by Sable Jordan
Leaning back to admire her handiwork, she was pleased to find it looked believable.
Autoerotic asphyxiation. Classic.
Trading out gloves, she wiped down the passenger side of the car while wearing the new set. It was pure dumb luck that he’d parked them back there. Had he gotten any closer to his home she would have had to act the impatient slut herself. But Daniel Gilbert made the move for her. Such a courteous fellow.
Exiting the car, she gathered her belongings, the trash, and did one last sweep to be sure nothing remained. Then she locked and closed the door and started walking, keeping to the backstreets. Her vehicle was three clicks east of The Pub, so she had a ways to go.
Four blocks away from the scene, Gale spit into the grassy verge, unable to stomach the rancid taste in her mouth anymore. The gum in her purse was laced with Ricin—a slow but effective backup in case the Flexpen cocktail didn’t pan out—and therefore not edible. She fiddled around for her roll of trusty LifeSavers and popped a pineapple O between her lips, absently wondering what Jack was doing and if he’d already left Virginia. She could use a good lay.
But she wouldn’t call him.
Would. Not. Call.
Yanking her phone from her pocket, she sent a short text message. When Connolly received the encrypted data on his end it would read only one word.
Wettest.
6
Helsinki, Finland
“Duquesne!”
Here we go. Xander stood staring out the window of the hotel suite. After the long flight, he’d gotten a shower and a couple hours of sleep, but his brain had never shut off, constantly thinking of the ramifications if he didn’t see this deal through. He needed Harvey, had been working toward its acquisition for so long he could taste it. His buyer was not a man he wanted to let down. Add to that the many other deals Xander juggled, deals he could not let drop, and the stress seemed to consume him.
Too wired, too close to this goal, and if he were honest, too close to Kizzie.
She stomped into his room, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor of the ultra-modern space. “Tell me you’re joking.”
Turning, he found her right behind him stretching out a piece of blue fabric. “What? It’s your size.”
She cut her eyes at him. “Well, yeah, since it’s only big enough to cover my stomach, I’m sure it fits. Where are my weapons s’posed to go?”
“The beauty of the cupless corset: only weapons you need go right here.” He fingered the two dips in the clothing where her breasts would sit. “I got you an alternative.”
Opening her hand revealed the clumped pile of thin chains that made up a barely-there dress. “Really?”
Xander shrugged. “Points for remembering the cute shoes?” He cracked a grin, took both items from her and tossed them on his bed. “Wardrobe later. Let’s go over things one more time.”
“Tonight is just a little looksee,” Kizzie repeated in a bored voice. “We go in, I get the layout of the chateau, I play the compliant lamb long enough to tempt the butcher, and then we leave.” She took a breath. “Although—”
“No ‘although’.”
“Yes, although,” she insisted. “I don’t see why we can’t just get a flash drive in—upload a program to his computer; track him digitally. It’s not like he has the bomb at the house. Plant a couple cameras…get video and sound. Just as a backup in case my acting job as the servile Miss doesn’t win me a slot in Sacha’s coveted stable.” She batted her lashes prettily.
“He’s crazy, not stupid. There’ll be guards on the grounds and we’ll more than likely be searched on the way in. And,” he grinned, “no pockets in the corset. About your acting job, since you didn’t read the book you need a crash course in the art of being a submissive.”
“We have five hours until this party, Duquesne,” Kizzie said. “My time would be better spent learning more about the wolf you’re going to feed me to.”
“That’s what I’m doing. Take your clothes off.”
Brown eyes widened. “Becaaaauusssee…?”
“’Cause I said so. That’s how this Dom/sub thing works. I tell you what to do and you do it. Clothes off, Baldwin. Now.” He took a step closer to her. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
With a rebellious huff, she fisted the bottom of her shirt, lifted it over her head and tossed it aside. Then she unbuttoned her jeans and shimmied them down her hips; kicked them away once her feet were clear. Glowering, she stood in her panties and bra, hands on her hips.
Xander let his eyes follow the form of her body, lost in her curvy shape, the smooth skin, flat stomach and long, toned legs. She had on another titillating pair of panties—apparently the woman was serious about pretty underclothes—and a matching lacy bra. The last time he’d seen this much of her, it was from the back. Equally amazing view, as he recalled. He wondered if she’d spin around and—
“Hey!” her fingers snapped, “Eyes up, sparky.”
Sparky? His voice lost its humor and his eyes hardened. “For the duration of our time together, you are my submissive, Kizzie. That means until I release you to Sacha, you’ll act that way. No guarantee he’ll take you on, but to improve our chances, this performance of yours has to be believable.
“Ground rules: First, snapping your fingers at me, or any Dom, will not be tolerated. It ranks up there with pointing a gun in my face, and we’ve already established you’re not to do that again. And the name’s Xander —not ‘sparky’, not ‘slick’, not ‘chief’, not any other diminutive your clever mind can think of. I respect you; you respect me.
“Second, you’ll do as I tell you and trust the decision I’m making is with your well being in mind.”
“But I don’t trust—”
“Third,” he held a finger to her lips, “no talking; not unless I ask you a question. That wasn’t a question, and it damn sure wasn’t a request. When you do respond to a question, you’ll end it with ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’. Same goes for when you ask me a question. Think of it as West Point…prior to your mysterious departure, of course. You’re back to being a fourth class cadet, Kiz, and I’m the Brigade Commander. Nod if you understand.”
Fire blazed in her eyes but her head bobbed slightly. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a deep breath, the heavy exhale conveying her irritation.
“Arms down; kill the attitude.”
She dropped her arms. Whether the attitude had been slain was yet to be determined.
“The Lifestyle may seem strange to you, but fundamentally, it’s not much different than a vanilla one. Do you know what I mean by ‘vanilla’?” When she nodded he asked, “So you did read the book?”
“I might have skimmed through it.”
He cocked a brow. “Try again.”
Through clenched teeth and a tight smile she grit out, “I might have skimmed through it…Sir.” Her fists balled at her sides.
“Very good,” he mocked. “But a little less ‘I’m gonna kill you’ and a lot more adoration. And straighten out those hands or I’ll give you the fight you’re itchin’ for.”
They didn’t loosen. “For the record, I hated my Brigade Commander.”
“Give me two numbers.”
“What?”
“Two numbers—any numbers, although you might want to keep them between one and twenty.”
“Twelve and…” she frowned, lifted a shoulder, “three.”
“Good place to start.” Xander unfastened his belt, pulled it from the loops of his jeans. “Hands.”
She reluctantly held them out.
He walked around her and tugged one arm behind her back, wrapping an end of the braided leather about her elbow. The other limb came behind her, forearms aligned and touching, and he entwined that one as well, binding them as a pair from elbow to wrist. The position forced her shoulders back and chest out, and she struggled in the new bindings.
“Hate me all you want, Kizzie, but do it with a smile on your face and a Sir on those pretty
lips. Go kneel on the floor and bend over the bed.”
She didn’t move and he nudged her forward until her lower thighs met the mattress. Seeming resigned to her fate, she maneuvered to her knees and leaned over until her face was on the comforter.
“Twelve,” Xander announced, standing to one side of her, “the number of spankings you’ll get for this little fit you’re throwing. The next time we’ll add three, and then three after that. And,” he rubbed his palm over one rounded globe, “if you keep with the attitude, we’ll add three more after that. Count ‘em out—lose your place and we start again.”
He drew back and surged forward, palm connecting harshly with her buttocks.
“One! Shit, that hurt!” Kizzie lifted her torso. “D’ya have to hit so damn hard?”
“Language,” Xander said, pushing her down, “It’s not becoming of my sub. You’ll watch your mouth.” He hit the same cheek again with equal force, the strikes purposely harder than their boat encounter. Punishment and play were to be firmly separated.
“Ow! Two!” She tried to inch away but couldn’t get far.
“Forgot the ‘Sir’.” He dragged his fingertips over the one side, making light circles on her skin.
“Two. Sir.” There was no ignoring the angry edge in her tone.
“The Dom/sub relationship is first and foremost based on trust. There’s a power exchange; the submissive gives up control of her behavior and body in whole or in part to her Master. Under ordinary circumstances, the extent of that control is defined, and we negotiate the terms. Since our circumstance is far from ordinary, I set the rules, you do the trusting.”
She giggled. “This reeks of marriage…Ow!” Face forced into the mattress she mumbled, “Three, Sir.”
“The simple things make the relationship successful. If I tell you to do something, do it. Ignore the voice in your head telling you not to. When I want water, you go get it. If I want coffee, ask about sugar and milk.”
“Want me to hold it and shake it off for you too?” Kizzie snorted. “Ow! Fou— Shit! Ow! Four and five, Sir…. I am sooo gonna kick your ass for this, you son of a—Oooowwww!” He smacked her again and she dropped her hands to cover her bottom. “Six, Sir!”
“Move.” Her hands lifted and he continued. “As much as your quick wit amuses me, drop the snark. It’ll only get you in trouble and there are much better uses for my sub’s mouth. Further, threatening me is a surefire way to get your punishment supersized.” He looked at his handiwork, liking the way her skin had burned a nice red. “A few things to remember—don’t look another Dominant in the eye. It’s a signal that you’re available, and you’re not, so keep your gaze down.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Better.” Another sharp blow to her bottom and she squirmed.
“Seven, Sir.” Her tone leveled and she rattled off, “Eight, nine, and ten, Sir,” when he struck her in succession.
He knew what she was doing, doubted she even felt the blows any longer. Her time in military school would have conditioned her to responses of rote and not emotion. Good…for their current situation.
“The Lifestyle is more about the mindset than the sex—although sex is part of it. It’s about being respectful, polite, and obedient at all times. Be graceful; walk fluidly. Posture is key. Don’t slouch, even with your head down. If you’re sitting, sit up straight. Same goes for kneeling unless you’re instructed to bow. You gettin’ all this?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Repeat what I said from sitting,” he tested.
She rattled it off easily. “ ‘If you’re sitting, sit up straight. Same goes for kneeling unless you’re instructed to bow. You gettin’ all this?’ Sir.”
A laugh threatened. Kizzie still found a way to be a smart ass. He continued talking in the same quick clip. “If you’re sitting or kneeling, legs closed unless you’re facing me, then they should be parted slightly—means what’s between them is mine and available to me at any time.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What’s the count?”
“Ten, Sir.”
“Sure it’s not eight?”
“Positive, Sir.”
“Could’ve sworn it was eight.”
“It’s not, Sir.”
“Hmm. What if I want it to be eight?”
“Then it’s eight, Sir.”
Fast learner. He smiled because she couldn’t see him. “Good. Do that and we’ll pull this off. We’re at ten.” Xander finished the punishment with two quick blows, to which Kizzie responded, “Eleven and twelve, Sir.” He caressed her ass, stroking over the warm skin until her rigid body relaxed. Then he removed the belt and offered his hand to assist her from the floor.
She ignored it, pushed herself to standing, dark eyes straight ahead. He caught every bit of the message.
“Next time I give you my help, you take it. Understand?”
Defiant, she cracked her neck and fingers.
“I asked you a question.”
Nostrils flared, Kizzie took in a breath so slow the struggle against her own nature was plain. “Yes. I understand. Sir.”
He studied her a moment before saying, “It’s important for a sub to know what her Master likes, and every Master is different. Some get off on power, some get off on humiliation, others—”
“What do you get off on?” Kizzie interrupted, adding a late and sugary, “Siiiir?”
Xander cuffed her nape with one hand, fingers gripping taut muscles. “Obedience,” he said quietly. He tugged her close and whispered in her ear, “I’ll let that slide since it’s valid, but on the next offense, Kizzie, intentional or not, I will punish you again.”
They didn’t have time for this battle. As it stood, he needed to do in hours what was usually learned in half a year or more. Removing the clip securing her honey-streaked hair, he dragged the long tresses over her shoulders, deciding to try a different approach.
“Fall in, soldier,” he said, voice softening. Cradling her face in his hands forced her to look up at him. “This is just another training for another mission, okay? What I’m teaching you now is critical to the success of that mission. You’re still you in there—smart-mouthed, bull-headed, badass Kizzie Baldwin—but on the outside I need you to be Gigi, my obedient, adoring submissive.”
After a long pause she tried the name on. “Gigi.”
Pleased, Xander released her and went on with the instruction. “Sacha likes mental play, what you’d call a mindfuck, especially the type that causes fear. His predilection is for knives, daggers, razors—anything that cuts. That type of edgeplay has its place, and when done properly it can heighten the sensations. But Sacha thrives on fear and his intent is to harm. Remember that.” Her brow knit. “You have a question?”
“Sir, yes…Sir. Uhhh…doesn’t that go against the whole ‘safe, sane, and consensual’ battle cry?”
“Like I said, two different ethos. If his sub is willing…” he trailed off. How could he ask her to do this? Walking directly into the line of fire. And the possibility, no, certainty of—
She knows what she’s getting into.
The mantra kept repeating like an earworm, doing little to soothe his conscience. “Sacha prefers his subs naked. Might as well get used to it.” Although practically bare already, she didn’t make a move to disrobe. “You have a problem being naked?”
“No, Sir.”
“You have a problem being naked in front of me, Princess?”
A series of emotions crossed her face before she won the argument with herself and muttered, “Aww, hell. It’s only skin.” Hands behind her, she unclasped her bra, pulled the lacy material from her body. The panties followed and she stepped out of them, stood stock-still.
Xander’s eyes were on her again; scanning the bell of her breasts and the plum nipples beading under his scrutiny; tracing the swell of her hips. When they reached her shaved mound he stopped, watching so long she started fidgeting. He could smell her arousal, the sweet scent enveloping hi
s nostrils. Her skin looked so soft, and he reached out to stroke his knuckles over her belly; quickly raised his opposite arm to block the fist coming toward his face. That attack prevented, he moved too slowly to fully counter the second, getting grazed along the tip of his chin.
Her foot connected with shut knees as he dipped to protect his groin, jerked back for a near miss at another swipe at his face. Lighting fast, he caught the balled fist in his palm, and, using the momentum she put into the swing, spun her around forcing her back to his chest and locking her arm across her body. He cinched her other arm behind her, holding her soundly.
“Sorry. Reflex,” she said with zero trace of remorse. Even with the odd angle of her arms she tried to force her elbow into his gut.
Xander chuckled behind her. “You’re faster than I thought.”
“I’m faster than that.” She threw her head back for a reverse head butt, missing him; lifted her heel, tried again to catch him in the nuts but missed there too. “Let me go and I’ll show you.”
“Thought it was just skin, Princess?”
“But it’s my skin.”
“No, it’s my skin. You’re my sub. Calm down, sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“So, I’m just…” Kizzie grunted, still struggling, “s’posed to stand here…while you…get your rocks off?” She twisted, trying uselessly to get out of his hold.
Xander’s mouth found the spot where her neck and shoulder met, teeth nipping, moving up the corded muscles toward her jaw. “Settle down and I might get your rocks off too.”
His body tightened at the shiver running through her. When the struggling slowed, he risked letting one arm go, the other, bringing his hands to fondle her breasts.
“Sacha’s going to touch you like this, Princess” he pinched her nipple, wrenching a gasp from her throat, “His hands are going to be all over your body. When that happens, you can’t react the way you just did. A sub wouldn’t attack her Master. You’ve got to respond the way you are now, remember what it feels like when I’m touching you. You like me touching you, don’t you, Kiz?”