by Tara Quan
Kim tugged the skirt another quarter inch down her hips. The hem barely grazed the back of her thighs. Overdue for an afternoon at the Laundromat, she’d been forced to wear pink lacy panties. “Braid—singular.” She’d coiled the thick rope of hair around her head to keep it out of the way. “And no, I’m not switching to pigtails. One more attempt at a vicarious sex life from you, and I’m heading home. You’d better double the candy bribe, by the way. I’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty to investigate your competition.”
“Mercenary, aren’t you?” With an exaggerated bow, Moni ushered her in. “I always pay my debts, and any candy I snag from you doesn’t count toward my calorie limit. I’ll even swing by to feed your cat after I leave. Run along. And knock your mystery Dom dead.”
Navigating the meandering hallway on autopilot, Kim pondered a literal interpretation of her friend’s advice. If she started the meeting with a strong right hook, she’d be home free in five seconds flat.
The idea began to lose its appeal as the charged atmosphere colored her awareness. Though the low lighting left most of the area obscured, evidence of illicit games bombarded her—pounding footsteps, high-pitched cries, thumps as falling bodies vibrated the floor.
Her breaths turned shallow. The service couldn’t have picked a setting more in sync with her peculiar tastes. The fabricated sense of danger sped up her pulse. Adrenaline pushed back tiredness. She couldn’t ignore the excited screams, shadowed struggles, and the scent of sex and sweat. Her ears pricked at the rhythmic smack of flesh against flesh, the muffled moans of gagged subs, the loud cracks as crops met skin. Harsh pants, metallic clinks, and hisses of airborne leather added percussion to the erotic symphony.
Despite her recent brush with danger, she still fantasized about being chased, caught, and dominated. Each night, she dreamt of the same man pinning her to the ground, stared into his merciless green eyes as he pried her legs apart and forced his way inside her.
Her fingertips tingled by the time she reached the interrogation room. Sucking air into her lungs, she flattened her palms on the entryway. Regaining equilibrium through the slight chill, she focused on spacing out her breaths. Her nipples might have tightened to painful peaks, moisture might coat her palms, but she had no doubt she’d spend the night alone.
The Dom she wanted to play with resided on the opposite end of the continent. Even if he were right in front of her, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow their lives to tangle again.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned the knob and pushed the heavy slab. The ground dropped out from under her the moment she spotted her date’s familiar reflection in the two-way mirror.
Joss’s mouth curved, the smile grooving his stubbled jaw. White cuffs peeked out from the ends of his gray jacket sleeves. Silvery links glinted under the white, fluorescent light. With his pale hair tied in a queue at his nape and his collar open, he embodied a modern-day Viking.
“I come in peace.” He lifted his wrists, which were handcuffed together and chained to a metal ring on the floor. Full of mischief, his jade eyes sparkled. Her reaction to his playful salutation brought an unwelcome realization. Time hadn’t muted the bond between them, their sizzling chemistry all the more potent because of the months spent apart.
The sight of him shattered her defenses. Trouble in an expensive suit, he’d worn the same wicked expression when they’d met. It was her first day working as a hostess at a BDSM club in Boston. They’d chatted, he’d swung by her station a few times, and, after her shift, he’d materialized with a piping-hot pumpkin spice latte in hand.
Even then, she’d suspected him to be more than he seemed—a ruthless man wearing the mask of a dilettante. She should have walked away, should have trusted her instincts and steered clear of someone so far out of her league. While claiming to be a corporate errand boy, he’d drawn attention wherever they’d gone, his charisma as palpable as the crisp scent of his expensive cologne.
But the heartbreaking loneliness she’d sensed had stretched their walk into a stroll along the Charles, a harmless coffee into hours of conversation and laughter. Despite her misgivings, they’d become friends. That step, she’d never regret.
“What are you doing here?” The impulse to throw her arms around his broad shoulders an obsession, she rooted her heels to the floor. All dreams must end. Hers did months ago.
Why, then, did it feel as if a new one was about to begin?
Her date pulled a rolled up piece of paper from his breast pocket. “What I do best—negotiating. You see, I have a hostage. Your cat has been relocated to my suite. Unless we come to terms, I’m shipping him back to Boston.”
Sucker-punched by his threat, she stomped to his side. Protective rage scattered dark splotches across her vision. “You kidnapped my cat?”
“The legalities are debatable.” He smoothed out the giant, glossy printout, time-stamped for less than half an hour ago. It showed Tiger on a humongous bed, surrounded by silky throw pillows. A plate of what looked like smoked salmon had captured the little traitor’s complete attention. “You see, he’s yours, and you’re mine, making me his owner by extension. I’m taking care of what belongs to me. Besides, he’s enjoying himself.”
The heavy door swung shut behind her. The unexpected claim, one blurted out with the casualness of a discussion about weather, robbed her of words. Though they’d burned up the sheets together countless times, they’d both taken great care to keep things light. “But…. Since when…?”
“Since always.”
The man must have suffered some sort of brain injury in the past ten months. She shook her head, half certain she’d conked out during the walk here and was dreaming the entire meeting. “Even back then, we were friends with benefits.”
“I never confirmed anything of the sort. I can’t help it if you keep jumping to idiotic conclusions.”
The man could be such a lawyer. Despite the warmth spreading inside her chest, she crossed her arms. “Commitment has to go both ways. I never agreed to belong to you.”
“I beg to differ. Remember what you said that time in my car?”
At the reminder, her cheeks flamed. After getting into a huge fight on their drive back from Martha’s Vineyard, he’d parked in a secluded lot and put the SUV’s seatbelt to creative use. After forcing several orgasms on her, he’d dragged her outside to fuck her against the hood.
Angry sex with a cranky Dom had left her sore the next day. More than once during the rough night, she’d obeyed his order and screamed “I’m yours.”
At war with her traitorous body, she focused on the cold tile lining the interrogation room, a stark contrast to the carpet outside. The jacked-up AC had turned the confined space into a refrigerator. Chilled air continued to pour in from the vents above. Nonetheless, her shirt resembled a straightjacket, her scant clothing enveloping her in stifling heat.
His gaze drifted to her chest. With her boobs strapped down, there wasn’t much to see. Nonetheless, he licked his lips. “Your memory’s in working order, at least. Why don’t you get rid of your top? You’ll end up naked sooner or later.”
Firming her mouth into a line, she circled to the other side of the stainless steel table. Without something physical separating them, she might lose her mind completely and kiss him. “Don’t talk to me like that. We’re not in a scene.”
“Aren’t we?” His piercing gaze bored into hers, the unblinking scrutiny sending a shiver down her spine. She shuffled back until her heel met the wall. Goose bumps pricked her exposed nape. She’d forgotten how the laid-back playboy could slip into Dominant mode from one blink to the next.
Shaking off the urge to give him what they both wanted, she rested the back of her head against the mirror. “No, we’re not. And Hell will freeze before I let you take Tiger.”
“How about this?” Rolling it back up, he tapped the stiff photo paper against his palm. “I’ll give him back, but I get to visit whenever I want. We can arrange sleepovers.”
Fighting flashbacks of waking up in his strong arms, she marched forward, reached across the table, and yanked the blackmail tool out of his hand. “Is everything a game to you?”
“No. I only play with people I care about.” In a lightning-fast move, he captured her wrist. “It’s nice touching you again.”
Comfort from the skin-on-skin contact spun her head. Until he’d caught her, they’d been on even ground. The warmth seeping from his palm put her at a distinct disadvantage.
She’d wanted him then. She wanted him now. Damn it.
Bending at the waist to further her reach, she smacked the side of his head with the photo. “The feeling’s not mutual. Let me go.”
“Liar.” He tightened his grip. “Kiss me already. You know you want to.”
“In your dreams.”
“It’s a recurring one.” When he glanced over her shoulder, her throat dried up. How had he tricked her into bending above the table, with her butt sticking out and a two-way mirror behind her?
“Stop staring at my panties,” she rasped. “Is there anyone on the other side?” Exhibitionists often used the interrogation room for public display. At the press of a button, the glass could clear to reveal an audience. She knew from firsthand experience he enjoyed both watching and being watched.
A typical man, his gaze reverted to her boobs. “What do you think?”
Her heart thudded. “Joss, don’t—”
“Why not?” He kissed the heel of her hand, his tongue circling the pulse point on her wrist. When he pressed his teeth into her and sucked, she fought back a moan.
“You’re wet,” he murmured.
With a squeak, she clamped her thighs together.
At his chuckle, she groaned. Damn the man and his bluffs. Her reaction alone confirmed his observation as truth.
A jarring snick shattered her spiral of embarrassment. In a flash, cold metal replaced his fingers. When she glanced up, his hands were free, and he’d snapped the other end of the handcuffs to a bondage loop welded to the corner of the table.
Furious at herself for letting this happen, she aimed her makeshift weapon at his face. He caught the blow long before impact, using his superior strength to force her arm down. Pulling a matching pair of cuffs from his back pocket, he shackled her wrist to the opposite corner before prying the photo from her hand.
He’d played her. Every move, from the moment she’d stepped through the door, had been one long distraction.
“You’re off your game.” He tapped her chin with the makeshift baton. “Didn’t think I’d get the jump on you this fast.”
The restraints forced her prone against the cold metal, the table’s width allowing next to no bend in her arms. Spine arched and butt up, she was flashing the mirror and whoever watched on the other side.
The realization should have triggered embarrassment. Instead, it aroused. Shit. After ten months of sexual frustration, her body refused to cooperate with her brain.
The edge of the baton shifted to her cheek. “You’ve lost weight. When was the last time you slept?”
“Bite me.”
“Oh, I will. I’d planned on talking through our issues before tying you up. But you made reversing the order too tempting.” Gripping the back of her shirt collar, he jerked her an inch off the table, stretching her arms until the restraints dug into skin. “The last time we played with cuffs, I used leather and fur. Tonight, I won’t go so easy. You haven’t been taking care of yourself. I’ll have to punish you.”
Liquid fire dampened her panties. He liked it rough. He liked this game. So did she.
“Go to hell.”
“But I’ve just escaped. Since we’ve dispensed with the bondage, you choose. Sex first, or talk first?”
She ground her molars together hard enough her jaw hurt. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“Sex it is. Might as well take the edge off.” He slid his hand to her nape, the contact both a comfort and threat. With his thumb at her jugular, he could render her unconscious with little effort. “What’s the club’s safe word?”
Biting her lower lip, she fought a wave of mortification. Of course, he wouldn’t allow her the pretense. They were scening. They’d started the moment she’d stepped through the door of her own free will.
And she didn’t want to stop. Not yet. “Red.”
“Unoriginal, but it’ll do.” Folding at the waist, he caught her lower lip between his teeth. The kiss was gentle, teasing, a stark contrast to the solid manacles holding her prisoner. The cuffs lacked the customary lining for BDSM play. Any struggle would break skin, leaving her no choice but to hold still.
His grip on her the only other point of contact, he slid his tongue along the seam of her mouth. He coaxed, rather than pushed, tempting her with pleasure until she let him in. Refusing to allow him control of the kiss, she pushed back, sucking and nipping until the slow, steady caresses escalated to a sensual duel.
A loud crack—the cursed photo hitting the floor. Less than a second later, his other hand burned her cheek. Her head imprisoned, she couldn’t move as his teeth scraped her raw, the devouring kiss establishing beyond question who held the reins.
Sweat coated her limbs as he mastered her with the confidence of an experienced Dom. One by one, he plucked off the pins holding her hair in place. With the room dead quiet, the metal bobs clicked as they hit the tile. He unraveled her braid, spreading the slippery tresses over her shoulders and back.
Breaking the kiss, he clutched a handful, tugging hard enough tears fogged her eyes. At the sharp sting, what little remained of her resistance splintered.
Surrender edged out thought. Later, they’d talk. Later, she’d worry about her next move. After close to a year apart, they deserved to steal a moment of pure pleasure.
“Good girl.” He tightened his grip, his approval distracting from the pain. He fed her his thumb, and she watched his fly tent as she sucked and licked. Whenever she paused to draw in a breath, he yanked her head back, punishing her for stalling without permission.
Their breaths quickened to pants. Despite the freezing table and nippy air, an electric storm burned her from within, her hunger for his touch a torture beyond measure. When he finally let her go, she was gulping for air. By the time her lungs settled, he’d padded around her and flipped up her skirt.
She whimpered, all too aware of the view she presented. He’d never given her a straight answer about an audience.
“Remember how I punished you for lying to me?”
Past and present merged. The last time he’d positioned her this way, he’d driven her to orgasm in a lounge full of people. “Omission isn’t a lie.” If she’d told him about her complete lack of experience, he’d never have scened with her in public. She’d wanted her first time to be memorable.
“That’s what I keep telling you.” He yanked down her panties, leaving them circling her ankles as he stepped closer. Shoving his hand between her shaking legs, he growled, “You kept shaving. Good. Everyone is about to see what a hard spanking does to you.”
Horrified and aroused, she gritted her teeth as he swatted her, over and over until she quivered from the delicious throb. All the while, his fingers rested on her unprotected flesh, unmoving even as slickness betrayed her increasing need.
“I hate you.” She squirmed against his hand, desperate for more contact, more pressure, more everything.
“We need to work on your honesty.” He hit her harder, and his fingers refused to move. “Tell me the truth. I’ll let you come.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Kiss my ass.”
“Well, since you asked nice.” He stopped so abruptly the shock sent her sagging against the restraints. The cuffs’ bite forced her shoulders up as his hot breath spread pleasure throughout her abused bottom. Then he bit her, hard enough she jumped in place.
She growled at his laugh, fought a moan as his teeth unclamped. He sucked her burning flesh, his circling tongue tormenting her with ripples of nee
d. He lingered long enough to mark her skin, to leave behind the kind of brand that would haunt her for days.
“Joss….” She gasped. “Stop playing.”
He released her after one last, playful nip. His hand between her shoulder blades, he shoved her down. “All this lip from such a tiny sub. I guess I should remind you who’s in charge.”
Cold leather and rounded metal brushed her flaming butt. Rustles and clinks heralded a zipper’s whirr. The faint scent of citrus followed the crackle of a packet tearing.
She shifted her hips in a bid to escape. He planned to take her like this, with little more than a kiss as foreplay. After all this time, it would hurt—each penetration equal parts punishment and pleasure.
And she’d die if he stopped.
He insinuated his hand between her legs. Parting her labia with his middle finger, he rubbed until more moisture betrayed her eagerness, all the while avoiding her clit. Refusing to give him the satisfaction, she clamped her mouth shut as he pushed inside. The friction spread fire across every inch of her skin.
“God, I’d forgotten how tight you are.” When he added a finger and pushed deeper, her inner muscles contracted in an instinctive attempt to slow his invasion. Choking on a cry, she blinked away tears of frustration as he pumped his fingers in and out. He kept his strokes slow, languorous, and maddening, the painful impalement coiling fear and anticipation into a rope of desire.
She wanted more. She wanted him. But he was bigger—so much bigger than this.
“You’ll take me. You’ll take all of me.” His knuckles scraped her as he pulled out, the abrasion turning her legs to jelly. “And you’ll fucking like it.”
His withdrawal left her drowning in need. An eternity passed in the second before his erection warmed her inner thighs. He grabbed her hips, lifting her until her toes hovered above the tile.
His hard thrust robbed her lungs of air. He held her captive, angling her to accept an even deeper penetration. Twisting her wrist, she gripped the handcuffs’ chains. She clung to the metal restraints, needing an anchor as he quickened his rhythm. Each entry was a mark of possession, a lance of pain and pleasure she had no choice but to endure.