Down on Her Knees

by Christine Bell

  Her breath was coming in short bursts as she wrenched open the package, peeling back the crimson tissue paper to reveal its contents. A sleek black trench coat with leather leggings to match and a pair of black stilettos stared up at her. Searching for the shirt to complete the outfit, she riffled through all the tissue until it sat in a pile on the carpet, but turned up nada.

  No top, which was surely no accident. Rafe was meticulous, focused, and detail-oriented. If he’d wanted her to wear a top, it would’ve been in the box.

  She chewed on her bottom lip and surveyed the instructions a second time before glancing at the clock. Six twenty. The Feldmoore was twenty minutes away, and if she was going to make it there on time, she’d have to leave ASAP. Her hands shook with excitement as she set the letter down and headed into the bathroom. She stripped the rest of her clothes off and took a shower so fast that Guinness himself would’ve applauded.

  Wasting no time, she tugged on a thong and the leather leggings, hopping up and down until the dastardly snug material cleared her ass to rest low on her hips. She reached around to hook her bra, then shook her head. Surely he hadn’t meant that she couldn’t wear her bra. She already didn’t have a shirt.

  Weighing her options, she shrugged off the lacy cups and slung the coat over her shoulders before fastening the belt and slipping into the stilettos. She took one quick second to admire them and nodded approvingly.

  By the time she pulled up to the hotel and handed off the keys to the valet, it was six fifty-five. The humid breeze was a potent reminder that she was dressed in leather and a trench coat in the heat of summer. That combined with the weight of her nerves had her beyond frazzled and by the time she reached the concierge desk, she was sure her heart was close to exploding in her chest.

  She cleared her throat and some unknown force pried the question from her lips. “Hello, um, could you please tell me which room Mr., uh, Welter’s room is? By any chance?” Her cheeks boiled, but the concierge smiled and slid a key across the desk to her without question.

  “Two-oh-six. Second floor. The elevator is on your right, madam.” He gestured toward the glass lift and she nodded, clacking her way toward it without another word.

  When she got to the room, she paused outside the doorway. Her palms were slick with sweat as she laid a hand on the knob and mustered up her courage.

  Now or never. Fight or flight, at it again.

  She slid the key in, and the door clicked open. Her breath caught along with it and she stepped into the room, heart hammering. Once inside, all her fears took a backseat, crowded out by her primary objective. Her instructions were to go straight to the safe and open it, so that was what she’d do. Whatever happened after that…well, that was what had her thighs shaking and her mouth going dry.

  The room was pitch dark, and with a hesitant finger she reached out to tap the light on. The only source was a crystal chandelier that shone dimly over the wide, satin-covered bed. The space was warm and lavish, an unlit fireplace on the far side of the room with champagne chilling in a bucket of ice by a side table. A couple of chairs nestled close by the hearth.

  And a safe, sitting unprotected near the wide oak wardrobe.

  Her pulse bucked hard in time with every footfall, but she moved as quietly as possible. When she reached the wall, she dropped to her knees and entered the pass code she’d memorized. The lock tumbled beneath her fingertips and the door swung open.

  Well, that was easy. She peered into the safe wishing she’d thought to bring a flashlight, but before she could get a look at the contents, she felt a tug on her ponytail. Soft at first and then with growing pressure as it was used to pull her to standing. A vise gripped her chest, and it was suddenly a struggle to breathe.

  “Here to steal from me, are you?” Rafe’s voice was a low rumble, the thunder before a lightning strike, and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more nervous.

  “What? You told me to—” She caught herself. Ah, so this was the game—she was a thief, and he her mark—and she was supposed to play it. It wasn’t hard to imagine. The man before her was a one-eighty from the man who had fed her cotton candy and kissed her on the Ferris wheel the night before.

  One hand was still firmly gripping her hair, but the other had snaked toward her trench coat, pulling her back, flush against the hard, muscled expanse of his chest. Her voice was breathier than she would’ve liked when she spoke again. “I’m certain I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’d appreciate it if you released me at once.”

  His laugh was short and mirthless, sending a frisson of fear through her even as heat collected between her thighs. Damn, he was good at this.

  “You think because you’ve got a pretty face and nice tits that I’m going to let you walk away? Sorry, that’s not the way I do business.” He shoved her toward the bed and she landed heavily on the silken mattress. If it hurt, she didn’t notice. She was too filled with roiling emotions, each competing for center stage. Fear, curiosity, and—to her chagrin—undeniable lust, almost vicious in its intensity.

  She twisted to face him. He towered over her, black pants fitted to enhance the appearance of his strong thighs, chest perfectly contoured beneath a tailored white shirt. A wall of stone. Unbreakable.

  His smile in the dim light was chilling as he stared down at her. He didn’t break eye contact as he raised a hand to deftly remove one cufflink and then the other, speaking while he worked. “If you were a man in my position, Miss…?” He raised his brows questioningly.

  She racked her brain to supply a name despite the riot going on inside her and spit out the first thing that came to mind. “M-Mary. Mary Mack.”

  Her heart tripped when his eyes twinkled, a grin tugging at his lips. She squinted, confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. Then she glanced down at her clothes.

  Yup, good old Miss Mary Mack.

  All dressed in black.

  Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she scrambled into a seated position. Only her second try and she was officially the worst temporary submissive in history. Would he call the whole thing off now that she’d effectively dumped a pitcher of ice water on their steamy start with her unintentional silliness?

  To Rafe’s credit, and her everlasting relief, his eyes went flat in an instant, and ruthless Mr. Welter was back. “Do you take me for a fool, Ms. Mack? Plucking your alias from a child’s nursery rhyme. Do I look like a man to be trifled with?”

  He prowled back and forth at the foot of the bed, never taking his gaze off her as he meticulously rolled each of his sleeves to expose his thick, muscular forearms. She swallowed hard, straightening her posture to meet his gaze head-on.

  “Honestly?” She let her gaze trip over his body lightly and then shrugged. “You look pretty much the same as any other man to me.” She punctuated that with a cheeky wink. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  Well, hot damn, Mary Mack was a firecracker, and apparently, Courtney wasn’t the only one who thought so. A grudging respect lit her captor’s face and she felt his approval from head to toe. Like she’d been out in the cold and suddenly found herself basking under the rays of the sun.

  “Oh, I doubt you’ll disappoint. While I might look like other men to you, I can assure you that’s far from the case, and the thought that I might allow you to fail me is one I wouldn’t even entertain.” He leaned down, resting his palms on the covers of the bed to meet her eye to eye. “You will please me tonight, little thief. And once you’ve repaid your debt, you can leave.”

  She wet her lips nervously and tried not to fidget beneath his scrutiny. “Debt? I didn’t even get to take anything,” she protested, moving to swing her legs over the side of the bed. “Heck, I didn’t even see what was in the safe.” Something about the way he was towering over her was unsettling as hell and the desire to stand was overwhelming, but the whipcrack of his voice had her freezing in place.

  “Did I tell you to get up, Ms. Mack?” His brows drew together in a frow
n so fierce she had to look away. Still, she didn’t have to answer his stupid question if she didn’t want to. She firmed her chin and stayed silent.

  “Whether you were successful in robbing me is of no importance. Your intent was to take what was mine. Now, as penance for your transgression, you will give me what is yours.”

  She tamped down the anxiety and dug around for some Mary Mack spunk, managing a half laugh. “Not bloody likely.”

  He stood tall, looking every inch of his six-plus feet and more, and then shrugged, quirking a careless brow. “Then I will take it.”

  She didn’t know what possessed her, but nerves got the better of her, and her mouth started running of its own accord. “I’d like to see you try.”

  Mon dieu, Mary, put a sock in it. The blood pounded in her ears as she waited for his response with breath held.

  The corner of his mouth quirked upward, a stark contrast to the cool indifference in his eyes. “Interesting choice of words, because I’ve decided that you won’t be seeing anything at all.”

  He slowly made his way around the side of the bed, every step bringing him closer, every step sending her pulse careening more wildly than the one before. When he finally stood directly before her, her whole world tilted. Her gaze flickered to his zipper and her mouth watered. She wanted him there again. Wanted to close her lips over that silky, thick head and draw him deep, one glorious inch at a time.

  The yank on her ponytail was quick and sharp. A real attention-getter, and she found her head forcibly tugged back so she had no choice but to look at him.

  “You’re a dirty girl, Ms. Mack.”

  His voice was gruff, his breathing labored as he spoke. He was as affected as she was, and the power of that soared through her, lifting her higher.

  “Normally I could appreciate that. But do you really think that a thief deserves the privilege of having my cock in her mouth?” His words sent a thick-as-molasses heat to settle between her hips. “You’ll have to work for that.”

  The last thing she saw was his sinister smile, and then her world went black as he tugged something over her head.

  Blindfolded.

  Chapter Eight

  Her palms went slick and the hair on her arms rose. The blackness was unnerving as hell and she reached a hand up instinctively to yank the scrap of cloth away, but his was there to greet it. He closed his fingers around her wrist and pulled it away.

  “Leave it.”

  His firm command stilled her struggles momentarily, but she couldn’t leave it. He could do anything to her like this. She was completely vulnerable, like a fish belly-up and ready to be gutted.

  Right as she was about to let full-blown panic take hold, the fingers in her hair tightened, tugging once. Then again. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to feel. For some reason, it was enough. The contact centered her, gave her a focal point to cling to on this spinning, wild ride.

  “Leave it,” he said again.

  She focused on the sensation of his strong fingers covering hers. The grip of his hand in her hair. The sound of the breath sawing in and out of his lungs, and she knew with utmost certainty that he was every bit as vulnerable as she was right now. Two words and she could make this whole scenario come crashing down. Two words and it would be over.

  Two words she had not a single intention of uttering.

  She wriggled from his grasp and let her hand fall to her side, hoping the euphoria she was feeling didn’t make her voice tremble. “Fine then, Mr. Welter. You win. If you get off on bedding an unwilling woman who has no interest in you whatsoever, then go ahead.” Mary Mack had apparently picked up a British accent somewhere along the way, but she went with it. “I won’t stop you.”

  Every nerve in her body was at full attention, waiting for his next move. He released her hair and a long moment passed in silence. What the hell was he doing? She tipped her head, straining to hear any sign of movement, but there was nothing. No sound, no new smell, though her senses seemed enhanced by her lack of vision. It was as though she was entirely alone.

  After a moment, she worked up the nerve to call him by name, but there was no response.

  Was this her punishment for asking questions? He’d left her here? Alone? Surely not…

  Another thirty seconds passed with nothing but the sound of her own erratic breathing to remind her that she wasn’t deaf as well as blind. Then, out of nowhere, it all changed. The heady scent of his musky cologne filled her nostrils, the ambient heat of his body radiated against her skin, sending goose bumps up her arms.

  He was close.

  Close enough to touch, and she balled her fists to resist the urge to reach for him. She was his prisoner, not his date. She didn’t allow herself to remember how much she’d enjoyed that as well.

  A single finger traced her lips, and she instinctively opened her mouth to take it in, to taste it, but it was gone in the next instant.

  Cool air greeted her chest as he opened the trench coat, one button at a time. He slid it off slowly, exposing her to his gaze. Her heart beat triple time and she held her breath. He was looking at her, half-naked right now, and not seeing his face was killing her. Her nipples went taut and achy as a low sigh of appreciation escaped him, his minty breath washing over her face.

  “Very nice, Ms. Mack.”

  She willed him to touch her then, squinting tight, hoping he would do that magic thing again where he seemed to read her thoughts. Her hopes were dashed as she sensed him moving away, taking his body heat and mouthwatering scent with him.

  Next came the heels. He unbuckled the slim ankle strap with exquisite slowness that unearthed memories of the garter incident and she shuddered. If tonight ended even half as spectacularly as that one had, she could die happy.

  “Stand,” he muttered, his voice thick and gritty. The single-word command shouldn’t have sent a rush of moisture to her core, but it did. She obeyed without question, using the bed to guide her and then rising to her feet.

  His warm breath stirred her hair as he gripped the leather waistband that stretched across her hips. He tugged the pants down to her ankles, patting her bottom lightly, urging her to step out of them.

  She stood like that for a long time. Stock-still, back straight, breasts thrust forward, hoping against hope that her body pleased him.

  “I believe we have a problem, Ms. Mack.”

  Her heart dove to her toes and all the defenses she’d let drop snapped back into place. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back. His hands closed over her shoulders, halting her backward motion.

  “Don’t ever cover yourself from me. You’re too beautiful to hide,” he murmured softly before his voice regained strength and the cold edge of her nemesis, Mr. Welter. “The problem is that, to my understanding, you should be naked right now, should you not?”

  She could hardly think over the relief flooding through her. He seemed to really like her body, so then what?

  She was naked, besides…she sucked in a breath, realizing her mistake. She’d been in such a rush to get here on time that she’d slid on underwear out of habit without giving it a second thought. And who could blame her? Leather and vaginas weren’t meant to co-hab without some sort of buffer. Surely that was a rule somewhere?

  “I asked you a question, Ms. Mack.”

  She struggled to come up with an explanation that would suffice, but only managed a whispered, “Yes.”

  “I’m sure we can both agree you deserve to be punished for this.”

  His voice was quiet, but his deep, authoritative timbre still seemed to vibrate through her. It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t think she was on the hook for a response, which was a good thing. She didn’t know whether she agreed or disagreed.

  Her brain was 100 percent certain that, if she had a vote, she would have cast it for “no punishment.” But her body wasn’t so sure. Her skin felt too tight, like it was awaiting something astounding.

  “Grab hold of my shoulders,” he
ground out. She complied, reveling in their breadth and strength under the crisp cotton of his shirt. God, she’d forgotten he was still fully clothed. The thought should have bothered her, but instead it added to the fantasy. She was entirely at his mercy.

  She gripped his shoulders more tightly as he dropped lower. Kneeling?

  “Back into the shoes.”

  Ah, he liked the shoes, then. A tidbit she would tuck away for future use, maybe. A secret thrill ran through her and she meekly did his bidding, waiting patiently as he fastened the buckles. When he was done, his fingers trailed up her calves in a slow, winding caress that had her digging her fingers into his shoulders.

  They skittered up her thighs before playing at the thin straps of her panties. With a quick tug, they came apart in his hand with a snap and she gasped. At this rate, she wasn’t going to have any left.

  “Last. Time,” he growled, rising to his feet. “When you’re with me like this, I want your pussy bare and ready for the taking.”

  Her mouth went dry and she nodded.

  “Now sit, and move back against the bedpost.”

  She lowered herself back to the bed and scooted until she felt the cold rails of the iron headboard.

  “Give me your wrists.” His voice was gruff, like he was in pain, and she wanted to pull the blindfold from her eyes…read his thoughts. But she didn’t. Instead, heart pounding, she did as he requested, waiting, anticipating the cold steel of cuffs, but it never came.

  He crossed her wrists, and guided them high above her head, binding them together with what could only be the tattered black lace of her offending underwear, and tied them to the metal rail. Then he was gone again. For another long moment, there was silence, even more deafening than the last time, and her head whirred with possibilities. What next? How far would he push her? Her stomach clenched with a need so sharp, it hurt. God, she wanted him. But she could do nothing about it but sit and wait.

  There was a rustling sound in the far corner of the suite, then a clatter. She perked up as his footfalls grew nearer.

  “Open your mouth,” he demanded.

  Excitement lanced through her and she parted her lips. Something frozen pressed against her mouth, smooth and hard, and his voice greeted her again. “Swipe your tongue around it. Suck it.” His voice was clipped. Urgent. The need to blow him away with instruction-following skills after the whole underwear debacle made her take to the task like a fucking champ. She closed her teeth around the smooth, square-shaped object and sucked lightly. No taste. No smell.

  Ice.

  Cold water trickled down from her mouth, over her chin, and she shivered when droplets skittered down her neck.

  Her hand twitched to wipe her chin but she was met with the taut reminder of her imprisonment. She shouldn’t have worried. In the next moment, a calloused thumb was tracing the line from her jaw to her lips, collecting the errant droplets. How long would he make her wait this time? Or would that be her punishment? Maybe relief from the ever-building ache would never come.

  The sound of her swallowing seemed to echo through the room and she closed her teeth over the chunk of ice and bit down, cracking it in half. His low, harsh laugh only fanned the flames of the fire building in her.

  “Watch those teeth, Ms. Mack.”

  He pulled the ice away and just as she wondered what was next, he trailed the cube down her throat, and lower, circling her collarbones, leaving a chilly path of electricity in its wake. He brushed over the tops of her breasts, once, twice, before rolling the fast-melting cube over her taut nipples.

  Beads of water rolled down the curve of her breasts as he went, circling the aching peaks until a moan broke from her lips. Her skin burned with need, her blood boiled under the surface, and even the ice couldn’t dull her flames. The contrast was deadly. With every droplet of water, her need only grew more intense.

  “Tell me again, little thief. What were you saying about taking a woman against her will? A woman who”—he tweaked her nipple tightly between his warm fingers and she arched into him helplessly—“had no interest in me, a man like any other, at all?”

  His ministrations became relentless as he played the ice over her straining breasts until they went almost numb from the near-excruciating cold, and then massaged and plucked at them with his big, warm hands. On and on it went, until her head tossed restlessly against the pillow and she struggled against her restraints.

  “Rafe, please,” she whispered.

  He blew out a long shuddering breath. A second later, his molten mouth was on her, his tongue laving her chilled flesh, sucking her nipples hard in a steady rhythm that made her hips flutter in counterpoint.

  “Ah, fuck,” she moaned, too far gone now to care. She strained harder, intent now on freeing her hands from their bindings to no avail. He could be her only respite and the pleas tumbled freely from her lips. “Please, please, I do want you.”

  He growled with satisfaction but his mouth continued its torture as a rattle sounded by her ear. Soon another ice cube joined the party, slipping over her rib cage, sliding over her stomach, circling her belly button. His tongue followed close behind, the polar temperature dueling with the damp heat for her attention.

  “Spread your legs.” The words alone might have been enough to push her over the edge, but she held on, waiting for his next command. Desperate to please him as much as he was pleasing her.

  When the ice circled her clit, she screamed and bucked so hard, the bed rail squealed in protest. He did it again, brushing it lightly against her overheated flesh like he was painting her with a brush. Water mixed with her own wetness and pooled between her thighs, trickling down her slit.

  “Tell me, Ms. Mack.” The words sounded like they were wrenched from him with a crowbar. Rusty, guttural, and raw. “Why are you so fucking wet for a man you have no interest in?”

  She writhed helplessly against him, dying to squeeze her thighs together, to add that last bit of pressure she so desperately needed to push her over the