Duty Bound
Bayou Bound, Book Two
Sidney Bristol
Inked Press
She’s the woman he sent away.
Lisette wouldn’t be back in New Orleans if she didn’t need protection—and who better to turn to than her ex-boyfriend turned Detective? She’s got a closet full of secrets that include a stalker ex and a kinky past. She vows to not dream about Mathieu…much. If only he were a Dominant, one who would not just flog her into bliss, but love her as well. A girl can dream, can’t she?
He was her first love.
Mathieu wants nothing to do with another damsel in distress, but he can’t say no when the little blonde woman walks back into his life with proof her ex is big trouble. He’ll give her a place to sleep, but nothing more. His heart is locked up tight. Except, Lisette uncovers his past in the BDSM world and she’s never backed down from a challenge. He can handle her, can’t he?
Lisette and Mathieu embark on a relationship that is strictly about sexual gratification, but evolves into more. When the bodies align, the hearts entwine. Except their rekindled flame is in danger. Lisette’s ex has found his prey, and he’s not afraid of taking a life.
Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.
―HIPPOCRATES
Contents
Duty Bound
A Meeting
Memories
Moments
Kinky
Damsels
Rope
Marks
Family
Play
Release
Uncertainty
Too Far
Terror
Surprises
Danger
Want
Change
Falling
Valentine
Porkchop
Blogging
Blood
Home
Picture Her Completed
Trouble
Pursuit
Tracking
Completed
Chapter One
A Meeting
Officer Mathieu Mouton sat at one of the four-top tables along the windows of Café Du Monde and gazed out at the darkening city, a sense of foreboding deep in his gut. The glitz and glitter of New Orleans stared back at him, like a young woman hungry for her beau. If it wasn’t for his sister, Mathieu would have been at home flipping through the channels, scratching his dog, Gator’s head, trying to put another week behind him.
Instead, he checked his phone again.
She needs your help, Mathieu.
He grimaced at the echo of his sister’s words as she’d cornered him in their mamma’s kitchen after the weekly family dinner. Damsels in distress were a dime a dozen in New Orleans and getting entangled in a charity project was not on his to do list. But no one said no to Lola. Not even grandmère. If Lola wasn’t poised to take over the Assistant District Attorney spot opening up in the spring, grandmère would have made Lola a voodoo queen. It ran in their family since grandmère’s grandmère.
The coffee in his cup was cold, the beignet untouched.
If this broad didn’t show up in the next...
The café door opened and a bell chimed. A woman wearing a cherry red coat that covered her from knee to chin stepped in and shook the chill from her body. She carried a backpack that was stuffed until the seams strained.
Mathieu sat forward, propping his elbows on the table as he studied the patron.
She turned, honey blonde hair streaked with golden brown flipping over her shoulder as she surveyed the room. Her eyes snagged on him immediately and he sucked in a deep breath.
“C'est sa couillion.” He was a raving lunatic.
No wonder Lola hadn’t told him the name of the woman he was meeting. She started toward him. Even Mathieu could feel the cosmic pull between their two bodies. It’s what had drawn him to her all those years ago—and was the reason he’d left.
“Mathieu...”
“Lisette Babineaux, haven’t seen you in a minute,” he drawled, rising to shake her hand.
Tricky, Lola. Real tricky.
Lisette’s gaze flicked from his hand to his face before she put her small palm against his. Her skin was still soft and her nails were chipped, but painted with a pale pink polish. Despite the good quality of her clothing, it was dirty and worn. That didn’t make sense. The Babineaux family was well off, and their little princess had never wanted for anything. But a lot changed in the years since he’d left her. He wasn’t the same boy he’d been back then.
She’d always been delicate, refined, as if she’d stepped out of a painting of some debutant ball. Too fragile for a man with his dark tastes, but he’d hungered after her regardless. In his inexperience, he’d thought he could be a different man for her, one who didn’t crave bondage with his women. He’d been wrong.
A handful of years hadn’t changed her appearance all that much. Her hair was shorter, her eyes just as green, and the smattering of freckles preserved the air of youth about her, but there was a wariness to her that was new.
“I know. It’s good to see you.” She unbuttoned her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. Under the coat she wore a long-sleeved black shirt and jeans. Nothing too flashy, but it had never been her clothes that drew the attention.
“Have a seat, please.” Mathieu didn’t know what to make of the woman settling in across from him. They’d been something to each other once. “Lola tells me you’re in a spot of trouble.”
Lisette chuckled, a deep, husky sound that was music to his ears. “That’s it? Tell me all your problems? No hello? Hi? How you been?”
Mathieu studied her, or more accurately, the woman she’d become. The black knit shirt, jeans and knee-high boots spoke of someone trying not to stick out, and yet she chose to wear a come-get-me red coat. Lisette was in trouble and didn’t know how to handle it. If Mathieu listened to his cock, he’d take her home under the false premise of protecting her from whatever evil had her running. And then she would run from him.
This was a bad idea.
Another woman, not all that long ago, had needed his help. Her pleas for protection, promises of love and affection had dried up. She’d been out of his life barely a year, and he’d gotten drunk at the small apartment he and his dog now called home to celebrate; it had felt sad and pathetic instead.
“It’s getting late. I’d rather we cut to the chase, if you don’t mind.” Mathieu would hear her out, give her some advice and send her on her way. The Babineaux family should be capable of taking care of their own.
Lisette blinked and her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. She blew out a breath and shook her head, appearing to collect herself. “This is not how I pictured this happening.”
“Right, sorry about that.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” She pointed at his cup. “You drinking that?”
He shook his head.
“Do you mind?”
“Help yourself.” He pushed the cup and pastry toward her.
Lisette gulped down at least half of the cold coffee before setting the mug down with a clink. She sighed and folded her hands on the table in front of her. He smothered memories wrapped in warmth of Lisette doing exactly this little act with her hands a number of times before saying something serious.
“You don’t want to help me, do you?” Her gaze seemed to bore past his skin, straight to his soul, and for a moment, he was back on campus, sitting under the magnolia trees, a blossom in her hair.
Mathieu shook the memory from his mind. He hadn’t seen that girl in a long time.
“It’s not that I don’t want to help you, but it seems awfully odd. Com
e to a cop, off duty? Wouldn’t it be better if you went to the authorities?”
“You don’t even know what’s going on.” She frowned.
“Exactly.”
“Are you going to turn me down without even hearing me out?” Her voice rose as she spoke until she realized the few other patrons were staring and she ducked her head.
As a police officer, it was Mathieu’s nature and conditioning to protect people, but he’d learned the hard way that damsels in distress were better served within the bounds of the law. He couldn’t pretend he knew better. When it came down to it, he was part of a system of government that did its job when people allowed it.
“I’ll give you what advice I can. I even know who’s on duty tonight.” Mathieu knew this decision was the right one; trying to save her would destroy him in the process. But he hated saying no to those cypress green eyes. It tore something out of him, and God knew he didn’t have much left to lose.
Lisette stared into the tawny, golden eyes of the man she once loved, and struggled to see the man she remembered. Physically he’d filled out, becoming a man to the boy she’d known. He’d been muscular then, but eight years had honed him into an intimidating force. And yet, he had the same mocha coloring, kept his dark hair shorn short, and his mouth? Mary, Mother of Jesus, she could remember the brush of his lips on hers, how he’d whispered in the shadows all the things she’d dreamt a man saying.
That man was a stranger to her now.
She’d called Lola in desperation. There were no other choices, and if this was who she had to work with, she wasn’t above throwing herself on the altar of humiliation.
Lisette glared at Mathieu and pulled the photographs from her coat pocket. She slapped them on the table and watched Mathieu do a double take. The muscles in his face tightened and she could have sworn she heard his teeth grinding together.
“Those pictures are from three separate incidents, each a few months apart. The one where my eye’s swollen shut? That was the first time. I left my boyfriend Seth and checked into a motel while I got my own place. A week later, I came back to my room to find Seth had broken in. He beat me for the second time. I went to the hospital, the police came to take my report, and nothing happened.” She blinked repeatedly, remembering how badly her face had hurt. Hell, she thought he’d broken bones the way she’d ached.
Mathieu flipped through the pictures again, his lips compressed into a tight line. Did he see it now? Did he understand?
“I was scared, so I went to Chicago to stay with friends. The picture of my arm? He did that with a milk crate. I have a six-inch scar on my forearm that will never go away. The police detained him for about twelve hours, and he was out.” She pulled up her left sleeve and showed him the physical proof. The scar was still pink and tender. She had to do exercises every day to keep her arm working. Plates and screws held the bones together now. She’d been able to fight back that time, but Seth was crazy.
“Then there’s the one where it looks like I have a goose egg on the side of my head? A refrigerator door at a gas station on my way out of Chicago a couple weeks ago. Gas station tape mysteriously disappeared after the cops were called. They never—even—looked—for—him. That’s why I need help, Mathieu.”
“Why don’t the police toss his ass in jail?” His brow furrowed and he appeared completely baffled. His belief in the system, black and white, right and wrong, was so strong. It made the man infuriating, but there was no one else she could think of who she could trust.
Lisette shrugged. “He’s Special Forces or something. He never told me exactly what he does, but I got the idea it’s under-the-table government. Every time he gets in trouble, someone in a uniform cleans it up, slaps him on the wrist and tells him to keep his nose clean until he gets deployed. He used to brag about it when we were together. I thought he was telling me drunken “big fish” stories. He has some sort of special training he has to report in for again in March. The sixth. I just need to stay safe until then.”
“That’s a month from now. You went across the country to get away from the man. What makes you think he’s still after you?” Mathieu laid the photographs face down and folded his hands on top of the table. She could imagine him interrogating a suspect like this. He’d moved up to being a detective two years ago, according to Lola.
“He followed me from Florida to Chicago.” She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t he come here? He told me he’d kill me. Do you think a man like this is going to give up?”
“What does your family say about this?”
Shit.
Lisette glanced away. She didn’t know what she hated Seth for more—hurting her body, or manipulating her family. “We aren’t on speaking terms right now.”
“Have you gotten a restraining order against him?”
“That’s just a piece of paper,” she snapped and pushed her hands through her hair. “You think paper matters to him?”
“Listen, I don’t think this is the way to go...”
Lisette grabbed the pictures and stood abruptly. “Fine. Adieu, mon ami.”
She jerked her coat on, slung her backpack over her shoulder and stalked out of the café, striking off toward the bus stop.
On her own. Again.
She glanced behind her, peering into the shadows out of habit. She hated the way Seth made her feel like a stalked animal. There was no logical explanation for the belief he was on her trail, and yet she knew he was out there. Waiting for the moment she let her guard down.
The doorbell jangled and she started at the sudden noise. Silly girl.
“Lisette. Lisette, wait,” Mathieu called after her.
She paused on the curb and watched him jog toward her, zipping up his leather jacket. He stopped under the street lamp and stared down at her. She wasn’t looking to become someone else’s problem, just someone to have her back for the moment.
The light cast his face into shadow, disguising his features. It was probably for the best. She had a serious problem when it came to falling for the bad boys, and though Mathieu walked the path of honor, there was something deliciously dark about him. And she didn’t mean the shade of his skin. It was something else, something she’d wondered about since her horizons had opened up.
She’d loved him once. Their relationship had been a flash in the pan, but he’d been her first. She doubted he’d approve of her lifestyle now, much like her family, but she didn’t need his blessing, just his muscle.
“The sixth, you said?”
“Yeah.” She turned to face him fully, ignoring the urge to glance over her shoulder.
“Do you like dogs?”
What kind of question is that?
“I do.”
“Good. Gator’s friendly and takes it personally when people don’t like him.” He flipped his collar up and glanced down the street.
“Gator?” She blinked at him.
“Yeah, my dog, Gator. You can stay with me for a while. I’ll see if I can track down Seth, but that’s it.”
Lisette gaped at the man.
Was he serious?
A tiny thread of hope shot through her. No more watching her back. A place to stay that couldn’t be linked to her financially. She couldn’t ask for more.
“Yes, I’m serious.” He spread his hands. “You taking me up on it, or not?”
Had she accidentally spoken out loud? Didn’t matter. All that did was a safe place to sleep.
“Well, yeah. Thank you. Really, thank you, Mathieu.” She could kiss the man. Hell, that didn’t sound like a half-bad plan, but he wasn’t ready for her. At least, he didn’t think so.
Lisette froze with a piece of bread poised over the skillet, holding her breath as someone stopped outside Mathieu’s apartment. She’d spent the whole day jumping whenever footsteps echoed past. This time, the lock scraped and the door swung inward. She exhaled, soaking up Mathieu’s presence like a balm.
“What kind of a person doe
sn’t have internet?” She turned toward the front door as it closed. The sight of him hit her in the solar plexus. There was no preparing for him and the way being in his space brought up all her old questions and desires. But mostly, he made her feel safe. She’d had her first night of uninterrupted sleep, no startling awake or lying frozen in place from imagined sounds.
Mathieu paused taking off his coat, his gaze flicking over her, ignoring the dog wiggling its whole body at his feet. “Good afternoon to you, too.”
“Hi. What’s up with no wifi?” Lisette dropped the bread onto the skillet and nudged it over to make room for more. She’d spent a handful of hours in his space and already she craved his presence.
“I don’t need it.” Mathieu bent and scratched Gator behind the ears, muttering something for the dog alone. “When did you get tattoos?”
The skin on the back of Lisette’s neck prickled. Maybe it was the inflection in his voice, or maybe she was just sensitive about it. Either way, she sucked in a deep breath and finished toasting the bread for their lunch. According to Mathieu he only had so long before he needed to get back to work.
“Six years ago, I think. How old am I?” She paused to do the math. At twenty-nine, she’d had her left arm wrapped, from shoulder to elbow, in a colorful bouquet of flowers for a while. “No, five years.”
“What are you making?” Mathieu stepped into the galley kitchen and peered over her shoulder.
“Sandwiches, but I’m toasting them. Sort of like a poor man’s Panini. You still like ham and Swiss, right?” She flipped the bread onto a plate. There was something about the act of cooking for someone else she flat-out enjoyed.
“Uh, yeah.” He leaned against the refrigerator, watching her with Gator sprawled on the floor between them. The space was crowded, but comfortable. But a person wouldn’t assume that from the expression creasing Mathieu’s face.
She scooped out a bit of pesto from a jar she’d found in his pantry, layered the sandwich with spinach, Swiss, and ham. The secret was returning the sandwich to the skillet for just a moment so the cheese got to the ooey-gooey-yummy consistency.
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