“Do as you’re told,” he said firmly, moving back and grabbing a towel. “Here, get dry and wait for me on the bed.”
Though she took it from his hands and started toweling off, she continued to watch him as he removed his clothes and entered the stall. When the water started, she hung the towel on a hook and opened the door. Startled, he turned and stared at her.
“What are you—?”
Before he could finish, she stepped under the streaming water, grabbed his semi-hard manhood, and began to slide her hand up and down.
“Elizabeth, I told you to wait on the bed.”
“I need to wash my hair,” she purred, continuing to stroke his stiffening shaft.
“Close your eyes, and don’t speak,” he ordered sternly, gripping her wrist and pulling her hand away.
Squeezing her eyes shut as he turned her to face the wall, she was shocked as he began aggressively lathering her hair. She wanted to ask him why, but there was no way she was going to say a word. Suddenly gripping her forearms, he pushed her directly under the showerhead.
“I need to make sure all this shampoo is out,” he muttered, running his fingers through her tangled mane, “and I suppose you need conditioner.”
A bottle squelched, and a moment later his fingers returned, spreading the creamy lotion through her long, wet locks. As he moved her back under the streaming hot water, she felt as dominated as she had when she’d been tied up and blindfolded.
“You said you needed to wash your hair. Now it’s done,” he declared. “What do you say?”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Now you’ll be punished,” he said sternly, turning off the faucets.
As she wondered why she’d pushed the envelope yet again, he gripped her wrists and placed them against the tile wall.
“Leave them there and spread your feet. You’re a very naughty girl,” he scolded, delivering a hot, stinging slap on the center of her backside. “Why didn’t you towel off and wait for me on the bed?”
“I was, uh, I was—”
“What?” he demanded, smacking her a second time.
“When I climbed out of the tub, you were so—oh, Scott, I just wanted to be with you.”
“You couldn’t wait five minutes?”
“I, uh…”
“Don’t move and keep your eyes closed.”
Though a slice of fear pricked her skin, she couldn’t deny the thrill coursing through her veins, but his flattened palm suddenly blasted from cheek to cheek with fiery swats.
“What happens to naughty girls who disobey their captain?”
“They’re punished, Sir,” she wailed as he continued to rain the stinging blows.
“And naughty girls who have no manners, who are rude and bossy?”
“They’re punished, Sir,” she repeated, wincing as she spoke.
“I want to know if you’re angry and frustrated,” he declared, whisking his flattened palm in a volley of fiery smacks across her sit spots, “but you don’t get to be bossy and belligerent, not with me. Is that clear?”
“Ow, ow, yes, yes, Sir, please, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“You did it because you knew what would happen and wanted and needed this. But you’ll get more than you bargained for.”
She was about to beg for mercy when he finally stopped. Though gasping and desperate to rub her scorched skin, she didn’t dare move her hands.
Seconds ticked by.
She heard him leave.
For a moment she thought he was fetching a towel to dry her off, but when he returned, he smoothed his hand over her scalded cheeks, then landed another hard smack.
“Move your feet apart, slide your hands lower, arch your back, and stick your ass out.”
Her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, she nervously followed the instruction.
“You blatantly defied me. That won’t happen again, will it, Elizabeth?”
“No, Sir.”
“Put your hands behind you and spread your cheeks.”
With hot humiliation burning across her face, she reluctantly followed his instruction.
“That’s more like it,” he muttered as his lubed finger probed her rosebud and moved in and out. “Now you’ll take my cock, won’t you, naughty girl?”
“Yes, S-Sir.”
His stiff rod suddenly demanded entry, and as she let out a cry, his fingers unexpectedly slid into her pussy.
“You’re sopping,” he grunted, his breath hot in her ear as he aggressively rubbed her clit. “Tell me what you want and where.”
“I want you to-to…”
“Say it.”
“Fuck me in the ass, please, Sir?”
As the stammered words left her lips, he pushed inside her tight, dark portal.
* * *
Moving slowly in and out of Elizabeth’s forbidden channel, Scott persisted with his erotic massage until her moans told him her arousal was building. Only then did he clutch both breasts and roughly pinch her nipples. Though she squealed loudly, he tweaked them again, before sending his hand back to her clit to continue the tantalizing torment.
As her cries grew louder, and her breathing faster, he quickened his pace, and kept his agitating fingers against her sensitive nub.
Long minutes passed.
Each time he sensed she was nearing her climax, he let his hand fall from between her legs, and stopped his salacious thrusts, but propelling his cock with greater vigor each time he started back up, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold back.
“Please, Sir, please, will you keep going this time?”
“I’m not sure you deserve an orgasm,” he said huskily, lightly slapping her pussy.
“Ow, I’ll listen, I will, I swear.”
“You’re damn right you will.”
Moving his hand to her inner thighs, he landed several hard smacks to underscore his decree, and as she let out a howl, he abruptly gripped her hips and began ramming his rod with quick, powerful strokes.
Her cries suddenly stopped.
Throwing back her head, she let out a wild wail.
Staring down at her scarlet cheeks and listening to her shrieks of pleasure echo through the bathroom, his powerful climax bubbled up from somewhere deep in his soul. Groaning loudly, he surrendered to the stunning, exhilarating spasms.
Chapter 24
Stirring from a power nap and feeling Elizabeth’s luscious body curled against his, Scott savored the memory of the salacious shower and powerful orgasm that had left him divinely drained. Stretching his arms above his head, he was grateful for the much needed rest.
“What time is it?” Elizabeth murmured.
“Dinnertime,” he replied, rolling over and bringing her into his arms. “I can already taste Emily’s lasagna, which is just as well or I’d ravage you all over again.”
“And you call me insatiable.”
“You’re like warm maple syrup, sweet and luscious,” he muttered huskily. “I never want to stop lapping you up.”
“I know what you mean.”
She’d whispered the words, lightly running her fingernails down his back. As a delicious shiver rippled through him, he quickly released her and propped himself up on an elbow.
“What?” she asked, her blue eyes sparkling up at him.
“You used to be a siren on the rocks.”
“No, I used to be your saucy wench.”
He laughed. “You were probably both, but if you don’t stop tempting me and get out of this bed I’ll spank you for being so fucking sexy.”
“How hard?” she purred, leaning forward and pressing her lips on his chest.
“You don’t want to find out,” he growled, her feathered kisses making him want to grab her wrists, pin her down, and utterly devour her.
“Oh, but I do,” she retorted, but quickly rolled off the bed as he reached for her arm. “You have to be faster than that, sailor,” she teased, running to her bag and pulling out clean clothes.
As he leapt from the bed and lunged toward her, she let out a squeal and darted for the door, but catching up in a heartbeat, he grabbed her around the waist, spun her around to face him, and clutched a fistful of disheveled hair.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
She paused, moved her arms around his neck, and fixed him with an unfathomable gaze. “I don’t want to.”
Her voice had been soft.
Almost somber.
An unfamiliar feeling moved through his gut.
Silent seconds passed…
“Get that lasagna in the oven,” was all he could think to say.
“Microwave or regular?”
His body relaxed, and a soft smile curled his lips. “Microwave, ten minutes on low. I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”
“Jiffy?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said, now get dressed and go.”
Turning her around, he slapped her ass, then moved across to the window and stared at the ocean swallowing up the sun.
Just as she had swallowed up his heart.
He loved her.
The admission didn’t lessen the impact.
* * *
After placing the lasagna in the microwave oven and setting the table, Elizabeth found a package of dinner rolls in the refrigerator. Slicing them in half and smothering them in butter and parmesan cheese, she placed them in the oven under the broiler.
Hoping to find something for dessert, she opened a door she assumed was a pantry, only to discover a well-stocked wine closet. Searching out a cabernet, she popped the cork and set it on the table to breathe.
But she needed a drink.
Finding Reidel glasses in an overhead cabinet, she placed them on the table, poured the dark red wine, sat down and took a sip.
You’re not going anywhere.
I don’t want to.
The brief exchange echoed through her head.
As the words had left her lips, she’d had an epiphany.
She was deeply, madly, crazy in love.
* * *
Cramming himself into the storage compartment at the back of the Jeep had left Dan’s muscles aching, but lowering the passenger seat all the way down, he’d managed to find a comfortable position. With cash in his pocket, a backup gun, and a black jacket that would help him blend into the night, he’d finally been able to catch his breath and relax.
By the time the shadows grew long, his body wasn’t quite so sore, and his sense of panic had faded. With a clear plan in mind, he climbed out, pulled on the jacket, and lifting the hood over his long, wavy hair, he started off.
When he’d first arrived in St. Thomas he’d walked endless hours, moving from shop to shop, showing Elizabeth’s picture to every salesclerk in every store. It had been a marathon task, and he’d barely scratched the surface when he’d discovered she’d met up with the captain from the Victoria Sailing School on the other side of the island. Driving from Red Hook to the Crown Bay Marina, he’d stopped into the small group of shops, including a hairdressing salon. When he’d introduced himself to the tall, buxom woman behind the counter, her eyes had sparkled up at him, and she’d broken into a wide smile.
Dan was fully aware he was no George Clooney, but for certain women he held a unique appeal. Wishing he could have pursued the unspoken invitation, he’d promised himself he’d be back if he had the time, and the circumstances were right. Both now dictated his return, though not for fun and games.
Approaching the beauty parlor, he spotted the closed sign hanging in the window, but he could see her sweeping the floor. Tapping on the glass, he watched her look toward him, then lay the broom against the wall and hurry across the salon.
“Detective Miller,” she exclaimed, opening the door. “This is a surprise. Come in.”
“Thank you,” he replied, walking past her and quickly removing the jacket. It was too small for his long limbs, and cut into his shoulders.
“How can I help you?” she inquired, flirtatiously touching his arm.
“If you were still open, how much would you charge to cut all this off?” he asked, moving his fingers through his thick, dark hair.
“Are you tired of looking like an eighties rock star?” she remarked with a laugh. “I think it suits you.”
“Thanks, but yeah. How much?”
“If I was open,” she said pointedly, “seventy-five dollars.”
“My natural hair color is light brown. I’ve been working undercover, but that’s over now. Can you bleach out the black dye I’ve been using and add some blond highlights?”
“Sure, but it will take some time.”
“Would three hundred in cash keep you here long enough?”
She grinned.
“Three hundred in cash will do it—and because it’s you,” she replied, winking at him.
“I want to lose the mustache as well. Do you have a bathroom and a razor?”
“Of course,” she said, guiding him over to the shampoo station, “but let’s start with your hair. Any idea what style you’re after?”
“Yep, but you have to promise not to laugh.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Kind of short and layered, like Justin Bieber used to have.”
“So—from long-haired eighties rocker to nineties teen idol.”
“Exactly,” Dan exclaimed, breaking into a grin.
“No problem.”
“Thanks—uh—I still don’t know your name.”
“My apologies,” she said as he leaned his head back into the basin. “It’s Roxy, Roxy Richards.”
“Ah, so Roxy Hair is you. Catchy, thanks, Roxy Richards.”
“You’re a very interesting man, Detective Miller.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, winking at her as she stared down at him, “and you can call me Danny.”
* * *
Drinking the velvety cabernet, munching the broiled parmesan toast, and devouring the delicious lasagna, Scott felt unusually mellow. Even the prospect of the looming operation wasn’t producing any anxiety. Scooping up the last bite, he pushed back from the table and ambled to the Keurig coffeemaker.
“Do you want a cup, Elizabeth?” he asked, popping a pod into the machine.
“Yes, please, and I’d like to talk to you,” she said, rising to her feet and walking up to join him.
“About…?”
“You’ve given me the bullet points about what will be happening tomorrow night, but please, will you tell me the details?” she asked softly, sidling up to him and leaning against his shoulder. “Pretty please?”
“Sure, I was planning on filling you in over dinner but I was too busy eating. I’d like to get your input.”
“Really?”
“Why are you surprised?” he asked, carrying the mugs back to the table. “You were around Conchello for almost a year.”
“You just made my day, Captain Scott.”
“You made mine a couple of hours ago,” he retorted with a wink.
“Ha, ha, very funny.”
“Those wads of money and the tracker will be smuggled into his house, then turned back on,” he said as they sat back down. “He would have been confused and angry when the signal stopped. When he sees it pop up, and he discovers the cash is right under his nose, his curiosity will push him to find it. I’ll be waiting.”
“What if he doesn’t take the bait?”
“He won’t be able to stop himself, that’s just human nature.”
“Where will you be putting the money and the tracker?”
“In the servants’ quarters. It’s easy for me to access. My only concern is the location. It’s on the ground floor. There are too many windows and doors for my liking, and if he has a hidden escape route that’s probably where it will be. If something goes belly up I don’t want it easy for him to reach.”
“I have a suggestion,” she murmured thoughtfully, “though it’s a long shot. At his mansion in Los Angeles there was a separate area he u
sed for special visitors, kind of like a VIP section. He called it his private quarters. I used to play hostess, so I was one of the few who stepped through those forbidden doors, although,” she said, taking a breath, “I also heard it was where he interrogated people.”
“What’s your point?”
“If he had this exclusive area in his home in Los Angeles, he probably has it here. If he does, and you can place the tracker and the money in there, that would really freak him out.”
“He does!” Scott declared. “Conchello renovated the home when he bought it. We have the plans, and according to my people working for the catering companies, there is a VIP area.”
“He boasted to me once about the layout of the rooms and how important it was,” she said excitedly. “Maybe they’re the same.”
“The plans are on the computer. Grab your coffee.”
“What about the dishes?”
He laughed. “You can be such a woman sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” she quipped, picking up her mug and following him as he strode into the hall.
“No comment,” he replied, still grinning as they reached the security room and he punched in the code.
Walking in and hurrying to the desk, Scott powered up the machine and opened the file.
“How many floors does his house have?” Elizabeth asked.
“Two, but it has very high ceilings and he added a mezzanine.”
“That’s it! His private quarters at the mansion were in a custom built mezzanine. The parties took place on the ground floor, and two of his thugs would be stationed at the bottom of the stairs on either side of a red velvet rope.”
“Here’s the layout of the mezzanine in his house here. Does it look similar?”
Leaning forward, Elizabeth studied the drawings. “Wow, it’s identical. The large circular room in the middle leads into four separate rooms. That’s the only way into them, they have no other doors.”
“That’s weird, but nothing Conchello does should surprise me. Are they bedrooms?”
“No, there’s a BDSM dungeon, a dining room where a buffet is set up, and his pharmacy.”
Her Very Strict Captain Page 19
