by Joely
“You’ve been partners for awhile?”
“About a year, plus I spent some time as a beat cop. But they promoted me pretty quickly thanks to my military experience. Elias has been a great mentor, but he’s getting ready to move on.”
She heard a bit of uncertainty in his voice and read the tension in his shoulders. “What will you do?”
“They’ll give me a new partner.” Colby paused, staring down at the food for a moment. “If I stay.” He looked up at her, taking a deep breath. “That’s the first time I’ve let myself say that, and I’m surprised. It feels good.”
She couldn’t deny that she liked the idea of him leaving the force, especially if they were going to try and make a relationship out of this. She’d only seen the tip of the iceberg, but her patience and concern with the hours he was working would quickly run thin. But she had to be careful. If he was her submissive, she’d want to be sure he was making a good, well-thought-out decision. Even if it meant that he wouldn’t be in danger and they’d have more time together. If his dream was to be a cop, she’d have to learn to deal with the pressures of his career, even if she didn’t like it much.
“Elias has been great. If they’d given me some other partner, I don’t know that I would have lasted this long. They probably would have sent me packing already.”
“I thought you said you two were doing great.”
“We are. We’ve really hit the cartels and gangs hard this past year. But the harder we hit, the worse the violence on the streets get. It’s a vicious circle. And Elias has been covering for me, helping me. I didn’t even realize it. I guess I wasn’t hiding my symptoms as well as I thought. Now I know why I don’t have any other friends on the force but him, and he’s aiming for a promotion. Sooner than later. So I need to decide what I want to do.”
“I have to admit that I never really paid attention to the violence on the news until I met you.” And what I hear now chills my blood because I know you’re out there. She didn’t say it aloud though. Not yet. She didn’t feel as though she had the right, because her opinion might sway him toward a decision he wasn’t ready to make.
“It’s rough out there and getting worse every day. The war on drugs is the stupidest war we’ve ever started. It just escalates, and cartels have infinite resources. It doesn’t take much to buy some illegal guns and give them to desperate men who’d sell their own mothers for their next hit. We shut down one dealer and three more pop up. It’s the same thing we saw in Afghanistan. The real terrorists are never stopped. All we do is bomb the innocent and make their lives more miserable, driving many of them to join the terror cells because they simply have no other choice.”
“There are other departments, right? You don’t have to work narcotics.”
“True.” He ate quietly a few moments before continuing. “I’m realizing now that I didn’t join the force for the right reasons, and I’m damned lucky Elias has been covering my back all this time. Without him, I wouldn’t have made it so long.”
“You’re a good cop. I don’t doubt that.”
“But I’ve been stupid. As hyped up and out of control as I’ve been, I’m damned lucky I didn’t go off half-cocked and hurt somebody. That’s the last thing I want to do. A cop’s primary goal is protect and serve, not seeking out a new battle to take his mind off all the other shit in his head.”
She settled back on the couch, pleasantly full and ready for a glass of wine. “I think you’re doing just fine at protection. And you certainly served me dinner just now.”
He might not think he was submissive, but he was sensitive enough to detect the heat in her voice. The subtle reminder that she was the Mistress, and she was pleased with him so far. “Is there anything else I could serve you, Mal?”
“For starters, you could grab that bottle of wine on the counter and a glass. Of two, if you like wine. I’ve got a couple of beers in the fridge if that’s more your style.”
She didn’t ask him to take care of the food, but he’d bought enough for a small army. He grabbed the untouched containers and the two they’d demolished, put the leftovers in the fridge, and paused, looking around for a trash can.
“Under the sink. The wine glasses are in the cabinet above the dishwasher.”
“You said the bottle’s open already?”
“Yeah, a few days. Hopefully it’s still good.”
Returning, he set the glasses on the coffee table and poured a good amount into both. Then he noticed the box that just happened to have a butt-plug tail prominently on top. If he even recognized the plug for what it was.
He stilled a moment, and she could almost see the flurry of questions and doubt surging through him. When he turned to hand her a glass, he quirked his lips and arched a brow at her rather than flying off the handle. “I have to admit, I’m wondering what the hell you’re doing with a box full of tack and a fake tail.”
Colby had forgotten how nice it felt to bring home food to someone. To watch her eat what he’d brought, to be satisfied and glad that he’d thought about it in time to stop and pick it up. Even that he’d guessed correctly and gotten her something she enjoyed. It was so much better than going into his crappy run-down apartment by himself and wondering if he had anything in the fridge other than ketchup and beer. Gotta start taking better care of myself. At least I’m eating and sleeping better.
Thanks to her.
So if she wanted him to look through a suspiciously crazy box of BDSM garb, then he’d do it. Though he’d be blushing worse than Elias this morning.
She studied the box a moment, as if trying to decide which toy to use first on him, but then she laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t even pretend I’m into it, sorry. I just don’t get it.”
He’d never seen the calm, always in control Mistress out of her element, or at least slightly uncomfortable before. Curious, now, he pulled the box toward him. Lifting the tail by the long, silky hairs, he tried not to react to the large black plastic end, but it was obvious where it went, and what people did with it. Unconsciously, his buttocks tightened, as if he needed to protect that tender hole. That plug looked way too big for anyone to want that stuck anywhere, let alone there.
Mal was watching him, though, and it gave him an opportunity to redeem himself a little. He combed his other hand through the long strands. “Nice tail. Feels like real horse hair.”
“I wouldn’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Patrick would want the best for his stable.”
He set the tail on the coffee table and reached back into the box. This time he pulled out a mess of leather straps. It took him a moment to recognize it, since the dimensions were all wrong from what he was used to, though the bit on the end confirmed what it was supposed to be. “Bridle.” He sorted out the leather straps so he could hold the bit in one hand and the headpiece in the other, and then held it up for her.
“The metal goes in the mouth?”
“It’s called a bit. That’s what the rider uses to control the horse. This one’s smooth and small, so it’d be pretty easy on the mouth.”
“For a person? Or a horse?”
“Either I guess. Horses have sensitive mouths. You can train a horse to use a hackamore, which is a bitless bridle, but you don’t have as much control if the horse isn’t cooperative. The bit presses down on the tender tissues of their mouth, getting their attention in a hurry. The problem is that more spirited animals can toughen up their mouths and still fight you. That’s when you need to change up the bit.”
“Change it how?”
“More metal, for starters. You can change the shape inside, giving it a heavier, bigger curve that presses more fully on the tongue. That gives you more leverage on the whole jaw. There are some brutal ones I saw years ago in an old junk store that had spiky bumps on the metal. In the wrong hands, a bit like that would have torn a horse’s mouth to shreds. But a snaffle bit is my favorite.” He gripped the bit in the middle. “It has a joint, here, that lets the bit bend in the mout
h. That puts more pressure on the sides of the horse’s mouth, not the tongue or jaw. A feisty horse can still build up resistance to it over time, but it’s much gentler and kinder while still getting the job done.”
“I knew you’d grown up on a ranch, but hearing you talk about this stuff is amazing.”
“You should hear Jess, then. She’s the real horse-lover in the family. Me, I could ride, but she made it look like she was part of the animal. I never could pull that off.”
“I had no idea the bridle was so important. I thought it was all for show.”
“It’s definitely an item of control, which makes it right up your alley, right?”
She snorted. “Hardly. Though it does make more sense now why a pony sub would want to wear it, and why Patrick would always use one.”
He sorted through the rest of the items in the box and held them up one by one. “Chest piece, I think, though I’d call this a martingale on a horse. It’s to help keep the saddle in place. I think this is supposed to be a saddle and girth, but I’ve never seen one shaped like this. It’s definitely for show. And these…” He held up one of the boots, letting out a low whistle when he saw how high the heel was underneath. “Fake hooves, but I don’t know if a woman could actually walk in them without breaking an ankle.”
“They do. I’ve seen it.”
“Wow.”
“So most of it’s for show, would you say?”
“Except for the bridle.”
“I thought maybe the chest piece was real, so they could pull a fake carriage. I’ve seen that before and thought we might do something like that this season.”
“For pulling something behind, even light, you’d need a different kind of harness, at least for horses. That martingale won’t distribute the weight for a tow. But I don’t know as much about that kind of harness. Not much of a need for carriage horses out in southwest Texas.”
She seemed to be mulling things over, unconsciously nibbling on her lip as she watched him. Unsure what she was thinking, he ran his fingers over the leather. Someone had taken good care of it. Soft, supple, no scratch or scruff marks. He tried to remember Patrick from the show, but only had a vague memory of a man dressed like a Victorian riding master. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on much but Mal.
She blew out a sigh, drawing his attention back to her. “I just can’t picture what it looks like or how it’s used. Not up close and personal.”
He wasn’t sure what made him open his mouth. Not the wine, because he hadn’t even tasted it yet. “Do you want a model?”
She arched a brow at him, head tipping to the side. “You wouldn’t mind? After the dog crate incident…”
Maybe it was his ego after all. His desire to wipe away that ridiculous conclusion and the way he’d reacted. Because it did still bother him. He didn’t like to make mistakes, especially with people he cared about. “I’m open to it. I mean, I don’t want this stuff, but I wouldn’t mind it. Or rather, I wouldn’t mind you doing it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mal couldn’t answer for a moment, for fear of revealing exactly how much his offer touched her. It was no small thing for a man of his pride and strength to be willing to humble, and even potentially embarrass, himself, just to please her. He might not consider himself a submissive, but it was a very thoughtful way he could serve her needs that had nothing to do with his own sexual gratification.
“Not the tail,” he clarified, his tone stern though his eyes flashed with amusement. “I’ll blackberry right out of that.”
“No tail,” she agreed, grateful he’d kept to a light tone. If he’d gone all serious or apologetic about the minor incorrect assumption he’d made before, she might have actually teared up. “I just want to see how the bridle actually goes on, and how a dominant would use it to give the submissive a sense of ownership.”
He loosened the buckles on either side to stretch out the part that went over his head. When he actually did slip the contraption on, her breath caught in her throat.
“What? That bad?”
She shook her head and reached out to cup his face, sliding over the cushion closer to him. “Not at all.”
“You’re not turned on by this, are you?”
He didn’t say it as an accusation, or with alarm, just more curious. “Not in the way you think.” The metal bit hung down below his chin, but now he couldn’t see to do the buckles. She worked the left side tighter, drawing the bit up to lie against his chin but not in his mouth.
“You are. I can see it,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a rumble that made her eyelashes flutter. “You’re holding your breath. You like this.”
“It’s not the pony gear. It’s you. That you were willing to even try this. For me.”
His eyes widened. “I’d do just about anything for you, Mal.”
“Don’t say that, not yet. You don’t know what I’ll ask of you.”
“I mean it, and I don’t say it lightly. I even had a man-to-man talk today with Elias.”
She laughed, reaching toward the other side of his head. He turned in toward her to make it easier. “How’d that go?”
“About as good as you’d expect.”
“What man problems is he having? Or would it break some cop code of silence to tell me?”
“He didn’t go into details, but mentioned that Vicki had given him an ultimatum. One that his brain knew was a good idea, but—”
“Because she told him, he didn’t want to do it. Typical.” Mal thought the straps were pretty even. Sitting back, she looked him over. “How does that feel?”
“Fine.” He shrugged. “Not a problem, but not a turn on.”
“Would it bother you if I tug a bit on these straps, to see what kind of limitations you have?”
“They’re called reins, and no, I wouldn’t mind. You won’t have much leverage other than pulling my head around, because the bit isn’t in my mouth.”
She picked up the reins and stood before him. Giving an experimental tug, she watched his body carefully. She could lift his head a bit, but the bridle almost slipped off his head. “Not tight enough.”
He cupped the metal bit in his palm and lifted it closer to his mouth. “Go ahead and tighten it. You won’t be able to try much until you do.”
She frowned. “I don’t think I like the idea of that thing in your mouth. Won’t it taste bad? And you won’t be able to talk.”
“Pretend I’m gagged. I’ve probably had worse things in my mouth.”
She arched a brow at him. “Don’t go giving me ideas, detective.” Ah, there was that cocky grin she loved so much. Since he wasn’t bothered in the slightest, she stepped back and tightened each buckle, so the bit fit comfortably into his mouth. He clanged his teeth on the metal, which made her cringe. “It just seems so… barbaric.”
He laughed, that much she could understand, but when he tried to talk, it was so garbled she couldn’t understand anything. He shook his head and made a sound like a whinny instead, and she ended up laughing so hard that she held on to her stomach.
“Blackberry,” she groaned, making him set off another round of horse-like laughs. He stood, and with his eyes gleaming and shining with mischief, he was probably going to prance around like a horse. Before he could set off another round of laughter, she gave a tug on the reins. Maybe a bit too hard, because his eyes widened and his head came down toward her, an arch in his back.
Ah. She liked that stunned look on a man’s face. The look he got when he realized she had the upper hand. “Not so funny now, is it, sugar.”
He watched her, eyes dark and intense. She stood, letting him straighten back up.Without looking at him, she started to walk about the room, the reins in her hand. He followed, trying to anticipate where she’d go. Evidently he didn’t like the small tugs at all. The reminder that he didn’t go where he chose, that it was her will. So naturally she had to do it some more.
Turning sharply, she pulled his head around and heard the catch
in his breath. Felt the moment of resistance before he followed. Again, a turn for no reason. Catching him off guard. Making him listen and follow by body language and instinct more than his eyes. He was quick enough on his feet that she couldn’t catch him unawares again, but she actually liked that. She liked knowing that he had adjusted to listen and watch so closely.
She turned and faced him. The bit kept him from shutting his mouth entirely, so he was starting to slobber. Some Mistresses really got off on that. It’d never been her thing—just another natural part of the body that happened when you took a small thing away from a sub. Like the ability to shut his own mouth. Now it affected her, in a huge way.
“I’m starting to see some of Patrick’s fascination with this,” she said softly, letting her gaze travel slowly across his shoulders, down his chest. Letting her appreciation gleam. He unconsciously widened his stance, tipping his head up as if he didn’t wear anything on his head that might make him uncomfortable. “I like being able to keep you on your toes. To make you listen to my will without saying a word. That’s what true domination is all about.”
His eyes narrowed, his shoulders tensing. Yeah, his ego was starting to rise up a bit. Good. That gave her something to play with.
Slowly, she walked back toward him, letting the reins dangle between them. He stayed because he wanted to. Not because she told him. She stepped around him and pressed against his back. Letting her fingers trail up his arms, around his stomach, up his pecs. She lay her cheek against his back, listening to him breathe.
“You never once reached up to take the bridle off,” she whispered. “Why is that, do you think?”
He grunted softly, not trying to talk. He knew.
She separated the reins, drawing them back gently so he’d feel the slightest pressure on his mouth and head. Widening her thighs, she let him feel the press of her legs against his. She tightened up her grip on the reins slightly. Pressed against him, the line of her thighs on the outside of his legs, the reins in her fist. “We’re naked. In bed. And I’m on your back, like this.” She tugged on the bridle, drawing his chin back. “I’d be able to give you one hell of a ride, sugar.”