Passion's Fury (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 2)

by Julie Shelton

  She moaned and wriggled her hips. Good God, they feel like they’re both in the same channel!

  “Hold still, sugar,” Caleb said. “Let us do all the movin’, okay?”

  “Huh-hay,” she mumbled around Simon’s cock. She sucked in her breath as Ash’s cock slid slowly past Caleb’s until only the head remained lodged in her anus. When he slid back in, Caleb withdrew, setting up an amazing see-sawing friction that had her moaning and gasping for breath as pleasure inundated her. She lowered her mouth around Simon’s erection. He tasted musky, salty, slightly tangy. And she wanted him to spill his cum down her throat. She wanted to taste the full essence of him. So, she tightened the suction of her mouth, swirling her tongue around his length, massaging him with her lips.

  Ash’s eyes closed, his head fell back. “Jesus, Kylie!” Low, guttural growls, more animal than human, ripped from his throat, vibrating through her all the way to her toes. Blindly he lifted his hands, threading his fingers through her hair to grip the sides of her face, holding her head still as his hips began a slow pistoning movement in and out of her mouth.

  As Ash and Caleb ratcheted up the speed and force of their thrusts, the movement of Simon’s hips also sped up as he fucked her mouth. The room echoed with all of their grunts and groans and little cries of pleasure as the pressure of impending orgasm built within all of them.

  Ash’s right hand left Kylie’s hip and his arm circled around her waist, his thumb unerringly homing in on her clit. His first two fingers toggled the tiny little pearl, a rapid motion that tightened Kylie’s muscles so hard, she feared the tension would snap her bones.

  She gasped around Simon’s cock, sucking air into the bottom of her lungs with desperate effort. Her pussy contracted with crushing force as her body exploded in an orgasm that lit her up like a nuclear bomb. The force of her convulsions pulled first Caleb, then Ash over the edge and she felt their hot semen jetting into her pussy and ass.

  Simon’s cock thickened in her mouth. He arched his back, shoving himself deep into her throat, his face a tormented rictus of ecstasy. She gagged and coughed, then swallowed hard. With a hoarse shout, his body went rigid and he spilled his seed down her throat. Her convulsive swallows milked him of every drop, even as he continued to thrust gently in and out of her mouth. Finally, he deflated, pulled out of her mouth and sat up on his knees, fisting his cock and massaging the base of the head with his thumb to coax the final little dribs and drabs of semen from it.

  The four of them collapsed all around each other, kissing whatever body part was closest to their mouths as their racing hearts slowed and their breathing gradually returned to normal.

  By that time Kylie was asleep, waking only long enough to groan in delight as they cleaned both her and themselves before aligning themselves protectively around her and falling into a deep sleep.

  * * * *

  He was so bored, he nearly missed the black Humvee approaching the end of the driveway. It was already past ten and he’d been here for the last three hours, lying on the cold, hard ground in a little copse of trees across the street from the Rafferty’s driveway. The two cars that had left earlier had only contained one occupant apiece, but he’d kept his impatience in check, hoping the third brother would eventually leave and she’d be home alone. No such luck. They were both in the black Humvee that was coming down the driveway now. Shit! Now he’d have to follow them and try to grab her somewhere else. He’d have to be really sneaky, though, to get past that fucking bodyguard. He’d been shocked to find her literally surrounded by three men—triplets, no less. Ex-military types, too, judging from the looks of them.

  He didn’t break cover until the Hummer turned onto the main road, heading toward town. Then he sprinted to the unremarkable silver Toyota he’d hidden in the trees. He didn’t know where they were going, but that big-ass Hummer should be easy enough to spot no matter where it was parked. He drove leisurely, careful to keep enough distance between the two cars so that he wouldn’t be spotted.

  He’d only found her in the first place by a stroke of sheer luck, one of the payoffs from the bug he’d placed in Dwyer and Sweeney’s car. The only name the FBI agents had mentioned on their trip back to Philly was Passion Lake. A Google search had led him to this little resort town in Virginia, but he’d had no idea where to start looking for Kylie Ferrell. Or even if she was still there. Until very early this morning when he’d stopped for breakfast at a place called Mansfield’s Diner, and, man, had he lucked out! His waitress had been a perky blond teen-ager named Brandi. When he’d mentioned that he was there at the recommendation of his very dear friend, Kylie Ferrell, Brandi had been a veritable fount of information, including the fact that Kylie’s feet were badly injured and that she was staying with “The Raffertys,” making the Raffertys sound like a nice elderly couple who delighted in taking in strays. The fact that the Raffertys had turned out to be three former spec ops soldiers had been a decidedly unwelcome development. But at least that had told him who to watch. And he’d been watching ever since. From that stupid patch of woods, the only decent bit of cover for at least a hundred feet in each direction. He couldn’t see the house from this lousy vantage point. But then, he didn’t need to see it in order to know that the entire property was protected by a multi-layered, state-of-the-art security system. He’d seen military installations with less security than this place. So who were these fuckers, anyway?

  Trying to ignore the anxiety gnawing at his gut, he’d maintained his distance, wondering how he was going to pull this off. This would most likely be his only chance to grab her. He was pretty sure there was a BOLO out on both him and his car, which is why he’d ditched his car and paid cash for this nondescript silver Toyota at Big Al’s used car lot on his way out of Philly. It was also why he was wearing his black-framed glasses instead of his usual contacts, and why he was now sporting the beginnings of a neat little goatee and mustache. But despite all that, John Bullard knew that his time on this earth was running out. It was now down to a matter of days, if not hours. All of his grand plans for the future had been snatched away and it was all that bitch’s fault. Kylie Ferrell. She’d told the FBI where to find those goddamned secret books. And now that they had them, he was toast.

  Of course, he’d been toast the minute he had placed himself under Dominic Righetti’s thumb. First by being best friends with the old man’s son, Lorenzo. And second by marrying Lorenzo’s cousin, Lenore. Lenora Maria Carlotta Francesca Righetti Bullard, his beautiful, extravagant wife who had never been able to adapt to life on a police detective’s salary. His wife, whose spending sprees had forced him time and time again to go to Tio Dominic, hat in hand, reluctantly asking for a loan. Which the old man had always given him and which John had always promised to pay back despite the old man’s assurances that he didn’t need the money. That perhaps John might be in a position to do him a favor someday.

  Well, “someday” had finally arrived three years later and the favor Dominic had asked of him that day hadn’t been all that much. Just ascertain the whereabouts of one Carlo Iacone. Bullard had traced him to an address in Queens, New York, which information he had dutifully turned over to Tio Dominic. He’d never asked what the old man had wanted with the information, figuring the less he knew, the better. But in the end that hadn’t mattered. The minute Carlo Iacone had turned up dead, it was too late for Bullard. Slowly but surely he had been reeled in until he was routinely destroying evidence, planting false leads, threatening witnesses, and generally sabotaging nearly every case the D.A.’s office dared to bring against a member of the Righetti crime family. He’d gotten so adept at it, not even Tony Angelino, his partner of eleven years, had suspected a thing. Until Detective Angelino had received the order to place Detective John Bullard under arrest on Federal charges of racketeering, witness tampering, fraud, bribery, corruption, and accessory to murder.

  Bullard sighed, watching the black Humvee turn left into a parking lot around three blocks up Main Street. He dr
ove slowly past, studying the large Victorian mansion that had been turned into Granny Grace’s Tea Shoppe and the smaller mansion beside it that was Granny Grace’s Toy Emporium. The main entrance to the Tea Shoppe faced a tree-lined parking lot which was practically filled with cars. Breakfast at The Tea Shoppe was obviously very popular. There was another, separate parking area just beyond the toy emporium, the entrance to which faced the opposite direction from the tea shop. But since the buildings were so close together, and both businesses were evidently owned by the same person…hmmm. Maybe there’s a way to get into the toy shop through the restaurant. That way, I can sneak in there, get the drop on the bodyguard, snatch the Ferrell bitch and be gone before anyone raises the alarm. He shrugged. Not the best plan in the world, but it just might work. And if it doesn’t?” He shrugged again. What the hell do I care? I’ll be dead anyway. But I’d sure love to teach that Ferrell bitch a lesson before I go.

  Without slowing down, Bullard drove down to the next side street and turned left. He drove past the unpaved alleyway running between Main Street and the parallel street behind it, turning left again at the stop sign. Through the yards of the houses to his left, he could see the rear facades of the buildings on Main Street, noting that each business had its own back door. Excellent. I’ll park my car in the alley right outside the toy store’s back door. He quickly circled the block, once again driving past the parking lot, just in time to see the bodyguard wave to a petite blonde woman who’d just gotten out of her own car. He went around to open the passenger door of the Humvee for that Ferrell bitch. The guy kissed her, then remained where he was and watched the two women enter the toy shop together.

  Bullard’s heart started to beat faster. Wait! He’s not going in with them? He’s staying outside in the car? O-kay! This cluster fuck of a plan just might work after all! Oh, fuck! Just in time he managed to turn his head away and continue driving at his leisurely pace as the bodyguard turned his head to scan the street. Bullard drove three additional blocks down through the center of town before doubling back to the beginning of the block where Granny Grace’s stores were located. He drove down the alley and pulled behind the toy shop, parking just outside the back door. Then, thrusting his hands in his pants pockets, he walked around the corner of the building and approached the main entrance to Granny Grace’s Tea Shoppe. He stopped at the reception desk just inside the oak double doors.

  “May I help you, Sir?” a pleasant female voice asked. A pretty brunette wearing an old-fashioned high-necked blouse and a black floor-length skirt was standing behind the hostess stand.

  “Oh, I certainly hope so”—he glanced at her name tag—“Naomi.” Putting on his most charming smile, he leaned forward as if about to impart a confidence. “I need your help. I want to make dinner reservations for eight-thirty this evening. Name’s Halliwell. Ben Halliwell. I want a very special table”—he leaned even further toward the pleasant-looking young woman and lowered his voice to just above a whisper—“you see, I’m planning to propose to my girlfriend.”

  “Oh, sir, congratulations!” Naomi gave him a bright smile. “I’ll see to it that you get our alcove table—it’s our most secluded.” He watched her enter the fake reservation into her computer. “There. You’re all set.”

  “Oh, thank you, Naomi. Viveca will be thrilled. Now.” He placed one forearm on the counter and leaned in, a move that brought his face down to her level. “I could use your help with another matter. I would like to get her something from the toy shop, you know, kind of like a gag gift to give her along with the engagement ring? Only, this is my only chance to get it. She’s waiting for me out in the car. Is there a way into the toy shop from here without having to go outside? I don’t want her to see me going over there.”

  “Sure,” the hostess said, pointing to a wide, curtained doorway. “Just go through there, past the employees lounge and the restrooms. The door at the end of the hall emerges into an enclosed breezeway that will take you right into the main showroom.”

  “Oh, thank you so much.” Bullard took her hand, pressing a piece of folded paper into it. “You’ve been most kind. I can’t wait to bring Vivian here tonight.”

  Naomi’s smile dimmed a notch. “I thought you said her name was Viveca.”

  He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Sorry, I still get those two mixed up. Twin sisters,” he confided, giving her a wink. “Still have trouble keeping them apart. We joke about it all the time. Thanks for all your help.”

  With an odd sense of disquiet, Naomi watched him stride silently across the patterned carpet toward the doorway that would take him into the toy store. Except for that one slip of the tongue, Mr. Ben Halliwell had done and said all the right things, but there was just something about him that rubbed her the wrong way. She felt sorry for Viveca or Vivian or whatever his girlfriend’s name was. Then she looked down at the paper he’d given her. It was a hundred dollar bill.

  Back pressed against the wall, John Bullard drew his Glock out of his shoulder holster and cautiously opened the door just a crack. The only thing that he could see through the slit was the back wall of the toy emporium, with its geometric display of floggers, whips, and other instruments venerated by the world of kink. Pushing the door open a little bit farther, he could see the long, double-sided display counter. Nobody was behind it, but he could hear female voices talking. They seemed to be coming from the far end of the store. He stepped through the door into the shop. Crouching down, pistol leading the way, he wound his way through a maze of stands and revolving racks, heading toward the voices. There were three of them, as far as he could make out, but he still couldn’t see who they belonged to. Until he approached a row of doors along the wall to his left. Dressing rooms. The three voices seemed to be coming from one of them. The middle door opened abruptly, startling him, and a woman exited, looking back over her shoulder and saying, “I’ll get that one for you.” But that was all she said as he leaped forward and clapped his hand over her mouth, dragging her back against him, jamming the pistol against her temple. Placing his mouth directly over her ear, he whispered, “Don’t make a sound, bitch, or you’re fucking dead. Clear?”

  Eyes wide with terror, she nodded.

  Pocketing the pistol, he shifted her in his arms and wrapped his hand around her neck, feeling for her carotid artery on one side and jugular vein on the other with his fingertips and thumb, a handy trick he’d learned from one of Righetti’s wise guys. Then he squeezed. Within seconds she slumped, unconscious in his arms. He dragged her into one of the empty dressing rooms and dropped her unceremoniously onto the floor before the middle door opened again partway and a female voice called, “Sharon?”

  Bullard froze. It wasn’t Ferrell. So it had to be the blond he’d seen with Ferrell.

  “Sharon? Bring that sapphire blue dress, too.” She giggled. “You know, the one with the really low back? I think I finally managed to talk Kylie into trying it on. And if she doesn’t, I will.” There was a pause and Bullard used it to creep silently behind the door just as it opened and the petite woman he’d seen in the parking lot stepped out. “Sharon? You out here? Where’d you go?”

  She didn’t have a chance to find out as Bullard immediately grabbed her from behind, as he had Sharon, giving her the same neck pinch and rendering her instantly unconscious. Knowing the women were likely to wake up any second now, he stepped into the dressing room. The Ferrell bitch had just enough time to glance up and recognize him. He watched as her eyes filled with panic and she drew in a breath to scream, but a hard punch to the jaw knocked her head back against the mirror, so hard it cracked the glass. Immediately her legs buckled. Fortunately he caught her before she crumpled to the floor, shoving his shoulder into her stomach and lifting her in an awkward fireman’s carry. Christ, she weighs a ton!

  He staggered out of the dressing room, stepped over the unconscious blonde and made his way toward the back of the building. Fortunately, there was no alarm on the back door. He unlocked it, s
tepped through and down a short flight of concrete steps to his waiting car.

  Popping the trunk, he just dumped her unceremoniously inside. He needed to get to a secluded place before he could tie her up and keep her from any attention-getting schemes, like kicking out the tail lights or something. But right now, he had to get away from here before one of those bitches inside sounded the alarm and he was spotted. Skin crawling with fear, he drove down the alley, ignoring every instinct honed over twenty years as a homicide detective to gun the engine and get the hell out of there. He drove sedately, like a ninety-year-old grandmother, his skin clammy and cold with the fear of being discovered and stopped before he had a chance to give that Ferrell bitch the unpleasant death she deserved.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The opening door caught Ash’s attention. He turned his head just in time to see Leah stagger outside, a look of utter panic on her face. “Leah!” he yelled, sprinting toward her, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and punching Caleb’s number. He caught her just before she collapsed onto the porch floor. “Oh, my God! Leah, what is it? What happened?”

  “Yeah, Ash?” Caleb said, but Ash didn’t hear him. His heart was hammering so loudly in his ears, it sounded like thunder. Going down to one knee, he cradled Leah in his arm, gently tapping the side of her jaw to try and stimulate her. “Leah. Leah! Wake up!” Every instinct he had was screaming at him to get the fuck inside the store and find out what happened to Kylie, but his best friend’s woman needed help right here, right now, and they were all sworn to look after each other’s women as if they were their own.. “Leah, sweetie, wake up! Where’s Kylie?”