by Asha Daniels
However, the guys had needed a fresh sound and she was an instant hit. After that, Tyler had secured the recent record deal and through his contacts had made her famous. But the band had been shoved into the background. People Magazine, Billboard, Music News. She was on almost every cover. Even Vogue had requested a spread, because of her ‘excellent fashion sense’. What a crock.
She studied the leather skirt and sighed. This was everything she’d ever wanted. This was what fantasies were made of. “I know we do and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just…” Slapping her hand on the table, she groaned then grabbed her lipstick. “But the show must go on. Sold out?”
“Honey, your shows have been sold out for almost a year. You’re riding high. Don’t let the asshole get to you. We’ll deal with this. Okay? Promise. You have to learn to trust me.”
Trust. She didn’t understand the concept. “Sure. Coming right out. And after the concert, I need to talk about Johnny.”
“Johnny?” Tyler lifted a single eyebrow. “I warned you about getting involved.”
“We’re not involved. We’re just…” Fucking. Fucking. Shit, she was acting like a child.
He waited as if to see if she was going to issue any other mandates. “We can talk but you’re not going to like what I have to say.”
A voice of reason, Tyler liked to call himself. Whose side was he on? Act like a professional, not a prima donna. She applied the lipstick and watched as he left. His advice would be to deal with Johnny and suck up to the cameras. Hell, her manager no doubt loved the attention and the fights had put them smack in the news. However, Tyler had no idea how many nightmares she’d had or the number of shots of tequila simply to try and go to sleep. This shit had to stop. There was only one person who could actually find the fucker terrorizing her.
While she’d resisted asking her father for help, she was at her wit’s end. With Daddy’s connections, he could task the FBI to hunt the man down, incarcerate him for the rest of his life. Yes. If she wanted to take back control over her life, she needed to start with this. Johnny was next. A smile crossed her face. She had a plan. Let the hunted become the huntress.
Standing back, she gave a nod of approval. This was going to be a great show. She was an actress as well as an accomplished singer. This would be another fabulous night. Jazzed, she walked out of the dressing room and headed for the stage. She could hear the cheering from the audience. They were all ready for a kick ass show and she was going to give them what they’d paid for.
“Here we go. Right this way, Ms. Rush.”
Guided onto the stage, she waved at two of the band members and blew her lead guitarist a kiss. Originally, Johnny had been fun to play with and their occasional sexy trysts left practice as well as her sex life interesting, but she wanted more, and had for some time. Johnny, on the other hand, wanted to add phone numbers to his little black book and keep his little submissive on the side. She’d found him on more than one occasion sliding his tongue past some buxom, blonde fangirl’s ruby stained lips.
She could only imagine where else he’d placed his tongue.
No, she was finished with the bullshit, on several levels. Threats. A cheating boyfriend. A monster terrorizing her. Life was going to be different. One way or the other.
She took her position and waited, hand on the microphone. Her normal aerodynamic stunts were well known, but tonight they had mixed up the beginning, allowing the audience to get an up close and personal look.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the stage, Danger!”
The lights shot on, neon colors flanking the stage, crawling back and forth in a glistening shimmer. She kept her head down, her stance provocative and the moment the hard chord was struck, she purred into the microphone, loving the tingling racing down her spine, the way her heart thumped against her chest.
“Hello, Philadelphia!” Waving, she moved down what she called the catwalk, hunkering down as she began to sing, belting out the lyrics and touching various hands. This was a perfect night for introducing the new songs.
The band knocked the song out of the park and as Jasmine danced around, moving back and forth, sliding her body up and down Johnny’s, she fell into her routine.
“Are we rockin’ it tonight?” She called, placing her hand behind her ear.
“Yes!”
“Woo hoo!”
The whistles and cat calls were rowdy as men and women clamored closer to the stage. When the first song ended, the audience erupted, clapping and screaming.
“We’re doing good, baby,” she whispered in Johnny’s ear. Might as well keep the asshole on his toes.
“And you’re going to taste good later,” Johnny said then woofed.
What the man would be tasting later was crow or worse. She was fueled at the thought. Taking control had its perks. Fuck the asshole who’d tried to ruin her night. She strutted past the edge of the stage, twisting and turning, concentrating on making eye contact. She crouched down, her ass just an inch above her platform thigh high boots. The crowd went wild, clamoring to get to the stage, their arms outstretched, their eyes beseeching.
“You will die…”
“Danger. Danger. Danger!” the crowd chanted.
Her heart thumped as she scanned the audience. Had she heard the words? Jerking into a standing position, she scanned the perimeter, but was blinded by the glare. Wait a minute. The lights were glaring, flashing all around her and she struggled to find the man with the intense eyes. Yes, she’d seen someone, and they’d locked eyes. She also knew in her gut what she heard, even above the booming drums and full volume amp. She managed to continue singing, but echoes sounded in her ears, thumping, hissing.
Clicking.
God damn it. There was clicking all around her.
She thought she caught sight of him again, but there was nothing. Fuck. She was imagining shit now. Perfect. Turning, she undulated her body, sliding her hand down her chest to just above her groin, fueling the crowd. Concentrate.
Turning slightly, she smiled and licked her lips.
Then she saw the flash, the single bright light and she knew.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
* * *
“The Governor is moving.” Cutter Thomas whispered into the microphone carefully tucked into his sleeve. Immediately moving into action, he waited until Governor Wallace walked out the door, heading in the direction of the exit. Trailing behind, his eyes roamed the hallway as they moved in a group. Charles Wallace was highly respected in certain circles, his authoritative stance and take no shit attitude winning him points among various conservative groups. For the majority of his constituents living in Virginia, he was a hated man.
Hence the need for the extra security and Cutter was the man everyone called, especially given his dangerous persona. He would fight to the death, gutting a perpetrator in seconds.
“Dinner was fabulous,” she purred as she gripped the governor’s arm, leaning against his shoulder.
“Just wait until we get home, my dear.” Charles kissed his wife’s cheek and patted her on the ass, as if giving her a reminder that he was the man in charge.
Cutter had no emotion, no care about the conversation or the detail. He only cared about the money and he was paid extremely well for his expertise. Serving time in the Marines including special Black Ops training, as well as his expert skills in weaponry and various martial arts afforded him anonymity as well as the ability to be selective. This was a well-paying gig.
“But I’m such a good girl,” the governor’s wife attempted to whisper, her sultry tone of voice echoing in the aging halls of the stone building. Both were intoxicated, increasing their voices and their provocative actions. Although there was no surprise because they were considered a kinky couple. Cutter’s extensive reports prior to accepting the position included art, vivid photography within the bowels of several BDSM clubs.
Some would say their proclivities were disgusting.
To Cutter, they wer
e fascinating.
“One that needs a hard whipping,” Governor Wallace stated then shot a look from right to left, prepared to admonish anyone giving him attitude or a second look. Not a single person would defy the Governor or face termination.
While Cutter heard the banter, his only concern was the very real threat the man had received only a week prior. There had been no attempts made since leaving the mansion, but the opportunity was ripe on the cloudless night. Given the number of surrounding streets and major highways leading to this location, a perp could get in and out with ease. The Governor, in his opinion, was a fool as well as an asshole.
But he’d certainly never open his mouth.
The moment they neared the oversized glass doors, the two front guards held out their hands, forcing the Governor to wait.
Cutter stood behind them and from where he stood, he had a clear shot of the busy street, the area packed with restaurant and club patrons, enjoying a night on the town. Standing at six and a half feet tall, over two hundred thirty pounds of solid muscle, he would be a viable threat to any criminal element. He listened to the basic radio chatter, nothing indicating suspicious activity. Still, he remained on edge, ready to take on any would-be perpetrator. His reputation depended on his keen insight and quick responses.
The two bodyguards whisked them outside, flanking their sides as they eased into the armed SUV. He stood on the sidewalk, scanning, watching. Waiting. The second the doors were closed, a car careened around the block, heading straight for the Governor’s vehicle, the tires screeching. Reacting, he raced onto the street, pulling the pistol from his side holster and pointing it in the direction of the oncoming vehicle. “Get them out of here!”
The driver took off, veering around the parked car in front, barely avoiding hitting an oncoming truck head on but managed to race away.
From behind, Cutter heard screams, people rushing away from the area. The dark sedan swerved then skidded to a stop only inches away from Cutter, who hadn’t moved a muscle. He stormed toward the driver’s side door, flinging it open and yanking the driver onto the street. Slamming the possible threat against the car, he made certain the wide-eyed man had an up close and personal view of the barrel of his gun. Adrenaline rushing into every muscle, he picked the man up by his throat, digging his fingers into the asshole’s jugular.
“Let… me… down,” the man choked out, his body flailing, his eyes bulging.
Grunting, he could tell his actions were drawing a crowd. He dropped the man hard and blocked him in. The bastard wasn’t going to get away.
“What the hell is going on?” His voice shaking, the well-dressed man slouched down, his hands in the air. “And who do you think you are?”
Cutter said nothing as he frisked him, finding his wallet. After studying the contents, he took a step back. “You need to work on your driving skills.” He tossed the wallet and turned around without saying another word.
There’d been no threat to the Governor.
This time.
* * *
Darkness. Loneliness. I want a woman to surrender to my needs, my raging desire, no matter what or when I demand. Total obedience. I will own her, keep her, protect her.
The thought had nearly driven him insane for ten years. Dreams. Nightmares and reality. No one would accept the monster inside. No one knew what he was capable of.
Least of all, himself.
Fifteen minutes later, Cutter sat at the end of the bar, nursing an expensive glass of bourbon. The darkened space was perfect. No one paid any attention to the man dressed in all black. They didn’t give a shit if he was carrying a gun or could kill every one of them with his bare hands. They were here, in the shithole of an establishment to get drunk.
Priorities.
Snickering, he took another sip, closing his eyes as he savored the smooth liquor. He limited his alcohol as he did other aspects of his life, but this seemed like a damn good time to let down his guard. The sexual conversation between the Governor and his wife had created a need, one clawing at his outer exterior.
Tonight, he’d break his months of chastity and find a woman who could suit his savage hungers. After taking another gulp, he studied the rundown shit hole. While there were mostly men, blue collar workers fretting over the basketball game, the few women inside were agreeable enough.
One, in particular, had no business being in a joint like this. Her long legs and voluptuous body were stuffed inside a two size too tight crimson dress.
His favorite color.
She would do. He could tell she’d been drinking but still had her wits about her. She’d also arrived with friends and all were female. No nasty connections. No alley bar fights. Cutter polished off his drink and waved the bartender away. He simply sat on the barstool, watching her every move. The moment she walked toward the bathroom, giving him a sultry ‘come hither’ look as she passed by, he inhaled her perfume. The scent was exotic as well as expensive. At least she had good taste.
Cutter sucked on the ice cubes then slid the glass toward the far edge of the bar. As he rose to his feet, no one turned to look in his direction. No one tried to stop him. He took long and silent strides toward the back, finding the ladies’ room without issue. He walked inside and studied the small area. There was no lock on the scarred and dented door, but he wasn’t worried about discovery.
When she walked out of the stall, looking down at her dress as she tried to adjust the skin-tight material, he leaned against the dirty counter. This wasn’t about romance to any degree. This was about sex as well as discipline. He’d never been wrong about a woman in any capacity and the instant she tipped her head, her eyes shimmering in the dim light, he realized that once again, his choice had been on target.
“What are you doing in here?” She feigned annoyance as well as surprise, yet her hardened nipples gave her away.
“You know what I want,” Cutter stated without inflection.
She gave him a once over before moving closer, swaying her ample hips back and forth. “To fuck me?”
He nodded once before pointing to her dress. “Take it off.”
If she was curious as to why he didn’t bother asking her name, she didn’t show it, nor any other emotion. She simply shifted her gaze down to his crotch then shimmied her dress up and over her shoulders, tossing it to the floor. Standing in only a slender G-string, she cocked her hip and gave him another smile. “What do you want?”
Cutter scrutinized her body, admiring her small waist, the way her breasts remained firm. He took a step closer, allowing him to reach out and cup her breast, squeezing.
“Oh, my.” Shuddering, she closed her eyes as he pinched her nipple, twisting the tender tissue until she yelped with pain. “You like it rough. You’re a big man. Hope your cock is huge.”
He remained silent as he cupped her other breast, repeating the action. Seconds later, he slid the flat of his hand down her stomach then slipped a single finger under the thin elastic of her panties. A single twist then jerk of his hand and the ripping sound was like music to his ears.
“Jesus! Those were expensive.”
Exhaling, he gripped her wrist, tossing her toward the counter. Placing his hand against the small of her back, he pushed then kicked out her legs. “You will do as I say. Period.” The tone of his voice was husky, filled with lust and as she stared into the mirror, watching his every move, she nodded.
“Yes, sir. Fuck me,” she whispered and planted her hands on the mirror, her fingers flexed open wide.
Taking a single finger, he brushed the tip down the back of her neck and along her spine, the move slow and decisive.
She licked her lips and arched her back. “That feels so good.”
His eyes never leaving her face, he dragged his finger down to the crack of her ass, rubbing up and down. The scent of her sex was powerful, and his cock was throbbing, pushing against his crotch. He dropped his head, sucking on her shoulder as he wiggled his fingers between the crack of her ass.<
br />
“Oh, yes. I love being fucked in the ass.”
Cutter opened his mouth, moving his lips across her back then biting down on her other shoulder. Sliding the tip of his finger just inside her dark hole, he could feel his blood pressure increasing, his adrenaline flowing.
She sagged forward until her face was pressed against the glass. “You are one hot man.”
Easing back, he glanced into the mirror, studying her look of sheer ecstasy. “With pleasure comes pain.”
Smack! Crack!
“Oh, God!” Her body jerking, she dug her fingers against the glass, her moan echoing.
Pop! Slap!
The slight sting on his hand was a damn powerful aphrodisiac and he was exhilarated.
Crack! Whack!
How long had it been since he’d disciplined a woman? How long since he’d been fully in charge? Too long.
“Jesus. You’re strong,” she whispered, her mouth twisting.
Whack! Slap!
“All women need punishment,” he stated and was unsure why he’d bothered. She didn’t need to know nor was she interested in his thoughts.
Only his cock.
Crack! Pop!
“Yes, oh, yes,” she whimpered. “Spank me, Daddy. I’m such a bad girl.”
Smack! Whack!
The harder he whipped her, the more she seemed to respond, undulating and moaning, her mouth going slack.
Pop! Crack! Slap!
Her skin was reddening, the shade like a perfect apple and he was more invigorated than he’d been in months. His balls were in anguish, pinched due to his intense need.
Whack! Slap!
“Oh…” She closed her eyes. “So fuckin’ hot.”
After issuing several additional smacks, he rubbed both hands through his hair then pulled a condom from his wallet, the one he kept in reserve. She didn’t move, didn’t try and fight him as he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants. When the condom was secure, he gripped her hips and yanked, pulling her back.