by Piper Stone
“Come in, Ms. Parker.”
She opened the door and tilted her head. “How did you know it was me given you have no windows to the hallway?”
He didn’t look up from his computer. “Your perfume announces you everywhere you go.”
Her perfume? Joelle resisted sniffing her wrists. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Do you enjoy working here?”
“I’m sorry?” Joelle inched closer.
Sam lifted his head. “I asked if you enjoyed working here.”
“Absolutely.” Goose bumps popped along every inch of naked skin. Perhaps her comments to the judge were the reason for this inquiry.
He looked her up and down then rose to his feet. “I’m glad to hear that because I’m giving you a promotion.”
You’re on suspension. She shook her head. “What did you say?”
Smiling, he eased from around the desk and toward the set of love seats at the far end of the room. In his hand was a thick file folder. “Come and sit with me.”
She did as she was told, but remained on edge. There had to be a catch.
“Joelle, you do a wonderful job. What you never seemed to have was the verve to grab a case by the balls and run with your gut. I saw that in you during the Taylor case. You single handedly made Gregory Brentwood sweat, which is a rare feat. I’m very proud of you.”
Opening her eyes wide, she couldn’t help but grin. “Thank you, sir. I enjoyed going head to head with him.”
“Excellent. You are now lead prosecutor. With the title comes an increase, but also additional work. I know you and your work ethic. You’ll do well.”
“Sam, thank you so much, but I really need to take a few days off.”
“Unfortunately, it’s going to have to wait. I hate to do this to you after your win, but I need you to handle a particular case with kid gloves. I trust you’ll do so.” Sam slid the folder across the coffee table. “You’ll find everything you need in here. There are a few files on the network as well. Just ask Betsy to get them for you. You’ll need to get up to speed quickly given this case will go to trial within a couple of weeks.”
“I’m flattered, but isn’t there someone else?” Joelle was thrilled. This was the pinnacle of her career. From here she could go to almost any city in the country and work.
“No can do. You’re the only one who can handle this.”
“What is the case?”
Sam locked eyes with her. “The Martin murders.”
Stunned, she had no idea what to say. The accused had allegedly murdered three people, the scene of each crime so horrific that every officer on the scene had tossed their cookies. “Wow.”
“Go on, get out of here. You certainly can enjoy a night off. Tomorrow, the real work begins.”
Joelle groaned. So much for jetting off to the Caribbean or finding the perfect Dom.
Craze walked into the office and immediately the entire administrative team stopped what they were doing to watch him walk down the hall. He chuckled, seeing their expressions. “Good morning, team. How is everyone today?”
“Fine, sir.”
“Fantastic.”
“Looking hot, I mean really nice, sir.”
He kept a smile on his face as he walked down the hallway. They weren’t used to seeing him in anything but a suit and tie. The black jeans and turquoise shirt were more his style, one he kept for the few who knew him outside of the day-to-day drudgery. Whistling, he strutted into his office and sat down behind his desk, flipping on the computer.
Mark walked into the doorway, folding his arms as he leaned against the doorjamb. “Okay, I think I might have to call 911 for assistance.”
“And why would that be?”
“At least three of the women out there are having trouble breathing.”
“Should I offer my personal assistance?” Craze asked, then winked.
“Dear God, please don’t even consider it, boss. We don’t need any lawsuits on our hands, even if you are the best-looking lawman in town.” Mark snorted as he eased inside. “You’re in a good mood. Dare I ask why?”
Craze shrugged and swiveled his chair, glancing out the window. “It’s a gorgeous day. Why shouldn’t I be in a good mood?” When Mark remained quiet, he tipped his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Why does there have to be anything wrong?”
“Because I know you, remember?” He noticed Mark had a folder in his hands and a pensive look on his face. “Spill it.”
He walked to the desk and eased the folder down onto Craze’s desk. “Okay, but don’t shoot the messenger.”
Craze didn’t have to look inside to know what he was going to find. “Let me guess, the information on Michael Trent will ruin my day.”
“Not ruin, but certainly give you pause. The reporter doesn’t have much in the way of stories, but he does have connections.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Who should I be terrified of?” Craze opened the folder and scanned the few pages. One was the same article he’d read. Another was a basic resume printed off Indeed. The third was a list of names. The third page he held up into the light, reading the information over twice. He wasn’t a fearful man and certainly refused to be blackmailed by anyone. Whether or not the kid had it in him, time would tell. “Interesting.” There were certain people even Craze didn’t want to tangle with.
“I thought you’d have more of a reaction.”
“Why? Because his father is connected? Because he was hand-picked for the job, no matter that he has few credentials?” Craze closed the folder, shoving it out of his way.
“Well, yes,” Mark said as he narrowed his eyes. “If you announce, don’t you think Michael is going to pounce?”
“And tell the world what? That I’m formidable in the courtroom? That I use somewhat creative tactics in order to win friends and influence people? Hogwash!”
Mark remained quiet. “Look, this is none of my business other than I care about you as a person. You’re a good man, an honorable man.”
“But what, Mark? What?” His assistant knew enough about his past to either be an asset or a person who could endanger his political career. Either way, he wasn’t going to rush to judgment or worry just yet.
He held up his hands and took two steps back. “Okay. I just wanted to give you the information you asked for.”
“I appreciate it.” Craze leaned back in his chair.
Mark remained where he was.
“What else, Mark?”
“Nothing. Except, have you decided if you’re going to announce?”
“I said three weeks, not three days.” Flipping off the computer, he rose to his feet. “I’m taking the rest of the day off. If anything happens, you can reach me by phone, but don’t unless it’s an emergency.” He needed to clear his head, rid his mind of the ugly cobwebs that had been forming the last few days.
“Really? You never take time off.”
“Exactly, which is why I’m doing so now.” He grabbed the file and walked toward the door. No one was going to pressure him into or out of anything. Period.
After shoving the file into his satchel, he jerked the helmet from the back of the Harley and jumped on the bike. A long ride followed by a night spent with a dazzling lady would ease his discontent.
Kicking up the stand, he secured the helmet and turned the key. Revving the engine, he roared out of the parking lot, leaving Randolph Mitchell behind. For a few hours he’d become the man he enjoyed—also the man he feared.
At precisely nine that night, Craze walked into the lobby of Carsen Towers, the poshest address in Baltimore. He acknowledged the man sitting behind the marble desk and advanced, heading for the elevator. He’d been here before on numerous occasions, although his heavy case load had kept him from indulging for almost three months. He needed companionship, an evening spent with a woman who understood his needs.
As he strode into the empty elevator, pressing the button for the top floor, he reflected on their on-again
off-again relationship. Anastasia was beautiful, aristocratic and a formidable woman. She also kept her mouth shut, an important attribute in a city where any indiscretions were exposed with dogged flair. She had a life of her own, complete with influential friends. This was their dirty secret.
He’d never been in love and wasn’t with Anastasia. Neither wanted connections other than casual, yet they enjoyed their time together. His family had realized years before he’d never marry or have children. They’d accepted the fact after several attempts at goading him into wanting the white picket fence scenario. He wasn’t the type. Never would be.
When the elevator pinged, he smiled and walked to the end of the hallway. There was no one to see him come and go. There never was. She answered after a single knock.
“Good to see you,” Anastasia purred as she took a step back, allowing him inside.
“Thank you for taking my call,” he answered and closed the door. As his eyes swept the expansive room, he marveled at the fact her condo never changed. Everything was always in order, fresh flowers on several tables, up to the minute magazines positioned just so. She had little in the way of adornment. There were no pictures of family and not a single plant lived within the dwelling. She used the condo as a playhouse, nothing more. Her real life was spent traveling, hosting charity events. He didn’t ask questions or request details. He simply didn’t care.
“You make our arrangement sound so clinical, my dear sir.” She glided toward the neon infused glass bar. She didn’t ask what he’d like nor did he have to tell her.
“We are as we need to be.” He studied her form. She was exquisite with long legs and a slender, yet muscular body. Her raven hair was always precisely styled, not a hair out of place. She wore a simple white silk sheath, the transparent gown accentuating her rosy nipples and the dark pubic hair trimmed neatly between her legs. Her skin was radiant, almost glowing in the dim lighting.
She shot him a coy look as she filled the glasses. “Reflective today I see, sir.”
“Always.” He stood where he was. She knew her place and seemed to enjoy catering to his every need. The arrangement wasn’t about sex. He wasn’t interested in the intense connection. This was about satisfying his dark craving.
She glided toward him, her eyes never leaving his. “Here you are. Just as you like, sir.”
Craze accepted the drink, taking a sip and walking toward the bank of floor to ceiling windows. The view was incredible, allowing him to see across the entire city. He sipped on the scotch as he considered his future.
She appeared behind, sliding her hand up his back and cupping his shoulder, massaging. “You’re tense.”
“Work. Decisions.”
“A man of few words. This evening will ease your pain.”
He studied her features in the reflection. While he longed to feel anything other than need, he was cold, his emotions shelved many years before. They stood silently, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city, perhaps both longing for a different time or place.
She ran her hand down to cup his crotch, rubbing as she smiled. “You’re in need, sir.”
Craze turned and lowered one side of her gown, pinching her nipple. “And you’re incorrigible.”
“Always.”
Before he’d finished his drink, she’d disappeared, going to their special room.
Swirling the ice, he took his last sip, turning and placing the tumbler on the glass coffee table. As he walked toward the long hallway, he rolled up his sleeves. Tonight he would be brutal, the act defying the intense cravings. He needed to keep control in his professional life. Sessions with Anastasia always helped. As he walked into the room, he inhaled the rich scent of vanilla. Her favorite.
Anastasia stood in the center of the room. Completely naked, she had her head lowered, her arms in front of her. She was awaiting his command.
He walked in a wide arc around her, glancing down at her porcelain skin. She was unmarred, her flesh perfect in every way. His cock ached, throbbing against his tight jeans. He remained silent as he eyed the table in the far corner of the room. She’d selected his favorite implements; whips and floggers, canes of exotic woods. She knew his tastes well.
As he took her hand, intertwining their fingers, he heard her ragged breathing. She wasn’t afraid, merely apprehensive of his selection and the amount of strikes he would deem necessary. He led her to the cross, the steel gleaming in the soft lighting. She’d purchased the piece from a vendor almost two years before upon his direction. His requirement.
Metal clanged against metal as he secured her wrists and ankles. The sound was delicious, sending tingles skating down his spine. He moved her hair to behind her shoulder, smoothing the long strands against her back. He wanted to see her face, the way her eyes shifted as the moment drew closer.
He considered his every move as he walked closer to the implements, his mind reeling with possibilities. With each step he became the man he’d always known himself to be, sadistic, hungry to inflict pain. He placed the tips of his fingers on each piece, caressing as he inhaled the scent of the rich woods, the firm leather. After consideration, he wrapped his hand around the quirt, perhaps his favorite whip.
As he moved toward her, he ran the single strand through his fingers. The well-worn piece had been used before, but on rare occasions. He took his position behind her, running his fingers down her spine.
Moaning, Anastasia wiggled in her bindings and closed her eyes.
“Tonight, I’m going to hurt you.”
“Yes, sir. Please.”
A smile crossed Craze’s face as he took two strides back.
Crack!
The tip sliced across her buttocks, instantly creating a red welt.
“Oh!”
He didn’t stop with her cries of anguish, knowing they’d soon turn into exclamations of pleasure. She was a true pain slut, preferring the hard strike of a whip to the soft aspects of romance.
Pop! Crack!
A quiver eased down the back of his legs as adrenaline kicked in. He licked his lips and admired his work.
Whoosh! Slap! Crack!
The leather strand issued crisscrossing marks across her lower back.
Slap! Pop!
The next set added beautiful marks on her upper thighs.
“Ah…yes.” Saliva slipped from her lips.
In that moment, he considered her the most beautiful woman on the earth.
Snap! Smack! Crack!
He issued whip after whip, his hand controlled after years of practice. Her skin would mark, but heal within days. The session would remain in her mind for weeks, allowing her the peace she craved above all things.
Inhaling, Craze held his breath and eased the palm of his hand down the length of her back. She shifted and moaned, her whimpers becoming purrs. After running his fingers through his hair, he held out his arm, surprised his hand was shaking. He clenched his fist, anger furrowing inside. This wasn’t his usual experience. He was always exhilarated by the sessions, exalted into his own euphoria. Now? He was cold, uncaring.
No, he would continue. This was a calming source.
Crack! Slap! Pop! Crack!
“Oh!” Jerking back from her metal bindings, her eyes flew open, true agony riding her face. Panting, she eased her head against the cold steel as beads of perspiration trickled down the side of her face.
He blinked in an effort to maintain his focus, yet he had difficulty seeing clearly. Swallowing, he controlled his breathing before striking again. After two more, he shook his head, walked to the table dropping the implement and untying her.
“Is something wrong, sir?” she asked, as he fumbled with her bindings.
“Nothing is wrong.”
“But you stopped, sir.”
“Yes.” He wasn’t going to say anymore.
When she was free, she grabbed a robe positioned on the single chair in the room, placing the material over her shoulders.
“Please tell me what’s wron
g. Did I not please you tonight, sir?”
Craze kissed the top of her head as he gripped her shoulders. “You always please me.”
“Then why stop?”
The question remained in the front of his mind, the answer on the tip of his tongue. He could tell in her eyes she was aware of what was happening. “Because it’s time.”
She tied the sash and turned to face him, a knowing look on her face. “I understand.” Rising onto her tiptoes, she kissed his lips. “You are an amazing man; you just don’t seem to understand that. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
He remained stiff, uncertain of her intentions. When she moved away, walking toward the table, he exhaled and headed for the door. He wasn’t an amazing man. He was a monster.
This was his last session with her. He no longer wanted or needed a method of allowing the beast to bridge the surface. He wanted more, much more.
As he left the building, his thoughts rushed to his favorite scripture.
Judge not lest ye be judged…
Chapter 3
Domination. Pain. Pleasure.
The words continued to run through her mind. As Joelle pulled into the parking lot, she dropped her head to the steering wheel. She’d been working fourteen-hour days on the case. There was no way she’d be ready in time. When she slept, her dreams were filled with a masked, but very sexy man who dominated her, taking her to new heights of ecstasy. She had no idea why she continued to have the same images, but they were making her crazy with desire.
She’d even tried self spanking one time, but the wooden hairbrush was difficult to manage and didn’t have the same effect as she’d longed for. Dream a little dream for me… She chuckled as she cut the engine. No dream was going to conjure up a rough and tumble and very powerful man. She wasn’t even certain there were any in Baltimore. They all seemed like stuffed shirts, parading around as attorneys or accountants.
She glanced into the rearview mirror, pouting her lips and touching up her lipstick. No, not a single male attorney could fit the bill. At least her best friend had convinced her to leave the dull world for a drink, or two. Or five. She deserved a few hours to herself.
