by Joey W. Hill
"You don't do that in the military."
"If a soldier had to go to counseling after every firefight, it would cause a severe shortage of man power. But the mind-set is different. In the military, you're trained to kill, so you know up front it's a very real part of how the objective has to be met, so you're more prepared for it. Cops' ultimate job is to protect and serve." He grimaced. "Though both cops and soldiers have to deal with the shit the media spits out about us being racist thugs and soulless killers. No offense."
"None taken. If the time comes that I can't make money doing it the way I'm doing it now, I'll do something else. I won't go back to working for a paper or TV station. That kind of crap is why I'm not part of that machine anymore. And I don't want to be."
"You're exceptional, darlin'. On a whole lot of levels."
"Well, damn," she said with a sigh. "Now that you've said nice things, I might have to scrap that smear piece I'm writing about a police sergeant who threatened me with bodily harm at a crime scene."
"Be sure and include all the details on that. I'd like to hear your reaction on his follow-through."
Her cheeks pinkened and he grinned at her. Continued to do so as she fished around in the fast-food bag and retrieved the other half of the sandwich to finish it.
The rest of the trip was equally amicable, until they drew closer to New Orleans. Then he saw her tension returning. If the line of her shoulders, like an overdrawn clothes-line, didn't give it away, the direction of the conversation certainly did.
"You know, maybe it would be better if I stayed at a hotel."
"You'll be safer with Lucas and Cassandra."
"I don't want to endanger anyone."
"You won't. Just do the things we discussed. Don't use your cell, limit your work stuff to what you can do via that burner phone or anonymously online. You have the cash you pulled out of the ATM in Baton Rouge before we left. Use that if you need it. Nothing that lays down a paper trail. We might be giving the MoneyBoyz credit for way more resources than they have, but better safe than sorry."
He'd intended to take her out for that dinner he'd promised, but his gut told him to go a different way. Since she'd polished off the second burger and fries, dinner could wait a while anyway. So instead of going into the city, he took the turn to follow the outskirts, heading for Lucas and Cassandra's house.
She thought the best way to deal with it was all by herself. He respected her feelings, but he thought he had a better idea of how to handle those festering emotions than being alone a hotel room, where those emotions would likely galvanize her into doing something unwise to avoid feeling them.
When he turned into their quarter mile long driveway, Celeste didn't say anything. The plantation-style house Lucas and Cassandra had bought just outside New Orleans had the square footage and acreage to accommodate the couple and near half-dozen siblings Cassandra had raised on her own, until Lucas came into her life to help share the load. Three were still living at home, Nate, Talia and Cherry at various points of middle school and high school, but Jessica was in college and Marcie had been living with Ben since their engagement.
Leland had first met Matt and the other K&A men at one of his visits to Club Surreal, the classy and discreet Baton Rouge BDSM club whose membership he couldn't afford. He'd purchased a three-month temporary card to check it out, regardless. While he hadn't played there, he'd ended up sharing a drink with Matt and meeting the other men. The relationship had grown from there. All five men were Doms, and that orientation infused and guided their lives, far beyond a preference exercised in a club environment.
They were each married--or engaged, in Ben's case--to a submissive who complemented that degree of commitment, though the couples exercised it in different ways.
Leland understood that. While the desire to exercise his Dominant side was something that admittedly manifested itself in ways large and small in his relationships, he wasn't as much of a sadist as Ben, or primarily a psychological Dom like Matt was. He fell somewhere along the spectrum between them, but that spectrum put him well within the men's circle. Some people just clicked, and he'd felt the click with the five men, enough to enjoy time with them socially since. He went to the Super Bowl party that Matt hosted every year and to cookouts at Peter and Dana's. On Labor Day, Cassandra and Lucas had a big picnic, and then there was the Christmas party that Jon and Rachel had. He had a standing invitation to join them all at Matt's for Thanksgiving every year, and he'd also worked side by side with the men in their volunteer efforts during Katrina. He was glad Celeste had a friendship with Marcie, because he knew without a doubt she'd be safe here, emotionally and physically.
If she got out of the truck.
Stiff body language and the hard glint in her eyes told him she was back to having problems being handled. In about three seconds, he'd bet she was going to return to the hotel idea, except instead of a wheedling suggestion, she was going to put her foot down and make it a demand. Yeah, that wasn't happening.
He got out, came around to her door. When he opened it, she didn't look at him, just kept staring at the house.
"Take me to a hotel. I'm not staying here."
"Two seconds longer than I thought it would take."
Her gaze snapped to him, and he saw the fire there. "Don't mock me."
"Don't test me." He gave her an even look.
She shifted her gaze back to the house, crossed her arms over her chest. "I mean it, Leland. I just...I can't be here. Not after everything else today."
"Which is exactly why this is where you need to be. You need to trust me, darlin'."
Reaching in, he closed his hand on her shoulder, ran his thumb down the side of her neck, over her thudding pulse. When he came to rest on that sensitive juncture of her shoulder, he saw her get still, anticipating him. Using that pressure point had a decided effect on her, but he chose to use his voice alone this time, an implacable tone. "Come inside, Celeste."
She pressed her lips together, but when he put his hands on her waist, she let him slide her out of the truck.
"I don't want to talk to anyone right now. We really need--"
"You're not going to talk to anyone. Not right now. I want you to stay quiet unless I tell you to talk."
He heard the door open at the top of the steps, but didn't turn right away so he could meet her startled gaze with an expression that told her he meant it. He'd surprised her enough to render her speechless. At least for a couple more seconds. More than that would be a miracle, so he'd best take advantage of the small window of opportunity he had. Taking her garment bag and overnight tote from behind the seat, he shouldered them, then grasped her elbow and guided her up the steps.
Lucas was at the door. His casual outfit of faded jeans and a well-worn T-shirt with the LAMBRA logo, the Louisiana/Mississippi Bike Riding Association, emphasized a lean and athletic form. His hair, a blond mix like tarnished gold, indicated how much time he spent outside cultivating his passion for amateur cycling. Nate, Cassandra's youngest sibling, now shared his interest in it, and they'd done the last marathon together. The CFO of Kensington and Associates had a sharp mind for numbers and a steady calm in the midst of any tempest. He also had the insight to know when one was brewing on his steps. He glanced at Leland with shrewd silver gray eyes, his brow lifting.
"I need to take Celeste to her room. She's glad to be here, but we need to deal with something first."
Leland wasn't the type of Dom who took it to this level in a public way, not usually, but the good thing about having friends who were Doms down to the bone was they understood the weighted meaning in a simple statement. After a brief flash of surprise, Lucas merely nodded.
"We made up a bedroom for her on the second floor, at the end of the hall. I'll be in my home office if you need me."
Celeste looked like she wasn't sure if she was going to spit, hiss or say something just to spite Leland, but when he tightened his fingers on her elbow, putting pressure on the sensitive nerve
point there, he felt that telltale tremor that distracted her. It sharpened his own appetite to lance the boil inside her.
Lucas gestured them inside and closed the door. He gave Celeste a look of warm welcome, then he left them there, moving back through the large living room off the main foyer and disappearing around a corner. Celeste looked nonplussed at his abrupt departure. As Leland ushered her up the curved staircase with its wrought iron balustrades and polished wood hand railing, he felt her resistance and uncertainty. She was dragging her feet toward that room, wondering what she would face there, but he also sensed a different kind of anticipation humming through her blood.
It was as she herself had told him. She fought it, because she had to fight it. Not because she didn't want the feeling he could give her. He just had to have the balls and a bit of Dom meanness to see it through, because in truth, after seeing what she'd dealt with as a child, he wanted nothing more than to comfort and stroke her. Which wasn't what she needed. Not at first.
Though the house had many preserved historical features, Lucas and Cassandra didn't skimp on modern amenities. The guestroom had a king-sized bed, a flat screen and small fridge probably stocked with an assortment of beverages. A bowl of chocolates and fruit was on the dresser. The wide brace of windows offered a view of the pond and a scattering of weeping willows and mature live oaks. When he closed the bedroom door behind them, Celeste ignored all that, moving to the center of the room, arms crossed over her chest as if she was in a much smaller space. "He's going to think I'm rude."
"No, he's not. He understands what's going on."
"Well that's one of us." She tossed her hair out of her eyes. "I don't want to stay here."
"Hmm. You know what's going on, Celeste. It's why you've started to tremble."
He began to unbutton his shirt, matter-of-fact and efficient. She latched onto the movement, as well as noting his position in front of the closed door. Yeah, I wouldn't try it, darlin'. Now that the door was closed, fortunately his own volatile side was rising, overriding that nurturing compulsion. It was one of those perverse things. Seeing a threat to his sub made him want to stress to her, in no uncertain terms, that she was his. Not just to reassure her, but to enforce the lesson that she could rely on him. Especially when he was dealing with a sub who had a hard time believing she could rely on anyone.
"What are you doing?" she said unnecessarily.
"I want you to kneel, Celeste."
"I want a hotel room and a bath. We can do this better there. Everyone would be happier. Especially me."
He shrugged out of the shirt, and then removed the cotton tank he had on beneath it, pulling it loose from his jeans. He saw her eyes latch onto his bare chest as he tossed the clothes over a chair. "Take off your coat, Celeste."
When she kept standing, he could tell she wasn't openly defying him. She was just at a loss, her busy mind scrambling to keep up. So he moved behind her, slid the coat off, put it over the same chair as his shirts. He put his hands on her tense shoulders.
"If you don't take me to a hotel, I'll call a cab as soon as you leave and go to one."
"When I leave, which won't be until morning, you're barely going to be able to walk, let alone call a cab." He put his body up against hers, a reminder of his strength. "On your knees, darlin'."
She resisted, but he hooked her ankle and took her down anyway. He shifted his grip so it was a controlled descent, careful as lowering a baby into its cradle, despite her struggling.
Once he had her down, he used his weight and strength to hold her there. She pushed against him, but in this position, he had all the leverage, and she wasn't fighting him as much as herself. He understood that, but held her like that until he was sure she understood. He was the force that would take her down the road she needed to go. The struggle lasted thirty seconds, maybe a minute, then she stilled, her head lowering, breath short.
"Stay where I put you now. Understand?"
"No cuffs or ropes?" He'd eliminated the physical component of her resistance, so now she went to her stronger line of defense, her sharp tongue.
"Don't need them." He tipped her chin, met her eyes. "You'll stay where I put you. Tell me you understand, Celeste."
"Okay," she said sullenly.
"Okay?" His tone sharpened and he felt her pulse jump under his grip. The hazel eyes held a flash of resentment, more confusion, and a longing that was stronger than all of it.
"Yes, sir. I understand."
"Good girl." His hand gentled then. "My very, very good girl. Such a good girl."
SS
The words brought a lump to her throat. The way his eyes became kind and his voice lowered, soothing, devastated her. She closed her eyes. "Ben said I needed pain to let go. But you...you do things like that and it's like I'm falling out of a tree and can't hold on to the branch anymore."
"You do need pain. But you need this as much, and sometimes more. It's all about timing, Celeste. A Master knows what his sub needs, and teaches her to trust him to get there, even if she doesn't know what she needs."
"I didn't want you to know any of that about my family, see any of it. Hell, I don't want to know it. I try to pretend it doesn't exist. I imagine I grew up in a happy family, with a picket fence and a dog. That I hung out with my friends at the mall and used my allowance to buy designer jeans."
He squatted in front of her. "Lift your arms, darlin'."
When she obeyed, he pulled the T-shirt over her head, set it aside. He caressed her skin, knuckles sliding over her breasts, quivering in the hold of lace cups. Unhooking her jeans, he brought her to her feet, steadying her with one hand. "Take them off."
She managed to unzip her ankle boots, step out of them with his assistance, then she removed the jeans.
He drew her over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, bringing her to stand between his spread knees. He perused her body, clad only in bra and panties, for another weighted moment. When he brought her closer, she rested her hands on his shoulders as he unclasped the bra in the back and pulled it down her arms. She made an uncertain noise, but he shook his head, keeping her silent as he moved her back again.
Putting his hands on her hips, he slid his thumbs along the elastic of her panties and took the garment off of her, a whisper of silk along her legs. He had her step out of them, then he rose.
"Stay," he reminded her. She watched him put the other garments on top of their shirts, then he stepped behind her to the dresser. She looked over her shoulder to see him open the top drawer. "Eyes on the wall over the bed, Celeste. You don't look at what I'm doing."
She obeyed, though she didn't want to do so. The glass front of the picture over the bed, a landscape with soothing greens and blues, let her see his reflection, but she couldn't tell what he removed from the dresser.
He returned, standing behind her. If he'd taken anything from the drawer, he'd tucked it in a pocket or laid it in a guest chair, because he placed empty hands on the crown of her head. Smoothing his hands over her hair, he traced the shell of her ears and stroked the sides of her throat. Once, twice, again, as she swayed under the caresses, her shoulder blades brushing his chest. Sliding one hand down her sternum, between her breasts, he brought her back against him fully. Shoulders against his chest, ass against his groin, an intimate temptation and reassurance at once. The ache returned, growing stronger in her stomach and spreading out beneath her rib cage, traveling upward as he fanned out his fingers, stroked her abdomen, cupped her breast, played with the nipple. Bending, he pressed his mouth to her shoulder.
"Leland..."
"Not my name right now, darlin'. Not to you. Call me what I am."
She swallowed. She couldn't. She twitched as blue gauze dropped in her field of vision. A scarf, wide enough to fall to her navel as he held it level with her chest. He passed the fabric over her breasts, over the peaks as they tingled from the stimulation. She arched into it with a sigh, pressing her backside against the hardness under his jeans. She needed i
t rougher, faster, not this slow seduction that unfurled all these unbearable feelings in the pit of her stomach, that made her legs weak and her mind spin out of control.
Yet she didn't say anything, couldn't figure out what to do to make him go faster, not with him teasing her. Slowly, he gathered it up into his hands, turning the wide, translucent cloth into a folded strip in his hands, the tails falling down on either side of her. It was long, the ends tickling her thighs, her knees. When he brought it up to cover her eyes, she drew back, resisting, but he was behind her, so she couldn't stop his intent. He tied the scarf firmly behind her head and brought the ends forward, putting the fabric in her mouth and tying a knot there, too, before he wrapped the tails around her head again, once over the bridge of her nose, then down a second time over her mouth before he tied it off at her nape. It was similar to what he'd done with the rope, reminding her of that deeply emotional Ichinawa session between them. Despite the freedom of her hands and feet, her face wrapped in gauzy cloth was a powerful restraining effect he emphasized when he curled his fingers in the knot beneath her occipital bone and used his other hand to put her back on her knees again.
Help me, Master. She couldn't say it aloud, but it was there in her mind. She couldn't stop it, any more than her reaction now. She tried to push back up to her feet, to get away. He just put her down on the ground, her body folded over her knees, his weight keeping her in that curled ball as he began to lay kisses on her spine. His gentleness was killing her.
"Stop," she said through the gag. She bit down on the knot as he ignored her. Sweeping, lingering kisses on her back, the rise of her buttocks, her nape. He turned her head, kissed her mouth around the gag, through the thin cloth, as she wept and cursed him. When he eased his fingers inside her, began to thrust, rotate and play with her clit, there was no urgency to it.
"Please..." Just fuck me. Use me. The knot wasn't large enough to muffle her words entirely, so she might have said it out loud. His response, which came long, eternal moments later, made her think she had. Or that he was inside her mind in a way that was terrifying.
"You're my sub, darlin'. I cherish you. Worship you, even as I own you. Fight all you like; it's not me you're fighting. It's yourself. I won't let anyone take away the pleasure you need and deserve. Even if it's you doing the taking, the denying."