by Lainey Reese
He felt her smile where her cheek rested on his chest.
“I love what you do to me. Everything you do to me.” Her hesitant whisper was like a shot of whiskey, filling his gut with warmth and his head with all sorts of ideas.
“I was hoping we could take our time together here to turn things up a notch or two.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, lifting up a little to look him in the eye.
“Well, the guys I was talking to at lunch today are Doms. Like me.” She jolted. “Well, not exactly. They are into a lot of stuff that I haven’t felt the need to explore. Yet.” He cupped her beloved face and stroked his thumb over one silken cheek. “I’d like to explore some of those things here. It’ll be new for you. I’ve been to clubs before, but you haven’t. So, we won’t take this step until you are a hundred percent ready for it. I mean it, Shy. Don’t just say yes because you wanna please me. That’ll just piss me off. I want you to think about it and only say yes if you are completely sold on the idea.”
“Well,” she told him, and he could see her taking him seriously and actually thinking it through. “What exactly are we talking here? You told me you weren’t into whips and chains and that the clubs weren’t your scene. Has that changed?”
“No,” he started, smiling at the memory. “I haven’t changed my mind. See, for a lot of the people in the club scene, it’s about protocol. Calling me Sir and shit like that. Most of the subs have to kneel and can’t make eye contact. A lot of—I don’t know… To me it looks like play acting and dress up. So, yeah. I’m still not into that. Or into anything that would cause you pain. Tonight, however, we’re going to skirt that stuff and explore the parts of it that I am into.”
She nodded. “Okay. That makes sense. Wait. You’re not talking like, wife swap or orgies are you?” Her face fell and she blurted, “You’re not going to try to make me watch you with another woman, are you?”
“Oh God, no!” His own horror matched hers. “No, Shy. Never. You know you’re it for me. And God help the poor bastard who tries to lay a hand on you.”
Her relief was so evident she simply melted over him with it.
“Thank the lord,” she told him. “You had me scared for a minute there.” Then she knocked the wind right out of him when she added, “As long as that’s straightened out, you know you can do anything to me that you want. You know I trust you. And I’ve loved everything so far so, yeah. Bring it.”
“I’m one damn lucky bastard, you know that?” He kissed the crown of her head and she squeezed him back in response. “So, full disclosure. If we go along for the full night’s plans, it’ll mean sex in front of other people. And them having sex in front of us too. No touching, obviously, and not like all mashed together. We’ll have our own station to play in, but people will be watching.”
She was still as she mulled that over. “Are you okay with that, Faulkner? Having other men see me naked? Watching you take me?”
“I’m glad you asked, honey.” He rubbed her back and lower until he had a handful of her juicy ass. “If it were in a different setting? Hell no. Not at all. But in a club that’s designated specifically for BDSM? Yeah. Because in there, it’s like another world. The people who are in the scene don’t look at sex and nudity the same way as the rest of the world. For them, it’s about embracing our natures and who we are. It’s about having a safe place to explore your desires, free of limits and free of judgments.”
He felt her nod as she took that in.
“I can see that,” she said, surprising him. “What? I’m in love with a Dom. You think I didn’t hit the Internet and do some research? I had to know what I was getting myself into.”
When he chuckled and shook his head, the grin she shot him was pure mischief.
“Like I said. As long as you and me are only going to touch and be touched by you and me, I’m good.”
A look that had his cock twitching came over her face and she clasped her hands behind his neck. Slowly, so he felt the press and drag of her breasts over his chest and the columns of her supple thighs as they slid over his, she pulled herself up his body so she could whisper in his ear, “I’m very curious about flogging. Just so you know.”
Then she slipped out of his arms and out of reach. As she walked away, she taunted him using her most sultry voice. “Your mouth is open, honey.”
Chapter 3
No one paid any attention to the slim young man in the blue coveralls. He looked innocuous and commonplace as he made his way through the busy building toward the warren of staff-only hallways leading to the boiler room. He kept his head down and talked to no one, even pretended to not understand English when a woman stopped and asked for directions to the bathrooms.
It was crucial to his plan—to their plan—that he go undetected as long as possible. Miguel Delgado was only seventeen years old and on the small side. His mother had drilled into him how important it was to use those things to his advantage during this crucial step in their mission.
“You must not get caught, Miguelito.” His mother’s face, wan and ravaged from hate-fueled grief, implored him even in her absence. “You disguise yourself as a worker, and get to the heart of that building. Act like you belong there and everyone will believe that you do.”
“I still think I should just look like a kid the whole time, Ma. Nobody pays attention to kids.”
He should know. Not even she had noticed him really, until both his older brothers had been taken away from her. Invisibility had become his superpower. At only five-three and barely over a hundred pounds, he could still get into movies at kid’s prices. He slipped easily through crowds and had become an adept pickpocket. Because even when people notice their missing wallets, the sweet-faced, clean-cut kid in scuffed jeans and a baseball cap was the last person anyone would suspect.
His ability to pass himself off as a ten-year-old had helped him get away with everything, all the way up to grand theft auto. All he had to do was remember to not panic if shit got real and someone caught on. Just be a kid, he’d remind himself. More than once, he’d ditched a car and jumped on a swing in a playground while the stupid cops whizzed right past him.
This time, he was banking on his looks to help him get away with murder.
He had to get past this part first. Ma had warned him this was going to be the hardest. He couldn’t grow a beard or even develop a five o’clock shadow, so he’d stolen one from a costume store. It looked fake as hell to him, but his mother had told him as long as he kept his head down and walked like he belonged there and knew where he was going, no one would notice.
So far, she’d been right. He had a wig too, also stolen. Miguel liked his hair close cut so he didn’t have to bother with washing or combing it, but he and his mother had agreed that people would remember him more clearly if he was well groomed. Instead, the wig was black and shaggy. Not overly long for a man, but it framed his face and helped conceal the shape of his features.
At least, that was what Ma had told him. She was smart. Smarter than the reporters back home had given her credit for when they’d come to interview her about his brothers.
Carlos, the oldest, had been the first to die. Shot down in cold blood by the police as he and his friends had tried to escape. Sure, they’d rigged a bomb to some stupid girl and were using her as their shield, but what else were they supposed to do? How else could they have gotten away? The cops had had them surrounded and trapped in that fucking store. If things had gone as planned, Carlos and his buddies would’ve just robbed the place, taken what they wanted and gone on their way. Nobody had to get hurt. The cops were supposed to protect and serve. Everybody. Not just the people who paid their taxes and shit, but all people. Instead, they’d shot his brother down like a dog and Miguel’s life hadn’t been the same since.
The grief and outrage had been felt by more than just him. Even the media had understood and they’d done all these interviews with his family and the families of the other guys who had been killed
too. At first, the news had told the truth. They had done exposés on police brutality and racism—even though Carlos had been the only non-white guy in his gang, Miguel guessed he would’ve probably been spared if he’d been white, seeing as how he was the leader.
At least, that was what Ma said.
The whole city had been behind them at first, and there had been candlelight vigils and flowers from all over the state. People knew justice hadn’t been served that day and for once, they weren’t keeping quiet. The problem was, other than bitching in the news, nobody was doing anything about it. The cops who pulled the trigger never even got investigated as the shooting was termed justified and the slut who had gotten them shot got away scot-free. That asshole SEAL had saved her and disarmed the bomb, so Carlos’s last act before he’d been gunned down had been stolen from him.
Javier, his other brother, had been pissed. Pissed off at the cops and the stupid slut and her SEAL. He had gone to every vigil and rally to try and make a difference, try to make somebody do something to make those responsible pay for the lives they’d taken. But nobody had listened. Not to him and not to the others who protested with him.
Only one person had understood his family’s rage, shared it with them. Alicia had also lost a brother that day, and from the first time she and Javier met at one of the rallies, they had fallen hard for each other.
When the media got tired of their story and let it fade away, Javier and Alicia hatched a plan and took matters into their own hands. They set out to get the revenge their brothers deserved. They had almost gotten away with it too.
Kidnapping the same stupid bitch and a couple of her friends thrown in for distraction had been a brilliant plan. Until it had backfired.
Now Miguel’s mother had lost two sons. Javier was still alive, but he was in jail and might as well be dead too. Twenty to life, they’d given him. Twenty to life for what? Nobody had even died that time. Sure, if their plan had worked, every single person in that apartment building would have died in the blast, not in vain. Their sacrifice would have been the starting point of a whole new era of change. A testament to the lives that had been lost to police brutality and cover-ups.
As far as Miguel’s Ma was concerned, they should have given him a medal, not a life behind bars.
Miguel’s anger simmered low and hot in his gut as he pulled out the employee key card he’d lifted from one of the maintenance men. He hoped the guy hadn’t reported it lost yet. If it had been, he’d just steal a new one but that would be a delay. And his Ma had told him, delays only led to mistakes.
Get in and get the fuck out.
When the little light flashed green and he heard the lock click, Miguel felt vindicated, as though getting in so easy was a sign that he was on the right path. He was careful to shut the door behind him when he entered the hall, then pulled his phone from his pocket. He shot a quick text home.
Im in.
See? I told you. Its your brother looking out for you from above.
As he slid the phone back into his pocket, he made his way down the halls. Ma had made him memorize the blueprints of this building until he saw them in his sleep. He could’ve made his way there blindfolded without missing a turn.
When his Ma had seen in the papers that the SEAL and his slut were going to New York City so he could be hailed as a hero, she had been so pissed she’d screamed until her voice broke. The guy was here to teach, for fuck’s sake—teach cops how to deactivate bombs and kill innocent people. Ma knew then that it was time. Time to send Miguel, her youngest, out to seek revenge for them all.
And in this city, on a scale as big as this? The whole world would be watching and they’d see. Miguel was going to make them all see what happened when you messed with the Delgados.
“Do you think my hair looks all right?” Cheyenne asked as she fussed in the mirror. Since Riley and Terryn were taking her sightseeing tomorrow, they had thought it would be a good idea if everybody got together for dinner tonight as a sort of ice breaker. Before the kinky festivities began.
She’d come a long way from the slightly insecure woman she’d been before Dude had come into her life. Having the love of a man so handsome and compelling did wonders for self-esteem. Wherever they went together, heads would turn, male and female. It gave her confidence a real boost, because she never felt they were mismatched. In every way, he treated her as an equal and the people who saw them together did too. She never got the feeling that people were wondering what a hot hunk of man was doing with her, so after a while, she’d quit wondering too.
But the real game-changer for Shy had been the love of his friends.
Shy had tried her whole life to figure out why her own mother and sister had never loved her. Until she’d met Faulkner and the people who came with him, she’d internalized the pain and rejection, accepting the fault must somehow lie within her.
Faulkner’s SEAL team was as tight as brothers and the women they loved, sisters. In one fell swoop, Cheyenne had gone from isolated loner to part of a loud, close-knit family. The women had embraced her from the very first night and she loved them as fiercely as if they were sisters in truth. And being a part of that, a member of a family that loved unconditionally, had abolished a lifetime of self-doubts.
Once in a while, though, old habits would creep up. When Faulkner had told her about the women’s offer, she’d had to fight back her first response—to decline and go alone—and instead opened herself up to the possibility of new friends and seeing the city from the eyes of locals.
“It looks beautiful.” Dude wrapped his arms around her from behind, placing a sweet kiss on the back of her neck, which sent chills racing down her spine. “Everything about you is beautiful to me. Always.” She saw him lean back so he could take a more thorough look, then he added, “I like all those fat curls. How do you get them to stay put like that?” When he lifted a hand to try and find the answer for himself, Shy ducked under his arm and away before he could touch.
“It’s a girl secret.” She teased him with her hands lifted to ward him off. “If I told you, they’d kick me out of the club and make me give my vagina back.”
That surprised a full-bellied laugh out of him that lasted long enough for her to make her getaway to the suite’s living room. When he followed, she made sure to keep the coffee table between them in case he got it in his head to try again.
“Seriously,” she said with echoes of her own laughter still in her voice. “It may look like I just threw it up last second because I didn’t want to bother. But you were here the whole time. I know you heard me cursing and grumbling the entire hour it took me to get it to look like this.” With hands on her hips, she glared at him. “Don’t even think of touching it and ruining all my hard work.”
A challenge of any kind wasn’t easy for her man to turn away from, but when she threw down a gauntlet, Faulkner never failed to rise to the occasion. However, he also knew she was nervous about this evening so she was almost sure he wouldn’t touch. Almost.
To up her odds, she diverted his attention. “What about the dress? You think this is okay for tonight? Not too much black? Should I add a scarf or some jewelry?”
The dress was new. It was a cool brisk night so she’d chosen a sweater dress, solid black and long sleeved. It was saved from being too severe by the deep vee in both the front and back, showcasing her average cleavage and magically transforming it to well above average.
She loved the skirt too—it flared with her steps and was so responsive she hadn’t been able to resist a girl-like swirl when she’d first put it on. Paired with some killer red pumps and she felt like a million bucks.
Cheyenne felt a flush of pleasure when Faulkner took his sweet time to look her over thoroughly. “Don’t change a single fucking thing.”
“Thanks.” She lowered her eyes and rocked back on her heels a bit. “You look pretty damn hot yourself, there.”
Boy, did he ever. Dressed in designer jeans and a gray silk dress shirt,
he looked good enough to eat.
“You keep looking at me like that, Shy,” he said in his deep sexy as hell voice, “and we’re not leaving this room.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that actually sounded like a plan she could work with but the shrill ring of the hotel room phone broke the sexual tension like a splash of icy water, so she answered it instead.
“Hello?” Shy tried not to giggle as Faulkner glowered and crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Oh, thank you. Tell them we’ll be right down.”
Their hotel was home to one of the finest and most sought-after chefs in New York City. It had come as a pleasant surprise, and she and Faulkner had agreed readily when the others asked if they wouldn’t mind eating in the hotel’s restaurant tonight.
“Too late to back out now.” What felt like a thousand frogs doing the Irish step dance in her belly brought an anxious sweat to her palms and a tingle to the back of her neck. “Or is it?” she added, only half joking.
Faulkner shook his head in mock disappointment and even pursed his lips. “What would Alabama and Summer say if they could see you now? Tryin’ to chicken out.”
He tsked at her for emphasis and it worked. The steel came back to her spine at the mention of some of the other girls among their friends. Cheyenne’s momentary nerves disappeared as fast as they’d come.
“Just kidding. Kinda,” she added, because who was trying to fool? Dude saw through her to the bone. When it came to the woman he loved, he didn’t miss even the smallest detail.
One of the many reasons she loved him back.
Shy walked into the dining room on Faulkner’s left, clinging to his scarred and damaged hand like it was her lifeline. Because it was. His hand served as a daily reminder to her. If he could face what he had done to earn those scars and live to tell the tale, then anything she had to face would be a cakewalk in comparison.