His Captive Kitten

by Measha Stone

  He lashed her again and again, each time he praised her. “Good girl.”

  And each time, she let the pain settle into her body.

  “How are you?”

  “Good!” she screamed, nearly there. Tears were hot on her face. When had she started crying? She never cried.

  He pulled back, landing the leather right across both cheeks. Her mind buzzed then went hazy. He didn’t stop, she felt every lash, but the burn eased into a comfortable heat. The swats became more spaced out, he touched her ass more, rubbing her tender flesh, caressing the pain.

  She turned her head, burying her face into the leather of the bench, and took a gulping breath. He dropped the belt, letting it land on the bench before her, and she stretched out her fingers to grasp it. The leather, the well-worn leather became her lifeline.

  His hands were on her back, soothing her, rubbing her down as though she were a thoroughbred who had just finished her paces. Light touches to her ass, and gentle kisses to her neck.

  After long moments stretched without sound, she turned again and opened her eyes to find his boring into her.

  “Hello there.” He smiled. A wide-lipped, toothy smile. He had a deep dimple to his right cheek.

  She smiled back. “Hi.” She started to push herself up, but he held her down.

  “Give yourself another minute. You flew off pretty quick, I don’t want you to crash.” His fingers still ran up and down her back.

  “I think I’m good.”

  “Think or know?” he questioned, his expression growing more serious.

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, another minute maybe.” She closed her eyes and let him continue caressing her body. He pulled at her panties, putting them back in place.

  “You’ll have a few marks tomorrow, I think,” he said with a light touch to a particularly sore spot. “You welted a bit, but I didn’t break skin.”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, I’m good.” She waved her hand in the air to let him know she was getting up and he helped her up to her knees and held her still when she stepped down from the bench. She wiped the hair from her face; several strands had plastered themselves to her cheek with the tears.

  “Let’s get you seated and I’ll wipe down the bench.” He walked her over to the chair and moved her clothes before she sat down. “I don’t have my blanket with me.” He sounded regretful. “I can ask if they have one for you to use?”

  She waved her hand again. “No, no, I’m good.”

  He gave her a cynical stare but went about wiping the bench. While he was busy cleaning, she forced herself to get dressed. He’d known exactly where to lay the lashes, how hard to bring down the leather, and knew exactly the moment she’d soared off. He had been in more tune with her than her usual playmates.

  When he came back over to her, he didn’t look pleased. “You shouldn’t have gotten up yet.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “In fact, I really should be going. Thank you.” She tried to smile, but his dark glare only grew darker.

  “I think you should wait a few more minutes. I can drive you home if you didn’t bring your car, or I’ll get you an Uber.” Okay, so chivalry wasn’t completely dead, but she needed to get home and let the evening wear off. Otherwise she might start to believe it was possible for a man to be caring, generous, and hot at the same time. And that unicorn didn’t exist.

  “I’m good. Really.”

  “Okay.” He let out a harsh breath. “Fine. At least give me your number so I can check in on you tomorrow? Or maybe we could meet up for some coffee or something?”

  Now he was asking her out. Any other time she’d rip his phone from his hand and give him her phone number, email address, and possibly her home address. But she had to keep her head on straight. She had a job to do. She had a goal to keep in mind. She couldn’t be distracted right now.

  “Sorry. I don’t think so. I promise you I’m fine, and if I have trouble tomorrow, I have friends in the scene I can call.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Thank you though, tonight was, well, perfection.”

  Before he could press her further, she turned and hightailed it through the dungeon and made a beeline for the exit. Her ass hurt when she walked, and sitting on the bus wouldn’t be comfortable either, but she hadn’t lied to him.

  The night had been perfection.

  And now her mind was clear and she could get to the job at hand.

  Chapter Two

  John Hamish maneuvered his sedan into the only spot within blocks that didn’t require a resident permit. City parking was scarce enough without having to put those damn stickers up every other block.

  Locking the car, he zipped up his jacket and made his way down the street to the apartment building he’d been visiting daily for nearly a week. Doing favors for friends should come with a warning label. Because when you do a friend a favor, he’ll ask you for another. When you do the next favor, he’ll request an even larger one. And when you think you’re all done, he’ll call you and ask you for one last one to check on a friend of a friend of a friend.

  Great, he was starting to sound like a children’s book he read to his niece. Obviously, he needed a busier social life.

  He walked up to the entrance of the quiet apartment building. The lights in the garden apartment were on from what he could tell from the dark curtains. Just like the other five times he’d stopped by trying to catch the woman at home, the front door was unlocked. He took the stairs two at a time up to the third floor. Music blared through the door on the second-floor apartment as he made his way up. Music poured out of the apartment each time he’d come.

  Once up at the top floor he pressed the doorbell and took a step back, making sure he would be seen through the peephole of the door.

  Maybe he should have shaved before coming over. A single woman already fearful of the people in the building probably wouldn’t throw open the door with the sight of his muscular physique, zipped-up leather jacket, and the dark scruff on his chin standing on the other side of it.

  John heard a window slam and a woman’s soft yelp just before the doorknob jiggled and the door yanked open.

  “Kitten?” He blinked and double checked. Her jeans and sweater had been traded in for a pair of light pink scrubs, and her long dark hair was braided down her back. But the fresh blush on her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes were completely the same as the woman who’d blown him off at the club three nights ago.

  “Are you stalking me?” she demanded, holding her door close to her body, as though her slight build could keep him out if he wanted in.

  “Are you Julie Sampson?” he asked, though he had more joviality in his tone than she did.

  “Yeah. Did you follow me home after the club the other night?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I did. I followed you home and waited until Monday after a long-ass day to stop by.” It wasn’t her fault he’d worked a twelve-hour shift and gotten nowhere on the case he was working, but her accusations trampled on his already irritated nerves.

  Her lids narrowed and her lips pressed together firmly. “Okay, then what are you doing here?”

  He huffed. “Are you this nice to all your visitors, or just me?”

  After a long moment she pushed back the door and gestured for him to enter the apartment.

  He brushed past her, inhaling her scent as he did. A soft perfume, or maybe just a body wash, but it suited her.

  “So, what are you doing here?” she asked, shutting and bolting the door behind him.

  “A friend of yours, Kara. She’s friends with a buddy of mine, and she said you were having some trouble with some drug dealers in your building?” He glanced around the room. Candles of various sizes and colors scattered across the table tops. The throw pillows varied in hues of reds and purples, accenting the neutrality of the gray couch. Everything technically matched but seemed out of place at the same time.

  “Drug dealers?” Julie scrunched up her face. “Oh!” She grin
ned with whatever realization she came to and pushed off the door with a laugh. “They aren’t drug dealers. Or at least I don’t think they are. They’re just a pain in the ass and the landlord doesn’t do anything about it because of who they work with or for or know. That’s what freaked her out.”

  Julie walked over to the short island separating the living room from the dining room and grabbed a pack of cigarettes, flipping the box open and pulling one out. She moved to the window behind the couch and pushed it up, letting the crisp autumn air into the room.

  “Who do they know?” he asked while watching her light her smoke and tuck her knees beneath her as she hung her hand and head outside the window to take a drag.

  “The guy who rents the apartment is a Cardone. He’s just loud; I mean did you hear that music blasting? It’s not even good music.” She took another drag and blew the cloud out the window.

  “I’m guessing this is supposed to be a smoke-free building?” he asked her when she came back inside.

  “No, I just hate the smell.” She took another drag and ground out the cigarette in a small ashtray on the ledge.

  “You hate the smell, but you keep smoking?”

  After shutting the window, she hopped off the couch. “So, are you one of Devin’s friends?”

  “No. Blake asked me to check in with you.” And now he had. Everything seemed fine, other than an asshole living beneath her apartment, yet he didn’t find himself in a hurry to get out of the apartment. “You a nurse?” he asked, pointing at her scrubs.

  “No. Ophthalmic technician.” Her plump lips curved into a grin while he tried to process the term. “Don’t worry, no one knows what it is. I work in the eye-care field, for an ophthalmologist. Sort of between medical assistant and nurse. What about you?”

  “Cop.” He unzipped his jacket and pulled it away to expose the shield on his belt. “So this Cardone guy downstairs, he have a lot of visitors and such?” He walked over to the windows overlooking the street and peered through the sheer curtains.

  “He’s just an asshole. Kara overreacted. I was bitching about the music and the landlord, not about the guy. He’s just some kid.”

  John had heard about plenty of investigations digging into the Cardone family. Nothing ever stuck, and the FBI took most of the leads in regards to the Cardones. The kid was probably no concern as most of the younger generation seemed to be staying out of the family business from what he’d heard. Unless he was the son of the head of the family. Though it seemed doubtful he’d be living in a three-flat apartment near Wrigley Ville.

  “Okay, if you’re really not worried.”

  “I’m not. But thanks for checking in. I’ll call Kara tomorrow. I’ve been busy as hell and haven’t been able to return her calls.”

  He looked around the apartment again. Her laptop was opened on the coffee table with papers spread out on both sides. “Working on a project?” he asked, pointing to it.

  “It’s nothing.” She shut the laptop. “Was there anything else?”

  “No, I guess not.” He picked up a piece of paper. A police report dated two years ago. Before he could read anything else on the report, she snatched it out of his hands.

  “Well, then I guess you need to go, right? I mean, plenty of bad guys to catch?” She forced a smile.

  “And bad girls.” He moved closer to her. “I always catch them, too.”

  Her eyes widened, just a hair, but enough that he’d seen it. “Look. I know Kara sent you—”

  “I think there’s more going on here than just a loud neighbor. Or maybe that’s not the problem, and you’re hiding something else. But something is not all neat and tidy here.”

  “Don’t think just because we played at the club we have any sort of friendship or whatever.” The bristle in her words didn’t quite sink into her tone. A false bravado to hide what? Was she in trouble or causing trouble?

  “I would never presume such a thing. You made it pretty clear you didn’t want anything other than what you got.” His irritation seeped into his voice. He wasn’t a fly-by-night player. Playing with her that night had been the first time he’d even considered playing with a woman he didn’t know let alone actually going through with it.

  But when he’d seen her watching the bedroom scene between the two hamming it up for the crowd, he’d ventured over to her. She was beautiful; he could admit the physical attraction easily with her plump lips, her round curves. She made his fingers twitch to touch every inch of her. His tongue tingled at the thought of tasting her. But that hadn’t been what made him move over to her, no, it was the stance she’d had. The way she’d tucked herself into the corner like if she needed to escape in a hurry she could. The slight look of disapproval in her expression as she watched had clinched his decision to approach.

  She’d told him she didn’t like pretend discipline or roleplay, and he couldn’t agree with more on that front. If it’s a real punishment, make it real. He had spent the last days wondering if she’d ever had a real punishment, or had she spoken out of fantasy.

  “Did I bruise your ego because I didn’t let you come home with me to fuck?” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “No.” He rubbed his chin. “But if I had known you were going to run off after we played, I wouldn’t have played with you. That’s my fault, though. I should have checked with you about what aftercare you needed or wanted.”

  Her cheeks reddened a touch. “If I had said no need, you wouldn’t have played with me?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have.” He folded his own arms across his chest. “I don’t play with anyone who I can’t contact the next day. Some subs drop the following day and I make it my business to be sure they are doing well. If I’d known you weren’t even going to stick around until your heart stopped pounding, I would have moved on.”

  Her jaw tensed. “Moved on? To what, another girl?” Did she realize her voice hitched when she threw the accusation at him?

  “Nope.” He looked down at the mess of papers on the coffee table since she seemed distracted with her annoyance. “I wasn’t there to play. I told you, I was just talking with a buddy of mine and had planned on leaving. I saw you—” He paused to take a mental note of the names on another police report laying on the table before continuing. “And decided to say hi.”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”

  He zipped his coat back up and caught her gaze. “Yeah. I can see that all right.” Pulling a card out of his back pocket, he handed it to her. “Here’s how you reach me if you need something. Anything. If that guy downstairs starts doing more than just blasting his shit music, or if you need a ride home from a club, or whatever.”

  She eyed the card, chewing on her lower lip for a long moment before snatching it from his hand. “Fine. I mean,” she sighed, “thanks. You’ve been—well, nice, and I don’t mean to come off like a bitch. I’m just real private, and I don’t typically play with people I don’t know either. Friday night was different.” She blew out a harsh breath and plastered on a smile. “But it was good. I mean, playing with you, it was nice.”

  He wanted to laugh. Nice. He’d never been called that before. But she didn’t know his type of play or how he ran his relationships. She got a glimmer of his compassionate side. She obviously was a masochist who needed the burn of his belt, and he’d been the lucky sadist in the room willing to make it happen. But nice was not him.

  “Call me if you need anything. If I find out you had trouble and didn’t call, I’ll be pissed.” He flicked the edge of the card with his fingers. “And don’t give me that whole we don’t know each other bullshit. I don’t care about that. A friend of yours asked a friend of mine to make sure you were safe, and he put that on me. Which means like it or not, I’ll be checking in on you from time to time.”

  “Wow, you take your promises pretty seriously.” A genuine smile, and it lit up her brown eyes.

  “I take everything seriously, kitten.” He gave her a smile and stepped over the cof
fee table to make his way to the door. “And you really shouldn’t smoke.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond; he opened the door and stepped into the hall. He waited until he heard the bolts slide into place before jogging down the steps, tempted to stop at the second floor and tell the jackass to turn down the music but left it. If he wasn’t causing her any real trouble now, he wouldn’t do anything to rattle the nest.

  Yet.

  Once back in his car, he dialed up Paul at the precinct.

  “Hey, John. I thought you were off tonight.”

  “Yeah, I am. I need you to look up someone for me really quick. Can you pull up the records on a Marie Sampson and email them to me? Her date of birth is May seventh, nineteen sixty-three.”

  “Sure thing. This for a new case?” The clicking of Paul typing on his computer echoed through the phone.

  “Just need a background on something before I know what to do with it. Thanks.”

  “Marie Sampson. Got it. Wow. Not a short sheet. It’ll be in your inbox in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks.”

  John looked back at Julie’s apartment building and smiled. She hung out the side window again, lighting a cigarette.

  He’d deal with that later. First, he needed to find out why she was digging up police records on this woman.

  Chapter Three

  Julie pulled the hood of her sweat jacket up, covering her nearly numb ears. Making her way down the darkened street, she kept a watchful eye around her. The shops closed hours ago but plenty of people continued to crowd the sidewalks and corners.

  “Hey, sugar, you look lost.” A man with a deep voice and dangerous eyes walked toward her. “Maybe I can find you a new home.” Julie didn’t bother with a response. She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets, feeling the handle of the knife she’d brought with her, and picked up her pace.

  She wished she had a gun instead. The idea of having to get close enough to her attacker to use the knife sent a shiver through her.

  A car pulled up to the curb, and one of the women parading the street stepped up to it, leaning into the window. Julie didn’t need to watch the exchange; she’d seen it plenty of times. The first time she’d witnessed a woman, covered in too much makeup and not enough clothes, getting into a car, she’d wanted to chase after her. If nothing else to be sure she made it back to the street safe.