“That’s what I did with Nick’s first session,” Jake added. “Roxy was there for it. I couldn’t see his facial expressions, and with him never being exposed to that level of pain/pleasure before, I needed someone who could observe him to make sure I was sending him into subspace.”
Logan stood and paced again, mulling over what they’d said. He had to be crazy to be considering it, but then again, he was crazy if he didn’t do everything he could to save his job. He knew Ian had said that as long as he followed the rules that had been set forth when he was first hired, his job was safe, but if he ever thought he’d be a liability to either team, he’d hand in his resignation. There was no way he could live with someone being hurt or killed because he’d flipped out like he did in the club during a mission. “So, who do you suggest I do this with? You, Jake?”
The other man shook his head. “I’m the last person who should be whipping you for several reasons—the main one being we’ll be working together. You’re already going to be worried about everything that goes with this; you don’t need to add our professional relationship on top of it. I also don’t think it’s a good idea for you to scene with any male Whip Master—if anything is going to trigger a flashback to Afghanistan, it’s that. It was men—bastards that they were—who were doling out the torture. No. I think it’s best if we set up something with Roxy and Charlotte. They’re both top-notch Dommes and Roxy has the added experience of being a physician.” In addition to meeting Roxy back at the club a little while ago, Logan had met her and her wife, Kayla, at the barbecue to celebrate the fact Ian and Angie were expecting. Charlotte, a.k.a. Mistress China, he’d also met two or three times before at the compound. The petite Asian-American was a force to be reckoned with if her Domme feathers were ruffled, but otherwise she was very nice. If he remembered correctly, she was a parole officer.
Inhaling deeply, Logan let it out slowly. “I don’t know. I understand what you’re saying, but I have to admit, it freaks me out. Let me think about it tonight and I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
Trudy picked up her day planner and looked at her schedule. “I have a 10:00 opening tomorrow. Do you want to come in then and we’ll talk about it some more?”
“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair which was in desperate need of a trim. “That’s fine.”
After jotting down something on a piece of paper, she stood and handed it to him. “These are three excellent sites for you to explore. The first two have pages dedicated to desensitization.”
Logan read the names of the websites. BDSM 101. Fet lifestyle. Beginner BDSM. Between this and his new assignment, he suddenly had the feeling he’d tumbled down a rabbit hole. The only problem was he wasn’t sure how to get out of it.
Taking a deep breath, Dakota shut the locker where she’d stored her things in the ladies’ lounge of The Covenant. It had been a long time since she’d been nervous about walking out onto a play floor—in fact, she hadn’t been nervous at all with Davis. But then again, she hadn’t been attracted to the man. Logan Reese, however, was someone altogether different.
The longer she’d sat next to her new partner in Sawyer’s office that afternoon, the more she’d become aware of him. She’d felt his gaze every time it landed on her, and it had taken everything in her not to glance over to see if it was as hot as it had seemed. She’d even replayed in her mind how he’d skillfully disarmed those punks earlier, despite the fact she’d been annoyed at his alpha interference at the time. His body was honed perfection and the way his muscles had moved with such fluidity had been hard to miss.
Dakota had intended to get out of Sawyer’s office as quickly as possible to get her hormones back under control, but Reese had grabbed her elbow, and she’d almost sank to her knees as jolts of electricity at his touch scorched her skin. To top it all off, he’d then sweetly reintroduced himself, in a deep, sexy timber she’d felt between her legs. She’d seen the relief—and something else she couldn’t name—in his eyes when she’d followed his lead, starting their brief relationship over. How the hell was she going to survive the rest of this detail without falling victim to his looks, charm, and natural Alpha tendencies?
Stepping over to a full length mirror, she studied her reflection. Finding submissive fet-wear that also let her carry a weapon or two had been challenging. The snug, leather pencil skirt she was wearing completely hid the small caliber pistol strapped to her inner thigh, while a thin, stiletto blade was concealed inside her black and red corset, between her breasts. Her feet were bare, but with her training, she could still use them to do some damage with or without shoes.
At the top of the steps leading into the lounge from the second floor, the door opened and footsteps resounded in the stairwell. Moments later, an attractive, curvy woman, with skin the color of mocha, strode in and nearly jumped five feet when she saw Dakota. Throwing her hand to her ample chest, she flashed a relieved smile. “Oh, my God! You scared the bejeezus out of me. I didn’t expect anyone to be in here.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Dakota Smith,” she said, giving the last name she’d been instructed to use for this assignment. While it was almost cliché, it was close enough to her real name to avoid confusion. “We have a class starting in a few minutes in the pit.” Since she had no idea who the woman was, she wasn’t going to announce the class was to train the new cops and agents going undercover in the clubs.
“Oh, Master Mitch didn’t say anything about that yesterday.” She held out her hand for Dakota to shake. “Hi, I’m Sasha Lewis. I’m a sub and work in the club’s boutique. We just got in a new shipment of inventory on Saturday and since we’re closed today, I have to go through everything and get it all up on the display racks and shelves. I can’t wait to see some of the new fet-wear that came in. By the way, I love that corset . . . it looks fantastic on you.”
“Thanks.” Sasha had a bubbly personality that was infectious and Dakota liked her immediately, even though it was a little weird to be dressed in fet-wear while the other woman was in a comfortable pair of jeans and T-shirt. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t mean to sound rude, but I have to get out to my Dom. Don’t want to earn a punishment before the class even starts.”
“Go. Run.” The sub waved her hand toward the door leading out to the pit. “It was nice meeting you, too. If you want a peek at the new inventory, knock on the boutique door before you leave. Have fun.”
Pulling the door open, Dakota rushed out and ran right into a brick wall that let out a muffled “oomph.” Hands grasped her shoulders and steadied her when she would have ended up on her ass. Her gaze had been downcast and roamed upward, taking in a pair of snug, black jeans covering an impressive bulge, a black, leather belt, and a black T-shirt that hugged its owner in all the right places. Before her eyes made it to the man’s face, she’d known who it was, and she cursed her body’s reaction to her new partner once again.
“Hey, are you okay?” Logan’s concerned voice sent a shiver through her spine. “I came to get you because Marco’s just about to get started.”
His hands still cupped her shoulders as her gaze met his, and she didn’t miss the heat flaring in his eyes. Goose bumps popped up all over her skin and she took a step back, out of his reach. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks. Just talking to one of the club’s submissives in the locker room.”
Sticking his hands in his back pockets, he eyed her down to her toes and back up again. “You look nice. Really nice.”
“Um. Thanks.” Feeling herself grow wet at his appraisal, she stepped around him and walked toward where the other UC teams were gathered in the middle of the pit. Glancing to her left, she saw him fall into step next to her. “You . . . um . . . didn’t get your leathers?” Not that he didn’t look extremely sexy in his current attire.
“No. I . . . uh . . . didn’t have time. Something came up that I had to take care of first. I’m going to head to the shop tomorrow, if you want to come with me. You know, make sure I pick out the rig
ht stuff. Aside from camos and jeans, I’m not a fashionista.”
Dakota chuckled and relaxed a little. “I think you’re the first guy I’ve ever heard use that word.”
“What can I say? My younger sister is a full-fledged fashionista. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know what the hell one was.”
“All right, let’s get started. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” Marco DeAngelis was standing on the center stage of the pit in front of a large St. Andrew’s cross. With his dark hair and good looks, Dakota was starting to think “being a hunk” was a requirement to be hired by the private security company. Kneeling on a large, red pillow next to him was a gorgeous blonde, dressed in a pink satin camisole and shorts. In perfect present position, her head was downcast while her hands rested palms up on her thighs with her knees shoulder width apart. Dakota had met the retired SEAL at several task force meetings and knew he was married, so that had to be his wife. His next words confirmed it as he stroked the blonde’s hair, the expression of pure love on his face hard to miss. “My beautiful wife, Harper, has volunteered . . . sort of . . . to help me demonstrate a few things this afternoon, while our daughter is visiting her Aunt Jenn for a few hours. For those of you whom I haven’t met, yet, I’m Marco DeAngelis. I’m a retired Navy SEAL and have been in the lifestyle for about fifteen or sixteen years now. I’d like to go around the room and have you quickly introduce yourselves so I can put names to faces, please. Tell me if you’re a newbie or how long you’ve been practicing.”
While the self-introductions went around the room, no one mentioned they worked in law enforcement. While everyone in the pit knew their true purpose there, and the club was technically closed, there were a few employees doing things upstairs, including Sasha.
A few moments later, the Doms were sitting in chairs facing the stage, while their submissives were on pillows at their feet as DeAngelis began telling the inexperienced people there the basics of the lifestyle, stressing that everything was safe, sane, and consensual. Since this was all stuff Dakota had known for years, she took the opportunity to study Logan from under her partially-closed eyelids. While he was listening to the lecture, every so often his gaze drifted to the corner of the stage where a portable rack, holding various toys and instruments used in BDSM, had been set up. Each time he did, his face paled a little—she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been watching him so closely—and he seemed distracted, which wasn’t a good thing for a Dom to be on a play floor. Something was bothering him, and Dakota wished she knew what it was, but as long as it didn’t interfere with the two of them being undercover together, then that was all that mattered. If she learned anything too personal about him, she was afraid her attraction to him would grow even more.
Two hours went by faster than she’d realized. As expected, aside from proper presentation, an intro to the different types of play that were and weren’t allowed in most of the clubs, and all the other basics, there had been no play demonstrations—those would start tomorrow DeAngelis told them. Before releasing them for the rest of the day, apparently a Shibari class was scheduled in the club that evening, he instructed each couple to talk about what they’d learned tonight and to check out three BDSM websites, then let him know if there were any questions before they started the class back up at 8:00 a.m.
When the class broke up, Logan stood and held out his hand to her. Hoping she wouldn’t have the same reaction she’d had earlier to his touch, Dakota placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her up. And, damn it, the tingling started all over again. Once she was on her feet again, she snatched her hand back. If he’d noticed anything was wrong, Logan didn’t show it. “So, how does grabbing some dinner sound . . . you know, to get comfortable with each other? I have some questions that I’d rather ask you than Polo.”
Polo? Huh? Oh, that’s right . . . DeAngelis’ Navy call-sign. “Um . . .” Dakota took a deep breath and glanced around. It looked like the rest of the faux couples were talking about doing the same thing Logan had just suggested. Well, if you and he are going to be believable undercover, then you better start getting used to him. “Sure. Let me get changed and I’ll meet you upstairs.” She almost burst out laughing when he raised an eyebrow at her. Damn, the man picked things up quickly. “I mean, is it all right with you, Sir, if I go get changed and meet you upstairs?”
He chuckled. “That’s fine, little subbie.”
Turning away, Dakota started for the ladies’ lounge along with the other women. The whole way there, she felt Logan’s eyes on her and resisted the urge to glance back at him. She hoped like hell they caught the Kink Killer soon because if not, she didn’t doubt she was going to wind up in her partner’s bed for the first time in her career.
C
HAPTER 12
Logan watched as Dakota disappeared into the ladies’ lounge. The corset she was wearing had nearly knocked his socks off, and he wished she’d been wearing just panties and fishnet stockings with it.
A hand came down on his shoulder as Morrison chuckled at him. “You need a towel to gather up all that drool, Cowboy.”
“Fuck you, Skipper.” He gave his teammate a playful shove, and then strode toward the grand staircase leading up to the balcony floor with the other man following. “Besides, your new partner’s pretty hot, too.”
“Yeah, well, unfortunately, she plays for the other team. Told me point blank when I met her earlier. She’s cool, though, and pretty funny, so the gig should be okay.”
When they reached the top of the stairs, there was a lot more people than Logan had expected. Numerous couples were gathered at the bar, while a bartender served them drinks—mostly bottled water but a few wines and beers were being consumed. Tiny Daultry and Mitch Sawyer, Ian and Devon’s cousin, were talking to a tall man with a crew cut wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. From his stance, it was clear he was or had been in one of the military branches.
Logan and Morrison stepped over to the small group and Tiny grinned at them. “How was your first class?” While the former football player was the head of security for the club, it had surprised Logan to learn he didn’t participate in the lifestyle.
“Interesting, let’s leave it at that,” Logan responded, dryly.
Mitch laughed. “And that’s just the start. Wait until tomorrow; you’ll be getting to the good stuff. Logan Reese, Kip Morrison, this is Stefan Lundquist. He’s with the Coast Guard and is teaching the Shibari class tonight.”
Before today, Logan had never heard of Shibari, which was the art of rope bondage commonly used in BDSM settings. As the three men exchanged greetings and handshakes, Tiny let out a low whistle. “Damn . . . who’s the silver vixen?”
The two Omega teammates turned to see the gray-haired FBI agent they’d met earlier. Instead of using the stairwell behind the bar, she and another female federal agent had come up the grand staircase. She was one of those women who had gone gray very young in life and still rocked it now in her early forties. Her hair was cut short and spiked. Add that to her shapely five-foot-ten-inch frame, she definitely drew appreciated looks from both genders.
Logan kept his voice low so no one else could overhear, although someone had turned on the club’s sound system and soothing jazz filtered out of the speakers, but not too loudly to drown out conversation. “That’s Nikita Novik. A . . . friend . . . of Colt Parrish.” The six-foot-eight mountain of a man’s mouth was almost at his knees as he watched the tall drink of water sashay toward the heavy, wooden doors leading to the lobby, and Logan snickered. “Skipper, I think Tiny needs the towel more than I do, man.”
The phone behind the bar rang and the bartender picked it up. Seconds later, he called out, “Hey, Mitch. Ty’s on the phone, wondering where you are.”
“Tell him I’m on my way home, Dennis. Thanks.” Turning back to the others, the club owner/manager added, “Today’s Tori’s birthday so we’re taking her out for dinner. See you guys later.”
Now that was a relationship Logan didn’t unde
rstand—two men and one woman and they were all in love with each other. He wasn’t against it, but none of his past relationships with one woman worked out, so he had no clue how they made it work with an added person in the mix. To each his own.
The door to the stairwell leading to the locker rooms swung open and out stepped Dakota and Skipper’s new partner, Sheila Cummings. Logan eyed Dakota as the two women strode toward him. In a snug, Grunt Style patriotic skull T-shirt and the jeans she’d been wearing that morning, she was just as sexy as when she’d been in her club wear. A twitch in his pants had him running baseball stats in his head to keep from getting hard—damn, if he was alone with her tonight, he’d probably do something stupid like hit on her. Clearing his throat, he addressed his teammate and Sheila. “Dakota and I are going to Donovan’s for some dinner and a beer and to discuss what we . . . um . . . well, get to know each other better. Care to join us?”
He thanked his lucky stars when the two glanced at each other, shrugged, and agreed to come along. Dakota seemed as relieved as he was that they’d have company.
Twenty minutes later, the foursome was settled into a booth at the back of the Irish pub owned by Jake Donovan’s brother, Mike, who was currently training a new bartender. He’d given Logan and Kip a quick wave when they’d entered, telling them to take whatever table they wanted. While the place drew a hefty lunch crowd and was packed in the evenings from Wednesday through Sunday, Monday nights was sort of slow like most restaurants. There was no one sitting near them, so they’d be able to discuss both the lifestyle and the case without being overheard.
After their food orders were taken and a pitcher of beer had been poured into four glasses, the idle chit-chat between them moved onto things they hadn’t been able to discuss at the club. Sheila filled Logan in with her background—she was a lifestyle switch and had been with the Tampa PD for six years, the last two in the Special Ops Division. She glanced at the woman sitting across from her. “I’m glad to have another chick added to the squad. We need someone else who can pull off spandex tights and dress like a prostitute for the perverted ‘john’ stings.”
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