Cruel Water (The Dirty Heroes Collection Book 11)

by Dee Palmer

  Retreating from the window as she continues to spin, leap and prance around the courtyard, I slip my jeans on, and snatching the fur throw from the end on my bed, I head downstairs. The front door creaks, groaning my presence loud enough to make her falter. Weakness causes her stumble to her knees. Closing the distance in long determined strides, I drop to one knee and tip her lowered chin. Her eyes sparkle with pleasure. Her lips tremble, and I almost do it. She wants me to, wants my kiss like her life depends on it, but I can’t. I won’t. I don’t ever kiss. She looks so fucking tragic, powerfully so. I have to force my eyes shut as the desire to crash my lips to hers surges like a tidal wave inside me. I can almost taste her sweetness as my tongue dives in demanding everything, her compliance, her desire, her pain. I want it, all of it. Blood rushes in my ears. Heat tears through me like a wildfire, and my cock strains in the confines of my tight jeans. Something’s got to give, and after her amazing display of obedience, I may have to concede, this time, it might have to be me.

  “You want me?” I ask. She blinks, and for a moment, I have to wonder, who the hell would? The hit in my chest when she nods feels like an atom bomb exploding. Her shy smile fair does me in. “Okay, but I have to warn you, this…this is just the beginning.” She tips her chin high, defiant and proud. I snatch it, pull it low and pinch the skin between my thumb and forefinger. Her eyes glaze and widen with raw desire. “Just the beginning.” Repeating the words on an exhale, I watch her shiver from head to toe. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, through her teeth. Biting down when she pulls back, she licks her lips and touches the fresh blood with her fingertips. Holding her finger up, the dark red looks almost black in the dawn light. She watches, fascinated as the drop starts to roll slowly down her finger. Before it reaches her knuckle, she has it pressed to her mouth, and flicking her tongue, she swipes any traces clean. Her pupils as dark as the thoughts race through my mind.

  “So it begins.”

  7

  She weighs next to nothing in my arms as I carry her back inside. Her skin is drenched with a tempting mixture of rain and sweat. Tears streak her flushed face, and I find myself distracted with the desire to drink them down. Such beauty, such sacrifice. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed anything quite so humbling. I never believed it possible—part of me still doesn’t, even if I did witness it with my own eyes. She silenced my demons and awakened something so raw and primal, I felt it vibrate through me, rattling my mind and shaking my very foundations. Everything I know, everything I hold true is in turmoil because of this woman.

  Primal passion courses in my veins like liquid fire. Feral lust threatens to shatter the tentative control I have on this unpredicted situation, and honestly, I don’t know what I want to do first: devour or worship, fuck or feast.

  I kick the door to my bedroom suite wide open. She tenses in my arms, desire so strong it must feel a good deal like anger rolling off me in waves. She looks up, eyes wide with worry, and I get a jolt, a hard hit in my chest. She should fear me; still, this type of worry is strangely uncomfortable. Normally I don’t care. This is different again, and I’m struggling to know what exactly has changed.

  There are some things I won’t compromise on, and others, for the first time, I am feeling more inclined to at least consider. I won’t kiss her, but I do care enough to soothe, to comfort. The sexual attraction is new and volatile, like a powder keg of carnality, a Pandora’s box just opened and I can’t wait to explore . However, I crave her pain for other reasons, and I need to know if her pleasure from it is real.

  I carry her into the bathroom and sit her on the vanity unit next to the double copper sink.

  “Don’t move and don’t touch anything.” My voice is hoarse, rough enough without the abrasive tone. “I’m going to run a bath and clean up your feet,” I add, more softly. She swallows slowly and her lips curve a breathtakingly sweet smile. I turn away and start the water in the oversized tub, pour some bath oil, and then start searching in the cupboard for some first aid supplies. Honestly, I’ve never even looked in these cupboards. I just assume Winston is the sort of butler that would keep the appropriate supplies in the appropriate places, and lo, there it is, one fully equipped first aid box.

  I move her, so her back is flush to the mirror so she can stretch her legs out in front and I can get a better look at her feet. It’s difficult to see the extent of the damage. Dried blood is mixed with grit and dirt and ground into her flesh. My first assessment is that it’s considerable. I run a mix of lukewarm water and antiseptic in the sink and lower her feet in. She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes roll to the heavens, and she exhales a breathy sound that goes right to the base of my cock.

  “That doesn’t hurt?” I ask. She nods. “You like pain?” She boldly takes my hand and places it between her legs, my fingers instantly curl and seek somewhere warm and wet to hide. I’m not disappointed. “Yes, I would say you enjoy pain.” My voice drops an octave with nefarious intent. It’s an effort to concentrate on the task in hand, the water is as dark as if it were filled with only her blood, and I can’t describe the sick sensations of pleasure creeping into the darkest crevices of my mind.

  “Who are you? What’s your name?” She shakes her head, suddenly looking irritated or perhaps disappointed, as if I’ve asked the wrong question. “Why are you here?” She smiles this time and places her free hand in the center of my chest. Her palm may as well have been a pure bolt of lightning from the shock to my body. “Me? Why me?” She tilts her head coquettishly, her pupils dilate, and she shamelessly grinds against the fingers I have inside her. Fuck!

  In that moment I don’t care why, who, or what happens next. In this moment, I feel like a weight is lifting. I am able to shuck the cloak of despair that has been my burden to carry for as long as I can remember. I decide to embrace these new feelings, every fucking one of them.

  I sink my fingers deeper. Using my free hand, I fist her hair and yank her head back. Her neck is exposed, and I lick the taut elegant line of tendon from her collar bone to just under the ear. Her whole body shivers, and on the return journey I bite down. She convulses as I suck with all my might. I feel the draw in my toes, pulling her skin into my mouth and gorging on the silky softness. I can’t get enough. She bucks on my fingers, her own sound of wetness masked slightly by the sloshing of her feet in the sink. She grips my shoulders, anchoring me to her. Her panting breaths are rapid, like hunted prey finally caught. I pull back enough to watch her face as she begins to come apart in my hands. Her mouth gapes with wanton abandon, and I don’t think I’ve seen anything so mesmerizing. Her inner muscles clamp around my fingers, tight and pulsing as she climbs higher, dizzy and delirious, falling only when I ease the pressure of my dexterous fingers.

  Her eyelids flutter and she takes a few dissociated glances around the room before settling back on me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that color blue in a pair of eyes before. They seem to change in the light, a hypnotic spectrum of deepest blue to light aquamarine with facets of white light that seem to pierce right through me. I ease my fingers out and chuckle when she silently whimpers at the loss. Holding my fingers up, I arch my brow, glance at the glossy sheen of her arousal and back to her. She licks her lips and opens her mouth. She sucks them clean, drawing them into her hot mouth the instant I place them on her flat tongue. My cock stirs, swelling painfully behind the loose constraints of my sweat pants. Her gaze drops, and as much as I want to sink into her right now, I’ve decided I need to be sure. The test isn’t quite over. This is more than a fuck. This is more than a play session. This is so much more. I feel it at a cellular, spiritual level.

  “Right. Let’s look at you feet.” I say, matter-of-factly. She pulls her knees to her chest, elevating her feet free of the sink. Blood trickles into the bowl; however, the slashes and lacerations don’t look so bad. In fact, they hardly look like cuts at all, a few deeper red marks but the open wounds that were there just a moment ago have vanished.

  “Wow, you heal f
ast.” I pat the soles of her feet dry with a soft towel. There’s barely any blood at all. She pulls her feet away from my scrutinizing stare and shrugs lightly. She reaches for the waistband of my joggers. I capture her slender but surprisingly strong fingers in one hand.

  “Nah-ah. Patience. Don’t think for one moment you are going to get what you want just because you are here in my bathroom. We are still doing this, whatever this is, my way. Understand?” She sits back and bows her head with contrition, only she doesn’t quite hold the submissive pose without peeking up through long lashes at the last second, a mischievous grin pulling her lips upward like she’s gotten exactly what she wants.

  We’ll see. It’s going to be a long day and night.

  I scoop her off the counter and plop her into the deep bath. I’m about to turn the taps off, but she dives her head under the flow. Silently laughing, the water fills her mouth. She coughs and splutters, and when she’s caught her breath, she does it again until I turn them off.

  She’s crazy, spellbinding. Utter joy lights her face brighter than a supernova. Rolling, and writhing in the large tub, she’s a picture of childish innocence, perfectly mixed with delicious deviance. She kneels up, and the bubbles swill and soak her skin, as oil-infused water clings to her body like a sensual slick of pure temptation. She slides back onto her bottom, swishing her arms this way and that, creating wave after wave of bubbles, filling the room with fragrant jasmine and pomegranate. I’m tempted to sit and watch her simply enjoy herself playing in the tub; however, she pantomimed something about three days to Winston, so the time for games has passed.

  I walk to the door. A loud splash halts my exit. She’s on her feet, bubbles distractedly racing down her curves. Her skin is pink from the heat of the water, and my palm twitches with envy. Her brows are pulled together with concern, and I have to wave her down when she tries to get out of the tub.

  “Whoa there. Stay, stay and enjoy the bubbles. I won’t be long.”

  She tilts her head but doesn’t lower herself into the water. I walk back and push down on her shoulders. She sinks to her knees and tips her chin up. Her eyes are wide with wonder, searching my face as if seeing it for the first time. I can’t express what havoc that level of intensity is wreaking on my sanity. I take her chin in my thumb and forefinger, and my gaze falls to her lips, soft, wet and so fucking perfect. I have to draw in a fortifying breath to resist, calling on reserves I’ve never needed before to extinguish the urge to kiss her. I don’t kiss.

  “Stay. I’m just going to get some supplies.” I’m not sure if my tone conveys the erotic intent in my explanation, but she shivers all the same, and I get a rush of pure delight at the carnal smile that spreads warm and wanton across her face.

  8

  This is proving more of challenge than I had anticipated. I have possibly the best equipped dungeon in the world at the club, but my home, since I never bring anyone here, is an entirely different story. Still, I’m nothing if I’m not resourceful. I have raided the kitchen drawers, the cupboards, and the pantry for the last twenty minutes, much to Winston’s amusement and confusion.

  “What is it you are searching for specifically, sir? I might be able to point you in the right direction.” He hovers at my shoulder, shadowing my every step.

  “Nothing specific, Winston. I’m just searching.” I pick up a long metal spatula from the utensil drawer and give it a cursory swish in the air. Satisfied, I place it on the tray next to the rest of my ‘haul’. A frosting knife, hair brush, clothes pins, a peeling knife, a small ice bucket filled with cubes, a wine bottle, and from the equipment room, a length of climbing rope, some carabiners, and a rubber ball. I also have some not-so-subtle vegetables—a cucumber, carrot, and a rather large butternut squash, after all, everything a dildo if you’re brave enough. “Do we have any peppermint extract?”

  “Is Sir planning on baking?” Winston arches his brow, his dry humor curling his lips.

  “Funny, do we have any?” I clip.

  “We do,” He walks into the pantry and returns with a small brown bottle of flavoring, places it on the tray, and continues to pretend he is not remotely interested in what I’m doing. He is, however, irritated I’m doing it in his kitchen. Regardless, I shall be out of his hair shortly. I have no intention of divulging my plan. Even so, the wicked smile on my face is evidence enough that I am enjoying myself.

  Tapping my fingers lightly on my lips, I muse to myself, trying to reconcile the plethora of desires I am eager to satiate, with the tools at my disposal. It should be enough. I load the tray with a large bottle of water and take a bunch of the bananas from the table. Winston coughs up the sip of tea he had only partly swallowed.

  “Food. These are for food.” I explain. Lifting the tray, I catch the roll of his eyes and his tight lip. “And Winston…”

  “Sir?” He faces me, impassive and resignedly obedient.

  “I don’t want to be disturbed. Understand?”

  “Very good, sir. You know where I am if you need anything.”

  “I won’t. I have everything I need right here.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it.” He nods his head, and the warmth of his generous heart seeps out in the softness of his expression. I turn away before I say something kind and wholly out of character. I don’t want to scare the poor man.

  I take the supplies directly up to the bedroom, and while I can still hear splashing coming from the bathroom, I set about rigging up some vertical restraints, securing ropes to each of the corner posts to the canopy that is suspended above the bed. The canopy itself is sturdy enough to support a small car if it had to. One slight and sexy female form should be no problem. I lay out the instruments I gathered, so they are close at hand and add a few more objects. A candle, some Vaseline, and two belts. I catch my reflection and can’t believe what I’m seeing, a full-blown smile as wide as my face and only hint of my inner sadist glinting in my eyes. It would be unsettling if it didn’t feel so completely fucking natural. I pull my shirt over my head and kick my joggers to the floor, opting for a lighter pair of briefs for the time being.

  Heading down the stairs to the bathroom, I’m careful with my footsteps, avoiding the telltale groans from the ancient wooden floorboards, which would announce my arrival before I get the chance to spy on my guest. The sliver of a gap in the door is enough to peek through and watch. She’s cupping handfuls of water, raising her arms high and laughing silently as she releases the water over her face, again and again. When she tires of this, she sinks down, disappearing for long seconds before bursting to the surface. She sweeps the hair from her eyes and runs her hands down the back of her head, neck, and down the front of her body.

  It’s decision time. do I spy on her in the hope she’s as curious to explore her tight little body as I am, or do I do the exploring? It’s a no brainer.

  She jumps almost clean out of the bath, splashing back down with a nervous smile and a wicked flush to her cheeks as if she knows she was almost caught red handed.

  “Good bath?” I ask. She nods.

  “Are you ready to get out?” A more eager nod this time. I grab a large bath towel and she stands, climbing carefully over the high side. The towel swallows her up as I wrap it around her wet, naked, slightly goose pimpled body and shock myself when I don’t immediately let go. In fact, I squeeze, pulling her hot little body firmly against mine. She sucks in a sharp breath and peers up. Her wet lashes look darker, and her eyes are so blue, I can see an endless ocean swirling in their depths.

  “I have to tell you something, ask maybe, but either way, I have to explain what I want to do.”

  She’s encased neck to toes in the towel, like a human sausage roll, completely at my mercy, yet the feelings surging inside are so foreign I’m not sure what to do next. Part of me wants to continue hugging her; part of me wants to whisk her away to my bed and fuck her brains out, and the more disconcerting part of me wants to cause her pain. Why is that disconcerting when it’s how it’s a
lways lived my life? Well, I don’t need to do it because it will ease my torment, my torment is already eased just being with her. This desire is rooted deeper. I feel the need for her pain and submission flow in me like my very essence. I know the pleasure will be immeasurable. I just know it. I’ve never had a problem with sadism, pain for kink, kink for kink’s sake, I just never got off like others do. It was simply a process to fight the demons. But this, like everything with her, is different, and today is about discovering exactly how different.

  I lift her up by her shoulders, her feet dangling. It’s the least romantic way of carrying her I know; however, I think it sets the tone of what is about to come. I have already been uncharacteristically attentive, and before signals get mixed and misinterpreted, I need to set the record straight.

  I carry her out of the bathroom and up the stairs. Her beaming smile is fucking adorable, and yet again, I feel her pull, like a powerful magnet, and I suddenly have iron filings running in my veins.

  I sit her on the edge of my bed and resist the urge to drop to my haunches. Instead, I hold my position, directly in front of her, towering and stiff in every sense of the word. Her eyes fix on mine, and she seems to understand the gravity of the situation. Her throat bobs with a slow swallow, and I catch her furtive glance at the straps hanging from the canopy frame above her.

  I pick up my leather belt and run it slowly between my fingers. Looping it around her neck, I slip the end through the buckle and tighten. Her eyes flare with the first bite of leather against the tender skin on her neck.

  “You like pain, and I want to explore that a little more. No, not a little. I want to explore that a great deal more.” I tug the towel loose. Her skin is covered with gooseflesh and I know it has nothing to do the room temperature. She squeezes her thighs together and drops her head back. I don’t bother to remove the towel from the bed; we’re going to need it later.