Love, Lies, & Crime: Anthology

by Kimberly Blalock

  “Frankly,” my father growls from behind me, “I don’t give a damn about your business, or the other girls for that matter. It might sound heartless to say that but you are my daughter. I would never be able to live with myself if anything happened to you.”

  I turn around and walk to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He links his arms around my back and holds me close to him like he did when I was a little girl and ran to him when I was scared. I should tell him that I’m probably the only safe one in the group, because if the notes are anything to go by, the person doing the killing isn’t coming after me, but wants me for some other reason. I don’t though. That would just bring more suspicion onto me and that is the last thing I want to do.

  “I’ll be fine, Daddy.” I press my lips against his cheek and begin backing out the door. “I promise.”

  I make it all the way to the front doors before I’m stopped by Cooper’s spicy scent and Southern drawl. My head tells me that I should keep walking, but my feet have different plans as they root themselves into the floor.

  “Remember when I said that some things were better than breathing?” I turn just in time to catch a glimpse of the teasing in his eyes before it’s replaced with a dead serious look.

  “Yes, it’s hard to forget something like that.” I try to send him a flirtatious grin but it falls flat, so I just stand there and wait for him to keep talking.

  “Well, I figured I should add on to that.” Cooper pulls in a deep breath and I can’t help but watch his massive chest expand. “They might be better than breathing, but you still need to have a pulse to enjoy them.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes. “You too, huh? Let me guess, you’re going to stand here and tell me how much of a bad idea it is for me to keep working.”

  “I don’t think you know the kind of shit you’re getting into by putting yourself out there.”

  “I know more than you guys seem to think I do.” I straighten my back, running my hands over my skirt. When I turn to walk away, Cooper grabs my arm and drags me back to him, pinning me between his massive chest and the wall.

  “You don’t get it do you? You think that just because this guy hasn’t come for you yet that he won’t? Everyone here is worried about you! Your father nearly lost his shit when I told him another one of your employees was found dead. He’s worried about you. Everyone in this building is worried about you… I’m worried about you.”

  My eyes snap up from the spot on his chest that I was staring at to his worried, blue eyes and I feel the skin between my eyebrows crease. This damn man is going to give me wrinkles and we’ve only met a few times. I know how to handle my father telling me he’s worried, even my clients. Cooper isn’t either of those. He’s never been in my bed, and there isn’t any blood relation between us. He barely even knows me, so why he’s so concerned is beyond me.

  Isn’t it obvious? He wants in your pants. For free. You’re a whore, you don’t do free, sweetheart.

  “You shouldn’t worry about me. You don’t even know me.”

  Cooper reaches up and runs his thumb over the crease between my eyes and shakes his head. “For such a smart woman, you’re pretty damn stupid.”

  “Detective Hayes!” my father’s voice interrupts the moment we were having by barking out at Cooper. Cooper steps back away from me, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Shouldn’t you be working on Danielle’s case?”

  Clearing his throat, Cooper turns and addresses my father. “Yes, Sir. I was just trying to convince your daughter that keeping the agency open right now probably isn’t the best idea.”

  My father raises an eyebrow and glares at him. “And convincing requires fondling now, does it?”

  “Oh my god, Dad,” I laugh. “If that’s what you consider fondling you have some learning to do.”

  I shudder at the thought and want to bleach my brain. Both Cooper and my father try to hold back laughter. My father points at Cooper and to his desk and I watch Cooper’s back retreat from me.

  “I thought you said you had security with you, young lady.”

  Taking a few steps toward him, I kiss his cheek again before pointing at the door. “He’s waiting for me outside on the stairs. Now, please, go back to work and stop worrying about me.”

  I wait until his office door closes behind him before I leave because I don’t want him to see that there isn’t anyone waiting for me like I said. I lied. I hate lying to him, but sometimes things like this just can’t be avoided.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It’s been three weeks. Three weeks of upped security. Three weeks of having to watch every single thing that my girls and I do like a hawk to make sure we’re all safe. The only plus side to the past few weeks is the fact that nothing bad has happened. All the girls are still breathing, my father has started to ease off my back a bit, and I am back to servicing all my regular clients.

  Well, this client isn’t regular by any means. My regulars don’t shell out extra money to ensure that I will be willing to get mentored so I can give them what their wives refuse to. Since this guy signed with me, I’ve spent more time in BDSM clubs and being mentored than I have with the client and am still getting paid for it. It’s a pity I’ve only used what I’ve learned on him so far.

  I wiggle my toes in the end of my boots, check my bag to make sure that I have everything I need and knock. My knuckles hit just under the numbers on the door in three quick bangs and I take half a step back. The heavy hotel door swings back and Jared Keller fills the doorway, his wide frame taking up the majority of the space. With his chest and arms bare, they are the first thing that my attention is drawn to. Right down to the two fingers of Scotch dangling from his fingertips.

  I usually get some sort of smile from him, but today, he only steps back just enough to let me squeeze by. “You’re late,” he grumbles. As soon as the door latches, I spin around and slap him across the face. When he turns back to me, I grip his cheeks, squeezing them between my fingers to make sure he’s paying attention.

  I’m late? I quickly check my watch and realize that he’s right. Odd. I’m never late. I pull myself together quickly and get back to work, doing exactly what he pays me for. “Did you speak to me without permission?”

  The second I drop my hand his head drops toward his chest and his arms relax by his side. “Yes ma’am,” he whispers.

  I drag my fingernails up his chest, pressing against the bottom of his chin until his head is where I want it but his eyes are still on the floor. “You reek like alcohol and chewing tobacco. You disgust me. I suggest you remove the rest of your appalling clothing, and then my jacket. When you’re done with that you’re going to show me what is mine to use as I please.”

  Before I have a chance to say anything else, Jared is completely naked and back in front of me. His thick fingers tug at the belt holding my coat closed until it opens. He slides it down my shoulders and grabs it before it has a chance to hit the floor. Stepping away from him, I start pulling everything out of my bag, laying it all out on the edge of the stand by the bed.

  Hello, Mary-Poppins-fetish-filled-purse-of-pleasure-and-pain.

  When I turn back around, Jared’s kneeling on the floor, forehead resting against the rug, knees spread under him, and his palms face up next to his legs. It’s beautiful, really; the way he so easily lets go and submits to me even though he doesn’t have to. Part of me wishes I could talk to his wife, tell her that this is what he needs. I can’t though; that would be a breach of contract and I would never do something like that to a client.

  The fact that Jared came to me, requested me, and willingly opened himself up to me, makes him special. He’s probably the only client I have that is one-hundred-percent honest with me. It’s a good thing, too, because without that this whole situation wouldn’t work.

  “Was that any way to talk to your Mistress? Count,” I demand when he doesn’t answer.

  My hand slaps hard across his exposed ass, over and
over in various spots, until it’s a deep shade of red and his body is strung tight. He chokes out the number with every slap. I run my palm over the heated flesh and he sighs, relaxing into me, completely content for the moment. That is until I thread my fingers through his hair, pull back on his head, and rest my lips against the shell of his ear.

  “I asked you a question, slut.”

  “No, Mistress. I’m sorry I was rude.”

  I bring my hand down one more time against his ass because I don’t believe a word that’s coming out of his cocky mouth, and tell him to get up and onto the bed. I know Jared. We’ve been doing this for two years. Every emotion he has, I know it, I can feel it radiate off him. I’ve seen him when he’s happy, when he’s feeling lower than the earth; and then I’ve seen him when his wife makes him like he’s scum for being the way he is.

  His behavior changes with how things are at home. The worse things are, the worse he acts out here and based on how he’s acting, things are pretty bad right now. It breaks my heart when he’s like this.

  Jared untangles his muscular body from the floor and climbs onto the bed without a word, his muscles flexing and stretching as he moves. I watch his face as I strap him where I want him on the bed. I tie his calves to his thighs, his thighs to his forearms and then tie those to the bed. Everything I’ve learned for him screams in my head that I shouldn’t be doing this when his head isn’t where is should be. He pays me to do it anyway. He pays me to give him what his wife refuses to.

  “You’re a mouthy little fucker tonight, aren’t you?” I fill my voice with as much venom as I can muster knowing how he’s feeling right now, and begin pinching his skin and clipping clothes pins to his thighs, the sensitive skin on his balls, and his nipples. “First, I’m going to ride your face until I come, and you better do your goddamned best to make up for the way you’ve treated me so far tonight. Then I’m going to fuck your ass so hard that you won’t be able to sit right for days. I promise you will feel it until you see me next week.” His eyes close as the corners of his mouth perk up just a tiny bit. For the first time tonight, I’m starting to see the man I know is inside him waiting to be released. I flick my finger against one of the clips on his balls and smile when his body tenses and he groans. “Then I might just ride your cock for my pleasure. Mine. But maybe if you prove to me that you’re actually sorry for the way you spoke to me, I might just let you come. If not, you’re going to wait at least another week until you see me again.”

  I cover his eyes with the blindfold on the nightstand and I climb up his body, straddling his head with my feet hooked under the edge of the headboard. Before I even have a chance to settle down where I need to be, Jared stretches his neck as he searches for where his mouth should be, eager to make up for his behavior.

  His tongue slides the length of my slit, circling my clit until my fingers fist in the sheets and I can’t breathe. After a few minutes, he moves up, tongue-fucking me like his life depends on it. I bite my lip, determined to hold out and not cry out from the pleasure, but it’s hard. Reaching under me, I tug on the clothespin attached to his right nipple until it pops off. His body bows and he growls against my pussy, doubling his efforts until my body locks up and an orgasm tears through me.

  When I finally catch my breath, I manage to pull my body off of Jared’s face long enough to slide my strap-on harness over my hips. The energy radiating from him is completely different than before. My fingernails drag down the back of his thighs and I lube up and notch the head of the strap on against his anus, pushing in slowly while I squeeze and stroke his cock. His chest expands as he takes a deep breath with every inch I push in.

  Jared growls when I squeeze down on his cock, pull out, and slam back in until my pelvis hits his ass. I knock against some of the clothespins and when they pop off, his body tightens under me, cock twitching in my hand. “Don’t you dare fucking come unless I say you can, you fucking slut.” I keep talking, losing track of everything I say to demean him.

  I thrust into him for a few minutes, continuing to flick clothespins off his thighs as I do. I keep slamming into him until I realize how much time has passed already.

  “Let’s try apologizing again,” my words are breathy, but still demanding as I drive into his ass again. “This time, you better fucking mean it. Either way, I’m going to fuck myself on your cock until I come. Make me believe you’re sorry, and I’ll think about letting you come, too.”

  I slide down onto Jared’s thick cock after I drop the harness and roll a condom on him, my fingers drift over the clothespins still left on his balls, and we both sigh when he bottoms out inside me. My nails score down over his chest, evidence for later when his wife tells him no again. It will be something to remind him that even though she tells him it’s wrong, someone out there will give him everything he needs.

  Leaning back as I ride him, I flick at the clothespins left on his balls one-by-one until they’re gone. He’s not moving, and barely breathing. I think he’s afraid that if he does either at all, he will come.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress,” Jared chokes out, emotion filling his voice. “I promise I will never disrespect you like that again. You didn’t deserve how I treated you. Thank you for making me realize how wrong I was.”

  Between the break in his voice, and the unshed tears in his eyes when I remove the blindfold, I know he means it. I know it was just his way of acting out, of dealing with everything going on at home. It was his way of getting me to take the control he desperately needed to give up.

  I slide up his body, lying myself out over him and press my lips against his Adam’s apple. “I’m going to come all over your cock. You’ve made me feel so good. You’ve been such a good boy that I’m going to let you come, too.”

  I bite into his shoulder when I start to come. Hard enough that I know the marks will last for a while. Slamming down onto him one last time, he throws his head back as he comes, and thanks me as soon as he can speak.

  Without looking away from his eyes, I unhook all the restraints and roll off him. Propping myself up with pillows, I pull his head down against my chest. I run my fingers through his hair, calming us both and I lose track of time again.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I whisper into his hair.

  “Of course, Mistress.” His breath skims across my skin and I can’t help but smile at the new tone in his voice.

  “If this is what you want, what you really need in your life, why do you stay with your wife?”

  Without even hesitating he answers me and it’s possibly the most honest and heartbreaking thing I have ever heard in my life.

  “Because I love her more than I love myself,” he whispers sadly.

  ROUND FIVE

  The lift roars to life when I push the button on the remote, pulling Jen’s feet into the air. Inch by inch of her body lifts with every click of the machine until she’s fully suspended upside down in the air. I raise her up until she’s strung painfully tight. The blood seeping from the slices across her skin rolls down her body, dripping onto the floor beneath her head. I push against her body to make sure there isn’t any give. I want the impact of what I’m about to do to be as severe as it can be.

  I let her hang there for a few minutes, just watching as she struggles. The image in front of in quite entertaining. Like a human piñata. Funny, since that’s exactly what she is going to feel like in a minute. Retreating to the back wall by my chair, I grab the bat again.

  Jen was never planned like the others, she’s not technically a whore. She is however a whore by association. You don’t play with fire without having there be a chance of getting burnt. Just like you don’t work for a company that pimps people out, without having some backlash fall on you. She’s merely a victim of opportunity, but deserves it just like the others did.

  I stretch my arms, working out the kinks that have built up over the past few hours. I make a show out of playing with the bat on the walk back to her, flipping it this way and that. With my le
ft hand, I twirl the bat in large circles. The sound it makes is like music to my ears, it calms me.

  She gave up fighting before I even got to the cutting portion to the game, which obviously, put a damper on my mood. What fun is it if they just give up? She knows she’s going to die either way, I get that, but still expect them to fight tooth and nail to survive. As I step up in front of her, I smile down at the disaster I have created. Complete and utter chaos is what this looks like, but it’s not. It’s a well thought out, beautiful catastrophe. Every movement is planned, every cut is perfectly placed, and every swing is always thought out carefully. No room for errors, no time for mistakes.

  The first swing I make lands straight across her stomach, stealing her breath and her ability to scream with a loud thud. Her body tries to contract, to ease the pain, but she’s strung so tight she can’t move. Without giving her time to recover, I land the next three hits quickly. One to the left of her stomach, one to the right, and I swing around her, hitting against her lower back.

  Tears stream from Jen’s eyes, landing in the puddle of blood that has formed below her. Sucking in a quick breath between hits, she is finally able to catch her breath enough to let out a loud scream. Without bothering to tell her to be quiet, I haul back, hitting her in the ribs. Twice on each side and hard enough to know something is broken. With every hit to her body, blood splatters, soaking the aluminum bat, and flying out at me.

  Since her knees are level with my head, I have to swing up for the next one. I set up my swing, making sure to put enough force behind it. The cracking sound of bone followed by the garbled noise she makes when I slam into her kneecap makes me smile. I raise my hands above my head, proudly pumping them in the air as if I just hit a grand slam. The next swing does the same, and I begin to wonder if I should have played baseball. I’m not sure the feeling would be quite the same if I was just hitting little white balls all day.