Dillon's Universe: A Perdition MC Novel

by Isabel Wroth

  “By not telling you about the breach, Patti left you completely in the dark, out there on your own with no idea Portia was dead or that the Leviathans were looking for whoever helped their victim get away.

  “Detective Bolton is part of Vanguard, and she's a cop who knew two murder suspects were on the hunt. By advising Patti to stay quiet while she investigated on her own, she also put you at risk, which is suspicious any way you slice it. Won't lie, I'm surprised you're not on that phone, ripping Patti a new asshole.”

  Dillon gave a strangled laugh, the sound muffled against the smooth leather of his cut. “I can't without letting her know I had to kill those guys, but I can express to her how failing to follow the shelter protocols and waiting to call me until three days after the fact to say some assholes might be looking for me was too little too late.”

  “Yes,” he rumbled, rubbing another kiss into the skin just beside her ear. “You can.”

  “What's the deal with women kneeling at your feet?”

  His deep chuckle vibrated between them, and the pitch in his voice changed to gravel and grit. “Where did that come from?”

  As Dillon hesitated to admit the desire she'd experienced while on the phone, Dr. White's voice came back to her.

  "The more transparent you are in your communication, the better."

  She took a deep breath, summoned up her courage, and told him the truth. “While I was talking with Rain, I got distracted by the way you were sitting. I thought about the erotic art I've seen, some books I've read, and I wondered what it would feel like to be kneeling there between your legs with my cheek on your thigh. I guess I'm curious, and I want to know why it's a thing.”

  “You seemed comfortable sitting beside me on the deck the other day, resting against my leg.”

  “I was,” Dillon admitted slowly. Nasa gave a satisfied hum, the hand in her hair flexing and releasing in a rhythm that started to make her drowsy with relaxation.

  “It's part of the ritual, a protocol that's different for every couple,” Nasa told her. “To kneel can be a nonverbal expression of submission, placing oneself in a position of vulnerability.

  "Physically shedding their clothes and whatever other roles they've played to signal submitting authority and control to their partner.

  “If a couple is going to engage in their play for the evening, the submissive is often told to kneel, presenting themselves as an offering, giving their consent to their partner, performing the ritual to say they're ready for whatever comes next.

  “After a scene, when a submissive is coming down from the endorphin high, kneeling at her dominant’s feet is her safe place. She can rest and take comfort in being close to him on her own terms.”

  Dillon digested that information, not hearing anything that made her particularly uncomfortable or resistant. If anything, she was intrigued.

  “What's your ritual?”

  “I'd like to clarify something first before I answer that.” Nasa pulled back only as far as was necessary to meet her gaze, watching her with the focus of a hawk.

  “I haven't been the kind of man to engage in long-term relationships.

  “I play with women experienced in the lifestyle and outline very clearly what they can and can't expect from me, and whatever physical contact we've had doesn't extend outside the clubs.

  "We call it play, but it's not always a game, and I don't bring my play partners home.

  “As harsh as it probably sounds, I pick women who know the score and agree to my rules. I get what I want, I get them off, then I go home by myself.

  “I haven't wanted anything deeper because I know I'm difficult to deal with, and most women would find life with me, surrounded by cameras at all times, incredibly uncomfortable.

  “I like things exactly my way, I have deep seated issues about safety that extends beyond the realm of normalcy, and I'm not the type to settle for anyone just to have someone. If it doesn't feel important, why bother?”

  “Sounds pretty straight forward to me,” Dillon answered, and for whatever reason, made Nasa smile.

  “Good. So, the things I've done in other scenarios with other women do not apply to you.

  "You aren't experienced in BDSM, and if you're curious, it's my job to do what I'm doing right now and explain.

  "Then, if you're still curious or want to try, we find what works for you and what doesn't, together.

  “I already know without you having to say it: restraints, whips, and anything related to impact play is off the table. That doesn't disappoint me in any way because there is so much more to explore.

  “If you'd like to know what it feels like to kneel at my feet while I'm sitting down, I will plant my ass in my chair and enjoy the fuck out of watching you discover if it works for you or if it doesn't.

  "I will say, as a general rule, I'd much prefer to have you in my lap where I can touch, kiss, and cuddle you.”

  With her heart thundering in her chest, her skin warm and tingling from the rush of endorphins brought on by his answer, and the feeling of his hand flexing in her hair, Dillon didn't fight the arousal pumping through her.

  In fact, she was acutely aware of the tightening of her nipples against the lace of the bra she wore. One of the several Nasa had chosen for her back in Dallas.

  She could feel the blood pulsing there, how her breasts felt mildly swollen and tender, how her pussy rippled with heat, soaking her panties.

  The more he massaged and tugged at her scalp, the more he spoke, Dillon fell deeper into his thrall.

  “In the context of teaching you what it means to play in my world, I would say something like, 'it's our time now,' and our ritual would begin. Every time, you would follow the same protocol.

  “For example: going to the bathroom, drinking a glass of water, taking your clothes off to fold and place them in a specific spot, then coming back to kneel in front of me.

  “It's every bit a mental preparation as it is a physical one. Following the ritual to get yourself in the head space for whatever comes next.

  "You, giving yourself the time you need to let me have complete control of your body and authority to make any and all decisions from that point forward.

  “In kneeling, you shed all responsibility and put yourself in my hands. There is no fault or judgment. There is nothing outside this room.

  "No Ghost, no Leviathans, no worrying about why Patti didn't follow the rules, or what's going to happen tomorrow. From the moment you kneel at my feet, it's you, me, and nothing else.

  “It's letting go of everything, allowing me to guide you where we need to go, focusing on the sound of my voice, my hands on your body, and the sensations that follow.

  "When you wander, I'll bring you back because I'm in the driver's seat and you've agreed to come along for the ride.”

  “It kind of sounds like guided meditation,” she murmured, acknowledging everything he described sounded incredibly enticing.

  Nasa gave a slight nod. “Pretty damn close, actually. It's my responsibility to learn to read your body language, to listen to what you say, how you say it, and act accordingly.

  "I can promise you the orgasms will be unlike anything else you've ever felt before, the release so intense you might feel like you'll float away without my hands on you.

  “Feelings—emotional and physical—will overwhelm you, maybe even scare you, but I'll be right there to hold you steady. You'll cry, scream, moan. If I'm lucky, you might even beg.

  “If it's too much and you say stop, it's over, but if I've done it right, you'll come to crave those things you thought were overwhelming because I've proved to you there's no safer place in the world than right here.”

  His eyes had darkened as his pupils dilated, such a deep, dark blue they were almost black, and just about the time Dillon started to get a crick in her neck staring up at him, Nasa's fingers spread wide on her skull, moving down to cradle her neck in his palm.

  “Tell me what you're thinking,” he commanded, hi
s voice no louder than a whisper, as powerful as a rumbling growl of thunder.

  It never crossed her mind to deny him. “I'm thinking if I'd read all that in some book before today, I might not have been so negatively activated by the idea of BDSM.

  "But then again, if I read it instead of hearing your voice describing it to me, I would probably still have brushed it off.

  “I'm wondering what it would be like to not worry about nine-million things at once and be able to rest, to let you take control.

  "I'm thinking about how much it doesn't scare me because you've already been doing it in small increments.

  “I'm thinking about the last time I wanted to kiss someone, and it's been so long, I'm really hoping I remember how.”

  Dillon's knees went a little weak when Nasa ducked his head to rub his nose alongside hers. Their lips were so close a deep breath would have brought them together.

  “I hear it's like riding a bike,” he told her, but Dillon hadn't ever liked riding a bike as much as she liked the feel of his kiss.

  He eased her into it, his lips moving across hers like an artist's first brush strokes on a blank canvas. Gentle, eager to see how their imagination would breathe life into the painting.

  Dillon melted into the sensation, into him without so much as a hint of discomfort or uncertainty, growing bolder when the tentative lick of her tongue across the tempting swell of his bottom lip made Nasa give a deep groan in answer.

  Sparks, chemistry, connection. Dillon felt it consume her in a dizzying rush, and even though the arousal burning her up inside raged with all the energy of a wildfire, Nasa never changed the pace.

  He tilted his head this way and that, pulling her closer, his entire hand spread wide on her ass to ensure there wasn't an inch of separation between their bodies.

  When Dillon opened her mouth to gasp for air, he didn't surge in to take possession of her mouth. He licked at her lips, her teeth, and sensually coiled his tongue around hers.

  Simultaneously, Dillon mourned the fact that no one had ever kissed her with such dedicated focus and celebrated for the same exact reason.

  They kissed until Dillon's lips felt swollen, buzzing with the rush of blood, and even as it drew to an end, he didn't leave her unsatisfied.

  The tiny sips and smacks of their lips clinging gently to one another was exquisite, her heart doing a pirouette in her chest when Nasa whispered one word against her mouth.

  “Perfect.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  With music blaring at four in the morning and sugar racing through his bloodstream, Nasa slipped through another digital backdoor into Rain Bolton's personal life, searching for a reason as to why she lied about calling Dillon.

  It could have been one of those gray lies people told when they knew they were in trouble, but Nasa had to be sure.

  So far, he'd come up with nothing suspicious, and the lack of glaringly obvious clues to say Bolton was dirty didn't mean anything.

  He was in the middle of perusing her social media when an alert popped up on the screen, notifying him the motion sensors in Dillon's room had been triggered.

  A quick tap to the keys, and the cameras in her room showed her sitting up in bed, hands knotted in her hair as she braced her elbows on her knees.

  Nasa was out of his chair fast enough to send it spinning off behind him, hustling up the stairs, determined to do something this time.

  Anything from yesterday could have set her off, and they'd come to a point in their growing relationship where Nasa had enough.

  He wasn't going to wait for her to come to him and tell him about her nightmares, and he sure as fuck wasn't going to leave her alone to deal with them by herself anymore.

  Rounding the corner, he saw her door open and Elka trot out into the hallway, immediately giving a low woof to let Dillon know they weren't alone.

  She poked her head out and saw him heading her way, her tight, uncertain expression softening immediately. From the soft clink he heard, she'd probably just put down a weapon.

  “I was going down for a glass of water,” she told him. It made him grit his teeth to hear that weak-ass lie, but he knew she was trying to find her footing after another hellish nightmare.

  “You had a bad dream,” he told her, stopping in the open doorway to look down at her.

  Her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment, and her teeth scraped nervously across her bottom lip. “Yeah.”

  “Were you going to the kitchen?”

  “No.” She sighed, reaching out to touch the patch over his heart that proclaimed him treasurer of the club. “I was going to find a dragon.”

  He frowned, confused by her answer. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just something Dr. White said. I was coming to see if you were up.”

  “I'm up. You ready to tell me what you're dreaming about?”

  Dillon nodded, stepping back to let him in. She'd put on a loose pair of drawstring pants and a chunky sweater over her tank top, pacing back and forth while Nasa seated himself at the end of her bed.

  He watched her burn off the steam she normally soaked away in the tub, understanding she needed time to gather her words but impatient nevertheless.

  “Can I run you a bath?”

  Dillon stumbled a little on the edge of the carpet at the sound of his voice, like she'd momentarily forgotten he was there.

  She shook her head, coming to him when he patted his thigh, settling onto his lap like a little girl. Relief, satisfaction, and arousal pumped through him in a deliciously heady brew.

  Teague asked him if he had plans to train Dillon as a submissive, and maybe someday they'd get there. Right now, the only training Nasa had in mind was this: training Dillon to crave his presence when she felt scared, to accept his affection—his protection.

  “Talk to me, Tiger Lily. I'm here.” Nasa felt the tremble that worked through her, thrilled when she nuzzled her cheek against his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

  “My nightmares always revolve around my interrogation. Sometimes I dream about being strapped down, electrocuted, soaked to the bone in ice water. Other times it’s the interrogation itself or being snatched off the street and thrown into a van.

  “Since I got here, I keep dreaming about the same thing, over and over. It always starts the same, with me in the hospital, and John Lewis sitting beside my bed.

  “I know it's him, but the sunlight behind him is so bright I can't see his face. I hear him whispering in that same dead, robotic voice, telling me what he'll do to me if I tell anyone he's been there to see me.

  "The nurse comes in, and I look over to her, to tell her to run, but he's already behind her and now I see his eyes.

  “Just his eyes, and the scalpel he pulls across her neck, her skin opening like a zipper. I can smell the blood, feel it hit my skin, and right before I force myself to wake up, he's bent over me like a freaking demon.

  "Only this time, it wasn't the face I remembered from the hospital; it was the guy in the picture.”

  Guilt hit him hard, and he felt like the scum of the earth to have contributed to the fear she lived with.

  “What picture? The sketch I showed you?”

  “No. When I picked around in your files, I found the copy of Andrew Stanfield's driver's license. The faces are the same, but the eyes are different.”

  Nasa palmed her hair, rocking slightly with her as he stared at the open door where Elka sat sentinel. “I don't understand.”

  “Even in his photo, there's evil in Stanfield's eyes,” she whispered, as though she didn't dare speak any louder.

  “They're dark, and I don't mean the color, but there's life in them. Emotion. Arrogance, even. John Lewis had to fake it.

  “I watched a personality bleed into his eyes when we were at the hospital. One second there was nothing but soulless black pits, zero emotion whatsoever, and then as soon as the nurse came in, he transformed.

  “It took seconds, but he became a human, a guy from the so
uth with an accent and a drive to protect women.

  "The nurse got all hot and bothered for him, which was disturbing enough, and when she turned her back, he switched it off again.

  "Toad is smiling in his DMV photo, but his eyes are empty, just like the ones in the sketch.”

  Nasa thought hard about what Dillon was saying, about Ghost's voice. About his eyes. He'd run facial recognition software the second he had faces to compare, and while the match was always within ninety-six percent, the four percent that didn't match was in the eyes.

  Not a huge discrepancy, not something experts would necessarily go after as proof if the rest of the face matched up because people wore contacts or glasses that could distort the shape of the eyeball in a photo. However, there was one thing contacts couldn't cover up.

  Nasa touched a kiss to the edge of Dillon's jaw, keeping his cheek pressed to hers. “I think you may have just blown the lid off something really fucking important. Will you come downstairs with me?”

  “Mmhm.”

  Truly, he felt torn between lingering in this moment of comfort between them or going down to his information highway to prove the theory Dillon had just sparked in him. But the sooner he got it done, the sooner she might be able to sleep in peace.

  Nasa got up, gently lowering her feet to the ground even as he kept her close. She tilted her head back when he gently tugged on her hair, her eyes glinting in the low light, just like tiger eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  A few lines puckered between her brows as she frowned at him in confusion. “For what?”

  “For trusting me. For telling me what's been scaring you. For letting me hold you. It's been pissing me off, not knowing how to help you or what it is that's keeping you up.”

  Her lashes fluttered in surprise, her cheeks washed a warm pink, and her frown disappeared in the blink of an eye. “I should be thanking you. You're the one who came for me.”

  “I'll always come for you,” Nasa promised and bent to press a kiss to her forehead, feeling Dillon go soft in his embrace. “Let's go downstairs, okay?”