by Jane Henry
I fill him in quickly and I know he gets me when he mutters under his breath, “Motherfucker. She’s lucky you let her come here tonight.”
“She does not need to lose weight,” Diana says, her eyes flashing at the lady with the pins and measuring tape. “God, I could weigh her on the produce scale at the supermarket. She’s a damn yoga instructor and the most beautiful woman I know. We ordered according to your size chart, and it’s not her fault it doesn’t fit!”
Tobias is already on his feet, Chad blinking in surprise. “Diana,” Tobias says warningly, but before Diana says anything else, Beatrice speaks up.
She huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, no. I know the size I wear, and dieting is not happening. Get me the next size up.”
“There’s no time!” the woman protests, her lips tight and eyes narrowed. “I’m simply suggesting you cut out a few carbs for the next week, so the zipper zips.”
Beatrice’s cheeks pink and she points her finger at the woman. I’m watching this, prepared to step in if necessary, but I like that my woman can defend herself. She’s submissive to me, and me only, but she can hold her own. “No. Order me the next size up.”
“There is no time!”
“Then we pick out another dress,” Diana says. Beatrice looks at her and raises her brow, and I don’t know what kinda conversation they’re having in silence, but they know each other so well, it happens. There are nods and shrugs and then finally Diana turns to the woman. “The sheath we tried on last time. The off-the-shoulder baby blue one.”
“I don’t know if that’s still in stock,” the woman says, and doesn’t move. Unbelievable.
Beatrice smiles benevolently. “Oh, that’s easily remedied though, isn’t it? You just have to go look. Or if you’d prefer me to go to your manager and ask…”
The woman straightens and shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary,” she says, and she stalks away. Beatrice looks at me and rolls her eyes. Diana and Tobias have a hushed conversation. He comes back to me and sits next to me.
“Our girls can handle shit,” he says, a note of pride in his voice. I like that. Our girls.
“Damn right they can.” I snort. “Diet. I can pick her up with one hand and not even break a sweat.”
“I bet.”
“Why do you pick her up?” Chad asks, his brows puckering.
Tobias ruffles his hair. “He didn’t say he does, he just said he can.”
Chad frowns, thinks, then nods. “Got it.” He goes back to his book.
Tobias fills me in on what’s going on at Verge, and I hear a rustling but don’t pay attention until I hear Beatrice clear her throat.
I look up and the world fades away from me. The woman found the dress. Beatrice is wearing it, and I’m unprepared for how it makes me feel.
It fits her perfectly, revealing her creamy, shapely shoulders, fitted around her bust, some kinda neckline that makes her look like a princess, the pale blue somehow making her eyes look brighter. She’s a vision. A dream.
Fucking mine.
I don’t even know I’m on my feet until I’m walking to her. “This works for you?” Beatrice asks Diana.
Works for me.
I reach out to her and wrap my hand around the back of her neck, right in front of the woman with the measuring tape. She’s watching me, but I want her to know this is happening, that she’s mine, and if she fucking gives her shit we’re done here.
“You look gorgeous, baby,” I say, my voice a heated rumble.
Her blue eyes light up like the clouds breaking through the sky on a summer day.
“Then it’s done,” Diana says, clapping her hands. “Yes!”
“Time to go home, now,” I say.
Beatrice looks at Diana. “But we were going to pick out shoes—”
I shake my head once.
Diana nods. “Go with Zack. He’ll keep you safe and find out what’s going on. We can get shoes another day,” she says quietly. Beatrice gives her a hug, and I go sit down and wait for Beatrice to change again.
“Gotta make that woman yours, man,” Tobias says, telling me what I already know
“I know it.”
“She won’t agree? Still no moving forward?”
I think before I answer. I don’t know what her hesitation is. She doesn’t come to my place, and though she doesn’t date anyone but me, she’s not ready to take it to the next level. At least, she hasn’t been.
Soon, we need to have a talk.
“Some things happen easily, man,” I say. “And then sometimes, you have to build things up.” She’s holding back, and I don’t know why. “Verge has given us trust.” Tobias knows it isn’t Verge that’s brought us to where we are, but what we do there. Every time she obeys me, she steals a little part of me. Every time she drops to her knees, I love her a little more.
My stomach clenches, and I know then. Jesus. I love her.
Does she feel the same?
Tobias nods. “Understood. Just wanted to let you know I’ve got your back.”
I nod. “Thanks, brother.”
“Officer Williams?” I turn to see a few of the men who work for me coming to collect the flowers. These will be evidence. They’ll look into who ordered them, and try to piece shit together.
My job is to take care of my girl.
Beatrice comes out, dressed, and I take her by the hand. Seeing her in that dress made me hard as a rock, and I need to get her home. Need to claim her. She’s also way, way overdue for a session.
Tonight, I’ll fix that.
We drive to my place in silence. There’s something palpable between us, but I’m not sure what it is. Is she angry I made her leave? Hell, she was lucky I let her stay. Right now, at this very moment, there’s at least one person who’s got their eyes set on her and they’re a danger to her.
My entire life is dedicated to protecting the lives of those around me. I’ll be damned if I let anyone come after my woman.
“You’re quiet.” I break the silence as I navigate the congested streets of NYC, my mind only partly here. The other part of my brain whispers warnings and alerts to me. Is it the guy on the corner who’s staring at us now as he lights up his smoke? The motorcycle I can see in my rear-view mirror that’s woven in and out of traffic four times in the past eight blocks? Or is the douchebag sitting at home, enjoying cyberstalking, laughing in the knowledge he’s fucked her up and pissed me off? Or is it a she?
I realize she’s said something and I feel like a douchebag because I have no idea what she’s just said. She exhales and looks out the window. “Not that it matters.”
“Not that what matters?”
She turns to me with an impatient flick of her wrist. “God, Zack. Did you even hear a word I said?”
“Watch that tone,” I snap.
Yeah, she so fucking needs a session.
She huffs out a breath. “Sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too, babe. I’m distracted. Someone’s fucking around with you and it pisses me off.”
“Doesn’t exactly make me happy, either.”
I reach for her leg and place my hand on her knee with a gentle squeeze, a two-fold reminder that I’ve got her, and she needs to watch her temper.
“Doll.” I say nothing more at first, just letting the weight of my name for her settle. Calm her.
“Yes?” She finally says in a softer tone, then modifies, “Yes, sir?” Good. She’s getting into her submissive headspace. It takes effort for her to get there, but she knows as well as I do how much she needs this tonight. Beatrice bows to no one but me, and I get a fucking hard-on just thinking about that. Christ, how I love her submission to me.
“You listen to me. I’m going to do everything I can to find who’s pulling this shit. But I’m going to ask you to do some shit you’re not gonna like.”
She tenses but keeps her voice in check. “Oh?”
“Yeah. And there’s one thing you need to know. You have to trust me. I’ve got this. I’m
going to keep you safe. But baby, you’ve got to trust me.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then finally she says in a low, somewhat shaky voice, “I do.”
Does she? She trusts me to tie her up and spank her ass. She trusts me to snap my collar on her neck and dole out measured pain under the firmness of my hand. But until recently, there was shit about her I didn’t know. And this is the first night she’s sleeping at my place. What exactly does trust mean to her?
“More, Bea. I need more trust from you. Not just scening. Not just obedience. I need you to trust me with you.” She doesn’t respond. It’s okay. I’m not looking for a response. I need her to think about it.
She lays her hand in mine, and I can smell lilies and lemons. Heat and desire curls in my gut as I take the final turn that leads to my place.
Maybe building her trust needs to happen where we are. Maybe scening is how I reach her, how I break down those walls. How I make her really, truly mine.
It’s time to ratchet things up.
“You need to let go tonight, Beatrice.” And fuck, so do I.
Her voice is taut with heat and need. “Yes, sir,” she purrs, and then her voice is a plea that hits me in the solar plexus. “Please, sir.” The vision of her on her knees, blindfolded, hands restrained behind her back as she chokes on my cock makes blood thrum through my body, course through my veins, my dick lengthening.
I’ll do a run-through of my place when we get there, and if the fucker has the nerve to come to my turf, I’ll fucking kill him. Tonight, I’ll give her what she needs. What we both need. Tomorrow, I get shit in place to keep her safe.
I swerve into my designated spot, cut the engine. “Stay there.”
If anyone out there’s tailed us, I want them to see me, to see how much I care about her, so they know, they touch a fucking hair on her head and I’ll end them.
I open her door, help her out, and the second I do, my hand is on the small of her back, guiding her to the entrance, my body shielding her from the street and crowds as we go straight to the elevator.
“Williams.” A neighbor lifts his chin in greeting and I grunt one in return, walking her with wide, purposeful steps. The entryway door shuts behind us and my hand goes to her neck, wrapping my fingers at the back of her head to both claim and soothe. The mirrored elevator slides open, and a couple comes out, the man’s eyes going to Beatrice. I don’t recognize him, but he nods at me, the woman’s focus somewhere else. Immediately, I’m on edge. Is it him? Is he the one tailing her? They leave and the door shuts, closing us in alone.
“You tense whenever anyone looks at me, Zack,” she says. Damn, she’s right. People look at her all the time. She’s funny and beautiful and sweet and smart. Why wouldn’t they?
I shake my head. “I hate what’s gone down, and I can’t help it. I won’t rest until they’re behind bars.”
She places her hand on my arm. “They will be, baby.”
She’s the one soothing me? This is fucked up. I take in a deep breath. She doesn’t need to see me lose my shit. I didn’t end up a detective and dom by wearing my heart on my sleeve, like some half-cocked bastard with an axe to grind.
Control.
Focus.
Patience.
I open the door to my condo, shut it, and in one swift move, pin her against it, her wrists in my hands above her head, my body pressed up against hers. I lean in and take her mouth hard, running my tongue along hers, then nipping her bottom lip lightly before I pull back, leaving her breathless.
“You stay right here,” I command in her ear. My place is tighter than a fucking vault, but I do a quick scan anyway, come back, and shrug off my jacket. She’s still frozen in place, her eyes bright like they always are before we scene.
“I’ll give you the tour later. Bedroom’s last door on the right. I’m taking care of some business and I’ll be in there as soon as I can.” I keep my eyes locked on hers and command, “Go to my room. Strip. Present for me. And keep your eyes closed. Focus, baby. Prepare yourself for me.”
Her eyes gleam with arousal and excitement and just a little of the worry disappears from her expression. She doesn’t respond at first. Testing me? I cross the room, take her by the arm, spin her around, and give her a sharp smack to the ass. “I said go.”
“Yes, sir!”
I send her to the room with another crisp spank, then watch her go, hands adorably rubbing her ass as she makes her way to my room. Her head flits from side to side as she tries to take it all in on her way and I can hardly contain my laughter. Damn, she’s adorable.
The door shuts with a soft click.
I pull out my cell and dial.
“Yeah? What’s up, Williams?”
I fill Patel in on what’s happened today. He shares my concern, and we make an easy plan to get at least one man on Beatrice at all times. I’ll escort her to and from where she’s gotta go, but we can put more in place for when I’m not there.
“She knows you’re doing this?”
A twinge of guilt makes me pause before I respond. Frowning, I look behind me at the door, then walk to the furthest corner of the room, staring at my dim reflection in the large flat-screened TV hung suspended on the wall, opposite the leather wrap-around couch. I keep my voice low.
“No.” It comes out sharper than I intend.
I hear him blow out a breath. “Why not?”
Why not? I don’t want to piss her off. I don’t want her to feel even more exposed than she already does.
“I’ll tell her, Patel, just not yet.” I’ll fill her in when the time is right. I shove down the guilt that nags at me. I have to do this for her. We make plans, then I disconnect the call, close my eyes and inhale deeply. I can’t shut off my brain. It pieces things together no matter where I am or what I do. I notice details, minor things others might overlook.
I rub my fingers along the scruff of my jaw, contemplating, when I hear a creak on the bed in my room. I can’t leave her alone like this. Now is not the time to be the detective. Now, my woman needs me. Her dom.
I turn to the door and throw the deadbolt in place with a heavy thunk. I go to the shades and draw them down, then shut off all the lights. The fucker might be out there, but he’ll see nothing. Then I make my way to the room where she’s waiting, my mind still spinning every detail of what I’ve heard.
He moved the car. Therefore, he… or she… was in her salon and either got her keys or got a copy of my keys which seems totally preposterous. She doesn’t keep an eye on her bag, so that’s the more likely possibility.
They left a card on the seat. Who? Why?
The first card she got was at the wedding and that started everything going… I open the door to the room, and my mind comes to a screeching halt.
In front of me lies absolute perfection. My world stops, my breath catches in my throat, and it’s all I can do not to fall at her feet and fucking venerate her. She’s done exactly what I’ve asked. Her clothes are neatly folded and on the edge of the bed, and she’s naked, her pale skin a canvas, waiting for me to color. Soft, wavy blonde hair falls over her shoulders, her head tipped to the side, golden satin I want to stroke. Her eyes are closed, and her body softly lifts and falls, her breathing slow and steady. I wanted this for her. Relaxation under my command. The exchange of power we both crave.
I stand in the doorway and watch her a little longer, knowing the anticipation will build for her. If I touch her, she’ll be primed for me, ready. And training her to wait for me works to my benefit.
If I were an artist, I’d spend night and day painting this until I captured every curve, the strength in her submission, the beauty of what she’s freely giving to me.
Wars were fought over women like her.
Hell, I’m fighting one now.
I walk over slowly to the bed, stripping, and I can see she wants to open her eyes by the way she struggles a bit, shifting on the bed.
“You may open your eyes for now,” I allow,
only because I need to see the baby blues that stole my heart. Her long lashes flutter open, and she looks at me, smiling. She watches me strip without apology, her eyes roaming my body, lingering on my tattoos, and I know that when I bend to slip my pants from my feet, she will take in the marks along my back, the tattooed wings, and the scar, symbols of my past I’ve not shared with her. Why haven’t I? I want more from her. I’m tired of the linear progression of our relationship. She’s adorable and sweet, sexy as fuck, brilliant… and submissive to me. I want this to be my forever—her, me, us. I’ve always been the kinda guy who wanted more. Connection. A relationship with meaning and purpose. And she’s holding back.
Am I?
I need to know why.
But tonight, I need to erase the fears of the day from her mind. I need to remind her who I am, who she is, and that she obeys me. It’s for her own good.
When I’m stripped to my boxers, I step over to her, lean down, and caress her soft, silky hair. Her eyelids quickly flutter shut and her back rises as she takes in a breath. I weave the gold around my fingers, mesmerized by the contrast of her light hair against the darker skin of my hand. My fingers entwined in her hair, I pull her head back sharply, a tug that makes her gasp in pain, jolting her into her place. I gently release her hair and wrap my fingers first around the back of her neck, massaging the tension there. Pain and pleasure, sprinkled with fear and laden with ecstasy, a slow build-up of emotion and sensations that will bring her where I want her.
Soaring.
Malleable.
Mine.
I move my fingers from the back of her neck around to her throat, feeling her swallow through the thin, vulnerable skin, my palm pressed against her as she draws and releases breath. Slowly, deliberately, I squeeze, just enough to bring her heartbeat up, her pulse quickening against my skin. My whole hand wrapped around her throat, I marvel at the well of trust she gives me.
My job has not been an easy one. I’ve hurt, punished, and maimed with my hands. I could hurt her now if I wanted to, and a part of me does. The temptation to abuse the power she gives me lurks in the shadows, whispering hurt her. Make her cry. Show her your power and strength. But I bat it away. I’ve learned to master the sinister part of me and replace it with sensual sadism. With a sharp release of breath, I’m in control once more. I’m stronger than temptation.