“I understand that. But when you can take me, I want to be with you. At least nearby. I want to know where you are, what you’re doing, and I want to know what to do if your plans change and you have to make a sudden exit or need backup. I want to be involved, not your little sex slave waiting at home in your bed, wondering if you’re ever going to come home.”
I expected him to grumble, argue, or even laugh at me. After all, he’d spent his entire life training with the military or FBI to hunt down criminals. Why on earth would he want to drag me along?
But he smiled, and this time it reached his eyes and his heart. “Do you hear yourself?”
A year ago, I’d been a complete doormat. Hell, even a few months ago. Until him. “You gave me the strength to ask for what I really want, and I want you, Charlie. All the way. Not this half-assed vacation shit, as wonderful and relaxing as it has been.” Just thinking about a scene made my throat tighten. I missed the Master-submissive rituals, but more, I missed the pain. I needed it. “I want you. The real you. Blood and all.”
“The pain?” He whispered, though he clamped his hands on his knees as if fighting the urge to reach out and drag me closer.
Just thinking about the last time he’d hurt me while making love to me made my nipples throb and swell. “Absolutely. You know I’m a pain slut.”
“And you’re offering blood. Knife play.” His voice rumbled toward that rough growl that I loved so much. “You’re even offering to do it for me.”
“Yes.”
“And all I have to do is tell you where I’m going to be?”
“I never want to wake up and wonder where you went. If you’ll come back at all. If you’re going to be in danger, I want to know.”
“Okay. I can agree to that.”
“And you’ll take me with you when you can?”
His eyes burned, so dark. So heavy. He hadn’t let the sadist out in so long. Too long. The last time, he’d tied me up with his shirt, cut me and then used knives to pin my bonds to the kitchen table while he fucked me. My knees trembled, already trying to open for him. I had to fight to keep my gaze locked to his, because every instinct I possessed wanted to kneel at his feet and accept his collar and whatever punishment he deigned to give me.
He made a low, ragged sound that drew my gaze to his hand, cupping his crotch. My mouth watered. My heart pounded. My vision narrowed to his groin and the magnificent erection hidden in those casual cotton pants. My knees started to go, but I jerked back upright. Breathing hard, I dragged my gaze back to his.
It was the smug smile flitting on his lips that pissed me off enough to stand firm. He was trying to use my slave desires against me. Fine. I’d step up my game too.
I hadn’t lied when I said I was a pain slut. The only problem was that I generally didn’t hurt myself. If Charlie wanted to tease me with the knife or torture me with pressure points, I’d be wet to my knees. But if I hurt myself, it’d just be pain. Not pleasure. He’d be able to cut me with the knife and make me come, but if I did it myself, I’d probably only cry.
My hand trembled but I lifted the blade so that it hovered over my heart.
He untied his trousers, loosening them enough to free his cock. His big, strong hand squeezed his dick, way harder than I would have done. He let another low sound escape, almost a whimper, and that sound drove me to make the first small cut. Watching his hand pumping, his hips pushing his cock up into his fist, I didn’t feel pain. Only an immense satisfaction. Just watching me with the knife had turned him on this much. He’d never touched himself like this for me.
“I want your promise.” My voice cracked but didn’t shake. “You’ll take me with you.”
His chest heaved, his face darkening as he watched the thin trickle of blood run down my breast. “When I can. If it’s safe.”
“Even if it’s not safe, you won’t send me home. I can’t go back to that life.”
Dragging his gaze up to mine, he shook his head. “No, I can’t promise that. Eventually—”
“No.” I tipped up my chin and made another cut on my left breast. It burned, a little deeper than I’d intended, but it was worth it to watch the way he had to fight to keep his gaze on mine and not on the blood. “I won’t go back to that life. I can’t. It’ll suffocate me.”
“Your family loves you.”
“You’re my family now. You love me. That’s all I need.”
His breath caught, his back arching on a deep groan, and I almost went to him. The sound of his desire or pleasure would always be my undoing. I watched the way his gaze traveled down my breast to my rib cage. He’s tracking the path of blood.
The blood slid down my belly, and I had a sudden vision of him licking the blood from my pussy. My clit throbbed so hard I gasped. More blood. I wanted a good path for him to follow.
I turned the blade slightly and made a crossing mark over the top of the others. Another small slice, and he could play tic-tac-toe on my breast. It made me giggle, which told me I was getting a little punch-drunk myself. I wasn’t bleeding that much, but the endorphins were making me fuzzy.
“Come here,” he whispered raggedly.
My body moved forward before my mind reacted. I jerked to a stiff halt. “Promise me first.”
“What?”
“Promise you won’t send me home.”
“You’re killing me, kitten.” He shifted his hips closer toward me but didn’t put his hands on me. “Okay.”
I pressed the flat of the blade to my right breast and trailed the steel back and forth, up and down my throat and chest. “Okay isn’t what I’m looking for.”
Giving up on seduction, he leaned forward enough to pick me up and bring me down into his lap. He seized my hand holding the knife but he didn’t immediately force me to drop the blade. With his big hand, he could have ground the tendons and bones together in my wrist until I dropped it. Instead he inched his fingers up my forearm like a spider, each soft thud increasing my heart rate. His index finger glided over my elbow, caressing the knob as if he didn’t quite know what he was searching for.
Staring into my eyes, he watched my face tense as he found the nerve that made my whole arm jerk helplessly. My fingers tightened but I lost control of the hilt and it slipped to the ground.
He slid into me so hard and quick that it stole my breath. “I promise.”
His mouth sealed over the cuts and he let out a growl that rumbled through my body like a tidal wave. I gripped his shoulders, bracing my knees so I could ride him. His teeth dug into my skin, his breathing coming hard and fast as he licked the blood from my skin.
He felt good, and I was more than happy to let him take his pleasure. My Master’s pleasure would always take precedence over mine, and he’d more than make up for it later. I could—
His fingers squeezed around my throat, his thumb pressing on my windpipe, and everything in my body suddenly went on high alert. He squeezed hard enough that I felt the effort of breathing. Always the Master, now he controlled the very breath I pulled into my lungs. A switch flipped in my brain and I ceased to exist. He breathed for me, letting me draw a breath before narrowing my windpipe with pressure.
I can’t begin to explain the submissive mind space he could give me. My body was an extension of his. My pleasure, his. It didn’t matter whether I came or not, because he would, and I was his. Now he even determined how I would breathe, and it made my whole body a vessel. His tool for his pleasure. His. That’s all that mattered.
He leaned back against the cushions, half reclining, half sitting beneath me. Nudging me with his hips, he shifted beneath me, using his right hand to adjust me into the position he wanted. His grip on my throat kept me bent toward him, my clit pressed hard against his pubic bone.
It took me a moment to realize he wasn’t moving. No thrusting, and with his shou
lders down and away, I didn’t have anything to hold on to for leverage. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, but with his thumb still pressing against my throat, I knew he’d take it when he was ready.
His fingers tightened on my neck and my muscles loosened even more, my bones melting away. The only thing holding me up was his hand on my throat, and his cock throbbing inside me. He felt so big, impossibly thick and wide. Every little move I made sent ripples through me, centered around his dick. God, it felt so good, I tried to move, wanted to move, but I couldn’t do more than clench my muscles and wiggle in his grip.
So patient. He just stared at me. The more I twitched, the harder he gripped my throat. I could hear the wheeze of my breath, short and fast as he gave me just a small respite before clamping his fingers tight again...
His dark eyes mesmerized me. Heavy with intent, so scorching hot my hips wriggled desperately. Another quick breath, and I managed to gasp out his name, searching his eyes. What did he want? What was he waiting for?
He said only one word.
“Struggle.”
Chapter Seven
Ranay
I’d heard that people drowned not because they weren’t capable of holding their breath, but because their bodies involuntarily took a breath, even though they were underwater. It was that built-in desperate urge to breathe that couldn’t be controlled.
That urge hit me and I tried to fight it. It made me want to claw his eyes out. Maybe find that knife and stick it into the back of his hand so he’d let up that punishing hold on my throat. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not really. The last thing he’d want to do was strangle me.
But I couldn’t breathe.
My head swam and I started to sink, miles and miles underwater. He might have spoken to me, but his voice was distorted by the ocean stretching in my mind. My body jerked and I dug desperately at his fingers. He let me pry his index finger up from my throat and I hauled in a tiny breath. I focused on his face and the stark hunger in his eyes sent a chilling bolt of alarm through me. I jammed my fist down into his stomach but he didn’t even grunt. Opening my fingers, I dug my nails into his skin. His eyes narrowed and he clamped that finger back down on my throat and air disappeared again.
Instinct took over and I bucked in his grip, twitching like he’d connected me to ten thousand volts. The smell of blood thickened. I’d wounded him, but the part of my mind that cared was so small compared to the overwhelming instinct screaming for air.
His fingers loosened and I tried to suck in a deep breath, but he thrust up into me so hard I couldn’t concentrate enough to breathe. He was so deep, so large, it felt like he forced the air out of my lungs. He thrust again with a deep, vicious grunt that sent a shock wave through me. Pulling me down closer, he let up his grip until I could focus my eyes on his.
“Do you need to tap out?”
I shook my head, but gave him the word too. “No.” My throat hurt, raw like I’d swallowed burning sandpaper. “No red.”
He rolled me over flat on my back on the abundance of cushions we kept around the fire pit. “If you need to red but can’t say it, touch my face. I’ll stop.”
I breathed deeply, filling up my lungs as much as I could, and then nodded. He smiled, and his face transformed into this miraculous killing beauty that I imagined the archangels wore as they headed into battle. He squeezed my throat and fucked me until the gray clouded the edges of my vision, narrowing his face down to a speck. My skin felt alive, shivering and burning up with fever. I clenched my muscles. I flailed at his shoulders and tore at his back. He dropped his weight against me, pinning me down, holding me still for his brutal thrusts. Everything tightened on his cock, every muscle desperate for escape, release, relief, air.
Timed with exquisite control, he let me take in a breath right as climax tore through me. I made a choked, gagging cry and stiffened, my entire body shaking. He threw his head back and shoved deep, skewering me so hard I tried to scream, but I couldn’t get my throat to work. Releasing a shuddering groan, he ground his hips into me and came. In that moment, I couldn’t bear it. His size, the sensations, they were too strong, too overwhelming. Tears leaked down my cheeks and I gasped, trying to remember the in and out rhythm. My brain remembered breathing, but I couldn’t comprehend anything nearly as effortless right now.
He sat up and dragged me upright, my face in his neck. “Easy, kitten. Slow and easy. Your body will remember what it needs to do if you give it a moment. I’ve got you.”
His heart thundered beneath my cheek. I couldn’t remember his heart pounding so hard, even after he’d killed Rusk and then held me ever so briefly before the FBI descended on his torn-up house. He breathed as hard as if he’d run a marathon, but steady, even. My brain finally managed to make the connection, automatically timing my breaths to his. We panted, clinging to each other, and slowly the night sounds of the jungle closed in around us. I’d never lived in a city bigger than Springfield, MO, but I’d always thought civilization was loud. All the cars, city buses, streets that never slept.
But city noise had nothing on the jungle’s cacophony once it recovered from the intrusion of our noisy lovemaking.
My throat ached enough that I’d probably be hoarse tomorrow. The small cuts on my chest felt like they needed about a million stitches, even though I knew that wasn’t true. I didn’t care about anything except Charlie’s arms around me and his promises ringing in my head.
My Master might have hidden most of his true identity from me from the start, and I was only starting to see glimpses of his true self. The real man he tried so hard to make invisible. But one thing I’d known from the beginning: Charlie always kept his promises.
He sat forward and I clung to him as he gathered some ice in a napkin and then pressed the cloth to my throat. “That was incredibly stupid.”
“Mmm.” I nestled deeper into his embrace and allowed him to take care of me. Sometimes that was even better than the pleasure he gave. “Stupid, but oh so good.”
“We should have discussed precautions before you attempted such a stunt. What if you’d needed to safeword out but couldn’t speak?”
I closed my eyes and let myself start to drift away into sleep. “I knew you’d stop. If I needed you to.”
Chapter Eight
Vincent
All talk stilled when the boss strode into the concrete room. Standing beside his father, Marko looked soft, from his impeccable suit to his well-manicured hands and clean-shaven face.
Vlasenko was a man of few words. He turned to the man who guarded the inner cells. “Count?”
Kozlov immediately stepped forward. “We’re nearly full now, boss. We just brought in two more. Real lookers. Should be worth their weight in gold.” He laughed nervously at the boss’s impassive face. “Or heroin. Whatever you want this time. Boss.”
Vlasenko looked back at the guard, who gave the exact count. “Six.”
His face didn’t betray his disgust, neither for the low number nor the unlucky man who ran his mouth without authority. He pulled out a Glock and shot Kozlov in his wide-open mouth. The retort bounced around the concrete walls, but the whole place had probably been soundproofed. Wouldn’t do for one of the high rollers upstairs to hear a captive sobbing in the basement. The women shrieked but quickly quieted, as if they knew they’d be next if they kept up that racket.
“Father,” Marko breathed out shakily. “Don’t—I—”
“This is our business.” Vlasenko handed the gun to one of his guards, and another pair bent down to pick up Kozlov’s body. “Six is unacceptable. Running at the mouth when I ask a simple question is also unacceptable.”
Marko was far from a kid any longer, but by his pale, sweaty face and trembling hands, he’d never seen his father in action. At least firsthand. “You know how I feel about this. This violence, the killing, the
women. Why can’t we—”
“Silence.” Vlasenko didn’t shout, but he didn’t have to, not after just shooting a man for talking too much. “Never question me about our business. We move in an hour.” Vlasenko turned that cold shark gaze on Vincent. “Be ready.”
So Vlasenko must suspect the shipment might be compromised. Vincent didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes must have glittered with anticipation. Even though an internal knife seemed to cut across his organs. He hated this. He hated the killing. The blood. The rage.
He hated it as much as he needed it.
Vlasenko gave him a rare grin and left the room. Marko cast an agonized look toward the holding area and then turned sharply and hurried after his father. Maybe he was the traitor. Or maybe he was just trying to be his father’s conscience. The traitor had to be someone close to Vlasenko, because no one moved on business without his direct order. Even his own enforcers had no idea when they were moving a shipment until an hour or less before.
While the guards dosed the women with something to make them a little easier to handle, Vincent rifled through the blonde’s bag. His gut insisted that if Vlasenko expected trouble, it’d come from her, but he couldn’t find anything unexpected in her tote. If he had more time and a few toys, he could scan each item and see if any of them were bugged or altered in any way. For now, he had to assume that if she was carrying a bug of some kind, then it was on her.
Luka stared at the blood spray on the wall. It took a couple of thumps on his shoulder before he turned and met Vincent’s gaze. “When you snagged those last two captives, did you search them?”
Luka’s mouth opened, his lips working to form a word, but no sound came out. His eyes had that distant, empty look of someone who’d checked out.
Vincent snagged his hand and twisted it back, applying pressure on his wrist until he flinched and finally made a low pain noise. “Did you search them?”
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