by Suz deMello
“Yep.” Nausea roiled in her belly. “On top of that, my boyfriend egged them on. I realized later that I was the price of his gang membership, that he’d used me to get in.”
His hand tightened on her shoulder. “Did you think about all that last night?”
She heaved a sigh. “I remembered it ... before ... I remembered that I’d done it once and could do it again.”
He shot her a curious glance. “I want to remind you ... none of this is forced. You were reading Story of O. You knew what was going to happen. You chose that, and now choose to be with me. Right?”
“Oh, yes.” She cuddled closer.
His lips caressed her temple. “Do you understand why you crave the spanking? The punishment?”
“Yes,” she whispered, on the verge of crying.
“I’ll give you what you need.” His voice was soft with understanding.
Her heart twisted. “But how weird is that?”
“Shhh. Don’t judge us. Or yourself. That’s the root of all your ... issues. You think you’re alone?”
“I don’t know.”
Turning, he framed her face in his hands. “Liza, right this minute, millions of couples all over the world are spanking each other and loving it. So don’t feel that you’re weird or abnormal. Okay?”
She swallowed hard against the tears clotting her throat. “Okay.”
“I’m going to risk messing your makeup.” Lifting her chin with one finger, he bent his head and met her lips with his in a sweet, gentle kiss that went on and on. This time, his mouth didn’t demand or possess. Instead, he seduced, cajoled, stroked her tongue with rising passion.
She met him stroke for stroke, letting desire wipe her mind blank of her personal problems. But despite his kiss’s distraction, she knew that James wouldn’t let her evade forever. She’d have to deal ... but not at the moment.
He kissed the side of her neck while undoing her dress’s fastenings. “I want to check out how these babies are doing.” He tugged on the chain connecting her nipples, then cupped her breasts and sucked the tips.
Her nipples had grown numb, but now a sharp-edged pleasure darted, centering in her imprisoned breasts, dropping to her core. She gasped, and he slid his hand between her knees and up toward her muff. Pushing aside the thong, he inserted a finger into her pussy, probing inside her. “Yeah, baby. All nice and creamy for me.”
She clenched around him, and he rubbed against her G-spot. She threw back her head, moaning. Arousal spiraled through her, a tight, hot corkscrew, tensing her muscles.
Withdrawing his hand, he spread her juices over her clit, then licked his finger. “Delicious.”
Her clit throbbed, missing his touch. In only a few seconds, he’d pushed her to her emotional limit. “James, I want you.” She couldn’t stop the plea in her voice.
“I want you too.” His voice growled, low and intense. He took her hand and placed it on his straining erection, which tented his pants. “But we’re almost there, so we’ll both have to wait. When we go home, I promise to make you come so hard you’ll pass out.” He kissed her again, and didn’t stop until the limo halted.
James’s Oakland house was located at the end of a cul-de-sac high in the hills above the city. The charming Queen Anne style mansion was isolated from its neighbors, which was a good thing, Liza thought, as she clambered out of the limo with James’s help. Especially given the amount of noise and light spilling out of its many bay and picture windows.
“Definitely a party house,” she said, smoothing her skirt.
“Yeah. It tends to be rowdier than even Chinatown.” He took her elbow and escorted her along a walkway paved with slates and edged with roses. Pale in the moonlight, the blooms shone; their fragrance perfumed the mild night.
They trod up a short, wide set of stairs to the porch crowded with James’s tuxedo-clad personnel and a motley group of guests.
“Good evening, sir.” Greeting James was a black man wearing a formal dinner jacket. He must have outweighed Liza by at least a hundred pounds, give or take a few. A subtle bulge beneath his armpit told her that he was strapped.
“Good evening, Franklin.” James winked at her. “This is my very close friend, Elizabeth.”
Caught off guard, Liza stammered, “Uh, hi.” His very close friend? Elizabeth? This must be James’s way of safeguarding her identity. Thoughtful of him, but couldn’t he have told her in advance?
At the wooden double doors, tuxedoed security guards patted down the guests. She turned to James, eyes wide. He said, “Any hassles tonight, Frank?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” James glanced at her. “Like I said, it can get rowdy here.”
“Has there been any violence?”
“Off the record?”
“Sure. This isn’t my beat.”
He led her past the tangle of folks at the door. “Yes, there have been a few ... incidents. We’ve increased security. Frankly, it’s so expensive that I’m thinking of closing this house. It’s not worth the headaches.”
“No electronic security?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Inelegant. No way.”
As she entered, window-rattling rap assaulted her. “This is definitely not a San Francisco house.”
James put his lips to her ear and said, “I’m introducing you as Elizabeth to protect your identity. No one needs to know you’re a cop or related to LaDonna.”
About time he told me. “Okay.”
Their progress through the casino to the restaurant was noticed, not only by James’s employees but by the guests. Gangbangers dressed in an array of garb from athletic suits to brightly colored jackets festooned with plenty of bling -- diamond-encrusted gold crosses predominating -- briefly stopped gambling to cast interested glances at James and Liza. Their scantily clad women competed with the whores for James’s attention, cutting envious glares at Liza. She stared back, eyeballing each one, but no Sindie Keller.
But what if Keller were among the throng? What could Liza do? She clung to James’s arm, feeling vulnerable without her badge and her gun.
She told herself: Walk proud; you’re James Li’s woman. She straightened to her full height atop the heeled slides, threw back her shoulders, and smiled. The nipple clips pinched, forcing the tips of her breasts to rub sensuously against her silk gown. She tightened her butt around the ginger stick. As she moved, self-consciously swinging her hips, blood engorged her clit, clamped in the snug panties. Her arousal renewed. She knew it wouldn’t be fulfilled until James chose to satisfy her, but she was content to wait. To wait and see what delights he had in store for her. I promise to make you come so hard you’ll pass out.
Despite everything, despite his dubious business dealings and the events of the previous night, she liked being James Li’s woman.
But would she see him again after tomorrow evening? And what revelations would Sunday bring?
She shunted her mind away from the obvious conflict a relationship would generate. She, a police officer, couldn’t date James Li.
He led her into a dark restaurant, quieter than the casino, though three-quarters full of diners and aromatic with the rich smells of good Asian food: garlic and ginger, sesame and soy. Paneled in black lacquer, with Oriental art and tropical plants, the restaurant’s décor was distinctly and luxuriously Asian. In the back, a table was tucked into a small alcove and lit by red pillar candles on a lacquered tray. The settings were cut crystal, and the flatware sterling trimmed with gold.
“Very Zen,” she said as James seated her.
“Yes, the staff here is quite attentive.” He sat opposite her.
A server picked up Liza’s napkin, shook it out, and draped it across her lap, then did the same for him. “What can I get for you, sir?”
“The full order should already be in the computer,” he said. The server left, and he told Liza, “I text-messaged it in while you were talking with your mother.”
“So that’s why you interrupted us.”
She grinned. “You were thinking about food.”
“And drink.”
A different server appeared with another bottle of Cristal and filled their glasses. The champagne was rapidly followed by three more servers with the appetizers: chicken satay and spring rolls, the kind that Liza liked, the Southeast Asian type that weren’t fried, but dipped in either a peanut sauce or chili oil. Another pair of servers brought the sauces in little pitchers and poured them into tiny porcelain bowls that looked hand-painted. Hand-carved ivory chopsticks were placed at the ready, next to her hands.
Flavored with fresh basil and mint, the rolls were delectable. Then two more servers brought egg flower soup. With narrowed, displeased eyes, James watched them lay out more lovely handmade bowls and ladle soup. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered before standing. He dropped his napkin on his seat and told Liza, “Wait here.”
He returned a minute later. With a sigh, he said to her, “You might as well come with me.”
She took his arm as they walked, her slides clacking on the tiled floor. “What on earth is going on?”
“Franklin got on the walkie-talkie and told the staff about you. Everyone wants to meet you, or at least to see you.”
“What?”
“So I’ll take you into the kitchen. I guess I ought to tell you that I’ve never brought a woman here.” He shoved his dark forelock of hair out of his face. “Oh, I might play with one or two of the girls, but I’ve never brought anyone here or introduced anyone as my, umm, very close friend. I did it to -- well, it’s true, right? -- and to make sure that the staff take care of you, but it’s had unintended consequences.”
“All the different servers?”
“Yes. Apparently they decided to take turns to make sure everyone could check you out.” He glanced at her. “Sorry about that, but I can’t blame them. I like looking at you, too.”
She smiled as they headed through a swinging door into the kitchen. “Thanks. It’s okay. I’ve never been inside a fine restaurant’s kitchen. This is interesting.”
She looked around. Behind the soundproof door lay an entire new world, a brightly lit world of clanging pans, spitting oil in woks swirled by skilled sous-chefs, hot ovens banged open and closed by impatient hands. The aromas were incredible, even better than out in the restaurant’s dining room.
“Eh, what ye doin’ ’ere?” A large, white-toqued fellow swathed in grubby whites recoiled in horror. “Jamie, mon, one of the conditions of my employment was no boss in the kitchen!”
What kind of accent was that? Liza wondered as the man advanced on James, brandishing a cleaver. James, dragging Liza, fell back a step. “Seamas, my apologies --”
“There’d be no need for apologizin’ if ye were in yer seat where ye belong. Get on, mon.”
Another wave of the cleaver, and James retreated out of the double doors amidst giggles from the staff.
“You can stay, little lady.” Seamas leered at her. “We’re very interested in you.”
“Th-thanks. I’m, um, Elizabeth.”
“So I hear.” Now Liza could identify the rich burr as Scottish. “What are ye doing with that rapscallion?”
Rapscallion? This guy was superb. Where had James found him? She shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess. What are you doing with that, um, rapscallion yourself?”
She earned a laugh. “He pays mightily well, does our Mr. Li, and there are the fringe benefits ... upstairs.” Seamas pointed.
“I see. Are they included with the pay?”
“Och, no. But the way to a lady’s fickle heart is through her stomach, just like any self-respectin’ man. A bowl of me good egg flower soup will get me into any bedroom in this house.”
“Where did you learn to cook Asian food?”
“Would you believe me if I said Edinburgh?”
“Probably not.”
“You’d be a clever one, then, miss. In Hong Kong, of course.”
She sensed that the line cooks, though appearing to go on with their work, were peeking at her from the corners of their eyes. After she figured they’d all had a chance, she said, “Well, I guess I better get back to dinner. No point letting that good egg flower soup get cold.”
“Och, no,” Seamas said. “You can go, now that we’ve all looked our fill. And thank ye.”
She giggled and scampered out. James was outside the doors, wiping sweat off his brow with his pocket square. “That was a close one. If we were to lose Seamas ...” He shook his head. “The girls are a draw for sure, but lose Seamas, and this house goes down.”
“But you’re thinking of closing it anyhow.” Liza followed him back to their table.
“I want to do that on my timetable, not Seamas’s.” James seated her, then waved at a waiter and asked for fresh soup. The old, cold bowls were removed and hot soup brought. “Serves him right,” James muttered to Liza. “Making me wait while he grilled you.”
“He was grilling fish, not me,” Liza said demurely, sampling the soup with a traditional wide-bowled Chinese spoon.
“Yeah, right. I know how he is with the ladies. Invites them downstairs every night for a taste of his fine sausage.”
A phalanx of staff brought dinner, which consisted of steamed rice, of course; a whole fish, delicately breaded and fried; phoenix and dragon, which was chicken and lobster in a light sauce; Chinese long bean, and --
“James, these are all my favorite dishes. How did you know?”
He deftly flaked a portion of fish off the bones and laid it on her plate. “All these questions! I guess it’s okay to tell you that I know Mr. Lum, of Chester’s Fish House.”
“That’s just a block from my place.”
“Umm-hmm. You eat there or get take-out at least weekly. Do you want some spicy eggplant in garlic sauce? I know you’re fond of it.”
“James, have you -- have you been stalking me?”
He sat back into his chair, looking a little abashed. “I wouldn’t call it stalking, exactly --”
“What would you call it?”
“Hey, I thought the questions were for tomorrow.”
“Umm, no. No. I want to change the rules.”
He folded his arms over his chest and tried to scowl. “Do I have to teach you another lesson?”
She arched her brows. “Right here, right now?”
“I can take you upstairs, you know.”
A silence fell, and then she said, “But you won’t, will you.” It wasn’t a question. She knew. She didn’t know how, but she did. The S&M game didn’t come easily to James. Though he was a perfectionist, he got his way through persuasion, not cruelty. He disciplined her because she needed it. He might enjoy it, but he didn’t suffer the deep craving that clawed at her soul. He didn’t carry her guilt.
He tapped his manicured fingers against the table. “You’re right. At the moment, I want to eat more than I want to spank you.”
Her heartbeat picked up. “Darn.”
He chuckled. “Later, then. Very well. This is what happened. After the Chinatown bust, I found myself, umm, intrigued. By you.”
A blush heated her face. “You’re kidding.” Amazing that the same thoughts had crossed James’s mind. Had he read and reread her police report the same way she’d mooned over his mug shot?
“I remembered who you were, you know; I connected Detective Bowman with the fourteen-year-old who had -- half her life ago -- heroically defeated a gang in Oakland. I was interested. I investigated you. I didn’t stalk you.”
“You don’t have to get pissy about it.” She hid her smug smile behind a piece of eggplant.
“I’m not pissy. Knowing one’s adversary is smart. It’s not stalking.”
“I’m not your adversary.”
“You were at the time. Then you were transferred to Major Crimes.” He met her glance. “But I remained interested. You’re full of surprises, Liza Bowman.”
“I think the same about you, James Li. Or should I call you Jamie?” She winked before eating some l
ong bean.
He pointed his chopsticks at her. “Don’t. That would earn you the paddle.”
“Ooh.” She feigned a shiver. “On top of the whip? Ouch.” Her buttocks clenched.
“So watch yourself, young lady.” His smile robbed his words of their sting.
“You need to watch something else.”
“What?” Using his chopsticks, he swirled a chunk of lobster around in sauce.
“The kitchen. Do you have security outside the delivery door?” She helped herself to more dragon and phoenix.
“Actually, I don’t, and that’s a good observation.” He frowned and ate the lobster. “This house is more trouble than it’s worth. I hope you don’t mind me dissing your hometown, but Oakland has no class.”
“Spoken like a true San Franciscan.”
“I can’t help it. Like I told you, my family’s roots dig deep.”
“Hmm.” She munched on some chicken, wondering how it must feel to be secure in a large family’s embrace. She and her mom had done okay, but it wasn’t the same.
Maybe James was right. Maybe her father’s abandonment had affected her in unexpected ways. Her love for Eddie, which had nearly led to her death; her drive to become part of his gang and, later the SFPD; her selection of white lovers.
She looked across the table and watched James, peacefully tucking away fish and long bean. He looked up from his plate, met her glance and smiled.
“Had enough to eat?”
“I’ve had enough ... food.” She winked.
“Nice double entendre,” he said. “I’ll take you up on that. Let’s go upstairs.”
James’s apartment in the Oakland house was smaller than the flat in Pacific Heights, but because it was located in a fanciful turret, it had a charm that enchanted. The furnishings were in shades of moss green and peach, with bleached woods giving the large, round living room a graceful air without being overly frou-frou or feminine.
But she didn’t have much time to look around before James grabbed her by the arms and whirled her around, pressing her against a wall. His rock-solid body molded hers while his sensual mouth nipped her lips, demanding entrance. She opened to him, and their tongues clashed, fighting a sexual combat that both would win.