by S. J. Harper
For the first time, Eve smiles. Her eyes roam my body. “I like you. Your first client is waiting downstairs.”
She picks up the phone on her desk, punches a few numbers. “Nigel, please come back and escort Domina Sirena to level two, dungeon six.” She hands me an iPad. “Louis is new. Here’s his profile. You also have a nine o’clock. Since you’re late, I suggest you give Louis something a little special. You’ll leave that with Nigel at the end of the night. He’ll pay you. In cash of course. Any questions.”
I pick up my bag and head for the door, iPad in hand, wolf at my heels. “Not my first rodeo,” I reply.
“Obviously not,” I hear her murmur.
* * * *
Level two turns out to be the lowest level of a basement that looks like it might span the entire building. Nigel hands me a key and lifts his chin. “Down that hall. Number 6. He’s waiting.”
The floor is covered in stone, as are the walls. My boots click loudly as I make my way down the hall. I scan the information Eve provided on Louis, no last name listed. Profession: Self-Employed. I make note of his safe word, his list of no-goes. There are to be no marks on his body when he leaves. No cutting. No needles or hooks. Claustrophobic? No. What does he want? To be restrained, at my mercy. He sent some photos depicting mummification. Perfect.
I slide the skeleton key into the lock and then push open the door.
“About time!” Louis calls out. He’s young, mid-twenties. Dressed in baggy jeans and a black T-shirt.
I drop my bag on the floor then stride over to him, swing my arm back, and slap his face, hard.
His eyes widen.
“You’ll speak when spoken to. You’ll get attention from me when I want to give it. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Domina!” I bark. “Say it.”
“Yes, Domina,” he repeats, lowering his head. His shoulder length dark hair falls in front of his green eyes. When I say nothing more, he glances up briefly. The eyes flick to the wolf, then back down again.
Even in the dim light of the dungeon, I recognize the young man. His poster is plastered on the walls of millions of teenaged girls worldwide. His concerts are sellouts. He has a clothing line and a new reality TV show. He’s been in and out of rehab. Perhaps now he’s looking for a new high.
“Strip. Do it quickly.” I’m aware that the clock is ticking.
The lad pulls off his T-shirt in one fluid movement and tosses it onto the floor. The tennis shoes are kicked off. Boxers and jeans are pulled past his narrow hips without his having to pause to unzip or unbutton. He’s left standing in his socks.
My riding crop cuts through the air with a high-pitched whoosh as it moves to point at his feet.
He scrabbles to remove the last remnants of clothing, hopping first on one foot, then the other to pull off his socks. His cock is partially erect. When I pull my handcuffs from my bag, it gets even more so. The dungeon is equipped with everything a Dominatrix could want or need. I make my way over to him, my riding crop poking the center of his chest. Pushing him back until he’s just where I want him.
“On you knees. Lower your eyes. Hands out.”
He obeys my commands. He’s rock hard now. Within a matter of seconds I have him in cuffs. A chain attached to a pulley is looped through them. A few yanks, and Louis’ body is stretched before me, arms held high above his head, toes just touching the floor.
“Suck me,” he begs.
That earns him another slap. Clearly, he wasn’t filled in on the rules. There’s a roll of duct tape on a nearby table. I cut off a six-inch strip using a pair of surgical scissors and place it over his mouth. A second strip over his eyes.
“Come, and you will be punished,” I hiss in his ear before picking up a large roll of plastic wrap. His body gets a quick dusting of power. I place some cotton padding between his ankles and knees. Then, I begin wrapping, circling around him from the legs up. He said on the form he wanted to be at my mercy, and I show him some—I leave his cock unbound and coax him to take a deep breath as I reach his chest.
Within six minutes, I’m close to finishing the job. Louis is covered in plastic wrap up to his collarbone. I lower his arms. His hands go to his cock. I don’t bother to scold him. Instead I bind his arms in place just out of reach before grabbing the tilt table and securing him to it. It takes ten minutes for me to completely imprison him in plastic. He’s immobile, safe.
“Come, and you will be punished,” I remind him before slipping a cockring over the tip of his weeping penis. “Submit, and you will be rewarded.”
While I’ve been busy, so has the wolf. But now his restless pacing has stopped. He eyes Louis warily. I check my watch, Torres should be with Eve now. I reach for the bag and head for the door. Cerberus covers the sounds of my leaving with a vigorous shake. With no time to spare I head away from the stairs and back to the elevator that the clients use. Since appointments are booked on the hour, it should be empty. And with the key Zack gave me, I can switch it into Firefighter service mode and go straight to Eve’s apartment. No need for a special code. No need to pick any locks.
The elevator rises three floors above reception to open in a hallway. Eve’s living quarters are spacious. Two bedrooms, two and a half baths, kitchen, dining room, living room, and office. I wouldn’t say the space is lavishly decorated, but the furnishings are elegant, the overall décor tasteful. I swiftly move from room to room planting the devices as quickly as I can, aware that Louis is waiting, that Torres will only be able to hold Eve’s attention for so long. In the corner of the living room is an old-fashioned roll top. It looks like it’s used more for storage than a desk. It’s piled with papers and books nearly to the top of the open tambour. I place the last bug there then race back to the elevator and down to the dungeon.
I take care in unwrapping Louis, carefully cutting through the plastic, covering his exposed skin with warm, wet towels that would slowly cool, drying his body with shearling mitts. The process keeps him on edge, my commands and the silicone band around his penis prevents him from going over. I taunt and tease, leaving him both satisfied and not.
“My reward?” he asks, hopefully.
The question earns him another slap.
He falls to his knees, lowers his head. “I can pay you.”
“Pay me with your obedience. You’re reward is that I’ll agree to see you again.”
“But—”
“Have I given you permission to speak further?”
“No, Domina,” he replies, his voice strained from the effort to control himself.
Finally, I instruct him to go home, cockring in place. And to keep himself on the edge until the stroke of midnight.
* * * *
My second client is female and a fan of foot worship. An Assistant District Attorney who, under her cashmere overcoat is dressed like a French maid and content to spend the entirety of her session on her knees, bare ass in the air, licking my boots. While she makes satisfied noises Cerberus, restless, circles the room. After the DA experiences two spontaneous earthshaking orgasms she leaves me, with saliva all over my boots and a very agitated wolf.
With Cerberus glued to my side I retrace my previous steps in search of Nigel. I find him, flirting with the hostess.
I turn in the iPad
“Eve wants you to call her in the morning,” he says handing me a wad of cash. “Louis is leaving the city to continue his tour and wants you to travel with him as part of his entourage.”
I remember what Maitlan said about Eve: There’s nothing she can’t arrange… for a price.
“Lucky me.”
Nigel frowns.
“I’ll call first thing in the morning,” I assure him before slipping out the side door into the darkness of the alley.
Cerberus surprises me by taking off at a dead run. I call out, but he doesn’t stop. I can’t keep up. I couldn’t even if I’d been wearing sensible footwear. When I round the corner, there’s no sign of the wolf. I w
histle and listen, but all I hear are the sounds of the streets. I head back to the car, hoping that Cerberus will be there.
Instead I find Zack, naked and breathless behind the dumpster. He’s in a crouched position, his back to me. I reach out and touch his shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
His body is slick with sweat and hot to the touch.
“Give me a minute, then toss me my clothes.”
I leave him to catch his breath. Drop my bag into the back seat of the SUV and retrieve Zack’s shirt and slacks. From experience I know not to bother searching for underwear. Clothes in hand, I head back.
“I need another minute,” Zack calls out as I approach.
When I come around the side of dumpster, I see why. In the dim light I see the outline of his body. His hands are gripping the edge of the colossal metal container. In addition to his arms and legs, there’s another appendage jutting out—fully erect.
“Oh!”
His head drops. “I’ve always been a fan of your work,” he says, dryly. Then, “I need to burn this off. You take the car. I’ll run back.”
He extends his hand.
I take it.
I imagine confusion marring his brow as I place his clothes on top of the container and step closer to him. What he wants is his pants. What he needs is release. My tongue swipes across one erect nipple, the lick is slow and leisurely.
“What are you doing?”
I smile. “You know what I’m doing. Ask yourself if I’m enjoying it.”
He wraps his hand in my hair. “I don’t have to ask. I can smell your arousal,” he replies, his voice rough with want. “I’m drowning in it, Emma. God help me, I want to drown in you.” He lowers his head. His lips touch my ear. I feel his stubble against my cheek. “I’m still mad at you.”
It’s said in a whisper fit for the confessional.
“Good,” I tell him, my hand circling his erection.
He unzips the catsuit, nuzzles the spot where he’d bitten me just days ago. The gesture reminds me that I’m walking a fine and dangerous line.
“You told me once that sex doesn’t hold the same meaning for you that it does for me. That it doesn’t hold any meaning for you,” he says.
“That’s right.” I turn around, assuming the position he was in when I came upon him moments ago. Hands on the lid of the dumpster, legs spread apart.
His body is pressed against mine. His cock prodding my ass as he unzips my suit, slides his hands inside to cup my breasts.
I slip my arms out and push the leather down, exposing my torso, then my ass.
“Sometimes is doesn’t hold any meaning for me either,” he murmurs. “You sure you’re okay with that?”
Ever the gentleman.
Zack’s teasing my nipples, grinding against my ass. I’m dripping wet, on the verge of coming. I want him inside of me more than I want air. “Shut up and fuck me.”
Chapter Eight
Hot water sluices down my back. My hair is washed, my face already scrubbed clean. As soon as we got back to the penthouse I headed for the shower, leaving Zack to update Torres and Maitlan. I turn off the taps, lean against the tiles of the back wall. They’re cool and soothing. The last of the water circles the drain in a swirl. As I watch it go down, I remember a piece of advice my best friend Liz gave me when Zack first moved to San Diego.
Fool around all you want with Zack. Fuck him senseless every night. You’ve had hundreds of lovers. You just need to make sure he understands it’s nothing serious. That it can’t be anything serious. Keep your feelings hidden. The greatest sex he’s ever had completely without strings? No man on earth would turn down a relationship like that.
Only I’d been convinced Zack would. That the feelings he held for me wouldn’t allow him to enter into a relationship of convenience. Was I wrong?
I step out of the shower and towel off.
“So, you and Agent Monroe?”
It’s Maitlan’s voice on the other side of the door. He’s in Zack’s room.
“Are partners,” Zack finishes.
I’m frozen in place.
“It’s more than that. I noticed the way you didn’t look at one another when you came back, lovers concealing an affair. Afraid to look at one another, that even a glance might reveal too much. Corrine and I were like that once. Until we just couldn’t stand it anymore. Our fathers were business rivals. They hated one another. Never agreed on anything. Except that their grandson was perfect, of course.”
“Of course,” repeats Zack. Then, “I’m going to change, maybe go for a quick run.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
“Roger?”
“Hmm?”
“What you and Corrine had? That’s not how it is with Emma and me. For a time I thought maybe… But I was wrong. It meant nothing to her. It was a thing. It was casual. It’s over. End of story. Don’t stir the pot. Okay?”
“Understood.”
Silence filled the room.
It was a thing. It was casual. It’s over. End of story.
He’d used those identical words to describe his relationship with Sarah at one point in time. A she-wolf he’d previously been involved with. I wait until he’s changed his clothes and left the room. Then I tell myself this is exactly what I want. What Liz said Zack and I need. I should be relieved. I am relieved, relieved and sad. I let the sadness wash over me. Give myself a moment to wallow in it. Then push it aside, dry my hair and dress. Wearing a pair of sweats and a comfortable T-shirt, I head downstairs to do what I must.
Torres, O’Neill, and Bradley are wrapping up a call with the ATF when I enter the conference room.
“They find something?” I ask.
Bradley speaks up. “The trash can Maitlan was supposed to drop the money in had a hole in the bottom. It wasn’t terribly damaged in the blast. They did a reconstruction.”
“And it looks like it had been relocated a few feet so that it was right on top of a manhole cover,” O’Neill adds.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and pull up a chair at the table. “So someone was waiting for the money in the sewer. What do we know about the bomb?”
Torres answers this one. “It was inside a nearby electrical box, made of C4. Looks like they used a wireless detonator. So, they had control over the timing. My guess is that the plan was to blow it after the drop to create a distraction—”
“Or to kill Maitlan after fucking with him for hours,” I interject.
Torres continues, “But Maitlan made Devlin in the café, and she had to act.”
“If something went wrong, it stands to reason she’ll reach out to her accomplices. Right?” asks O’Neill.
“Listen up!” Bradley sits up straight in his chair. “Someone’s entered Devlin’s apartment.”
Bradley flips a switch and we can suddenly hear heels clacking against a polished wooden floor. I pick up my phone to text Zack, but he sweeps into the conference room before I have a chance to start dialing. He’s fresh from a shower, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, hair still wet and combed straight back.
“She’s in the apartment. Or, someone is. A woman,” I tell him.
Eve’s voice fills the room. “It’s me. The FBI was here today, asking questions.”
“What kinds of questions?” asks a male voice.
“She’s has the guy on speaker. Let me grab Maitlan. See if he recognizes the voice,” Zack says.
“They said it was routine,” Eve replies.
There’s a long pause.
Just as the man begins to speak again, Zack returns with Maitlan.
“What the fuck happened? The bomb wasn’t supposed to be detonated until after the drop. Burt was in the sewer, ready to catch the backpack when all hell broke loose.”
“I told you!” Maitlan’s voice is ragged with anger. “You can arrest her now. Make her talk. Right?”
Zack holds up his hand, demanding silence.
“He was walking away. He wasn’t goin
g to pay. It’s time to end this,” says Eve, her tone commanding.
“What does she mean?” Maitlan’s voice has dropped to a whisper. He begins pacing. One hand clenching his stomach, the other rising to cover his mouth.
“We haven’t gotten our money,” says the man.
“I’ll get you the money as soon as you finish the job. Kill the boy. Tomorrow morning we bury him.”
“No!” Maitlan grasps the front of Zack’s shirt. “Zack, no!”
“We?” The male voice asks.
“I want to see the body. Make sure you have the balls to do what needs to be done.”
“Oh, we’ve got the balls,” he assures her.
Maitlan is crumbling. “Can’t you trace the call?”
I shake my head. “She’s not using her landline or her cell. She must be using a burner.”
“There’s got to be something you can—”
The rest of his sentence is swallowed up by the sound of a gunshot.
Every one of us is frozen in place, frozen in time.
We failed.
My eyes meet Zack’s.
He’s trying to support Maitlan, but it’s no use. The man has fallen to his knees.
Everyone in the room is silent, except for Zack. He’s on the floor with his friend, cradling him as he would a child, whispering words meant to comfort. Only none of us can hear them over the soul-wrenching wails of a grieving father.
In all my years as an FBI agent, I’ve never experienced anything like this. Oh, I’ve lost kidnap victims—it’s a sad reality of this job. But to hear one being killed while we listen helpless is something new and inconceivably horrible.
I feel like I’ve taken a shot in the gut. Bile rushes up, burning the back of my throat. An ice-cold chill brushes the back of my neck. My hands are balled up into tight fists, and I realize my nails are digging into my palms. The pain brings me back. I swallow, stiffen my spine, and move to help support my partner, to help console Maitlan.
By the time I reach them, Maitlan’s pushed Zack away and he’s climbed to his feet. The man is wide-eyed, tugging at his hair, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “You promised me you’d get him back!” he spits the words at Zack, who stands there and takes it.