Edge of the Enforcer

by Cherise Sinclair

  DeVries ran his hand over his short hair. “She already does.”

  “Did you determine what you can do?”

  “No.” He scowled. “Or my ass would have been here, no matter what Simon wanted.” The thought of losing Lindsey was a twisting ache in his gut. He missed her sweet body beside him. And how she strained to be polite in the mornings, despite her grumpiness. Her need to feed him. Her ability to listen so hard everything else apparently faded away. Her easy laughter that could turn into the cutest uncontrollable giggles.

  Yeah, he fucking missed her.

  “I can see her point of view as well as yours.” Xavier didn’t say anything further; the sympathy in his gaze was enough.

  “Is she here?”

  “No. She hasn’t been in since that night.”

  Hell. Dark Haven was the source of most of her friends. “I should never have touched her,” he muttered.

  “At one time, I thought that. Now”—Xavier frowned—“I’m not so certain.”

  As DeVries jerked up his chin in acknowledgment, he spotted a submissive kneeling a few feet away. “HurtMe, you here for a reason?”

  The blond man lifted his head. “For you, Master.” His almost purring voice was an invitation.

  “I’m in the mood to push. To make you scream.”

  HurtMe bounced in place. “I can take it. Please use me, Master.”

  “Don’t call me Master. Go find a cross downstairs.”

  “Yes, Sir.” HurtMe rose. Hesitated. “The Victorian nook is empty.”

  What was wrong with the man? “People who want privacy use theme rooms. I got no need for privacy.”

  HurtMe’s face fell. And he ran downstairs.

  “What got into him?” deVries wondered.

  Xavier frowned after the masochist. “Later, maybe we should talk about him and his assumptions.”

  * * * *

  A man’s screams drew Lindsey across Dark Haven’s dungeon.

  A couple of steps behind, Rona followed, having insisted on accompanying her to the club. After finishing his meetings, Simon planned to join them later.

  “Crom. Someone is sure having a time tonight,” Rona muttered.

  The sound of the masculine howls of anguish sent goose bumps down Lindsey’s arms.

  Surrounded by observers, the St. Andrew’s cross at the foot of the stairs held the poor victim. HurtMe was getting his wish all right. His entire back was reddened from a heavy flogging. Diagonal cane welts ran down the backs of his thighs. In a few spots, the skin was torn, with blood dotting the long lines. His balls were clamped, and weights hung from them.

  Rona frowned. “Surely the top didn’t leave him hanging there. Xavier would have a fit.”

  “I don’t see him, though.” Dark Haven had strict rules about never leaving a bound submissive alone. A few seconds later, she realized the standing observers had concealed a man who was taking something from his bag.

  The top was deVries. Every blood cell in her vein jumped with yearning.

  She took a step back. No. He’s not mine. As the joy drained away, she sagged slightly, feeling the heaviness return. She needed to leave. Lindsey turned to Rona and found someone had tugged her off for a private conversation.

  As deVries shook out a heavy flogger and took his position, Lindsey’s mouth went dry. Just look at him. Sweat darkened his faded black T-shirt around the arms and neck. Pumped-up from the exercise, his biceps and shoulders strained against the fabric.

  Oh God. Lust tangled with longing. He’d held her with those hard arms. She knew the salty taste of his skin, the growling sound of his voice, the scent of him from the fresh soapy fragrance on his chest to the intoxicating musk of his groin. Her craving for him wrenched her insides.

  But he—he didn’t need her. He wanted a masochist. And maybe HurtMe had told her the truth. The minute deVries returned from Montana, there he was with HurtMe. The pain was a knife sliding beneath her skin and gouging right to the bone.

  As if to show what she couldn’t possibly give him, the scene continued. When deVries struck, the thick strands of the flogger hit HurtMe’s shoulders with a bone-shaking force, and the masochist whimpered.

  “Yell for me, you bastard,” deVries said, his voice rough with enjoyment.

  The flogger struck again, and HurtMe screamed.

  Lindsey cringed. She could never, ever take that kind of pain. Leave, stupid. Leave.

  Her legs wouldn’t move, as if clamps held her feet to the floor. She had to watch. To see the way deVries moved from side to side, striking new areas, easing the blows, changing floggers.

  HurtMe slid into subspace; deVries drew him back out. Steadily, the sadist worked the scene into an inevitable climax.

  Lindsey’s heart thudded in time to the rising and falling of deVries’s arm. Watching the expressions on his face—the enjoyment, the power, the cruelty—she felt the wetness between her legs increase. The air itself thickened and heated until each breath was a struggle.

  After delivering the final blows, deVries removed the clamps on HurtMe’s balls and nipples. Even as the masochist moaned at the influx of blood, the sadist picked up a cane.

  God, he wouldn’t. Lindsey couldn’t help crossing her arms over her breasts in sympathy.

  With a light in his eyes, deVries smacked the cane over HurtMe’s abused nipples and testicles and finally his straining cock.

  Giving a high-wrenching groan, HurtMe came, shaking so hard the cross itself moved, and Lindsey couldn’t tell if his orgasm was from pain or pleasure.

  As HurtMe sagged on the cross, Lindsey realized deVries was standing several feet from the man, smiling faintly…but not touching. That seemed odd. When Lindsey came—every time she climaxed—deVries had crushed himself against her as if to let his body absorb every shake and quiver. She licked her dry lips and shifted her thoughts away.

  Working methodically, deVries released the masochist and helped him sit on the floor with a blanket around his shoulders. Talking in a soft voice, he handed HurtMe a bottle of water and made sure he drank.

  Lindsey frowned as she watched deVries clean the equipment and pack his bag while tending HurtMe with a firm kindness, much as her father had cared for a horse in labor.

  HurtMe’s face showed open desire. Despite his hard-on, deVries showed nothing of the sort.

  “Are you okay?” Rona asked. A Dark Haven staff member stood beside her.

  “I’m confused,” Lindsey whispered.

  “Not surprising.” Rona squeezed her shoulder. “Come on. Show’s over.”

  “Right.” Her body still burned. Needing…needing something and someone it wasn’t going to receive.

  “Lindsey,” Rona prompted, “Xavier sent MaryAnn down to get me. He wants me to check out a submissive who’s bleeding.”

  “Go on. I’ll meet you in a bit.” As soon as I can get my body to move. As Rona hurried off after the staff member, Lindsey looked back at the scene.

  Having helped HurtMe to his feet, deVries motioned for two of the masochist’s friends to approach.

  HurtMe shook his head, set his palms on the sadist’s chest, and leaned forward to whisper.

  Lindsey flinched, wanting to smack the masochist and rip his hands away.

  No. Not mine. DeVries isn’t mine.

  When deVries got a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding scowl, HurtMe lifted his hands, whining, “But, but Master. I want—”

  “No, boy. That’s not going to happen.” As deVries turned his back, HurtMe’s friends escorted him away.

  Stunned, Lindsey stared. What was that about?

  Slinging his bag over his shoulder, deVries glanced over the dispersing audience.

  Oh shit. Lindsey edged sideways to retreat.

  Too late. His potent stare trapped her, held her in place. His regard traveled from her face down her body and back up. His eyes narrowed.

  Then his lips curved…as if he’d won a prize.

  Oh, that’s bad. Lindsey sucked in a breath and
forced her feet to move. I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t do this again.

  She dodged a Master attaching a harness to his pony-slave and had to stop for a submissive kneeling before her Mistress. Finally the way was clear.

  A powerful hand closed on her shoulder. “Going somewhere, pet?”

  He turned her, forcing her to face her most wonderful dream, most savage heartache. Heather-gray eyes bored right into her soul and twisted every aching emotion.

  “I—I was just watching.” When she strove to ease away, his grip tightened. “I’m sorry if my presence bothered you.”

  He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Nope. Bothered you, though. I could feel the heat from over there. All excited are you?”

  The blood rushed into her face with an almost audible whoosh. “I’m not—”

  “Oh baby,” he murmured. “You are.” He slid his hand under her chin, tilting her head for a leisurely perusal. “Seems like watching me hurt someone arouses you.” His voice deepened and dug holes through the barriers she’d raised. “Yeah?”

  Couldn’t run. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t lie. Not to him. Even the abject humiliation she felt didn’t prevent her nod.

  His hand dropped, the gray in his eyes lightened to green, and the harsh lines bracketing his mouth smoothed into a smile. Hellfire, her heart could resist his irritation, his scowls—not his smiles. With merely his expression, he’d hobbled her like a horse prevented from straying, keeping her where she could be touched. Used.

  When he took her hand, she instinctively struggled to pull away. He snorted. “Oh Tex, you know better than that.” With his eyes holding the heat of the previous scene, he wrapped her hair around his fist. “Come with me.”

  “No,” she whispered. He kept moving. “Damn you!” She dug in her heels. “Stop.”

  To her surprise, he did. Still controlling her hair, he put his other hand on her cheek, and the juxtaposition of control and tenderness wrenched her heart. “Let’s talk. A few minutes. Can you give me that?”

  Why did she long to offer him anything he asked for? Knowing her agreement would only lead to more pain, she still nodded.

  “Thank you, pet, for the trust.” He touched his mouth to hers—a gentle graze of lips.

  To her horror, he steered her into a theme room and closed the door before releasing her.

  Lordy, the harem room. She’d looked in a few times, yet never entered. Breathing in the heady fragrance of sandalwood, she turned in a circle. Over her head, dark blue silk draperies angled from the center point of the ceiling to high on the walls and dropped straight down to give the illusion of an opulent tent. A wrought iron screen attached to one wall held ready-to-use wrist and ankle cuffs. “How about we talk upstairs instead?” Where the atmosphere didn’t whisper decadence.

  Although his lips twitched, his gaze stayed serious. He took a seat on an ornately carved wooden bench and pulled her between his outstretched legs, holding her hands in his. “You saw the scene with HurtMe?”

  She nodded.

  “I know you don’t like that level of pain, Lindsey, but, when you watched, what were you thinking?”

  “I—” She looked away, trying to think.

  “Look at me.” When she met his intense gaze, he said, “Now tell me. All of it. I won’t be angry, but I need to know, pet.”

  “I was glad it wasn’t me under your flogger.” She started with the easy answer.

  His gaze never left her face as he nodded. And waited.

  “Um. I was a little”— a lot—“jealous he and you could share that.”

  “All right. Go on.”

  “I was…” She didn’t want to confess more. Her throat dried, making the words stick and jumble.

  Silence.

  “It…it was hot. What you did.”

  One side of his mouth tilted up.

  Did he think she was silly? Stupid? Anger slid into the unhappiness welling inside her. “You walked away from him. Shouldn’t you be with him now? To finish…” Maybe even to fuck him. The thought made her throat close.

  A vertical crease appeared on his forehead. She remembered how she would trace her finger up the tiny valley between his brows.

  “Finish what?” he asked. “The scene was over. He doesn’t require much aftercare; he got what he needed.”

  “But he wants more. And HurtMe said you were…” She flushed. Aw heck, she’d known. HurtMe hadn’t told her the truth. Or—even worse—he had told her his truth. Maybe that was why she’d been confused—because he actually thought he and deVries had something going on. Regrettably deVries didn’t have a clue.

  “What…exactly…did HurtMe say?” His eyes hardened.

  Oh spit. “He thought you used me to make him jealous.”

  “Why the fuck would I want to do that?” The expression on deVries’s face went from blank to comprehension to irritation.

  She wet her lips and spoke carefully. Time for really, really clear speech. “You’re not—weren’t—in a relationship with HurtMe?”

  DeVries snorted. “I don’t do guys.” He let her hands go, catching her hips before she could retreat. “If I wanted to fuck men, I would, babe. My dick prefers women.”

  “You had an erection during your scene.”

  He dug his fingers into her buttocks, pulling her closer. “I’m a sadist, and dishing out pain makes me hard.” He shook his head. “When I was younger, I tried reaming a guy or two. Doesn’t do it for me.”

  “But…”

  With one big hand curved around her thigh, he used the other to unzip her latex shirt. A hum of enjoyment came from him. “I like breasts,” he murmured, taking one in his hand, weighing it, stroking his thumb over her nipple, sending random flares lighting up her body. “I like cunt. The way you smell. The softness. The sound of a woman’s voice when she gets off.”

  He wasn’t upset. Not trying to prove something. Just stating the facts with an undeniable conviction. This was deVries. He knew himself. Knew what he liked.

  “I think you should talk with HurtMe.” No matter how much he’d added to her upset, normally the masochist was a nice guy. Perhaps confused. “I know emotions can get muddled when two people scene together and make such a connection. He believes there’s more between you than there is.”

  “I’ll give Xavier a heads-up, and I’ll talk to HurtMe.” His lips quirked. “Can’t beat on him—he’d enjoy it too much.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Softhearted baby.” DeVries’s mouth went firm. “So, you were confused, but you didn’t come to me for the truth. Even worse, you didn’t give us a chance to talk about the problems of me being a sadist. That’s going to change in the future.”

  What future? She nodded.

  His expression said he wasn’t buying her silent concession. “And you’re figuring there’s no future because you can’t fill my needs.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Lindsey.” His hands stroked her waist under the shirt. “How do you define being exclusive?” His mouth twitched. “Or, as you put it, going steady.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Exclusive means you don’t fuck anyone else, right?”

  “Of course.”

  He slid his hands under her matching latex skirt to cup her bottom before moving higher to tease the sensitive hollow above her buttocks.

  Her toes curled under.

  He asked, “Does doing an S/M scene with someone else violate those terms—if there’s no fucking involved?”

  Flustered by the intimate knowledge he displayed of exactly where to touch her, she tried to think. “I…don’t know.”

  He smiled.

  “I didn’t agree.”

  “No, but, pet, you’re thinking about it.” He drew her closer and nuzzled between her breasts. “If you get hot and bothered while you watch me whip a guy, I’d consider it a win all around.”

  “You want me to watch?”

  His eyes glinted. “B
aby, if you’re in the building when I’m doing a session, I’m going to tie you up in the corner so I can keep an eye on you.”

  She started to say he was insane, only remembered the caning and wand scene he’d done with johnboy. How Master Rock had been delighted deVries had given his slave what he couldn’t—and afterward had reaped the benefits.

  Could she do that? “I… We can try.”

  “Good.” His strong fingers massaged her bottom as a corner of his mouth tipped up. “We’ll start now.”

  FUCK, HE’D MISSED having his hands on her. DeVries felt his control shredding inch by inch. But little Tex was all female, so she probably wanted to talk shit over for another hour. Had good reason, really since she’d had, hell, almost as bad a week as he’d had…though, at least, she hadn’t frozen her damned balls off.

  He wasn’t going to talk now.

  She’d get a lengthy chat…later. He closed his thighs to trap her between his legs long enough to yank her shirt off. Unzipped her skirt and let it drop. Sat back to enjoy the sight. “Damn, you have a gorgeous body.” And he watched her blush from her pretty little tits to her face with the compliment.

  But taking her without thought to what had happened would set a bad precedent. “Now you’re dressed appropriately, kneel in front of me. Eyes down.”

  Indecision wrinkled her brow. Yeah, the lack of talking had done damage. Nonetheless when he straightened slightly, she went to her knees. There it was. As a submissive, she wanted control—his control. When she’d broken them apart, they’d lost that instinctive balance.

  Before clouding the issue with sex, he needed to set their D/s relationship straight. He studied her face as he considered.

  She’d made decisions. He didn’t want a submissive who didn’t think for herself. Hell, no. Neither would he let one choose for them both without talking it over. She’d misstepped, and in a way he couldn’t ignore. Her arbitrary actions had almost cost them each other…and she had to know down deep he wouldn’t tolerate that again.

  She had to be punished. Right now. For future mishaps, he’d have the time to figure out more appropriate punishments, but here, they needed the intimacy of sex to reforge their bonds.