“Uh, Jac? Something wrong?”
“Nothing.” He turned from her, dragging his knuckles across his mouth, and stared at the wall.
“No, you don’t get to do that.” She grabbed his arm, and since he was too big to yank around, she stepped in front of him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He got right in her face. “Do you sleep with all the black cops?”
“What?” she screeched. “Mathieu?”
Was he serious? Mathieu was like her brother. The very idea squicked her out, her skin crawling, and a shudder racing down her spine.
Creature growled from the corner. His claws clicked on the tile as he got to his feet.
“And Chuck. Who else?”
“Creature, down.” Odalia jabbed Jacques in the chest with her finger. “Back the fuck up, mon chèr. I can date—and fuck—who I want. You don’t own me, so pack your jealousy up.”
“Maybe I should own you.”
They froze, and Odalia couldn’t figure out which of them was more shocked. For a moment they stared at each other, the only sound Creature’s habitual scratching.
Did she want to be owned?
Collars were the typical symbol of the power-exchange relationship. It had been an age since she’d worn one. Her hand fluttered to her throat. Halfway there she gripped the neck of her shirt to keep from touching the natural place a leather strap would rest.
“I think that’s for me to decide,” she said at last. Odalia wouldn’t stand for a lack of trust or excessive jealousy; both were poisons. She was willing to forgive a lot, but there were lines.
“You’re right. My bad, bébé. Not my place.” Jacques stepped back, giving her space. Except then she missed his nearness.
“Should we talk about this?” Her fingertips tingled, and her stomach was in knots. She didn’t even know what this was or how to address it.
“What is there to say?” From the tense cast to his brow, the pursed line of his lips, he had a lot on his mind.
“If you’re going to be an ass, I will walk out that door, and we will never speak again.” Saying those words felt as if she were ripping out something vital, something she needed, but Odalia wouldn’t be caged or shuttered in. She couldn’t live like that.
A twisted cocktail of jealousy and darker emotions swirled in Jacques’ gaze.
Creature padded across the office and licked Jacques’ hand, whining. No doubt he sensed the tension between them. It was a credit to Jacques that the pit bull hadn’t jumped to her defense. People had to be introduced slowly to the overprotective dog. But not Jacques. He’d stepped into her life as if he belonged there.
Jacques glanced down at Creature and blinked, all the negativity clinging to him bleeding off until he knelt and gave the dog a scratch. For some reason the movement eased the fist constricting her chest, and she drew an easier breath.
“I am a jealous man. It’s not one of my better qualities,” he said as though speaking to Creature, but the words were for her.
“I never slept with Chuck. I couldn’t even kiss him.” She leaned against his desk and watched Creature flop on his back, displaying his belly for necessary scratches.
“And Mouton?”
Odalia laughed because she couldn’t help it. “Don’t ever suggest or think that. He was my partner when I was a rookie, and if I have any family in this world, it’s him.”
Jacques glanced at her. “Do you play together?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No. It feels weird. He’ll do my aftercare sometimes, but that’s it. We’re friends. Besides, he hasn’t played or been in the scene for a long time.”
“I haven’t seen him in ages.” He straightened and turned toward her.
“Divorce. Nasty business.” She didn’t want to talk about Mathieu’s past. It wasn’t her story to tell.
“About this…”
“We can talk about it later.”
He nodded and held out his hand to her. There was something here, they both knew it, and for now, that was enough.
Chapter Five
Odalia pulled in a deep breath, but the butterflies in her stomach refused to calm. Her knees were made of rubber. They still hadn’t talked about it. She didn’t know what bothered her more, the unspoken thing between Jacques and her or the possibility of Chuck stalking her. Since Chuck was on duty tonight, there hadn’t been anything to do except attend the dungeon holiday party.
Around her, other women chattered, undressing or primping as each prepared for an evening filled with dark pleasures at The Bastille.
Odalia hadn’t missed the sly glances tossed her way when she’d entered with Jacques, who insisted on carrying her bag and even escorting her to the dressing room. For a man who wouldn’t discuss his interest, he was acting like a territorial bastard.
One side of her mouth kicked up, and she grinned. Okay, she kind of liked the attention, so long as he learned real quickly she wouldn’t stand for the asshole act. He could beat his chest and drag his knuckles a bit if it made him feel manly.
She finished undressing, stashing her shoes, jeans, T-shirt and bra in her bag. Usually she wore a piece of lingerie, maybe a lacy camisole, but tonight the only thing on her body was her ink, her loose hair and a black thong.
Wrapping her confidence around her like a cloak, Odalia pushed open the door and stepped into the heart of the dungeon. She paused to let her sight adjust to the reds and purples illuminating the space. The dungeon was decorated as if it were the love child of a bohemian princess and her gypsy lover, draped with chains, adorned with leather and furniture to torture a person into bliss. It was a wanton wonderland. The sounds of brutal pleasure echoed all around her. Whips cracked, men and women moaned, screamed or giggled and somewhere on the fringes, the electric hum of a violet wand brought goose flesh skittering along her arms and legs.
She glanced around, searching for a tall drink of man with sinful eyes and a mouth that begged to be teased. Jacques seemed like a man who didn’t smile enough. She ached to ease some of the burden that weighed him down.
There.
Jacques stood with two men near the middle of the dungeon. She wove through the crowds, thicker than usual thanks to the holidays. He must have sensed her gaze because he turned.
He tipped his head sideways. She followed the motion, spying a piece of unoccupied equipment.
Odalia nodded and strode toward the free-standing beam. It was a seven-foot post set into a wooden platform measuring four feet by four feet. There were holes drilled through the wood for various purposes.
If Jacques wouldn’t talk about their mutual attraction, maybe he could act on it.
She stepped onto the platform and turned as Jacques reached her, his play bag slung over his shoulder. For a moment their gazes locked, and she wondered what he would do. The lust and adrenaline ricocheting between them all day had grown stronger until she ground her teeth together every time she glanced at the man or caught the scent of his cologne.
How long would Jacques hold out on her? How long would he resist whatever this was?
He reached out and caressed the outer curve of her breast with his finger. Her nipples tightened, and her breath hissed between her teeth. Still their gazes remained connected.
“You sure you want this, bébé?” His voice held dark promise. Pain and pleasure, screams and sighs.
“Laissez les bons temps rouler,” she replied. Let the good times roll.
“Bon.” He pinched her nipple between his knuckles, dragging his thumb over the peak.
She gasped and arched toward him, whimpering as she danced along the edge of pain and pleasure. He twisted the flesh, and her whimper turned into a moan. She let herself fall forward, against his chest, fisting his shirt in her hands. The platform gave her enough lift that she could reach his mouth.
Except, Jacques was grinning.
It was contagious.
She grinned back, and they laughed, giddy on too much of whatever this was.
“Against the po
le, bébé.” He pushed her and she obeyed, casting him flirty promises.
“Front or back?” she asked.
“Lady’s choice.” He set his bag of tricks on the ground.
What did she want?
Odalia rested her back against the pole and extended her arms up above her head, threading her fingers through the tallest point she could reach. He glanced at her, his gaze sliding from her hands, over her breasts, and down to her toes.
Dark promises indeed.
She was vaguely aware of a small cluster of people gathering at a respectful distance, watching. But they weren’t her focus. The only person who mattered was a dark-chocolate bounty hunter who twisted her insides into knots.
Jacques stood, a thick, flexible cane in hand. He swung it hard, the cane whistling through the air, and slapped his palm. She couldn’t help but jump at the crack.
Canes stung like a motherfucker. She could almost feel her last session with one. She’d had welts for a week.
He extended his arm and used the tip of the cane to draw a line from her ankle to mid-thigh, then repeated the path on her other leg. It didn’t hurt, but she wiggled in place, clenching her teeth against the remembered sting.
Jacques stepped onto the platform and continued to explore her body, running the length of the cane up her stomach and ribs until it bowed under the weight of her breasts.
“Hmm.” He studied her dusky-brown nipples, furled into tight points. He took the abused peak between his lips, laving it with his tongue, and pinched the other between his fingers, delivering both sharp pain and pleasure.
Odalia thrust her breasts out, and her eyelids dropped. The dungeon faded away until she was conscious only of the wood at her back, the cane under her breasts and Jacques. Her pussy clenched, wanting his cock already. Not that she’d stopped wanting him, but the need was immediate.
He continued to twist and torment her breasts until Odalia stood on her tiptoes, her back bent at an impossible angle.
She was under his spell. Every caress of his tongue, brush of his fingers and twist of his hand sent her further over the edge of reality into a place where life became colors and sound, twined together in a visceral dance of want. He played her body like a master, slow and steady, building her up and letting her fall into his arms.
Jacques supported her, keeping her pinned to the pole, but her legs were rubber. She panted for breath as he straightened, gazing down at her.
“I’d keep you like this if I could. Aroused. Wild. Responsive.” He cupped her cheek for a moment before sliding his hand down her neck and cupping her breast.
Odalia gasped, not sure what she expected but loving his touch.
“It’s a pity a camera can’t catch the spirit on film. It can give us a glimpse, but no picture will ever do this,” he rolled her nipple between his fingers, and she moaned, “justice.”
The swift lick of the cane against her outer thigh was a complete and total shock. Odalia jumped to the side, yelping, but Jacques pulled her back to the pole.
His voice dropped to a dangerous level. “I did not give you permission to move, bébé.”
The cane landed again on her legs in quick succession. It wasn’t too hard, not enough to even leave the ghost of a mark, but enough to know she’d been hit. She bit her lip and danced in place, her shoulders beginning to ache and her hair sticking to her damp skin. The flexible rod whistled through the air before delivering one hard crack.
Odalia squealed, and her eyes went round.
That’s a bruise.
She loved bruises. Always had. They were badges, marks of a life lived, adventure taken and seizing the moment. Nothing good ever left you unscathed.
As a little girl she’d poked at her bruises for the sheer amusement of it.
“Hmm.” Jacques transferred the cane to his other hand and rubbed the growing welt. “Do you like my marks?”
“I don’t like them, Sir.” She shivered at his narrowing gaze. “I love them.”
Jacques’ cheeks sank in, and she felt his swift intake of breath.
Odalia didn’t even wince preemptively as the cane whistled through the air again, but she hissed when it smacked her opposite thigh. She’d seen the flash of lust in his eyes. The jealous streak was still there. And he’d cared enough to drag her kicking and screaming out of the worst decision of her life.
“Like that?” he asked, running his knuckles over the spot.
“Yeah, like that, Sir.”
He might not be ready to name this thing growing between them, but she was. It was a genuine regard for each other. She wouldn’t call it love, not yet. They were strangers in many ways, but like called to like. They were cut from the same cloth, and with her defenses stripped away, laid bare at her most visceral level, floating on the tide of subspace, she saw him for what he was.
Her new beginning.
Jacques stepped back, his gaze raking over her. His free hand flexed, and he swished the cane back and forth. She watched the dance, wondering where he would lead next. He slid to her right and brought the cane in fast, across the front of both thighs. He popped her several times in quick succession, from the knees all the way up to her pelvis.
She sucked in a breath and wiggled in place. He varied the strength, some lighter, some harder. She never knew which.
Odalia gritted her teeth and dug her nails into the board.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Ow.” She laughed, despite the pain, adrenaline and lust twirling and twining together.
“That’s funny to you?” In the darkness, Jacques’ smile was a brilliant gleam of white, almost like the Cheshire cat. Where would he take her next?
“No. Ouch.”
He nailed the tender outer portion of her knee. She hoisted the leg up in a misguided attempt to protect herself.
Wrong move.
Jacques grabbed her arm and turned her in place so she faced the pole. He planted a hand between her shoulder blades and started going to town on the backs of her legs and bottom.
She stomped her feet and hugged the pole. Heat radiated from her body, intensified by the fiery passion in her breast.
The cane licked across her upper back. Not hard, but enough to massage and beat the muscles into submission. Her whole body was super sensitized and each touch, every pop of the toy, ratcheted her higher.
Jacques’ rhythm broke for a few beats. She rested her forehead against the pole, clinging to it to keep her upright.
Arms wrapped around her from behind, hugging her. Jacques was a hard, hot wall of muscle, big enough to shield and protect her. But he’d shown her today on the street that he respected her ability to take care of herself. Hell, he’d probably never even second-guessed her, which did odd, warm and fuzzy things to her. She was used to men thinking that just because she had a vagina she was somehow incapable. But not Jacques.
She leaned her head back against his shoulder and kissed his neck, or near enough to it.
“Come here, bébé.” He bent and lifted her into his arms.
“Where we going?” she muttered, wrapping her arms around his neck. It took a big man with strong muscles to lift her, much less carry her through a crowded room.
A spanking bench, she hoped. At least then her poor legs wouldn’t have to support her.
“Couches.”
“We just started.” Had she reacted wrong? Did he not like her outbursts?
“I know.” Jacques sat on an empty end of one of the couches.
“Did I…?”
“You did nothing wrong.” He smoothed her hair back off her face. “We’ve had a rough couple of days. You needed this, and I needed—I don’t have words for it. I needed this.”
He needed an anchor. A connection. So did she.
Odalia nodded and relaxed, letting him cradle her to his chest, savoring the beautiful moment. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Somehow, she’d done it all right.
* * * * *
Jacques laughed as Odalia jumped out of his Jeep before
they’d even rolled to a complete stop in her driveway.
“Hey, you can get a ticket for that,” he yelled, but she was already sprinting up the stairs to the porch, her keys clutched in her hand, wearing nothing but his T-shirt and a thong.
When he caught her, it was on. He’d spend the rest of the night lost in that pussy, making her beg for mercy. He’d intended to explore how many times her body would respond.
Jacques killed the engine as a sound rent the air, stopping his world.
Odalia’s scream.
He flew out of the Jeep, skidding to a halt at the foot of the stairs, heart hammering in his chest, blood rushing through his ears. He could make out Odalia’s figure against the light, barely over the threshold of her condo, but anything else was hidden from view. She had her hand behind her, signaling for him to stop. Everything in him said, Go to her. But getting caught in a bad situation with her wasn’t the answer either.
“Please, Chuck, let me look at him,” she begged, tears in her voice.
Him?
Creature whined.
Shit.
“Fuck yo’ dog,” Chuck spat.
When he got his hands on that bastard, he would break every bone in his face. Jacques’ vision hazed red, and he dug his fingernails into his palm.
Rushing in there wasn’t the answer.
Jacques backtracked to his Jeep, opening the passenger door while keeping one eye on the front door. He could hear Odalia’s voice loud and clear.
“Put the gun down, Chuck. Please. Creature is hurt. We can talk about this.” She paused. “No, it’s just me. I—I went out by myself.”
Hell, the little cop was feeding him information the best she could. He couldn’t help but respect her ability in the field that much more. Chuck had to know she wasn’t alone. They both might drive Jeeps, but they weren’t the same and they’d been in his Jeep, leaving hers here.
Jacques retrieved his gun from the glove box and double-checked that there was a bullet in the chamber. He’d lived the bounty hunter life long enough that he never went a moment unprepared. Odalia’s phone was still in the cup holder. By some chance of fate, it was unlocked, and he brought up her contacts as he skirted the condo, keeping to the shadows. Mouton’s name was the most recent call. He jabbed the number as he let himself through the gate into the back yard and peered around to glimpse the back stairs. The same window he’d jimmied to get in stood open, and so did the back door.
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