by Avery Aster
He froze.
Jett wasn’t sure what was holding him back. She wanted him and he wanted her.
Maybe that was the problem. He wanted Carissa, his best friend—but she wanted a stranger, not Jett. If she’d wanted him, she would have told him about her interest in the dungeon. She wouldn’t have snuck away from the hotel room after he’d left.
He was going to take her. Jett had never been more certain of anything in his life.
But by God, she was going to know it was him before he did so.
He pulled away, then realized he hadn’t bothered to put on a condom. It hadn’t even occurred to him, though he’d never had sex without one. He didn’t want to put anything between him and Carissa, but that was another decision she needed to be a part of.
Carissa shook her head. “No, please. Don’t stop.”
Her quiet, anguished plea was almost his undoing.
Almost.
He dug the key to the cuffs out of his pocket and released her hands. Before she had time to register her freedom, he gripped her upper arm and lifted her. Then he helped her stand.
Jett’s chest tightened, but he didn’t let fear hold him back, stop him from doing what he knew was right. He couldn’t take this decision away from her.
Her skirt fell back into place and he was somewhat shocked to realize that both of them were—more or less—fully dressed. He was also painfully aroused and teetering on the edge of losing all control. And the fact that Carissa was completely covered didn’t change that. God help him when he got her clothes off.
She was unsteady, struggling to find her footing when he used his grip on her arm to turn her toward him. As she lifted her gaze to his face, he pulled off the mask.
Her eyes widened when she realized it was him. “Jett?”
He nodded. “I wanted you to see the man who’s going to take you tonight, Rissa.”
She shook her head slowly. Jett didn’t think the response was a refusal as much as disbelief. She didn’t speak. Instead her eyes traveled along his body, not stopping until she found his cock, still painfully erect and pointing directly at her. He didn’t bother to hide it from her. He wanted her to understand exactly how much he desired her—not a stranger, not a faceless submissive. Just her.
When her eyes met his again, he read the confusion, then the resignation.
It was his turn to shake his head. “You’re not going to say no.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“This is going to happen, Rissa.”
His beautiful, strong-willed friend reappeared with a vengeance, her haughty face scowling at him. The way she threw back her shoulders alerted him that she was about to unleash one hell of a Carissa-style put down. The angry look only sent more blood rushing to his filled-to-capacity cock.
“No, Jett. No way.”
He reached for her wrist. Cupping her hand in his, he forced her fingers around his cock. “Feel that, Rissa. That’s yours. From now on, it’s only yours.”
She kept her grip loose, fighting to free her hand from his grasp. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”
He applied more pressure to his hand, giving her no choice as he ran her palm up and down his aching flesh. “Yours,” he repeated. “And not just for tonight or this week.”
“Red.”
He released her instantly, watching with regret as her hand fell back to her side. She was obviously surprised by his quick response.
A Dom always respected the safe word.
She took a step away and he allowed it. Carissa was a thinker. He couldn’t force the issue or she’d shut down. She needed time to consider what he wanted.
She stepped to the right and he read the retreat on her face.
“You can leave for now. But remember what I said. Red only stops the play temporarily so that we can talk about it. This conversation isn’t over.”
She didn’t bother to deny him. Carissa was sensible enough to recognize the truth, to understand what was inevitable.
She nodded once. Then left quickly. He watched her departure, making certain she made it out of the dungeon without being bothered. Then he slowly tucked his hard cock away carefully.
He was in for a long fucking night.
* * *
Carissa walked along the beach. She’d left the dungeon nearly an hour earlier. It was close to two a.m., which meant twenty-four hours had passed since she’d seen a bed and sleep. She should be exhausted, but adrenaline kept her going.
When she’d first escaped Jett, she went straight outside to the ocean, her thoughts racing a million miles a minute, taking a thousand different twists and turns. Now, she was numb. And she was left with some hard facts to face.
Her best friend was a Dom and he wanted her.
After the initial freaking out died down, Carissa was forced to acknowledge another truth—she wanted him too. Which was stupid and impractical. It was a relationship that was destined for failure. She and Jett were too different. He was worldly and intelligent. He’d traveled to countless countries, dated exotic, interesting women, and grown up in a house filled with love and a family that cared about him deeply.
Meanwhile, she was the woman who’d spent her entire life behind the counter of a shitty bar in New Orleans, working her ass off in hopes of earning two seconds’ worth of attention from a father who viewed her as nothing more than free labor. She couldn’t spell to save her soul and the only books she’d ever read from cover to cover were Jett’s, though she’d never admitted that to him.
When life had handed them lemons, Jett had taken his and turned them into a New York Times bestselling recipe for lemonade. She’d merely chopped hers up, stuck them on a sugar-rimmed glass of vodka and served them to a bunch of rednecks, frat boys on spring break, and drunk-ass tourists.
She needed to head back to the hotel, but she couldn’t face the idea of returning to the room. Jett was expecting a conversation, probably one with answers. She had none.
Carissa sighed. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t spend the rest of the week avoiding the room. She’d simply go back and tell him she needed some time to think. Maybe she could stall until they got off this island. Surely things would return to normal once they got back into the swing of their everyday lives in New Orleans and broke free of whatever freaky-deeky spell Eden had cast on them.
She turned toward the castle, deciding to walk along the tree line instead of the water’s edge. She didn’t feel like dodging waves in the dark or trudging through the fancy lobby with wet feet.
She was still a fair distance away when she saw something under one of the palm trees. It appeared to be someone reclined in a beach chair. Maybe this person was trying to avoid their hotel room as well.
Unfortunately, the moon cast weird, creepy shadows, making everything seem more menacing than it would be in bright sunshine. She approached the motionless person—a man she could see now—concerned by his utter stillness and his unusual position in the chair.
Then warning bells sounded and she realized it was pretty stupid of her to approach a stranger alone in the dark. She’d continue on to the castle and let the night clerk know there was someone out here.
She’d only taken a single step when the clouds covering the moon dispersed and the beach brightened with more light. She looked at the body once more.
“Fuck,” she whispered when a moonbeam shone down, allowing her to see the man more clearly.
He was dead.
Chapter Four
The man’s body was bound to the lounge chair, his arms handcuffed to the frame above his head. His legs were sprawled open, hanging over the edges, his pants and shirt open. Blood covered his chest and legs, but that wasn’t the most horrifying part as her gaze traveled to his face. It was contorted in pain, even after death
And stuffed in the man’s mouth, was his penis.
Carissa started to scream, but a hand was placed over her mouth, cutting off the sound. She went into full-fight mode,
driving her elbow back into the stomach of her attacker.
“Easy, Rissa,” Jett said. “It’s me. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
She pulled his hand away from her mouth, wheeling on him. “You scared the fuck out of me, you jackass!”
He gestured toward the body. “You were a little preoccupied.”
“Gee, ya think?”
Jett shushed her, his voice lowered. “I’m sorry I scared you, but I didn’t want you to scream. The killer could still be around here.”
Leave it to Jett to see a dead body and think completely rationally. “Writing those murder mysteries has left you twisted. That poor man has been killed!”
He grimaced. “Yeah. I see that. But I’d like to make sure we don’t end up the same way.”
She swallowed heavily and nodded. When she spoke again, she made sure to whisper. “I get that. I just…I’ve never seen…”
Jett wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight. She didn’t bother to deny to herself how safe she felt there. “I know. It’s okay.”
Twisting slowly, she stayed close to him as she looked at the dead man once more. She steeled herself for what she would see, then recognition dawned.
“Jett. It’s—”
“Gregory. It looks like he pissed someone off.”
She nodded slowly. “From what I could tell, he pissed off everyone in the dungeon tonight. You and me included.”
Jett tightened his grip on her, keeping his arms wrapped around her waist, her back pressed to his chest. “Yeah. But there’s a difference between wanting to kick a man’s ass for being a prick and this. Someone really had it in for the guy.”
Carissa shivered, her body trembling roughly. “It got cold out, didn’t it?”
“Shit. No. It’s still warm. Come on. We need to report this, then get you a stiff drink and into bed. I think you’re going into shock.”
She tried to laugh. She wasn’t the kind of woman to flip out over much of anything. “I’m f-fine.” No doubt her reassurance would have sounded more convincing if her damn teeth hadn’t started chattering.
Jett wrapped a strong arm around her and escorted her back to the castle quickly. Once there, he led her to the front desk where he requested to see the manager.
“Is there something wrong?”
Jett nodded. “Yes, there is. It’s vital that we talk to the person in charge.” Carissa noticed he didn’t tell the clerk about the dead body. Maybe he’d decided it would be better to report the murder to the manager.
The clerk studied them closely, taking in Jett’s scowl and Carissa’s trembling. Then he picked up the phone and quietly spoke to someone on the other end. Jett was surprised when the man instructed them to take the elevator to an office on the top floor. “The master of the island is expecting you.”
Jett and Carissa got on the elevator, their movements almost mechanical. She was starting to feel like a zombie.
“Master of the island?” she whispered.
She and Jett had discussed the rumors surrounding the billionaire recluse who owned Eden. The man was a bit of a celebrity, despite the fact very few people had ever seen him. On the rare occasions he had been spotted, he was always wearing a mask that hid his face, which, of course, encouraged the tabloids to splatter the covers of their rags with fresh rounds of speculation regarding the man’s appearance, his disdain for society and what skeletons he was hiding in his closet. Over the years, rumors had included everything from accusing the man of being a murderer on the run to a Russian spy to a recluse like Michael Jackson.
When they arrived at the door, Jett lifted his hand and knocked. A deep voice bid them to enter.
Carissa squinted in the dimly lit room. The curtains were drawn, keeping out any light that would have been provided by the moon. A single candle illuminated the large office, which meant they were essentially standing in the dark.
A rustling sound came from one of the corners and Carissa could just make out the silhouette of a man sitting behind a desk.
“Is there a problem?”
Jett had taken Carissa’s hand before they entered the room and he hadn’t released it. She was grateful for it now when she heard the master’s deep, gravelly voice.
Jett remained where he was rather than attempting to move closer.
“There’s been a murder.”
If they’d expected some sort of alarm or concern from the man, they would have been disappointed. “I see.”
Carissa waited for him to ask more questions, but none came. She took a small step forward. “We met the man who was killed, tonight in the dungeon. I believe his name was Gregory. Someone tied him to a lounge chair, stabbed him, cut off his—” She stopped, embarrassed.
“Someone cut his cock off and stuffed it in his mouth,” Jett finished for her.
Again, the master remained silent for several moments. Then he lifted the phone on his desk. “Roan? I need to see you in my office immediately.”
Jett frowned. “Shouldn’t you call the cops?”
The master didn’t move. Carissa was tempted to take another step toward the desk, curious about the man, his face, his over-the-top need for complete privacy. Jett must have sensed her intention because he clasped her hand tighter and held her back.
“There isn’t an official police force on the island. I have a security team who deals with any issues that arise. Sadly, the head of that team is stranded in Miami. A rather nasty storm front has moved in on the East Coast. It’s halted air travel to and from the southern part of Florida and my man isn’t able to get back. At least not for a day or two. Maybe more.”
“But there’s a murderer on the island!” Carissa was unnerved by the man’s utter calm.
“That is unfortunate.”
Carissa started to blast the man for his callous attitude, but before she could speak, there was a knock on the door.
“Enter,” the master commanded.
Roan stepped into the office. Like Jett, he stopped just a few feet inside the door, not venturing any closer to the man behind the desk. “You wanted to see me?”
The master raised his hand to Jett, clearly indicating he wanted him to explain. Jett efficiently recapped their evening, telling Roan about Gregory’s murder, where the body was, and the way the man had been killed.
“You know this man, Roan?” the master asked.
Roan nodded. “He’s a guest on the island. Arrived today. I was leery about letting him play in the dungeon, but his father is a highly positioned foreign diplomat and he had proof of membership in an elite D.C. sex club. I let him in against my better judgment and had him escorted out an hour later. I suspected you’d called me up here because he had lodged a complaint. Didn’t expect to hear he’d been murdered.”
The master slowly tapped a pen on his desk, the light pounding the only sound in the silent room.
“Um, hello? A man has been killed. And even if he was a gigantic prick, it’s a little more than ‘unfortunate’.” Carissa’s tone was downright hostile, but she was annoyed by the utter lack of compassion in the room.
“I apologize if I seem cold, Ms. Pierre. However, it is imperative that we handle things carefully tonight. As I said, everyone on this island is essentially stranded here until the storm passes. I would prefer not to start a widespread panic should the guests realize there is a killer amongst them. Do you understand?”
Carissa nodded. “Of course I do.”
“Roan, please have three of the security guards retrieve the body. Tell them to be careful when transporting it, so they don’t compromise any of the evidence.”
“Where should they move the body?” Roan asked.
“To the infirmary. I’ll call Dr. Magdalene and inform her they’ll be there shortly.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Roan started to leave, but the master called him back.
“Roan. One moment. How many people saw you kick Gregory out of the club tonight?”
Roan considered the questio
n. “There were three, maybe four members at the exit when I had my men escort him out.”
“Did Gregory go quietly?”
Roan shook his head. “He was shouting, cursing, threatening to have me fired.”
“Then you’re a suspect.”
Roan didn’t seem surprised or bothered by that fact. “I suppose I am.”
“I’ll take care of that issue. You may leave.”
Roan bowed his head before leaving them alone with the master once more.
Carissa shuddered slightly. She was starting to feel as if she were in the middle of a Godfather movie. She kept waiting for the master to peel off some Mission Impossible-style mask to reveal himself as Michael Corleone, ready to give someone the kiss of death.
She snorted, covering her mouth quickly. Unfortunately, it was too late, her brief laugh completely inappropriate for the situation. She looked over at Jett, who appeared confused, but amused, by her untimely giggle.
The master—mercifully—ignored the sound. “You are a crime writer, Mr. Lewis. Is that correct?”
Jett nodded. “Yes.”
“I suspect you’ve conducted research on the criminal mind, studied the details surrounding murder scenes and the like to help you write your novels.”
“I have.”
The master stood, walking to the curtained window behind him. Carissa found herself hoping he would draw the heavy material back to allow some of the moonlight to hit his face. He didn’t.
“I intend to hide the fact there’s been a murder. When life goes on as normal tomorrow, when no crime is announced, the killer will realize we’ve covered it up. He will be suspicious of anyone who is a member of my staff and therefore on guard. You and Ms. Pierre said you met the victim in the dungeon tonight. It appears Gregory made quite a spectacle of himself there, so perhaps that would be a good place to launch an investigation. We need to sniff this man out.”
“Why do you keep referring to the killer as a man? Gregory had his,” Carissa hesitated, then said, “penis cut off and stuffed in his mouth. That feels like a crime of passion to me. The work of a woman scorned.”