Soul Rest: A Knights of the Board Room Novel

by Hill, Joey W.

  Just as he’d told her, he kept doing it. Wrap, unwrap. Untie, retie to a different anchor point. Never hurried, as gradual as the flow of water in the Mississippi. The other night, the darkness within her had surged up from her soul, compelling her to fight. This had the darkness confused. Like river water, Leland simply washed over her, around her, held her up, drew her under. She became ever more malleable under his strong hands.

  She was intensely aroused in a dreamlike way, no urgency to it, though moans started to break from her lips as he integrated more forceful actions into what he was doing. He brought her up on her knees again, wrapped both her hands behind her neck, the rope crisscrossed over her breasts and around her thighs. He held the two ends in his hand, which he rested with firm pressure just above her pubic mound as he curled his hand around her throat and pushed his body firmly against hers from behind. The two of them rocked and swayed together, him letting her feel how securely he held her.

  On his next unwrap, he unbuttoned the shirt she had over her tank, removed it. She welcomed the tension of the rope against her bare upper arms, the compression of it over her breasts, the hold as he wrapped it around her back. Then her head fell back against his shoulder as he wrapped the rope over her mouth, parting her lips so it fitted between her teeth. He kept wrapping the rope over the scarf, over her eyes, before he settled his hands on her face as he’d done before, over both rope and cloth.

  So much was surging through her. She wanted to say his name. Not Leland, but the name in her heart, poised on the cusp of all the need he was building inside her. She wanted it to be her safe word, but the literal meaning of “safe word,” not the functional one. A safe word.

  “Master.”

  She breathed it, barely a sound at all. He surrounded her, the focus of every sense she had—smell, touch, taste, sight and hearing. She thought he’d heard her, because his lips touched her ear.

  “There’s my kitten. Good girl. Good girl.”

  Did he realize the power of those two words? Maybe so. She thought he knew everything, understood everything. While a distant part of her mind rationalized he’d put her in some strange trance state and such unrealistic certainties wouldn’t last, she’d take the respite. He unwrapped her slowly, his hand tracing the light rope marks. He left the rope knotted around her wrist, but eased her down to her side, and spread the throw over her. She was trembling. He’d left the blindfold on, and when he fitted himself behind her, holding her, she found his arms through the blanket, curled her fingers over them. The brush of his fingertips against her wrist and the tension on the rope told her he still held it, keeping her tethered to him. But it wasn’t enough.

  Maybe it was the blindfold making her as impetuous as a child, but she turned in his arms, following the rope past his hold by touch. It took some fumbling, and she had to sit up, splay her hands over his chest to figure out how he was lying next to her. He was lying on his hip and one elbow, propped up and probably watching her. Imagining those golden-brown eyes focused on her, she ran the rope around his back, underneath his arm. She wanted to wrap the rest around her back as well, make a full circle, but her coordination was off. She couldn’t manage that without toppling over, unbalanced by the pull on her bound wrist her movements were causing. He took over, doing a second wrap around both of them as she laid her head on his chest, her bound hand against his side. She felt the pull as he tucked the end of the rope somewhere that kept their upper torsos wrapped together. He closed both arms around her and held her, spoke in a quiet voice, the bass increased by emotions the scarf allowed her to absorb without worry or question.

  “All right, darlin’. All right.”

  He allowed them to lie together like that for a while, tugging the blanket back over her until her shaking stopped. When one of those large hands descended to cup her ass, slide his hand into her jeans pocket to stroke and knead, she moved against him. The desire that had been flowing through her like a river immediately surged up. If the ropes hadn’t been holding her, she would have tried to push him to his back, open his jeans and impale herself on his thick cock. She shuddered, imagining how it would send sensation spearing through her, catapulting her toward a climax.

  “Easy. Move with me.”

  He was loosening the wrap from around the both of them, putting her on her back on the mat. His fingers slid over the knot on her wrist, underneath the wrap, soothing abraded flesh. But he didn’t untie it. Instead, he inflated the throbbing need inside her by taking the rope over her shoulder, behind her neck and across her mouth again, fitting it between her teeth, around her scarf blindfold, then down over the other shoulder and across, wrapping the rope above and below her breasts, tucking it in so her elbows were held against her sides. Then he slipped the button of her jeans. Bending, he lifted up the tank and brought his mouth to her navel.

  Her panties were the same thin cotton fabric as the tank. When he removed the jeans, he left them in place, kissing her pubic mound with that barrier between them. As he moved to the top of her thighs, she bit back a whimper. She could speak around the rope, but she understood she shouldn’t. She didn’t need to speak.

  He’d secured the rope so it was now a binding, not just a wrap, which coaxed some of her darkness to the forefront. But he anticipated that, dispelled it. His hands returned to her waist, her arms, stroking, and then they were spread out along the sides of her face as he straddled her hips, bent and kissed her open mouth. The top lip, the bottom one. His mouth moved over her cheeks, over to her ear and the tender skin of her neck between the bands of the rope. She moved restlessly, needing him, her legs pushing against his knees, braced on the outside of her thighs.

  He shifted off of her. She wanted to see him get undressed, but she didn’t as well. In the darkness, her darkness stayed dormant, as if light was what pissed it off, like cancer being disturbed by a biopsy to explode, metastasize into something far worse.

  She must have made a distressed noise, because he slid an arm around her, scooped her upper body against him, one knee planted between her thighs, the other foot now braced outside her hip. He was still wearing the jeans but, blissfully, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She pressed her cheek hard against bare flesh. She could feel his erection against her shoulder. She opened her mouth, tasted the ridges of muscle across his stomach, tried to wiggle lower. She wanted to wrap her lips around him.

  “No. You’re not ready for that yet, darlin’. But you’re burning, aren’t you?”

  She wanted him inside her. He was right, it would probably break her like a boot stepping on glass. He was good at using his mouth or hands on her, but that wasn’t what she needed, what had her aching. Which, perversely, was why everything in her was afraid again. She hated this about herself. Hated it more now than ever before. Why couldn’t she just get past it? If he’d just let her go and they fucked, they’d both come and that darkness wouldn’t be disturbed at all. Except she’d go home feeling hollow.

  “Celeste.” She’d started to strain against the bonds, was making angry noises, and he tugged her hair, bringing her focus back to him. “Hold on.”

  He untied the rope, unwrapped it, though she didn’t want him to do that. When he tried to remove the scarf, she scrambled away from him, intending to rip it off herself, and gasped as he caught her back against his body. “Behave. Settle.”

  She expected he used that hard voice on his rookies. It worked on her, though she quivered with repressed resentment. She was aware it was projected self-loathing. It didn’t make him any safer from the flak.

  He removed the scarf, smoothed back her hair. With him behind her, she saw only the shaded windows, her folded jeans resting next to the crumpled throw. “Put those back on,” he said.

  He released her and she jerked away. Moving over to the pants, she yanked them on. She kept her head down, but she was aware of his gaze as she zipped and buttoned them, tucked in her tank, picked up the button-down shirt, put it on. While she did that, he moved to lean against the
wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He was beside her shoes. She didn’t let herself hesitate, coming over to stuff her feet in them, resisting the urge to reach out and clasp his forearm to steady herself. She used the wall instead.

  “I’m not doing Wednesday or Friday,” she said shortly. “I can’t—”

  A man she estimated at two hundred fifty pounds shouldn’t be able to move like a pouncing cat, but before she could blink, he had caught her around the waist. He swung her across him and toward the wall in a swift arc. She would have face-planted into it, except he controlled her movements so she had time to put up her hands. When her palms met the wall, he’d snaked one powerful arm under her arm and behind her neck, an effective headlock as he shoved his other hand down the front of her jeans. It was a snug fit, given the size of his hand, but his fingers plunged down into her panties and found her damp pussy, began to stroke. No, stroke was the wrong word. Worry, tug, demand a response from her.

  She went up on her toes, scratching the wall with her fingers as he held the clamp on her neck. “Come for me, sub.” He spoke the last word in a whisper that resonated through her, shot right down between her legs.

  The low simmer of response that had built during the rope wrapping turned into a geyser. She came violently against his ruthless fingers, his unshakable grip. She screamed at the intensity of it, whipping her head around to take a good chunk out of his forearm with her teeth, but the headlock didn’t let her reach him. She floundered in his grip as he made sure she experienced every vibrating, excruciating second of the endless climax.

  Emphasizing that he was the one in control—as if he’d left any doubt of it—he took her down at his pace, with massages and sudden squeezes of her clit and labia that had aftershocks rocking through her, drawing gasps and animal noises from her. When at last, slowly, he withdrew his hand and released her from the headlock, she kept her forehead and palms against the wall. His arm went to her waist to steady her as he tucked her tank back in, stroking the elastic of her panties before he tugged the other shirt back down over it. Then he laid a kiss on the back of her neck, her ear.

  “I didn’t do anything for you,” she muttered.

  He rubbed his steel erection against her ass. “You offering?”

  Yes. “No. I have to go.” She needed to go.

  “All right.” He stepped back, but she noticed his hands lingered until she straightened from the wall, took a couple deep breaths and made sure she could stand. Her legs were shaky, but she was all right. Mostly.

  As she turned, he held on to her elbow, picked up her purse, threaded it over her arm. Guiding her out of the house the same way he’d guided her in, he walked her down the stairs. He dropped his touch as they moved onto the walkway. She thought he was establishing distance between them, but when she dared a glance at him, she saw he was watching her closely, making sure she was steady enough to drive.

  It made the emotions dueling in her gut twist into a hard knot. As incredible as the orgasm she’d just had was, she knew it would be nothing to gushing around his cock when it was plunged inside her, stretching her cunt, marking her as his.

  “What would you have said if I’d said yes?”

  “I’d have said no.” He stopped and faced her at the car. “Tempting as it would be to fuck you, Celeste, it’s not yet time. You’re too fragile.”

  She bristled at that, but he cupped her chin, lifted it. “When the time comes, and it’s coming soon, Celeste, I’ll use you hard. So be careful what you wish for.” He leaned in, spoke against her ear. She bet if she tried to punch, kick, bite or scratch, he’d make her exceedingly sorry. Which made her want to find out if she was right. Fortunately he distracted her from the impulse.

  “When the time comes, I’ll fuck your cunt, your mouth, your ass. I’ll jack off over you when I have you stretched out and tied, so you can’t move an inch. I’ll wash you off so gentle, and make sure everything that hurts, hurts less. Then I’ll do it all over again, until you’re screaming that word you barely spoke a while ago. And you’ll be begging your Master for more.”

  The man didn’t have to gag her to take away her ability to talk. Her stomach was rippling in an unsettling mix of trepidation and anticipation as he turned and headed back up his walkway. Twilight had moved into nighttime, so the streetlights deepened the shadows and put his powerful form in sharp relief. “I’ll pick you up on Wednesday,” he called over his shoulder. “You have anything to wear to a country-western bar?”

  She forced herself to pull it together. She wasn’t going with him. She needed to tell him that. She needed to say all sorts of vile, horrible things to him so he’d never want to see her again.

  “Birkenstocks, tie-dye and my ‘I Hate Country Music’ button,” she said instead.

  His deep chuckle sent another ripple down her spine, the reaction spreading out over her buttocks and teasing her between her legs like his touch. “See you then, darlin’.”

  Chapter Six

  “Don’t even try, Wasserman. You have as much chance with her as I do of dating a super model.”

  “That’s because you lack basic hygiene, Foley. The day I had to ride with you, I stopped by the minute clinic for a tetanus shot.”

  “And the vet for a rabies update,” someone else added.

  Leland closed his locker door and came around the corner to the roll call room, buttoning his fresh uniform shirt. The half-sized lockers weren’t intended to hold much, but they could hold an extra shirt, and experience had taught him to keep one on hand. His shift was past end, but he’d gotten hung up assisting Long on an aggressive drunk-and-disorderly. The cantankerous mechanic weighed about ninety pounds but had squirmed away from Long and decided to charge Leland with wrench in hand. Though Leland had put him down without a problem, he’d gotten splattered by the vomit when the guy had to puke mid-attack. The upside was that had taken all the fight out of him.

  “Whose Wasserman got a hard-on for now?” he asked.

  “His momma.”

  “Butch in the K-9 squad.”

  Leland chuckled, but he noticed Wasserman looked a little wary. A quick glance around told him the other guys were trying to distract him with the banter. They hadn’t realized a sergeant was listening. He should bust their asses for not being more observant. Except for the district commander and the assistant district commander offices, there wasn’t a lot of privacy to be had. The District 1 building was a converted Shopper’s Fair, the cinderblock walls painted BRPD blues and grays to go with the cement floor, and had all the ambiance of a warehouse. The lieutenants had a communal office where the door could be closed, but the sergeants used open cubicles set up like a rabbit warren, only a rock toss away from the roll call area and small kitchen.

  But it was home base for District 1, and they’d added personal touches. Like the life-sized Santa Claus figure someone had picked up when it was abandoned after the holidays a year or so ago. The jolly red guy was in permanent residence on top of a bookshelf near the sergeants’ cubicles. Recently someone had given him a cardboard sign that said Will Work for Food. Well, it wasn’t Christmas yet. Even Santa had slow periods.

  “Spit it out, Officer,” he said to Wasserman. “What woman can we expect to file a restraining order against you?”

  Wasserman’s expression eased a little at Leland’s good-natured prodding. “Aw, they’re right, Sarge. We’re just razzing one another. We’re talking about Celly Lewis. She’s hot as hell, all the more because she doesn’t know it.”

  “And she’s nice,” Billy put in.

  “Yeah. She thinks she might have a lead on that hooker stabbing and the assault on the laundromat manager,” Mike added. He was straddling one of the metal and black vinyl chairs, sipping coffee. “She said she was going to pass it to Marquez if it panned out. Thinks Dogboy might be involved or at least know something.”

  Leland frowned. “He associates himself with the MoneyBoyz, and they’re all about the drugs. How does he connect to the hooker
?”

  “Can’t say. That was all she said to me, and you know Marquez can’t tell us dick. But I’ve had some run-ins with Dogboy before.” Mike’s eyes went cold. “I think he’s got some anger issues with girls. Even the working girls seem to give him a wide berth. When we pulled up on Celly talking to him the other day, I didn’t like the way he was looking at her. There’s something cooking under the surface of that one. Something nasty.”

  “What the hell was she doing there?” Though Leland already knew the answer to that. The damn woman didn’t know how to stay out of trouble.

  Mike grimaced. “What she’s always doing. She knows this area almost as good as we do, Sarge. Cool as she could be. Toe-to-toe with him and looking him dead in the eye, no fear. Girl’s got balls.”

  “Which could be why Wasserman’s so interested in her…”

  As the banter started again, Leland gauged whether or not it was the proper time to drop his bombshell, and then figured it was as good an opportunity as any. He waited for a pause, then let it fly.

  “I’m dating her.”

  If he’d thrown a live grenade into roll call, he couldn’t have captured their attention more effectively. In the brief silence before he was sure they were going to break into a chorus of bullshits, assuming he was messing with them, he added, “Taking her out tomorrow night, in fact. We’ve seen each other a couple times. Don’t know how serious it’s going to get, but you’re right. She’s pretty special. So let’s keep an eye on her out there, all right?”

  Mike rose. “We do, Sarge,” he said seriously. “She’s one of the good guys. We all know it.” He cut a glance at the other guys, tucked his tongue in his cheek. “Plus, we don’t want you to lose your opportunity to get some for the first time in forever. After she reports on your performance in her blog, it may be the last.”

  “Mike, I didn’t know you were itching to take on all the domestic disturbance calls this month.” Leland said. “And by your lonesome, too. We all appreciate your generosity.”