The Bodyguard and the Dom

by Tl Reeve

  Drop-dead gorgeous, the silver fox made her heart trip a beat and her pussy ache for his attention. Dark lashes framed his gray eyes. He had full, lush lips, a square jaw that begged to be nibbled on, and a devil-may-care attitude. Lean muscles encased his six-foot-two-inch marauder’s frame. When he entered a room, he demanded attention without uttering a word, and he scared the shit out of her.

  Even though she’d spent the day at the spa, wrapped in seaweed, she hadn’t been able to relax one bit. All her thoughts had centered around him. This could all blow up in my face. What if he sees me here and leaves? The idea of being rejected by Thomas made everything else less bearable and dim. Stupid thinking on her part. She’d made it clear she didn’t want any man who used pain as a way to gain pleasure, yet the idea thrilled her nonetheless.

  Maybe if she got it over with, let him do whatever a sadist did, she could see she didn’t have what it took to be his. Of course, the rational side of her brain laughed at her and told her she was in way over her head. Sink or swim, kid. What will it be? Floating, the answer would always be floating. She wanted to drift on a bed of nothing while giving over her body to the one man who could make her yearn for things she couldn’t have. Instead, she barely kept her head above water. Didn’t you learn to tread water better than that, Specialist? Nope, she hadn’t. Katarina had always taken the hardest route. When life said bob, she weaved. When it said weave, she bobbed.

  Damn it girl. Do you always have to do things the hard way? Yes. Even if she sought the easy path to success or to happiness, she went the long way around. Or as her drill sergeant would say, going around her elbow to get to her ass. Perhaps a lesson would be learned from this date. Maybe, if she submitted to the devil, she could move on and be better for it. Not likely.

  With one last look in the mirror, she switched off the light and ambled back into her posh suite. The room was beyond decadent. Painted in warm golds and tans, it overlooked the natural spring and mineral pool below. The oversized king bed, covered in plush bedding meant to cradle her body in the most delicious ways, beckoned her. She couldn’t wait to come back and crawl beneath the sheets later that night. If you come back. Yes, if. Worst-case scenario, she got kicked out because she didn’t fall in line and march to the beat of her Dominant’s drum. Best-case scenario, she could take his brand of pleasure-filled pain and wake up tomorrow in his arms.

  Furthermore, ladies and gentleman, there is a Never-Never Land, Candy Land, and Spongebob Squarepants does live in a pineapple under the sea. Shit.

  A quick rap at the door pulled her out of her musings. She checked the clock and noticed she still had two hours before her date. What in the world? Katarina walked over to the door gingerly, making sure not to tweak her bum knee while navigating on stilts. She hated heels, but she wanted to look her best as well. So she had to get used to wearing them—even if she looked like a wounded gazelle. Fuck this, I’d rather look like a wounded gazelle. She pulled the ungodly high heels off and sighed when the carpet soothed her achy feet.

  The knock came again, and she called out, “I’m coming. Hold your horses.” The petite girl from the front desk stood in the hallway. “Hi, Bonnie. Is there something wrong?”

  “No, nothing at all. I forgot to give you part of your costume.” She pulled a blue crushed-velvet satchel off of her belt and gave it to her. “This is your mask for tonight. Don’t take it off until you’re ready to reveal yourself to your partner.” She grinned. “Don’t forget the doors open at nine thirty.”

  “I won’t.” She forced a smile as nervous butterflies danced in her belly. “It should be fun, right?”

  “Right,” Bonnie replied. “If you need help, please let one of us know, Specialist Lopez. It would be our honor to escort you to the ballroom.”

  The girl was too sweet, but she would be doing this on her own. “Thank you, Bonnie, but I think I’ve got this.” She said her good-byes then reached in and pulled a delicate white lace mask out of the bag. She gasped at the intricate pattern, tracing it with her fingertip. No time like the present. Put it on.

  Katarina stepped over to the mirror attached to the dresser and lifted the mask to her face. The eyeholes hadn’t been cut open, so the lace would obscure her eye color. She placed the mask over her face and tied it behind her head. Holy shit. She looked nothing like herself. Now, a sensual vixen, hell bent on seducing her lover, Katarina squared her shoulders, standing a bit taller. “Watch out, Thomas. I may have you on your knees begging for my brand of sexual healing.”

  Her phone chimed with an incoming text message. The urge to let it go pulsed through her, but what if it was important? Katarina crossed the space and picked up the phone and grinned. It seemed Madame Eve hadn’t finished with her yet.

  Remember, what one sees as flaws, another sees as badges of honor. Wear yours with pride tonight, Specialist.

  Her scars. The idea of flaunting them in front of a large crowd made her insides shrink a little and her gut twist.

  ***

  An hour later, she entered the ballroom. A few times she caught herself yanking on the back of the dress. She hadn’t exposed so much skin in over six years. Now with her scars visible and her knee a little stiff, she fidgeted. Dammit, why can’t the dress be a bit longer? As she rounded the corner, she joined several couples waiting for the doors to open. Their costumes followed a theme, each representing either good or evil. Interesting.

  “They said we’re supposed to have a good time. I’m not so sure I will.” A behemoth of a man sidled up next to her. Dressed as an archangel with a gold chest plate, black wings—which looked like they would unfold to an eight-to-ten-foot wing span—and a heavy leather battle skirt, he exuded power and sexual prowess. His slicked-back, short blond hair accentuated his strong jawline and full lips. Piercing blue eyes appraised her until a sensual smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She bet all the women swooned over him. Well, not her. “My name is, Dr. Harrison Quincy.” He held his hand out to her in invitation.

  “Specialist Katarina Lopez,” she answered, unsure why she used her army rank when saying her name. “Forgive me for being abrupt, but aren’t we supposed to keep our identities a secret?”

  “You mean like superheroes?” He laughed. “I figured you couldn’t be my partner, anyway, seeing as you’re wearing white, Specialist Lopez. Besides, doesn’t it make you feel more at ease going into a place like this knowing at least one person?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” But she already knew someone. Thomas. If he showed. “So, Dr. Quincy, what kind of medicine do you practice?”

  “I’m a psychologist based out of New York. You?”

  “Security. I’m a bodyguard.” Katarina lifted her chin a little bit. “A damn good one if I do say so myself.” For the first time, she carried on a conversation with someone who didn’t pity her. He didn’t see her scars, or, if he did, he didn’t say anything about them. The corners of her eyes burned with unshed tears.

  “Uh oh, what’s that look for,” he asked, tipping her chin up.

  She blushed and lowered her face. “It’s nothing really. Thank you,” she whispered.

  “For what?”

  “Seeing me and not my scars.”

  “I do see you, scars and all, and you know what I see?”

  She shook her head, unsure of herself once more.

  “A strong, independent woman who went to war and came back a little worn around the edges but stronger for it. You should be proud of those scars. Wear them with pride, sweet girl.”

  She stared up at him for a moment, unable to think of anything clever to say back to him. He deserved more than a thank you. Then Madame Eve’s words rang in her mind. “What I meant to say—”

  “The doors are opening. I suppose I will see you inside.”

  She nodded. “I suppose so.”

  “Wonderful. Have fun, specialist.”

  “You…you, too, Dr. Quincy.” She paused. “Your date is a lucky woman. I hope she realizes that and snatches y
ou up.”

  The good doctor laughed, waving to her as he disappeared into the throng of people moving to the door. “Well, Katarina, it’s now or never. Go knock your CO dead.”

  Sure. Right after I puke then die.

  Chapter Three

  Damned infernal trench coat! Thomas cursed, trying to get the hook and dee closures right so they lay flush to the leather. Third time’s the charm. But after the fifth time, he still tried to close his jacket. He shut his eyes and let out a slow breath then inhaled and let out another. Opening his eyes, he tried again, this time slipping the hook and dee together. Success. He’d been surprised when he opened the garment bag and found the costume for Mephistopheles from one of his favorite German legends.

  The suave and debonair devil tempted the dissatisfied scholar, Faust, with unlimited knowledge and sophisticated pleasures. He could have everything, as long as he signed on the dotted line, forfeiting his soul. Thomas stared down at the red mask and invitation. How quickly would he be able to seduce his partner into letting him play with her sweet flesh. To letting him run his thumb across her diamond-hard nipples before pinching the stiff peaks until she screamed his name. Fuck, he needed to get it together.

  Pushing his red mask out of the way, Thomas picked up the midnight-blue invitation with embossed ivory script and read it.

  You are cordially invited to the Sins of the Angel Masquerade Ball

  Being held at the Carnivore Club from 10:00 p.m. until 2:00 a.m.

  The general mixer will start at 10:00 p.m., with the doors opening at 9:30 p.m.

  Hors d’oeuvres and sparkling wine will be served until 11:30 p.m., and the playroom will open for play at midnight.

  He pushed aside the white tissue paper and continued to peruse the instructions laid out for their guests.

  While you’re our guest, we have some simple rules we’d like you to abide by. They are as follows:

  During the masquerade:

  All masks must remain in place.

  No real names may be used. We will refer to our guests by their characters’ names.

  Non-alcoholic beverages are available and recommended for those who plan to play later.

  After the Masquerade:

  The dungeon monitors, who may be identified by their gold vests—male—or gold corsets—female—will be available throughout the evening. They are charged to refuse admittance to the playroom to any guests who appear intoxicated. They are charged with ensuring a pleasurable and safe evening for all.

  Normal club rules will be enforced. Respect our house safewords: Red for stop and yellow for slow down.

  No one shall play without signed waivers and checklists.

  Condoms are a must. There will be no exceptions.

  The playroom will close at 3:00 a.m.

  The resort shuttle service will be available for those not staying on the premises.

  Thomas checked the time. He’d gotten carried away with dressing and now…his date probably thought he’d ditched her. Son of a bitch. Use your brain, dumbass. He donned his red mask and placed his top hat on, completing the transformation. Grabbing his toy bag and invitation, he shoved his keycard into his back pocket while hurrying out the door. He followed the path he’d traveled when he arrived a few scant hours ago and stopped, fitting himself into the line of guests entering the ballroom.

  When he reached the front of the line, he saw Bonnie talking to the patrons. Giving their invitations to her, they signed something on an electronic pad and hurried inside. The process took seconds, but it left Thomas anxious. He mentally hurried everyone forward, until he reached the front of the line. “Miss Bonnie,” he said in greeting.

  “Mr. Mephistopheles.” She nodded. “I assume you’ve gone over the rules of the masquerade and the club?”

  “I have.”

  “Perfect.” She passed him the tablet. “Please initial where it tells you and sign at the bottom.”

  Thomas followed her instructions and handed it back to her. “There you go.”

  “Excellent. Enjoy your night.” She smiled, standing aside so he could enter.

  Thomas stepped into the grand ballroom and stopped dead in his tracks. On the outside, the resort appeared to be an ordinary Las Vegas hotel, but on the inside, the gilded ballroom transported him back in time to the Regency era. Thick black and white crushed-velvet curtains with gold braided rope hung from each of the arched entryways. Tables in the center of the room had been stocked full with small finger foods and drinks.

  He watched as people pointed to the floor, delighted by even the smallest of details. Plaques hung around the room with Latin phrases etched in gold, some of which he could decipher. Bello, inter bonum et malum, battle between good and evil. Sancti et peccatorum, saints and sinners. However, the one that faced the back of the room caught his attention. Diabolus Theatrum, Devil’s Playground. He moved around the room, taking in even the most minute details.

  At each entryway, an ice sculpture sat upon a pedestal. The one next to him depicted the persona he played for the night. He studied the etched lines the artist used to create the piece of art. They were bold. Striking. As if he knew what Thomas and his date looked like without even meeting them. The devil had his arm around the waist of a virgin maiden, whispering in her ear. Thomas knew what the man said to her. He’d used all the same lines himself. The girl’s face turned slightly to the side, tipped down in a sensual blush. A bolt of lust cut through him as he thought about her. He wondered if Katarina blushed when a man complimented her, or if she took it in stride and kept going. A good soldier who always followed orders and the first to volunteer for a mission. He’d been damn proud of her. Under her rough exterior lay a submissive softness, but damn it, she fought him tooth and nail. Stop thinking about her. You’re on a fucking date, asshole. Easier said than done.

  “They went all out, don’t you agree, Mephistopheles?” a man dressed as the Archangel Michael said. Thomas had to hold back a snort of amusement. The angel and the devil standing shoulder to shoulder, peering up at the ice sculpture.

  “Without a doubt, Michael. They outdid themselves. I read somewhere the reclusive Arturo Bianchi did all the artwork for this place.” He turned and shook hands with the blond, blue-eyed man before strolling over to the ornately decorated drink table.

  “Well this was worth every penny, I believe,” Michael answered.

  “Yes,” Thomas agreed, while perusing the non-alcoholic drink table.

  “Have you found your date yet?”

  Michael frowned and shook his head. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure who I’m looking for. With everyone made up so…dramatically, even if I thought I knew someone in the crowd”—he shrugged—“I’d be hard-pressed to find them.”

  Boy, didn’t Thomas understand that. “If I had to guess from your costume, perhaps a human lover or a demon.”

  “Perhaps,” Michael acquiesced. “The night is young, and I am sure I’ll find my partner soon.” Pulling one of the bottled waters from a bucket of ice, he twisted off the cap and deposited it in a discreet trash can next to the table. “I did have a fascinating conversation with a young lady on the way in here. I wouldn’t mind playing with her.”

  “Oh?” Thomas scanned the amassing crowd, trying to locate his date, but, so far, no such luck.

  “Yes,” he answered. “She’s strong, very independent, but delicate. Vulnerable. She might even be your date…considering your costume.”

  Thomas stood up a little straighter, grabbing a bottle of water. “Really?” His new friend nodded. “What’s she wearing?”

  “A pretty little white eyelet dress. Came to about here,” he said, motioning to his mid-thigh. Thomas’s dick stiffened even more. “And she wore a white lace mask meant to disguise her eye color, I would assume. She’s a treasure.”

  “What’s different about her eye color?”

  “From what I could see, they were golden dipped in a light-daiquiri blue. I guess the correct term would be hazel bl
ue.” Michael turned to him and smiled. “Unique and haunting better fits them.”

  He knew someone with eyes like Michael described. When her unit had become entrenched with his, her hazel-blue eyes had mesmerized him, holding him captive even after his team left the hot, oppressive deserts of Iraq. Katarina. Is she really here? Would she play with him?

  He took a pull from his drink and glanced around the room, taking in the atmosphere. As more people spilled into the ballroom, the energy grew more excited. Then, the crowd parted, and there she stood.

  “Her?”

  The woman wore a sexy-as-hell, mid-thigh, virginal-white dress. Her hair hung in loose curls, held back from her face by the white lace mask. Ethereal and enchanting. His heart squeezed. Michael smiled next to him. “Yes. Her. Go get her, Luci.” He smacked Thomas on the back. “Have a good night.”

  Thomas stopped the archangel. “Good luck tonight.” He pulled his billfold out of his back pocket and took one of his business cards out. “If you ever need anything.”

  “Of course, thank you.” The muscular blond strolled away, disappearing into the crowd.

  ***

  There he stood. Thomas. Her stomach fluttered, and her heart pounded, Tory, her friend from the club, called him sex on a stick. She, however, called him, sweet Jesus, in private. She took a step in his direction and got shoulder checked by a woman in black knocking her off-balance.

  “Excuse you,” she muttered, as the girl flipped her off before continuing out the door. What-the-hell-ever. Katarina didn’t have time to figure out the sociopath’s issues. She had better things to do with her time. Good riddance.