Diablo Blanco Club, Rite of First Claim

by Qwillia Rain

  “You didn’t say anything about—”

  The swift thrust of his fingers into her wet sheath sent her up onto her tiptoes with a gasp. “Dragons like to savor their meals. Play with their food.” He worked his fingers deeper, pressed past clenched muscles and slick walls. His thumb coaxed the hood from her clit and teased the sensitive bud. “We take this at my pace. Slow and easy. Or I do it hard. And fast. Again and again.”

  His lips brushed hers, and his teeth nipped her lower lip before licking away the sting. The whimper she gave as he removed his fingers from her warm body pulsed over his lips, sending embarrassed heat into Lyssa’s cheeks. She needed to stop the emotions. Stop her slipping control. Beat back the submissive taking over her body, her mind.

  Lyssa shook her head. She drew her breath in with slow, deliberate care as she eased away from him and rested her back along the post of the bed. “Whatever pleases you, Master,” she conceded reluctantly but noted the frisson of energy her use of his title sent through his body.

  Lyssa tightened her fingers around the chains securing her to the post. She clenched her teeth and fought the moan in her chest. She stifled the cries when the slide of cool metal encircled one nipple and tightened before a second ring surrounded her other nipple. The chilly caress and weight of the pearls strung between the clamps vibrated with the heavy beat of her heart.

  The sensations built one upon another as Mike worked his way down the front of her body. The brush of his lips, the nip of his teeth, the way he traced the dip of her navel before going lower sent fire flickering through her veins. Four years ago, she’d considered the way he could play her body an aberration, but after the last week, she’d revised that opinion. Now she knew he had to be part incubus. The things he could make her feel, the way he fed off her building need, and the explosive climaxes reinforced his almost demonic ability to read her mind.

  Her breath grew short as the need to come twisted in her womb. The fire and heat climbed as his fingers parted her labia and played at the entrance to her body. She pressed her head against the post at the rough scrape of his tongue over her clit. Her thighs quivered at the strain to keep from wrapping them around his shoulders and tugging him into her. And his fingers. Damn those fingers. Tickling the wet lips, sliding through the thick cream coating her pussy and thighs before sneaking into the crease between her cheeks and rubbing along the puckered rose of her ass.

  How many times had she teased Mattie about anal sex being kinky? And here she was desperate, biting her lip to keep from begging Mike to push his finger inside. On the verge of coming, Lyssa held her breath, her body stiff as she forced the need down. Count. Breath. Visualize the careful construction of a pattern for one of your designs. Lyssa used any and every method she knew to combat the wave of climax rushing toward her.

  Then he stopped. His hands slid away from her skin, and his mouth pressed a soft kiss to the throbbing nubbin before his heat disappeared.

  Breath shuddered into her lungs, the tension seeped from her limbs, and the pounding desire stumbled to a confused buzz. A moan swelled and exited her lips as a mixture of groan and sob. It was clear he had more in mind for her than an introduction to a butt plug. If she read the situation correctly, Mike was also using this as an opportunity to help her learn discipline over her body’s need to climax. She bit her lip as another wave of sensation buffeted her.

  Cellophane ripped. Lyssa’s heart thumped against her ribs. At the whisper of rubber covering skin, the strand of pearls swayed over her sternum, tugging at her swollen peaks. If he was putting a condom on, Mike certainly intended to fuck her.

  The pop of a cap sounded behind her, drawing Lyssa’s attention, and caused her to turn her head. The temptation to rub the blindfold off was difficult to suppress, but she refrained. Something within her whispered encouragements, assured her that whatever Mike planned would bring pleasure, just as everything he’d done since Halloween had only resulted in bliss.

  But the devil within her sneered at the sensations filling her. It took the momentary consideration she gave to submission as a personal affront to the power she’d established over the years. The click of the cameras recorded her behavior and only added salt to the wound.

  “Giving up?” Lyssa wasn’t sure if her question was meant to goad Mike into abandoning the role-play or spur him into increasing his attentions.

  His lips pressed against hers. The fingers of one hand probed the pouting lips of her mound. “No, love. Merely preparing my treat.”

  His dampened fingertips moved backward, rubbed at the hypersensitive skin, eased past the first ring of muscles, and drew a gasp from her lips. Lyssa shuddered at the awareness tingling through her, the way the scent of his skin surrounded her. The feel of his body close to her. The sharp edge of his teeth along her bottom lip.

  Something hot and slick rubbed across her belly. The impressions bombarding her spun around in her head and required a moment to identify the object as part of him. The silky tip of his cock, covered in latex, pressed close, then pulled back. His mouth moved from her lips to her ear, caressed the curve before teasing the lobe with a tug from his teeth.

  The rasp of his breath stirred the hair beside her ear before he spoke. “I know you’ll like this, Princess. Like I told you, I’ve dreamed of giving it to you for a very long time.” The finger inside her slipped free, but only to allow his hand a firmer grasp on the rounded cheek that exposed the rose of her ass to something thicker than his finger.

  Lyssa arched away from it, pushing into Mike’s unyielding frame as the first bulb on the plug breached her. The slick lubricant coating the toy was chilly against her heated skin. She tensed, fighting the fire rekindling in her core. The image of the black graduated curves of the cone sent a barrage of conflicting emotions zinging through her.

  “Master, I-I don’t—”

  “Shhhh. Just feel, pet. That’s all I want you to do. Take a deep breath and relax. Let your senses guide you.” He pressed a soft kiss to the spot behind her left ear. “I won’t let go. I swear I’ll never let you fall, baby. Trust me.”

  Lyssa turned and rubbed her cheek against his. “Kiss me.” The plea was soft, gasped as she struggled to catch her breath. It took everything she had to follow his instructions and relax.

  His lips rubbed against hers, parted them so his tongue could stroke inside. The same careful motions of advance and retreat echoed the systematic insertion of the plug into her backside. Lyssa moaned and writhed, sliding her body along his, conflicted in determining if she wanted to aide or fight against the probe.

  “Press against it,” Mike encouraged as he placed kisses across her cheeks below the edge of silk covering her eyes. “Let it in. Feel how it stings and stretches, burning through you, making you wet. Ready. I can smell how turned on you are.”

  The soft rumble of his voice amped up the intensity of the desire flowing through her. She couldn’t halt the whimper as she rolled her hips, flexed down onto the pressure filling her rear, and fire danced through her core.

  “Don’t come, love. Not yet.” Mike’s teeth nibbled the tendon stretching down the side of her neck. “It isn’t time yet.”

  “Oh please, Master,” Lyssa begged, her voice rough with need. Her body shook in reaction as the third, then the fourth curve slid inside. The sting and burn intensified; she shifted onto the tips of her toes, dragged her weight upward by pulling on the chains holding her arms in place. The wood of the post creaked and groaned. Need weakened her resolve as sensations built within her. Waves of emotions she’d kept firmly reined in tugged at their restraints.

  The fingers cupping her ass bit into the round flesh. He lifted her off her feet. Lyssa gasped with relief, her head dropping onto his shoulder as she fought to bring her body back under control.

  The reprieve didn’t last. Her breathing had barely evened out when Mike whispered his warning against her lips. “Hold tight, love.” His mouth covered hers, sealing in the cry when he released her slowly at
the same time he finished seating the plug. Fire seared, poured a trail from her stretched ass to her clenching womb.

  She bucked against him. Climax hovered close; control scrabbled for purchase on wet, slippery ground. The brush of his fingers didn’t distract her from the pending explosion ticking toward detonation. Her vaginal muscles contracted and released, seeking relief where none was present.

  “Master, please,” she sobbed, her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from beneath her lashes. The silk banding her head slipped free.

  “Open your eyes, Lyssa.”

  Lyssa’s eyes fluttered open, gaining focus in slow increments. The tip of his cock slid between her swollen folds and rubbed at the entrance to her body. With the same tortoiselike pace, Mike tunneled through gripping muscles and wet tissues until his hot, thick shaft filled her completely.

  “Look at me.” His voice demanded compliance.

  Lyssa gave it without hesitation. The fire engulfed her, but she held it off. Waiting. Anticipating his approval. Dreading a refusal. Her gaze focused on his. She watched him as he watched her. The flush to his cheeks, the narrow ring of brown around his dilated pupils assured her he wasn’t as unaffected as he sounded.

  “Listen to me, pet. I want you to hear this and know I mean it.” He eased his body out of her, ignoring the pulse and flex of muscles fighting to keep him inside.

  Lyssa sobbed, shook her head, but didn’t lose contact with his penetrating gaze. “Please.”

  “Whether you admit it or not, you belong to me. Not just for this month, but always. Forever.”

  He shifted forward, filling her again. The hand behind her wiggled the plug, increasing the overfilled sensations spreading through her.

  “Forever,” he repeated, tugging her closer. His retreat was faster, the return firm. Hard. Just what Lyssa needed but not enough.

  “Yes,” she agreed. Anything if he’d just do it. Just let her come. Holding off, resisting the fire sizzling through her veins, singeing her insides was driving her mad. “Please, Master. Please let me come.”

  “Even if you deny me with your dying breath”—the expression in his face, the heat in his eyes softened—“I love you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart seemed to explode, and the fire within her erupted. It shot through her body, stiffening her legs, stopping the breath in her lungs, melting her brain, and turning any coherent thoughts to mush. She was barely cognizant of Mike’s hands clutching her against him as the convulsion spread outward, growing more intense with every wave coursing through her until it culminated in a gush of fluid coating both her and Mike where their bodies melded.

  Her eyes flew open, and she stared in stunned amazement at the wicked grin and satisfaction filling Mike’s expression. “That’s so fucking hot, Lys.”

  Exhausted, her body spent and still pulsing with aftershocks from her climax, Lyssa shook her head. “I’ve never—”

  Mike’s grin grew wider. “Can you do it again?”

  “I-I didn’t kn-know I c-could do it this time,” she stammered.

  “Ah, perhaps I’ll just have to work you a little harder next time, hmm?”

  Warm, firm lips smothered her groan. Lyssa succumbed to the urge to wrap legs that felt like wet noodles around his waist. Her internal muscles contracted around his thick flesh, tempting her toward another release despite the wash of lethargy sweeping over her.

  Denial was futile. Containment of her unruly emotions was crucial. If it meant crushing the last bit of hope slowly taking form in her heart, snuffing it out forever in order to protect herself, she’d do it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Easing out of the bed, Mike worked silently to pull on his jeans before drawing the Sig Sauer from under the mattress. He kept it tight against his leg as he left the room without waking Lyssa. Exhaustion kept her motionless beneath the covers as Mike watched her from the doorway for several minutes. Before he moved down the hall toward the kitchen, he tucked the P226 into the back of his waistband.

  They’d be getting up in a few hours to meet the models at his studio again. He’d cleared away the cameras and tripods while Lyssa dozed. As soon as Tumaini had tiptoed back in just after sundown, Mike had helped a very sleepy Lyssa dress, loaded her into his truck, and brought her home.

  Tired as he was, though, sleep had eluded him. No sooner had his eyes closed than an image of Trent would flash through his mind. Or LaTreace. Sweat sheened his skin when he’d pictured Lyssa anywhere near some of the scum he’d gone after in the last few years. Instinct told him something bad was coming. Tin Man—Trent—admitted he’d heard Mike was on leave, but that didn’t mean he’d accepted it. Not to mention some of the other operatives on the team. Glenda and Wizard were the first who came to mind.

  The svelte blonde Russian could coax honey from the bees, but she wasn’t a lady to cross. If she thought his taking leave could set back any of the multilayered investigations the team was focused on, she’d be on his doorstep, Tokarev TT-33 in hand if her smile didn’t work.

  Wizard, on the other hand, was just flat-out scary. A six-feet-five Chinese man with jade green eyes wasn’t someone you could ignore or miss. If there was one thing Mike admired, it was that Wizard was good at hiding in plain sight. And when he wanted something, he got it. His magic centered on his ability to remove obstacles—human or otherwise—to achieve his goals. If his aim was to capture a key player in an organization, he could work any number of spells to get that person. Lately, though, Wizard’s plans had been thwarted by an elusive person yet to be identified.

  If Wizard determined Mike’s presence would be best used somewhere other than San Diablo, it wouldn’t surprise Mike if he suddenly woke up one morning in Wizard’s fortress in central China. And keeping Lyssa in the dark was getting harder to do. Especially after he’d explained the circumstances surrounding his adoption of Tuma. She’d stayed quiet, but that wasn’t likely to last very long. If she decided to drag Bryce and his father into her plans to get more information, it would not only complicate matters but possibly put his entire family at risk.

  For the first time in the nearly twelve years he’d been part of Operation Zulu Team, Mike regretted his decision to become an operative.

  Taking a deep breath, Mike rested his hands on the kitchen counter and tried to relax. He let his mind drift for a moment, the details and information dropping into safe little compartments for him to analyze.

  It was unlikely Wizard or Glenda could make it here without him knowing. Both were currently deployed in Asia and Europe respectively. Tin Man, on the other hand—he could have left almost immediately after he called to ask about LaTreace.

  Again instinct kicked in the second Mike thought about LaTreace. Things didn’t feel right. Tin Man would take care of her, but the woman had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Mike knew the situation she’d been placed in wasn’t dangerous, just sensitive.

  Mike rolled his head on his neck. Pushing away the thoughts distracting him, he turned his attention to what unsettled him most. The exhaustion pulling at him wasn’t physical but emotional. He hadn’t been wrong when he’d assumed Lyssa would remain mute about her feelings. The woman was obstinate. Hell would house figure-skating penguins before she’d ever confess to loving him.

  Which frustrated the crap out of him. There were moments when he wanted to use everything he knew about how her body responded to force the words from her. It was that sense of desperation that drove him from her bed to pace the darkened confines of her kitchen. Food would never satisfy the craving he battled daily. He doubted Lyssa realized the measure of control she’d ceded over to him this evening by the simple act of calling him Master without him prompting her. But he was sure once she realized it, she’d begin reinforcing her walls, pronto.

  “If she would only stop and think.” Unfortunately that was exactly what she was doing, but she was applying skewed logic. Mike knew her barriers were connected to childhood traumas. It had taken his brother eight years to
get past Mattie’s walls and defenses, and Lyssa had experienced six years more exposure to the derision and abuse meted out by their father. Then there was the fact that Lyssa’s mind didn’t trust her heart. As Mattie had mentioned the morning after the masquerade, it was her head he’d have to convince, not her heart. And the—

  A movement along the side yard drew Mike’s attention from his thoughts to the windows facing the edge of the property. The motion sensors that triggered the floodlights must have malfunctioned. With his heartbeat increasing and adrenaline beginning to stir, he continued to watch. Until he confirmed it as a possible threat to Lyssa’s safety, he’d wait.

  When the shadow separated itself from the hedge marking the boundary between Lyssa’s house and the one on the left, Mike removed the pistol he’d tucked into the back of his jeans and checked the alarm pad near the door leading into the garage. The display was black, no lights or words flashing along the LED strip.

  Whoever was out there knew how to deactivate security systems, which meant his intentions weren’t to be trusted. There was no way he’d allow anyone close enough to harm his woman. Mike tracked the man as he moved toward the backyard and the covered patio. Easing the dead bolts open, Mike stepped into the garage. From there he slipped through the door leading onto the side yard, making sure to stay as quiet as possible.

  He’d scouted around Lyssa’s house in the days since they’d struck their bargain. The placement of the various shrubs and plants along the side of the house were familiar, and he used their shadows to move in on the intruder. “Better to prepare for an enemy and live, than expect a friend and die” was one of Trent’s favorite sayings. In that moment, Mike took it to heart. Friend or enemy, whoever was skulking around out here was about to learn a hard lesson regarding manners.

  Mike approached from behind, noting the man was built along lean, compact lines, similar to Bryce. He suspected the intruder might be as strong as Bryce, and the way the guy moved without making much noise warned Mike surprise would be to his best advantage. Slipping the safety on his gun, he returned it to the back of his jeans and then made his move.