in your mouth, tying your hands behind your back, and forcing you out of your apartment nearly has me exploding in my pants.”

  She shifts again on her seat.

  “Is it a rape fantasy? Do you want me to break in and bend you over the side of your sofa? Do you want me to take you by force? Make you feel
guilty for coming on my cock while being violated?”

  “I didn’t.” A small smile plays at her lips. “But that offer has its appeal.”

  “Planned or by surprise?”

  “Either,” she pants. “No, surprise.”

  I don’t fight the smile that spreads across my face.

  “You’re fucking perfect. You know that, right?”

  She leans her face into my palm when I reach up to caress her cheek.

  “I’m wet,” she whispers. “So wet.”

  “I know, baby, and I love that you can tell me that out loud.” I pull my hand away because the conversation isn’t quite over. “Safeword?”

  “Zero-day,” she answers, and I love that she’s using a computer-software vulnerability.

  “That’s perfect. Now I need to get you home.”

  “Yes,” she pants, and I’m going to absolutely hate walking away from her tonight.

  The driver, a man worth his salt in gold, immediately makes the next right, pulling up in front of our building. Whitney seems unsure on her feet as she climbs out of the car, and her stability doesn’t get much better on the walk through the lobby to the elevator.

  “Are you slick?” I whisper in her ear as we climb into the elevator with another couple.

  She squeaks, her eyes darting around, but she doesn’t answer.

  “Are you a brat?” I ask, reading her reaction for what it is.

  If she was as wet as she claimed in the car, her thighs would be shiny with her arousal. The only way she wouldn’t be is if she disobeyed my command to leave the panties at home.

  She looks up at me, bright eyes blinking as she nods.

  A wicked grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. The other couple get off on the fourth floor, leaving us alone for the rest of the ride up. Taking a step away, I rest my hands on the bar at my back while she watches me with wide eyes.

  “Do you disobey often?”

  She nods again, the flush returning to her cheeks.

  “I like that.”

  “You do?”

  I nod. “Your challenges make me hard.”

  Her eyes dart to the front of my slacks where I’m making no move to hide my straining erection.

  “Take them off.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Slowly.” She reaches for the hem of her dress, ready to pull it up to access her panties. “With modesty.”

  Her eyes drop as she works her hands under her dress, tugging down the black lace until they pool at her feet.

  “Hand them to me.”

  She bends, pulling the sexy lingerie from one sandaled foot then the other before closing the distance between us. She doesn’t ball them up or even bother to hide the gleaming wet spot in the middle. With them hanging from one finger, she passes them over. Keeping my eyes on hers, I shove them in my pocket.

  “How do you like to be punished?”

  Her eyes gleam with mischief. “Orgasms.”

  “Is that so?” Despite my raging boner and how turned on I can see she is, it’s difficult to keep a laugh from bubbling out of my throat.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to be punished for disobeying me?” Her head nods nearly violently before I can finish the sentence.

  The elevator dings our arrival, and she jolts with the noise. I’m certain she’s ready for everything I have to offer until I notice her hand shaking as she lifts her key to the lock.

  “Whitney?” She startles when I press my hands to the tops of her shoulders. “Look at me.”

  She’s close, but she’s not ready. I can see it in her eyes.

  “I’m going to kiss you. While my lips are on yours, I’m going to reach under your skirt and touch you.” The fear she was showing disappears, arousal taking its place. “When you come, you’re going to say my name.”

  “Please,” she pants, widening her stance before I can even lower my mouth to hers.

  That one plea wipes every ounce of caution from my being. Her mouth is hot and wet, her pussy when my fingers find her delicate flesh is even hotter, even wetter.

  We groan in each other’s mouths, my cock a throbbing iron bar against her stomach. Jesus, fifteen seconds in, and she’s already fluttering around my fingers. I shouldn’t be surprised. The foreplay started the second I saw her tonight, only taking a break while we ate and talked before roaring back to life the minute we climbed back into the car. Just the grip of her tightness on my fingers is almost enough to make me blow in my pants.

  “That’s it, baby,” I praise when her hips begin to move against my hand. “Take it.”

  She whimpers, and I know I’ve hit one of her musts. She wants to hear me, wants to know when she’s pleasing me. There will be times when moving will be a violation of my command, but tonight isn’t one of them.

  “Jesus, Whitney. I can smell that sweet pussy of yours. Will you come for me?”

  Her mouth is moving, her tongue twisting around mine, but she’s lost all control. There’s no finesse to her kiss. No rhythm to her hips.

  But when she gasps, her core clamping down on my digits, she obeys.

  “Wren!” she husks out, the broken sounds landing straight in my gut, making my balls pull up tight.

  “Good girl,” I whisper against her lips, smiling when she grips my wrist when I attempt to pull away.

  “Orgasms,” she whispers, her voice sounding tired and wholly satisfied. “As in plural.”

  I can’t help the laugh that escapes my mouth, and she buries her face in my shirt when I throw my head back.

  “I think your punishment will be knowing how good the second one would’ve been had you obeyed.” I pull my hand free, tracing her release on her lower lip before swiping my tongue across it.

  And fuck if that wasn’t a mistake. She moans, either due to my kiss or the taste of herself. No matter the reason, the sound makes me want to drop to my knees right here in the hallway and worship her with my tongue.

  “Just a taste,” I pant against her mouth. “Honey so perfect.”

  “Are you real?” she asks, her half-lidded eyes looking up at me.

  “So real.” I take a step back, urging her to stand her ground instead of following. “Get inside before I take things further than they need to go tonight.”

  I stop her hand as she reaches for my dick. “Will you wear panties the next time I tell you not to?”

  “Probably.”

  Man, I fucking love her fire.

  “I’ll talk to you soon,” I promise as I lean in for one last brush of my lips against her. “Get inside so I know you’re safe.”

  After opening her door, she gives me one last look over her shoulder before disappearing inside. I blow her a kiss when I feel her eyes on me through the peephole before walking toward the elevator. This time, I manage to make it over the threshold without tripping, and it seems like tonight has been nothing short of miraculous.

  The best fucking night of my life, in all honesty.

  I don’t overanalyze anything.

  I don’t question my choices to get us to where we are now.

  I don’t feel guilty for the things I did in the past.

  And I sure as hell don’t regret the depraved fucking things I did to her panties once I got back to my apartment.

  Chapter 18

  Whitney

  “Wow,” I mutter as I watch the bride and groom slow dance in the center of the room, looking at each other as if none of us surrounding them exists.

  What would it be like to have someone look at me like that?

  “Disgusting, isn’t it?”

  I look over at Wren, ready to bite his head off, but he’s grinning as his friend glides his new wife around the dance floor.

  “That love is decades in the making,” he whispers, a longing tone to his voice.

  “I’m just glad he’s no longer sitting in his truck refusing to talk to her,” Flynn grumbles, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a dazzling grin on his handsome face.


  It’s been three days since Wren commanded an orgasm from me right in the middle of the hallway. In that moment, same as with the couple smiling at each other across the room, we were the only two that existed. The apocalypse could’ve ravaged the city around us and we wouldn’t have known it until the walls started caving in, and I’m certain if his hands were still touching me, we might not have noticed even then.

  But then I didn’t see him. I spent the next seventy-two hours alone. Yeah, we chatted online and played a few games in Orc’s Realm, but our tryst in the hallway wasn’t mentioned. Either he wasn’t very impressed with the sounds he forced from my throat, or he was an expert at building suspense.

  When he invited me to this wedding late last night—like a woman didn’t need time to prepare mentally and physically for these things—I wanted to say no.

  But then the thoughts of his hands on me, the fingers that have haunted my dreams since he pulled them from my body, made my mind up for me. Could five minutes of him touching me make me this obsessed, this desperate to feel him again?

  I know the answer to that question, and it makes my cheeks heat because we’re surrounded by his closest friends and my mind is in the gutter.

  “You’re quiet.” I look to Wren, expecting to find a knowing smirk on his face, but he looks uncomfortable at best.

  And there’s the guilt I was hoping wouldn’t rear its ugly head.

  After getting off the game last night, after accepting the invitation to attend this wedding with him, I got lost in my own head.

  It took three days for me to build the courage to ask him about the distance between us, about why he hadn’t initiated a revisit of what happened earlier in the week.

  His answer was good enough, and I didn’t feel so left out of the loop when he explained he was busy helping everyone nail down final details of the wedding. I didn’t take him for the type to worry with flowers and decorations, but I don’t know everything about him either.

  Then he invited me to come, and I didn’t sense any reluctance until I logged off for the night. By the time I woke up this morning, I’d convinced myself that it was a pity invite. Going by the look of unease on his face, I’m betting I was correct.

  “I feel like I bamboozled you.”