by Cindy Skaggs
Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head from the pleasure. Finally, the weight of him pushed her into the mattress, the heat of him scorching her skin. She brushed her hands over his shoulders, touching what she’d denied herself when she left him. Warm, tight skin, bunched muscles, and the hard length of his erection as it flexed against her belly. The barrier of her panties didn’t seem too insurmountable as she raised and lowered her hips.
“Patience, darlin’.” He crawled down her body and pulled her to the edge of the bed so fast the air shocked her heated skin. He knelt between her thighs and thumbed her clit through the cotton. Her hips shot off the bed. He chuckled, the low, sexy rumble so near her core, she felt the vibration where she needed him most. He stripped off her panties, throwing her off balance with a swift change of pace, and then he kissed her inner thigh and nipped and licked closer and closer to her wet heat.
She mumbled, incoherent. Desire? Frantic need clenched and tightened her core. His touch was combustible. When he licked from her slit to her clit, her hips exploded, lifted and moved like the dancers in the bar below. He chuckled against her tender flesh, and the vibration sent her closer to the orgasm she was mindlessly chasing. Then he clamped down on her hips and held her in place while he pleasured her to the point of incoherence. She didn’t know her name or his. She forgot about the threats, the mystery, the danger. Her entire psyche focused on the press of his tongue and the need to move, countered by the weight of him, holding her down, preventing movement.
The simple dichotomy, movement versus restraint, sent her to the edge.
“Please.” She moaned, made promises and threats, knowing only a deep need to fall over the edge. He had the power to bring her to pleasure, and she’d beg if she had to. “Please.”
He released one hip and finally—finally—slid a finger inside. Slow at first, matching the pace with the movement of his lips, then faster, deeper, taking her to the edge before stopping. Stopping? He was torturing her. The murmurs from her mouth were insane. She’d promise anything. “Don’t make me beg.”
He shifted to make eye contact, those mysterious green eyes hooded. “Tell me what you want.”
She blushed. The warmth on her face was nothing to the volcano under her skin. She refused to be embarrassed. He’d brought her to this. Made promises with his touch and his kiss. “Make me come.”
The self-satisfied smile told her he knew what it took for her to ask. To literally beg for his satisfying touch. “Your wish is my command.” Then he sucked her clit into his mouth and entered her with two fingers this time, twisted, and hit a mark inside. Shooting stars exploded on the back of her eyes. Vicki fisted the linens, arched, gyrated to match the maddening tempo of his fingers. Panting, mindless, she rode out the orgasm until she was boneless.
He shifted, moved their bodies higher on the mattress, and entered her before she’d finished the toe-curling orgasm. The pace drew out the last spasms rocking her core. He didn’t give her a respite. In a frenzy now, he drew off her bra and latched onto a nipple like a starving man. The pressure went from her nipple to her core, ramping her back up before she had time to recover.
“The taste of you,” he mumbled against her breast. “I remember this.”
“How did I forget?” How had she forced herself to forget what her body knew? The man was an expert in pleasuring a woman. Pleasure? More like ecstasy. He rocked her world the way his hips moved, pressing his pelvic bone against her clit, bringing the promise of more. And because he hadn’t let her push, hadn’t let her control, she couldn’t take credit for the massive orgasm. For the one hovering. He’d forced her to accept his pace. His control.
And she couldn’t make herself resent the high-handedness, because the orgasm he pulled from her gave a whole new meaning to the word “ecstasy.” His weight pressed her deeper into the mattress, covered her with his skin, but she wanted more. Needed. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer on every downstroke. She arched again, pulling him deep.
God, yes!
She was chasing another climax, as needful as the first. She wrapped her hands in the silk of his hair and drew him back. The intensity of his gaze tightened every muscle in her lower body.
“Kiss me.”
He nodded, lowered his lips to hers. Hovered. The delicious delay increased the tension before he took her mouth prisoner. The kiss was commanding and consuming. Like everything he did to her, she took it, submitting to his pace.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the way he moved. The way he touched so deep it brushed her soul. The kiss sparked as his hips pressed into her, retreated as he pulled back, getting more intense, more tongue, the more frantic his hips flew over her.
“Not going to last much longer, darlin’.” He braced his elbows on either side of her head, giving him leverage to sharpen his movements. “What do you need?”
“Harder. Just harder.”
“Yes.” He bent and pumped into her, bottoming out deep. “Victoria,” he moaned into her skin, his breath hot on her neck. The groan low in his throat was animalistic, and then he bit down on the tendon between her neck and shoulder. Her nerves zinged in response. Every part of her felt consumed. The feel of his teeth, the pump of his hips, the sharp movements all combined to send her over the edge.
“Blake,” she nearly screamed his name. They went together, and she knew there was no way she’d be able to lock him away again. He was unforgettable.
Chapter Eleven
Blake pulled Victoria into his side. Their legs were tangled, and she tucked her head under his chin like she’d never left him. His heart rate slowed while his brain reengaged. Victoria complicated everything. The cop and the mobster’s daughter. Being together compromised the operation, possibly his job, the people he worked with, and a whole host of things he couldn’t process right now, but wrapped around her like this, he’d risk everything to have her. Permanently. He’d find a way to make it work, to use their connection and her unfortunate upbringing to bring an end to Patrick Sullivan. This moment was the calmest he’d experienced in years.
The anger driving him was temporarily caged. It wasn’t simply the physical release, although it had been off the charts. He still tasted her on his tongue. His dick twitched. It wouldn’t take much to slide back into her and lose himself there. When Victoria had left him, she’d taken a piece of him. He hadn’t been whole until she’d sewn herself back into his life. He wasn’t letting her go. Maybe it was an obsession. It damn sure wasn’t healthy, but no one lived forever. He rubbed a hand up her spine, and the sound she emitted was almost a purr.
Buzz. Buzz.
His phone vibrated on the nightstand, because that’s the way his life worked.
He cursed before lifting the arm not holding her. “It’s Mick. I have to take it.”
“Got trouble,” Mick said, his voice rose over the background bar sounds. “Punk kid, hipster with an attitude, looking for your girlfriend.”
Blake looked down at Victoria. Her spine stiffened as if she’d heard the words.
“Gangbanger?” he asked. “Dealer? One of our guys?”
“Don’t think so. But he’s angry, and the more he asks around, the more attention he’s drawing.”
“I’ll be right down.” He clicked off and untangled himself. Not much could pull him from her bed, but her safety trumped those few stolen moments of afterglow. He pulled on his slacks before turning to her. Big mistake. Victoria in clothes was tempting, but Victoria naked and flushed from sex was irresistible. Her eyes were bright, and her lips were swollen from his kisses. He bent, dropped a kiss to those sweet, plump lips. “Gotta deal with this.”
“I’m coming with you.” She rose, pulled on a pair of jeans.
Commando. He didn’t need that shit in his head right now. “No. I’ll be quick.” He buttoned his shirt, tossed on his jacket, and hit the door without looking back. “Lock this behind me.”
“Wait—”
He heard a thunk when sh
e threw something at the door behind him. Blake took a moment to get his head screwed on straight before heading downstairs to the club. The closer he got to the front, the louder the music pulsed through the concrete walls. He stepped into the back hall and let his eyes adjust to the dark. Off to his left, a man had his tongue down a girl’s throat and his hands down her pants.
Blake cuffed him on the arm. “Not the place, dude.”
The girl shoved the guy off and straightened her clothes. She lifted her head and stalked back into the club before the guy could react. Then his color reddened and he shoved Blake. Weak, ineffectual, and drunk. A bad combination.
“Stop or I’ll eighty-six you,” he said, threatening to throw the kid out. “Or you can calm your ass down and get back out there.” He glanced at his watch. “You have two hours to talk her into bed.”
He walked away without waiting for a response. This wasn’t the kid he was looking for. He circled the back side of the club, but didn’t see an obvious threat. Mick met him at the far end of the bar. “Where?”
Mick straightened and took a long look across the bar. He pointed, before muttering under his breath, “Get her under control before she blows everything to hell.”
Blake followed Mick’s gaze and saw Victoria in a pushing match with a long-haired hipster on the opposite side of the dance floor. The crazy woman had followed him downstairs and circled the opposite direction. Straight into trouble.
Mick jumped the bar and raced across the room as the pushy-shovey escalated. Blake looked for another threat, because the last thing they needed was another screwup after Trenton had tried to nab Victoria. Tonight would be a great freaking night to have Dez as backup. He shook off the thought. That ship had sailed.
By the time Blake arrived, Mick had the boy contained, hands zip-tied behind his back.
Victoria glared. “Are cuffs necessary?”
“Yes,” he and Mick answered.
“Take him to my office,” he ordered. When Mick moved to the back room, Blake pulled Victoria to the side. “I told you not to come down. What part of no don’t you understand?”
Her sex-tousled hair bounced as she shook her head in denial. “I don’t take orders.”
“This isn’t a game. If you want me to protect you, you damn well—”
“I know him.” She pointed to where Mick had disappeared. “The man you’re manhandling is a client.”
Blake rubbed a hand over his brow. “What?”
“He’s a hypnosis client. He’s pissed, and I think I finally figured out why. Just give me a quiet place and a few minutes to deal with him.”
“After what I just saw, I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
Her eyes blazed with anger. If he’d made the mistake of thinking her soft, her response corrected the misapprehension. “Stay out of it. If you don’t, I’ll take you under, and you won’t like my post-hypnotic suggestion that you go fuck yourself.”
There it was, the bite of rebellion he loved. From soft and sexy to full-fledged control freak. “Fix the kid and get him out of my club.”
She led the way to the back hallway, but paused at the back door. “Where?”
He showed her a door hidden in a black curtain to the left. He punched in the access code and led the way into his office.
“I didn’t notice it before,” she said, following him.
“That’s the point.”
When the door closed, the roar of the sound system faded. Mick stood against the opposite wall, arms across his chest, towering over the kid who was seated in a hard office chair. The kid fidgeted, pulling against the restraints.
Victoria moved in front of him. “Did it occur to you to tell me any of this without flying off the handle? I’m a hypnotist, not a psychic.”
The kid swallowed, looked at Mick. He wisely kept his mouth shut.
Victoria leaned a hip against the desk. The kid stared at her, rebellion warring with fear in his expression. Finally, she walked around the desk and rested her hands on the smooth top. “If you had told me, you’d have saved yourself the frustration. You would have gotten a resolution faster. Since you’re not talking, let me see if I have it straight, Aaron. You’re not pissed I helped you quit smoking. You’re pissed it also helped you quit smoking pot?”
Aaron glanced across the room. He stank of fear.
“Untie him,” she ordered Mick. “You two are making him nervous.”
“Good.” Blake nodded at Mick to untie the kid. “No one pushes you. Not in my club. Not on my watch. Got it?”
Aaron nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He rubbed his wrists when Mick cut the plastic strip tying his hands together. “I just want her to fix me.”
Where Blake wanted to smack him for being a complete idiot, Victoria smiled, charm oozing off her. The way she did it was so smooth, the kid didn’t know he’d been handled. In a few short minutes, she calmed him, eased the tension, and had him sitting across from her like a drugged mental patient.
The crystal ball, if she had one, stayed hidden, but even without it, she seemed to get Aaron under hypnosis. She made some suggestions regarding his smoking, and then added a phrase at the end that Blake didn’t even know was a possibility. She ordered Aaron to forget her. Forget everything between them. And if he ever saw her, he’d get an uncomfortable feeling and walk the other way. Before she brought him out, she told him to go home, smoke a joint, and sleep the rest of the night.
The kid walked out like he had every intention of following her directions to a tee. Victoria rose, dusted off her hands, and smiled. “That, gentlemen, is how you get it done.”
Mick laughed, shook his head. “I feel like I had front-row seats to a show. That’s some serious shit.”
“Since you enjoyed the show, you can buy me a drink.” Victoria looped her arm through Mick’s and led the way back to the bar. Blake followed. She was something. What she’d done worked better than attacking a man with a kubotan, and was infinitely safer. Hypnosis was her secret weapon.
Mick poured a glass of Glenmorangie, the good scotch he kept under the bar for Blake. Blake motioned that he wanted a glass as well. While Mick poured, he regaled the waitress with the story of Victoria’s hypnosis show. “You’d never get me under.” Mick set the scotch tumbler in front of her.
“You know,” she told him with a wink, “I could have you out and quacking like a duck in two minutes flat.”
The waitress leaned into the conversation. “I’d pay to see that, honey.”
Victoria shook her head. “Another time.” Exhaustion shadowed her bright eyes. Blake picked up their glasses and led her back to the upstairs apartment. Rather than take her back to bed, he set the tumblers near the couch and pulled her into his lap. “Long night.”
“Long week.”
The entire time he watched Victoria with the kid, he’d been wondering about something. “It’s about to get longer.”
…
Vicki didn’t want to ask, but the only way to deal with the situation was head-on. Her body sank into his, exhaustion weighing her down. “How?”
Blake took a sip of Glenmorangie and let the single-malt scotch roll on his tongue. “That was some show you put on. Will he really forget you?”
The doubt in his voice hit a nerve, but not everyone believed in hypnosis. “Probably.”
“Forgetting is a sticky point for me. Can you make anyone forget?”
Sure, she’d heard the questions before, and with less finesse, but she knew what he was asking. He was a skeptic, and he wanted her to prove the unprovable. She shrugged. “A person wouldn’t do anything under hypnosis that goes against his own desires. Hypnosis won’t change a person’s morality or turn them into a killer—no matter what Hollywood wants you to believe. Hypnosis can only make you forget if you want to forget. Aaron would just as soon forget this whole mess, so there’s no reason for him to remember.”
He kept his demeanor even, a sure sign he was an unbeliever. “How does it work?”
>
She peered up at him. “Do you really want to know?”
“Humor me.”
She didn’t mind his attitude toward her family, or even his high-handedness, but hypnosis was an integral part of her and she didn’t want to add another layer between them, so she sought to deflect. “I thought I had. Earlier.” She winked at him. “But we can go again.”
“Nice try, but I’m not easily distracted. Is it like amnesia?”
She tried to decipher the direction of his thoughts, but he remained unreadable. Fine. Better to get the truth early. “In a controlled way. Time Line Therapy is designed to block a memory, particularly as a form of self-defense, much like amnesia. Self-preservation is a powerful tool. Since Aaron felt threatened in your presence, I used that to encourage him to forget. Consciously, he’ll forget, but the subconscious remembers. The neuropeptides will still trigger emotions without the memory.”
He shook his head, because he was having a hard time following the logic. “You had me to a point. Neuropeptides?”
“If he ran into you again, he wouldn’t remember you, but his body will still react in fear.”
“Good. Boy pissed me off. So he’d never remember you?”
Still sitting on his lap, she leaned against his shoulder. She was tired of holding so much inside. “Depends on how far we pushed. Erasing a memory only takes away the conscious recall. It’s not like brain surgery. I’m not altering his brain, and his subconscious would still remember.”
“If you wanted, could you make yourself forget something?” The doubt in his voice had the power to hurt.
“Self-hypnosis isn’t strong enough to make me forget.” The very idea of it rankled her nerves. “What’s more, I wouldn’t want to forget. Not anything. Even forgetting about the cat might leave a blank I can’t afford.” Her heart squeezed at the mention of the cat.