by Jo Davis
Blaze wrapped his fingers around the sub’s cock and stroked in time to his thrusts. In seconds, the younger man stiffened. Heat flooded over Blaze’s hand as the boy cried out, which was all it took to send Blaze over the edge.
“Fuck, yes!” He buried himself deep and pumped his load into the sub’s ass, spasmed until they were both melted and limp.
After a moment, he eased from Shawn and disposed of the condom. Shawn, he noted, hung in his restraints, exhausted and apparently sated. Blaze pulled on his own clothing before releasing his wrists and ankles.
When Shawn was free, Blaze turned him around and brushed a kiss over his lips, careful of the wound. “Well done.”
“Thank you, sir,” the boy said breathlessly, profuse in his gratitude. “That was incredible, as always.”
“Before you leave, you will tell me who hit you.” His tone brooked no argument.
The boy touched his split lip and his gaze saddened, dropped to the floor. “M-master Vincent. Forgive me for saying so, but he’s a m-mean sack of shit, sir.”
He tilted the boy’s face up. “The bastard won’t bother you in the future—you have my word.” Before he and Emma left, he’d speak with the manager, who was also a good friend. Vincent wouldn’t darken the doors at this club again.
“Okay.” Relief flooded his sweet face. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. You may get dressed and go when you’re ready.”
Shawn pulled on his clothing quickly. Giving Blaze one last grin and a wave, he slipped out the door. It shut and automatically locked behind him, leaving Blaze alone with a silent, watchful sub. He approached her, taking in how she was perched on the edge of the wooden chair, hands folded in her lap. Her regard was warm with some emotion he couldn’t name.
“What are you thinking?”
She tilted her head as though studying something interesting. “You beat that boy and he liked it.”
“‘Beat’ is a strong word. What I administered was a light flogging or whipping. By tomorrow the red will fade, and you wouldn’t even be able to tell we had a session.”
“You dominated him, and yet you were . . . gentle with him. Caring.” The wonder in her voice made him smile.
“I told you I care for my subs. I like them as people, and Shawn is a fantastic person who deserves a good master and lover who’ll take him on permanently.”
“You have great chemistry together, and he’s beautiful,” she said. “Why haven’t you snatched him up?”
“I might have, except my heart was already spoken for,” he said softly.
Her blue eyes filled with sudden tears. “Oh, Blaze. I lo—”
“No. Not here, like this. And not until you’re absolutely sure.”
Nodding, she looked away, and he ignored the pang in his heart that she’d been about to give voice to words she wasn’t certain she really meant. Almost as though they were expected in return for what he’d said.
“Stand up and spread your feet apart,” he ordered. When hurt or confused, he reverted to his best defense—being a Dom. When she stood in front of him, he knelt before her and ran his palms down her thighs. “Do you want my mouth, baby?”
Slender fingers tangled in his hair. “Please, sir.”
Needing no further encouragement, he nuzzled her pale curls, parted the slick folds. Angling his head, he tasted her essence, laving the slit. Then he delved inside, tongue-fucking her slowly, seducing her with his mouth. She groaned, clutching his hair in her fist and grinding into his face, trying to pull him deeper. He obliged, working her with lips and tongue. Stroking until she panted and writhed above him.
He had her on the cusp now, ready to fly, and he’d be the one to give her wings. Taking her in an open kiss, he sucked her clit, ate her without mercy. She was close, so close, muscles tensing.
She screamed his name, and he liked the rush it gave him, knowing he’d done this. Had pleasured her into losing control. In this case, he could forgive her slip.
He drank her honey, all she had to give. When the spasms died, he released her and stood. “Taste yourself.”
She leaned into his kiss, opened for him. Accepted their mingled flavors with a needy sound, breasts grazing his chest. Damn, he was a lucky man. He broke the kiss and smiled.
“Give you some time and a little more experience, and Shawn won’t hold a candle to you in the area of responsiveness.”
A blush heated her cheeks. “I don’t know about that, but thanks.”
“See, that’s what I mean—you just need confidence.” With his next words he marked her reaction. “Tell me—did you enjoy watching me dominate him? Take him and make his body sing?”
“Yes, very much,” she said in a husky voice. “It was one of the most visually stunning and wholly arousing things I’ve ever seen. The two of you were extremely hot together. I’ll admit it’s a female fantasy come true, and I wouldn’t mind your doing it again.”
His ego stretched and preened. “I’m glad you think so. I always want you to be happy with whatever we do in the bedroom, or out.”
“But if he’d been some woman ...” She bit her lip.
“You wouldn’t have gotten into seeing me fuck another female,” he finished for her. “Is that right?”
Hesitating only a moment, she went on. “I don’t think I could handle that, Blaze—sir.”
He wasn’t surprised. “I anticipated as much, which is why I used Shawn for tonight’s demonstration.”
“Are you saying you won’t even touch another female?” she asked quietly.
“Is that what you want?”
“I want you to be satisfied.”
“I want the same,” he said, taking her hand. “Here’s my rule, one that isn’t in your contract: nobody fucks you except me. As many subs as I’ve shared with other masters, the thought of Ryan or anyone else actually fucking you makes me homicidal. Any other sharing is acceptable, but not that. Are you good with this so far?”
“Yes, more than,” she replied. “I don’t want anyone but you to have that right. But in return, I’d like that same exclusiveness as pertains to women. Playing is one thing. But your cock is mine.”
Blaze grinned, delighted at her fierce possessiveness. “Agreed. Even when we’re undercover, I’ll stick to that rule. But that’s for women. What about men? No problem with them?”
“None. Heck, I’d like to help you do Shawn myself.” She waggled her brows.
“That, darlin’, can be arranged. What do you say we get you dressed so I can take you home and love on you some more?”
“Sounds like a wonderful plan.”
After she was once again decked out in her eye-popping outfit, he let them out of the playroom, and they started down the long hallway toward the club proper. They’d taken only a few steps, however, when the muffled noises of a struggle reached his ears.
“Do you hear that?” he asked, tugging Emma to a stop.
“What—yeah, I do.”
They paused, listening. A deep voice came from the shadows at the far end, away from the club near the restrooms, harsh and dangerous. Another thump echoed down the corridor, followed by a frightened cry of “Stop! Please!”
“Shit,” he muttered. “Gotta check this out. Emma, go find the manager, Adam, and the bouncers. Hurry.”
They took off in opposite directions. As Blaze neared his destination the voice and the choked cries of distress became clear.
“You’re gonna pay for givin’ it to a master who ain’t me, you little whore!” Vincent, the asshole. Mean as a barracuda, dumb as a fence post.
Unfortunately, he was strong as a bull, and in a rage. Blaze rounded the corner to see Shawn pushed face-first into the wall by the restroom, pants around his ankles, the bastard’s thick cock poised at his entrance and big, meaty hands wrapped around his throat. The sub wasn’t making a sound any longer; the other man’s grip had completely cut off his air.
Shawn sagged, knees buckling, just as Blaze dove, tackli
ng Vincent from the side and taking him to the floor. Caught by surprise, the man was slow to react and rolled to his back, his brain trying to catch up with the new turn of events. In that split second, Blaze saw the sweet boy lying on the floor, unmoving, and he unloaded his fists with a vengeance.
“You worthless fuck,” he sneered, knuckles connecting with Vincent’s jaw. “Scumbag. You like beating on boys? Try a man your own size.”
He pummeled the man with ruthless precision, easily deflecting the few blows the worm managed to get in. Vaguely, he became aware of pounding footsteps and shouts.
“Blaze, that’s enough! He’s down!”
Hands grabbed him, pulled him off the fallen man. He pushed to his feet to see Emma standing beside one bouncer, Thorn, who was crouched over Shawn. The other bouncer, Tiny, laid a hand on his arm.
“What happened, man?”
“Vincent had Shawn against the wall and was choking him, about to rape him.”
“He’s lying,” the asshole hissed through his split lip. “The little whore is mine.”
“Shut up,” Tiny said, delivering a kick to Vincent’s side. “Tell it to the cops.”
“Jesus Christ, I don’t think he’s breathing,” Thorn said, voice rising in panic. “Adam!”
“What the hell is going on?” Adam Langley, manager and head D/s master, jogged toward them, long black coat swirling around him.
“Master Vincent was choking Shawn, wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Blaze informed him, heart lurching.
Adam dropped to his knees beside Shawn and gathered the sub into his arms, black hair falling over big violet eyes filled with worry as he smoothed a fiery lock out of the sub’s face. “Shawn? Can you hear me?” Gently, he kissed the boy’s lips. “Breathe, baby. Come on, please.”
Shuddering, Shawn heaved a deep breath and coughed. A collective sigh of relief went up, and Blaze tucked Emma into his side. “Thank God.”
“I was so scared,” she whispered.
So, apparently, was Adam, who clutched the sub against his chest and murmured into his hair. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” he croaked, then coughed again.
“How long has this harassment been going on?” Adam demanded.
Shawn answered in a small voice. “A few weeks.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” When the sub cringed, Adam relented, but glared at the group in general. “Well, it damned well won’t happen again! That fucker is not to set foot in my club,” he said to Tiny. “Make sure everyone knows. And call the police.”
“Done.”
Adam gazed at the sub, his expression softening. “Seems you need a keeper, boy. And I’m just the right master for the job.”
“I-I didn’t think you wanted me.”
“You were wrong . . . and so was I.”
“Yes, sir.” The adoration on Shawn’s face said it all.
Well, damn. You had to love a happy ending.
Now, if Blaze could just save the world from annihilation and walk away with the girl? He’d get his rock-star cousin to write a frickin’ song about it.
Ten
Robert Dietz sat at the head of the table in the shitty little rat hole of an abandoned house and glared at his men. His top commanders, who’d failed to ensure that his headquarters was safe. Now he was stuck in this hellhole until another, better place could be secured, an almost impossible task when facing a ton of heat.
Yes, Ross would pay dearly for this—and much sooner than he believed. Even now, death was staring his nemesis in the face, waiting to collect another soul. He’d thought about ordering his man to take care of the AWOL Agent Foster as well, but decided she wasn’t worth it. The woman was of no importance, and her death would signify nothing.
Unlike Ross’s.
Oh, how he wished he could be there to witness the man’s demise in person, but that would be a stupid risk. He took only calculated ones.
Right now the most calculated risk of all was when and how to transfer the weapon to their foreign contacts, therefore making him an extremely rich man. The dictator overseas was getting restless and pissed, and they couldn’t afford to wait much longer. But neither could they make any mistakes.
Drawing himself up, he treated each man to a deadly stare before beginning. “Gentlemen, the clusterfuck at the estate was completely unforgivable. First, you allow a federal agent to hide among our ranks, and then you practically hand him our asses on a silver platter with apples in our mouths.”
Each man squirmed, no doubt sweating over who would take the fall. Allowing a small, humorless smile, he went on.
“Every one of you is to blame, yet none of you are willing to accept the responsibility. That, my friends, is plain bad business. Therefore, I believe it’s time for a demonstration—something simple to remind each of us the importance of paying attention.”
With that, he stood. Removed a pistol and a long silencer from inside his coat. He screwed on the silencer and calmly walked around the table, making certain his steps were slow and measured, like heartbeats echoing in their ears.
“Musical chairs, the Russian Roulette Edition,” he said. “Who wants to play?”
No one moved. Or breathed.
Finally, he stopped beside the chair of one of his men, a large man named Garr. Placing the muzzle to the man’s temple, he let the seconds lapse into minutes as Garr panted, sweat rolling down his fleshy face, too mired in terror to breathe.
Then he pulled the trigger—which snapped with a hollow click.
“Oh, my. No bullets. Well, waste not.” He met each pair of rounded, horrified eyes. “Now do I have your attention?”
Murmurs and nods in the affirmative met his question. As did the stench of Garr’s bowels.
Lesson learned.
Unfortunately for Ross, the next round would be loaded.
“Damn, I’m tired and hungry,” Michael Ross complained. “Can we discuss the rest of the details over dinner?”
Emma glanced at Blaze and Bastian, shrugging. “Fine with me. I could eat.”
The other two men agreed. Their final meeting with Michael had dragged on into the evening, and by now—almost seven o’clock—they all needed a change of scenery and some food.
Michael pushed out of his chair. “Great! I’ll even buy. Think of it as a good-luck send-off for Mr. and Mrs. John Chase,” he said with a laugh.
For a moment, Emma stared at Michael. She hadn’t seen him laugh in ages, and it looked good on him. He was a damned sexy man, with all that sable hair artfully mussed and sticking every which way. Shaking herself, she got back to the subject. “Do I have to be Brandi? I’m so not a Brandi—sounds too much like Bambi.”
Blaze tweaked her nose, teasing her. “It’ll fit just fine when you get those blond bombshell hair extensions. You’ll be Brandi-licious.”
“Like Pamela Anderson,” Ozzie joked. “All that’s missing is the boob job.”
Blaze poked her playfully in the ribs. “And the oversexed, rehabbed rock star on her arm. Hey, maybe we should give Ash a call?”
Everyone groaned.
“What? I thought it was funny.” Blaze strutted from the office, inviting her to stare at his ass.
Ogling his fine body was one of her favorite pastimes; learning the ropes, literally, in his dungeon was the other. The man knew how to tie a wicked knot and torment her until she screamed, for sure. But she pushed away those yummy thoughts. If she didn’t, she’d never make it through dinner.
The six of them drove separately, except for her and Blaze, since they’d arrived together. They followed their boss to a nice steak and seafood restaurant and, once inside, were immediately escorted to a private dining area, away from prying ears. Michael must’ve called ahead. They settled around the table, and the waitress took their drink orders and left. Michael then set about grilling them again on their specific roles, their check-in and safety procedures—you name it. With regard to this assignment, the man
practically knew the color of their underwear. But with what was at stake, he couldn’t afford not to.
What she found most interesting during the evening was the polite tension between Michael and Bastian. When Michael wasn’t looking, the pain-filled gaze Bastian slid toward the man made her heart clench as she wondered what on earth had transpired between them in the past. When Bastian became distracted by questions or comments, the look Michael directed at his friend and colleague was riddled with guilt.
Didn’t take a crystal ball to figure it out—Michael was straight. Bastian wasn’t. And whatever had happened between them had left a divide in its wake the width of the Grand Canyon. She felt sorry as hell for them both.
“It seems we’re all on the same page,” Michael concluded, and gestured to her and Blaze. “You fly to Washington, D.C., first thing in the morning. Get yourselves integrated with Dietz’s moneymen at the Velvet Underground ASAP and get us the information we need.”
“Easy as pie,” Blaze joked. “It’ll be Rambo meets Die Hard times two.”
“Minus the part about blowing up shit,” Bastian put in. “Remember that.”
Ozzie snickered. “At least you get the girl while we have to sit in the stupid van. Wanna trade places?”
“I think not. Can’t blame you for asking, though.”
By the time their meals arrived, the business conversation had turned to more relaxing topics, such as when the hell any of them would be able to take a vacation—somewhere around the twelfth of never—and who at SHADO was getting laid by whom.
Now, that produced an interesting reaction. Ozzie and Willis immediately grumped that they weren’t getting any, while Bastian’s gaze snapped to Blaze, and her lover winked in return. Michael’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he glanced between them.
Oh, boy, dinner and a show.
Ozzie and Willis didn’t even notice and Ozzie chattered away like a magpie on crack, making her wonder how her adorable friend ever became a covert agent. He’d definitely missed his calling as a gossip columnist.
