Conviction

by Jane Henry

  “Brax,” I whisper.

  “Mmm?”

  I say nothing, truly not knowing how to respond.

  “Just relax,” he says, before he places a gentle kiss to my belly. Somehow, the kiss warms me through. I smile to myself. I like doing what he says.

  Just relax.

  I give myself over to the feel of his mouth on me, and when he pulls down the edge of my panties, I’m lost to the sensation. Every slow, gentle stroke of his tongue melts away a little bit of my resistance until I come, my pelvis rising while he holds me, stroking ecstasy from me like a master musician with his instrument. Panting, I fall to the bed when he releases me, welcoming him at my entrance with a gentle part of my thighs.

  His mouth at my ear, he breathes the words his own need palpable. “Who does this pussy belong to?” I can feel him at my entrance. My body tenses with the sudden need to have him deep within me, that closeness that literally nothing else can fulfill.

  “You,” I breathe, needing to submit myself to him in this moment. When the blindfold is off, and my wrists are free the magic is lost. Here, where it’s dark and I’m quiet, I can give him everything and lose nothing. The air in my lungs vanishes with the first savage thrust of his cock.

  His voice at my ear, he asks another question. “Who does this mouth belong to?” The pad of his thumb traces my lips as he thrusts, and I instinctively kiss the calloused skin.

  “You.”

  He builds a tempo, silently asking for surrender with every movement of his hips, our slick bodies merge as one, whispering what needs to be said when words fail. He tenses, on the cusp of climax as my own body heats and coils, needing to chase my orgasm with his. I know what he’s going to ask next, and I don’t know if I can say it, but my body does.

  “Who do you belong to?” he rasps.

  My body crashes into climax speaking the words I can’t utter but need to.

  You.

  The blindfold’s damp with tears as he holds me tight. We lay in the quiet aftermath of our bliss, his fingers tangled in my hair. He reaches behind my head, tugs, and light fills my world again. He’s smiling down softly at me. Tenderly, he bends down and brushes a kiss to the top of my head, then lowers his mouth to my temple. “You’re crying, baby,” he says. He kisses a tear away. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  There are so many things I need to say but can’t.

  He isn’t the one making me cry.

  He’s the one who hurts me in a way that frees me.

  I shake my head. “I’m good. Let’s go to Verge.” We need to finish this once and for all.

  He’s so close, I can see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. I can tell there are questions behind that gaze, but he won’t push further and hell if I don’t love him for that. He nods, one quick nod of acceptance, then pulls out slowly. Still tethered by his belt, I wait for him to clean me, then release my wrists. He dresses me next, slipping on my panties, then my jeans. My wrists are free now, and I could insist on dressing myself, but I like the attention and gentle ministrations.

  For now, I’ll let him take care of me. It’s something he needs, and today, I’ll give him that, before I need to slip away. I’ll never forget this, though. Brax is the first man who has ever shown me the beauty of a gentle giant.

  Even when I’m gone and I’m not his anymore, I’ll carry this with me.

  Chapter 13

  Brax

  She slips in and out of my fingers like fine silk, rare and priceless, buttery soft but resilient. I try to hold onto her, but I can’t. In her moments of submission, I see the woman who lets me in, the vulnerable side to her that yearns for the protection I can give her. But when the moment fades, she sets her face like flint, an instinctive mask I’m not sure she even knows she wears.

  We need one commodity we don’t have right now: time. What she doesn’t know is that I don’t give up as easily as she thinks I do. I’ll give her the space she needs to sort things out, but I’ve glimpsed my prize, and I’m not letting go. I don’t want a woman who’s supple and compliant. I want to fight for her submission and earn it, like a king in battle. I want all her flaws and imperfections with her beauty, for it was in overcoming her demons she became who she is today.

  “I’m starving,” she says, kicking her feet up on the dashboard. “Dude, you know how to work up an appetite.”

  “I’m flattered. Burgers?”

  “Perfect.”

  I pull into a drive-thru and order food, and a few minutes later we’re on the road. She tears into her burger like she hasn’t eaten in weeks, douses her fries in ketchup, and shoves four in her mouth at once before she slurps from her drink. After this, she daintily swipes at her mouth and sighs with contentment.

  “Let’s do dinner the right way when we get back. Next week. You like Italian?”

  Looking out the window, she shrugs. “Not much in the line of food I don’t like.”

  “Me neither.” I reach for her knee and squeeze. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

  I pull onto the highway as she turns back to face me. I can’t see her eyes, but I can feel the sharper tone. “I’m not sure how to answer that question,” she says. “I’m not sure what we’re doing here. Are you asking me on a date?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We were sorta thrown into this, and now I want to do things the right way. Woo you and all that shit.”

  She snorts and shoves my hand off her knee. “Woo me, like you’re some sorta Shakespearean hero? I don’t know, Brax.” Her voice gets flinty. “I was sort of under the impression we were fuck buddies.”

  Jesus. The phrase hits my gut like sudden nausea. “Is that right,” I say, feeling my own hardness surface.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I honestly just don’t know. I mean, I like you.” Her voice shakes a little, betraying her. “But I’m fucked up, Braxton. Like, seriously fucked up.”

  I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “What makes you think you’re any more fucked up than the rest of us?”

  She doesn’t answer but traces the bumps of my knuckles with delicate fingers. “You have a daughter,” she finally states in response.

  “I do.” Devin is my priority and she knows that isn’t changing.

  “And… I don’t know anything about daughters. Or kids. Or… things like that.”

  I nod. It’s a fair concern, and one I can’t dismiss. I was warned about her baggage before we even met, but hell I’m the one who brings complications to the table.

  She shakes her head with a self-deprecating laugh. “See, this is what I do. You want dinner and I’m already thinking I can’t handle a kid. I mean, it’s not like you asked me to marry you.” She tries to pull her hand away, but I won’t let her. I hold on tight, and place her hand right back on her thigh, under mine.

  “You’re right. I didn’t ask you to mother my kid. I asked you on a date. But I like the fact that you’re thinking ahead.” There’s something between us I’ve never felt before, a gut instinct I can’t ignore. Deep down inside I know: when she pulls away, I have to tug her back. “I’m not in this to be ‘fuck buddies.’” She flinches when I throw her phrase back at her, telling me silently that she hates the idea as much as I do. “As far as my daughter, I get it. But she already has a mother, baby. I’m not asking you to fill that role.”

  “I couldn’t,” she whispers. “It’s not… that I don’t want to.”

  “And that’s not what we worry about today.”

  She nods her head. There’s a brutal honesty that fuels this woman, so when she nods her head, I know she’s doing so in acceptance of what I’m proposing. “You’re right,” she says. “That’s not what we worry about today. Today, we get our asses back to Verge and bring those motherfuckers to justice.”

  I grin. She’s gritty as hell and I fucking love it.

  “Hell yeah,” I say, and without another word, I accelerate. Today, we need to get to Verge. Talk to Mona Kingsley. And slam the asses of the guilty in jail.
Tomorrow, we work on us.

  Every couple that’s interested in each other needs a five-hour road trip. Two rest stops later, we’ve talked about the music we listen to, the high school shenanigans we pulled, her ex-boyfriend who took her virginity and told everyone they knew. She won’t give me his number so I can track him down and kick his ass, but I can tell the idea amuses her.

  I tell her about Nichole and how young and stupid we were, and she grows real quiet when I recount Devin’s birth, and how holding that little baby for the first time was my introduction into being a real man. Knowing I had more than myself to look out for. We talk about how Nichole and I fought to make it work, but it was doomed from the start. Nichole mocked my dominant ways in bed, called me a freak and a pervert when I attempted anything kinky, and finally left in the middle of the night and moved in with her parents. It took me a full year to get over that while I fought for visitation with my daughter. Now, we have our boundaries, and I make her respect those.

  It wasn’t until I met Tobias and Zack when they founded Club Verge that I came into my own. It was the first time in my life I met people who understood the way I was wired, who helped hone my skills and not mock them.

  “I have to admit, I thought kinky shit was really fucked up,” Zoe says, leaning back in the chair with her feet up on the dash.

  I shrug. “Hell, maybe some of it is. But there’s something for everyone.”

  “What do you like?” she asks.

  “Submission.” I answer without giving it much thought.

  “I mean kinks,” she says, though she pulls a bit closer to me. “And I’m not fucking submissive.”

  I huff out a laugh. “Baby, I know. Believe me. But I said I like submission. When did I say anything about a submissive personality?”

  She grows quiet, a small smile playing at her hips. “I like that. So someone can submit part time?”

  “All depends on the couple. And there’s a difference between part time submissive and submitting to one person.”

  Fuck, I want to be the one who earns that from her.

  The rest of the drive to Verge is like coming home. I try to tell myself not to hope, not to dream. But Zoe MacKay makes that impossible.

  Chapter 14

  Zoe

  I wake the next morning, my mind racing. The ride home yesterday with Brax was like dating on speed. What’s freaking me the hell out is that I haven’t held anything back from him. I’ve let it all hang out. There’s something about being tied up and spanked that’ll do that to a girl, I guess, draw out the fears and honesty unlike a regular fuck or make-out session.

  I watch him as he sleeps, his broad shoulders rising and falling with slow, unhindered slumber. He’s facing me, and I smile to myself at how relaxed his face is. The worry lines between his brows soften in sleep, and he doesn’t carry the weight of the world. He’s the kind of guy that needs to carry things, to protect and lead and defend. But here, while he’s lying here with me, I can see the vulnerability in him that makes him human. I go over what he said yesterday on the car ride home and remind myself.

  There’s a difference between being a natural sub and submitting to one person.

  I fucking love submitting to him. It’s as natural as breathing, and hot as hell, and even though I’m not exactly sure what it all encompasses, I’m game to try.

  That’s not what we worry about today, he said. He’s not going anywhere. Today, we bring these assholes down.

  My phone vibrates on the table. I reach for it and slide out of bed. My heart beat kicks up when I realize the number belongs to Mona. She’s calling earlier than I expected. I glance over at Brax, who’s still dead asleep, grab the phone, and slide into my shoes. I’m wearing boxers and a t-shirt, so I walk quickly out of the private room and into the main club. It isn’t until the door closes behind me that I remember it automatically locks. I turn around, reach for the lock, then swear when I feel the familiar solid handle. My phone buzzes again. One more ring and the sucker goes to voicemail.

  “Hello?” My voice sounds louder than I expect in the quiet. Verge is vacated this early, but I still feel exposed as hell.

  “Hello?”

  “Yeah. Mona?”

  I hear the confirmation on the other end of the line. “Yeah.”

  “I can’t talk long,” she whispers. “I need to confirm the names you need to find and tell you how you’ll bring them down.”

  “Yes?” My heartbeat races. I look quickly around the room but see nothing but the vacant bar. I need to write this down. Jogging, I head to Tobias’ office. I know he’s got paper and shit in there. “Hang on, I’m just getting something to write this all down. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Thankfully, Tobias never closes his office door. It’s still wide open, and right there on his desk lies a few pads of lined yellow-paper and a coffee mug filled with pens. I sit at his seat, feeling a little guilty at the invasion, and click open a pen.

  “Hoffman’s in league with Malloy. You know this. Malloy is on the payroll of drug lord Taras Sokolov, but the man you really need to bring down immediately is Joseph Benton.”

  The blood runs cold in my veins. “Benton?”

  Benton’s my boss, the chief of police.

  “Yep. He’s the one behind Hoffman, and the two of them bury the information, all incriminating evidence that proves Sokolov was hired by Malloy to kill Zandetti.

  “And if I do this, what evidence do I have to convict them?”

  She gives me the details of a lockbox she has secured in the heart of NYC, then gives me the information I need to obtain. It’s perfect. Everything I need.

  “Thank you,” I say, adrenaline pumping through me. I need to wake up Brax and we need to get things done. “What can I do for you to help you?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “No one knows I’m alive. I’m safe. You bring these men down, and I’ll do what I need to get this into the press.”

  Something catches my attention as she speaks, quick movement out of the corner of my eye. I blink, turning to look at a string of cameras Tobias has mounted on the wall to the left of his desk. Security feed that leads to every entrance to Verge. Two men dressed in black are heading past the entrance and to the back door. It’s still dark enough outside so I can’t see much, but I’m on my feet, watching. “Thanks, Mona.” I wish her the best and thank her again, needing to end this call. These men are coming into this building, and I need to see where.

  With the skill befitting a master thief, one slides something silver near the lock, shimmies it, and I watch in fascinated horror as the door swings open. But I’m no fucking wallflower. I’m a trained officer, and these assholes aren’t going down without a fight. I know intuitively they’re here for me and for Brax. We stirred something up this weekend. Hoffman’s found us.

  I look wildly around me. I have no weapons, nothing to defend myself. I realize then how much harder it is to face danger without the weapons I’ve come to rely on. My sig’s next to my bag in Brax’s room.

  Brax!

  I leave Tobias’s office and stand at the entrance to the bar, listening. There’s a sound of splintering wood and shouts. They found him. Fuck. They’re in that room now, with Brax, and when they get him they’ll kill him.

  I take off at a run, weapons be damned.

  “Where’s the bitch?” I hear Hoffman’s voice and someone else’s. “Where the fuck is she?”

  “I don’t know. Jesus, I have no idea.” Brax’s voice is strangled as if he’s in pain, and a rush of anger momentarily blurs my vision. If they hurt him, I’ll fucking kill them. I’ve pursued assailants so many times I’ve lost count, but never, never, has anything been so personal, so pressing. They’re threatening my man.

  I’m the she they’re looking for. I look wildly about the vacant hall. If I come in through the entrance to the room, I’m fucked. No weapons and in clear sight of the men in that room.

  “You know where she is. You’re hiding her. Where t
he fuck is she?”

  I hear Brax cry out, and panic wells in my chest. They’re hurting him. Fuck, they’re going to kill him. Realization dawns on me like a flash of lightning. There’s a bathroom into the private room. If I could get outside, climb up, and get into the bathroom that way, I can sneak attack when they’re not expecting me to. I race as fast as I can out the exit, circle round the building, and make it to the window outside of Brax’s door. Thankfully it’s the same level as the street. Last night, Brax opened the window to let some fresh air in. Thank God. Any further tinkering and I’d be screwed.

  I open the window, thankful for my small size and limber frame. Hoisting myself in feet-first, I slide in and quickly fall to the floor on the pads of my feet, as nimble as a cat. I listen, my stomach twisting with the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. I’ll fucking kill them. I look wildly around me for something, anything I can use as a weapon. Hanging in the shower is a long bamboo bath brush with a loop on it. I snag that, run to the door and take a deep breath. Now’s my chance.

  I open the door and scream like a wild animal, hoping to attract attention. I take advantage of the momentary stunned silence to drop to the floor, seconds before gunshots ring out. They’re so close to me I can almost reach them.

  “Son of a bitch,” Hoffman growls, lunging for me, but I dodge his attack and swipe at his legs with the bath brush. He howls, gripping his leg, and falls to one knee. I whack him a second time, when a gunshot rings out, followed by a flare of white pain in my leg. I’m shot. Fuck, someone hit me.

  Hoffman recovers, and I push myself up, grab him by the chest, and heave him in front of me like a shield as a second shot rings out. Hoffman’s garbled scream tells me the target’s hit his mark. I release him, drop and roll away from the gunshots, just as Brax hurls himself from the bed and tackles our assailant to the floor. His open palm crashes into the man’s jaw, making his head snap back, before he knees him in the groin. The man howls, but Brax is pissed. “You fucking shot her. You son of a bitch. You shot her.” He punches the man again, blood spurting from the guy’s nose, then a second punch and the man’s head lolls to the side.