by Jo Davis
He was going to love being her teacher.
“Stop, darlin’. I don’t want to come yet.” She pulled off his cock with a moan of frustration, and he smiled. “Don’t worry, we’re not done by a long shot. Undress for me, baby.”
He held out a hand for her and helped her stand. She bit her lip, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable, hesitant. Did she realize her lessons were beginning? That even now he was easing her into what he hoped would be a mutually satisfying sexual lifestyle? Her expression cleared, became more confident, as she held his gaze and slowly peeled off her blouse, dropping it. Next went her bra, and he feasted his eyes on her full breasts, the rosy nipples pouty, begging for his teeth.
She kicked aside her shoes. Unzipping her casual black pants, she pushed them past her hips and down, taking the lacy scrap of panties with them. She stood naked before him, skin pale and creamy, the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs declaring her a natural blonde. Her tummy was flat, her legs athletic, long and toned. She took care of her body, and it showed.
She reached for him, but he shook his head, and her hand stilled. “Not yet, sweetheart. You’ll do as I say, do you understand?”
“I never said I wanted to play your game.” But her pupils dilated and she licked her lips, arousal shining like a beacon.
“This is no game, Emma,” he said, keeping his voice low. Hypnotic. “This is me, doing things right with you, doing right by you, as I should’ve done the first time. Do you understand?”
“I-I’m not sure.”
“You will, eventually.” He gestured to her big comfy bed. “I want you up there, on your back, knees bent and feet flat.” He was pleased by the spark of defiance in her blue eyes, but even more pleased that she did as he directed, arranging herself on the bed. “Now spread your knees wide so I can see all of you.”
Her cheeks colored, but she again did as he said. Her thighs parted, revealing her pink pussy, the folds shaved bare and glistening with moisture. More evidence that she was turned on by his taking control and was eager for more. He toed off his shoes and pushed his jeans and boxers the rest of the way off, then sat on the bed near her feet.
“Good girl. Look how pretty you are, already wet for me. Now I want you to touch yourself.”
“Wh-what?”
He injected a bit of firmness into his tone. “You heard me. Finger that sweet little clit of yours, baby. Let me see you get excited.”
For a second he thought she might argue, but instead her fingers slid down her belly and through the triangle of curls above the bare area. The pad of one finger touched the small nub and began to work it in slow rhythmic circles.
“Good baby. You’re so beautiful,” he praised, glad he could still speak. His erection strained, demanding he take her. But not yet. “Now lower. Spread that sweet cream all over your slit, and then finger-fuck yourself.”
No hesitation this time. She was getting into their play, preparing herself for him. Her thighs were spread and relaxed, tension gone, her posture completely open to him. Her slender fingers began to massage her slit, dipping into her pussy, fucking herself as her hips arched off the bed. The sight was so naughty, so provocative, that he nearly came like a thirteen-year-old.
“Ooh . . . Blaze, please!”
“Sir.”
“What?” Her voice cracked, fingers working furiously.
“You’ll call me sir when we’re making love, whether privately, or at a club, in front of others. Now tell me what you need.” She’d call him Master eventually, but he doubted that news would go over well at this point. Small steps.
“No,” she said hoarsely, shaking her head.
“Yes. Or we stop right now.”
The demand was a gamble. She stared at him in indecision, panting. Finally, she relented, expression vulnerable.
“Blaze—sir—fuck me! Please!”
This was a big milestone, the very one they’d faltered at before. One that had started them down the road to the big breakup. He could have shouted in triumph, but refrained.
“That’s my girl. I know that wasn’t easy for you. Hold on, sweetheart, and I’ll take care of you.” Shifting, he reached for the drawer in the nightstand where she kept her supply of condoms. As he grabbed one from the box he wondered whether she’d had anyone here to need them in their months apart, then brutally quashed the thought. He couldn’t afford to be a hypocrite.
Quickly, he tore open the package and sheathed himself. Moving between her thighs, he positioned his cock at her opening, cupped her bottom and lifted her, and sank into her slick channel.
“Oh! Oh, God, yes,” she cried. “Been too long. Fuck me.”
He started with slow thrusts, angling deep. Watched his rod impale her pussy again and again, until a warning tingle began at the base of his spine and his balls tightened. Wouldn’t be long.
Lowering her bottom, he covered her body with his and gathered her to his chest, wanting this closeness when they came together. The sense of completeness. He fucked her hard and fast, their breaths mingling. Drove them higher.
“Ah, fuck!” he yelled, every muscle locking down as he pumped his load inside her. She clung to his shoulders, riding out the wave, milking his cock. Bathing him with heat.
When the last of their spasms subsided, he collapsed over her, sweaty and panting. And more satisfied than he’d been in months. Maybe ever. “Does this mean you’re giving me another chance?”
She smoothed a finger over his jaw, her expression so tender he could’ve wept. “It means we’re taking things one day at a time. sir,” she added softly.
Oh, God. Did she have any clue what that did to him? He kissed her thoroughly before coming up for air. “Works for me.”
“Now feed me, tough guy. We have a file to study.”
It wasn’t the commitment he’d hoped for, but it was a start. Probably more than he deserved.
But he’d put his foot in the crack of that door and shove it wide open. Come hell or high water.
Four
“You prepared for the grilling we’re gonna get from Michael?” Blaze glanced at Emma as he drove them back to the compound. The hour was early, still dark, and few cars were on the road.
Too friggin’ early considering they’d been up half the night reading and absorbing the information on their case. And exercising her mattress during the other half. “I’m ready.” She rubbed her tired eyes, wishing she’d put on at least a touch of makeup. Her bloodshot eyeballs in her pale face probably looked like two assholes in a snow bank, as her grandma used to say. “I can’t believe one of those guys is a major. This sucks.”
“Look on the bright side—we get hazard pay. You know, in case the major and his buddies get wise and tell Dietz, and they decide we’d look great in cement shoes.” He grinned, apparently not bothered by the prospect.
“You missed your calling as a comedian.”
“I’m a riot at family reunions.”
“You have a family? I thought you were hatched.”
“Now who’s the funny one? I’ll have you know my relatives love me even if they think I’m a bit off. Which, in our crew, is saying a lot.”
“You mean there’s a whole flock of Kellys running around with a glitch in the ol’ gene pool?” she teased.
“Yep. My uncle was the original flower child. Claims he spent a whole summer down in Texas smoking pot with Janis Joplin, and most of us believe him. He’s an aging hippie with a brilliant IQ, still sports a ponytail and wears bell bottoms, and thinks I don’t know where he hides his weed when I visit.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the picture he’d painted of his uncle. “You’re kidding.”
“No. Scout’s honor.”
“Now I don’t have to wonder where you got a name like Blaze. That is your real name, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I have my uncle to thank for that, too. He’s one of those cerebral types who believes a name should fit the soul, or some shit.”
“Look
on the bright side. You could’ve been stuck with Moon Unit, Dweezil, or Apple.” No mention of his parents. Interesting. But if he didn’t want to talk about them, she wasn’t going to kill the fun mood by bringing up the subject.
“Yeah, our occupations are strange enough. As it is, we boast a moonshiner, a belly dancer, a lion tamer, and a rock star in rehab.”
She snorted. “A lion tamer?”
“Told you, we could found the city of Kooksville.”
“Who’s the rock star? Anyone I’d know?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Ever heard of Ash Kelly?”
“What? Get out!” She gaped at him. “You’re related to the Ash Kelly? The singer who just built a vault onto his huge house to hold his guitar collection and six Grammys?”
“The same. He’s my cousin—my uncle’s youngest son. We’re pretty close, since we were practically raised together.”
“I can’t believe it,” she breathed. “That’s so cool.”
“One would think so.”
The reserve in his tone pricked her curiosity. “You don’t?”
“I would if he was happy. You might’ve heard or read that he was in a relationship that recently broke up over his career and some scary problems with a former girlfriend. In short, he was devastated, made some bad choices, and is trying to get himself back together.”
“I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard, but then I’ve been out of touch with a lot of tabloid news lately. I hope he gets back on his feet soon and his issue with the old flame is put behind him. Any chance he and his girlfriend will get back together?”
“Girlfriend and boyfriend. He was in a committed ménage when the blow-up happened.”
She blinked at him. “Oh. Wow.”
“Exactly. Talk about pressure, someone of his stature struggling to keep it secret. Then the big explosion, and the press gets wind of it after he goes to rehab. He’s still an emotional mess, but he’s doing better, so maybe there’s hope.”
She itched to know the whole story from the beginning, but his tone seemed to close the subject. Perhaps another time. In any case, they’d arrived at the compound, putting a hold on her fascinating journey through the branches of his family tree.
She walked inside with him, navigating the maze to Michael’s office. The man’s secretary wasn’t in at this hour, so they passed her desk. Blaze knocked on the partially open door.
“Come in.”
Their fearless leader looked impeccable in his suit, and not as gaunt as he’d appeared when he first returned to SHADO. Had he gained some weight? She thought so but couldn’t be sure.
“Work agrees with you,” she told him as Blaze shut the door, glancing at the sexy, slender blond man hovering to one side of Michael’s desk. Bastian Chevalier? What was he doing here? “You’re looking better every day.”
“Should’ve returned to the fold sooner,” Michael said, giving her a half smile. “Being here is like being a single parent with several hundred rowdy children to take care of. Keeps my mind off my personal troubles. My friends have helped, too.”
Poor man. She wanted to comfort him but doubted she’d know the right thing to say, even if they were closer. It struck her that she didn’t know how Maggie died, and couldn’t name offhand anyone else who did.
Bastian made a huffing sound. “As if you ever allow anyone close enough to—”
“Sit down,” Michael cut in sharply, directing her and Blaze to take the vacant chairs in front of his desk. “Willis and Osborne will be here any minute.”
Michael waved a hand at Bastian. “Everyone already knows Agent Chevalier,” he said coolly, earning a frown from the man in question. “He’s done me a big favor by agreeing to permanently take the vacated CEO’s position.” The one Dietz had previously held as Michael’s right hand, though no one said so.
“Congratulations,” Blaze said with enthusiasm, rising to briefly shake the man’s hand. “I can’t imagine anyone who deserves it more.”
“Thanks.”
“Double that for me,” Emma put in with a smile. Bastian nodded, but before he could speak, another knock sounded and the door opened, the newcomers moving to stand near Michael’s desk, off to one side.
“Sorry we’re late, boss,” Ozzie said.
“No, we’re just getting started.” Michael gestured to Emma, diving in without further ado. “You go first, give us the rundown on our suspects.”
She immediately understood that she was the rookie in the room when it came to this sort of undercover work and was expected to prove her worth. Preparing an agent for a job by doing background research and then providing a disguise in no way equaled the skill necessary to go undercover herself. Eager to make a good impression, she sat up straight and spoke with what she hoped came across as confidence.
“We have five primary suspects who are possibly providing Dietz with monetary backing and who may know where the weapon is being hidden. Ralph Meyer, Landon Hart, and Augustine Kosta are businessmen, all three powerful movers and shakers. One is a woman, Nicole Andrews, who is Hart’s sub. Her involvement is a question mark, more so than the others.”
“Why is that?”
She held her boss’s gaze. “Because she’s only been with Hart a few months.”
“Correct. Go on.”
“The last and most important player is Major Reed Fontaine. He and Dietz are old acquaintances. Eight years ago, there was a whisper of an accusation that the major was overheard having a private conversation with an unknown person in which he sympathized with Al Qaeda, but he was considered so far above reproach that the matter suffered a swift death. He has not, however, received a rank advancement since then, which may have further fueled his desire for retribution against his own government.”
“Good work. What is the thread that ties all of these people together?” Michael asked her, continuing his quiz.
“They are all part of the D/s scene to varying degrees and have met with increasing frequency at one particular club, Velvet Underground. Outside of the club, they have little or nothing in common in their personal and professional lives. For this reason, we believe they’re using the D/s scene as an excuse to meet and conduct their business regarding the weapon, and possibly other illegal activities as well, with none the wiser. If they’re meeting at another location besides the club, we’ll follow them and find out where.”
“Pretty clever,” Bastian put in. “If not for Dietz’s connection to the major, we might never have caught on.”
“True, but it’s still theory,” Michael reminded them. “We need proof, which is why I’m sending you all in. If Major Fontaine isn’t Dietz’s right hand, the one who provided the bastard with the inside information he needed in order to steal the weapon in the first place, he might know who did.”
Blaze spoke up. “My money’s still on the major. Despite his ‘untouchable’ status, inside sources say he’s a ruthless fucker with a God complex nearly as big as Dietz’s. If anyone in the government could’ve helped Dietz pull this off and had the motivation to do so, it’s him.”
“With any luck we’ll know soon enough.” Michael shifted his attention to Ozzie and Willis. “You two will spend most of your time in the van on surveillance, listening in. If and when it’s necessary for you to observe from a closer position, Emma will work her magic to help you blend into the crowd.”
She nodded. “Most of the makeup and costume changes I’ll bring, except for what we need ourselves, should fit in the van. Blaze and I definitely don’t want to be caught with that stuff.”
Michael leaned forward, an eager gleam in his eyes. “Good point. We’re all on the same page?” The question was met with a round of affirmative answers. “All right. Ozzie and Willis will keep me informed. One hint that anything has gone wrong, Bastian and I will bring in the troops, so don’t give us cause for worry. Be back here in forty-eight hours, ready to go, wheels up. That’s all.”
Emma rose and followed Blaze out, leaving their counterp
arts, who stayed to ask their boss and Bastian a couple of questions. Blaze turned around, walking backward, a smirk on his face.
“Getting nervous yet?”
“No. I’m a professional, so why should I be?” Annoying man.
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because in forty-eight hours you’ll have to convince a roomful of dangerous men that you live to serve me?”
A thrill shot through her at the image, but she rolled her eyes to cover the sudden, confusing reaction. “Get over yourself, hotshot. I can act with the best of ’em. How hard can it be to go through the motions?”
He laughed, the deep, smooth sound stroking her nerve endings like a lover. “Oh, honey. After the way you responded to me last night, I don’t think acting is going to come into play. And I’ll prove it.”
“How?”
“At the end of this assignment, if you can look me in the eye and honestly say you didn’t love every single part of your role—minus the bad guys, of course—then I’ll be your sub for as long as you want.”
She stared at him, incredulous. A man like him would never make a bet like that if he thought there was a chance in hell he’d lose. “You’re on,” she heard herself say, the lure of the wager too much to resist.
What? You idiot! You played right into his hands!
“Great! Dig around in that costume box and get your leathers polished, baby,” he said in a low voice, raking her from head to toe with a heated look. “We have some . . . research to conduct in the name of national security. See you when you get off work.”
He spun and jogged off, and she spent a few moments watching his fine ass disappear down the corridor before the clearing of a throat snared her attention. She turned to see that Ozzie and Willis had joined her and were grinning like Cheshire cats. How much had they heard? Her face flushed.
“Shut up,” she said, pointing her finger at Ozzie, before he could even open his mouth.
She marched away, heading for the sanctuary of her office, their snorts of laughter at her back.
Jerks. Must be part of the male DNA.
No wonder most of the world was at war; men were in charge. And she, a strong, competent professional woman, was about to abase herself at the feet of one of their nutty population.
