Being so close to her now, her thighs riding his, her skimpy mini-skirt pushed way up, revealing sexy stockings and an eyeful of mouthwateringly sheer lace panties, he was finding it hard to think about anything but getting her back home and into bed. His own fault. Shit, it had seemed like a good plan at the time. God give him strength, but he had so much more to show her, to teach her. If she let him.
Where would their current performance lead them?
To catch a killer, he reminded himself. She was not here for the benefit of his lust, but to help him trap a murdering bastard. Surreptitiously, he scanned the crowd. Somewhere out there was a man with a more sinister reason for observing them than garden-variety voyeurism.
But Mick had been aroused all night, watching the sensual way she moved as she pretended to be his private odalisque. And he couldn't help but wonder how far she would have gone if they'd come to Brimstone on their own, just on a date, with no job involved?
He realized it didn't matter. It was impossible to separate business from pleasure. They were here now, and for this job he could push her as far as he wanted. How far should he go?
Damn.
Where the hell was Cody? He could use an objective temperature gauge.
“You don't mind everyone watching us?” he asked Caro, indicating the score of eyes on them.
She licked her lips before answering, the hesitation betraying her uneasiness. On stage the strands of the dungeon master's flogger cracked against the woman's G-stringed buttocks, followed by a moan.
“No,” Caro said. “I don't mind.” And everyone understood that she did, but she'd submit because he asked it of her.
His cock swelled bigger against the tight leather of his pants. She'd submitted last night, too. Eagerly. And those few hours hadn't been nearly enough to satisfy his sexual appetite for her. A lifetime of last nights probably wouldn't be enough.
“Show me, baby. Show me how much you like my hands on your body.”
He tightened his grip on her and felt a tiny shiver ripple through her flesh. His cock throbbed larger still. If he didn't force himself to focus, he'd be in major-league trouble.
Luckily, he knew exactly what Rick and the rest of the crowd wanted. Because he wanted it even more.
Somehow he managed to pull himself together, and began sliding his hands up and down her slim rib cage. Making them all wait. Building the tension. Fighting to keep his voracious hunger for her at bay, and think of his mission.
He traced his fingers over her arms and face, down her legs, up her silky thighs. Gradually he worked his way over more and more of her, splitting his attention between business and pleasure, helping her to relax, until he suspected she'd forgotten all about the onlookers, and was lost in his touch. It was a turn-on like he'd never experienced, bringing her to this point, in public.
Slowly, slowly, he slid his hands over her entire body, ending with her nearly-bare breasts. Gently, he cupped them, sliding his thumbs along the scant edge of her demi-bra.
Her shuddering moan vibrated in the deepest, darkest part of his being, mingling with a hushed murmur of delight from the crowd. Under the buttery leather her nipples peaked hard.
He would never have believed it possible that the always-in-control Caroline Palmer would put herself so totally in his hands. She didn't trust him. She’d said she didn't. And yet here she was, at his complete mercy.
His sense of power over her was incredible. He liked the feeling. He liked it a lot. Even though he knew damned well it was the last thing on earth he should allow himself to feel.
She arched her back, her pink nipples shifting upward, peeking up, dangerously close to complete exposure. He couldn't resist blowing a thin stream of air over them.
Opening her eyes, she blinked, disoriented, and he knew he'd been right—she'd been miles away. Her body suddenly tensed.
He leaned forward and put his mouth to hers. “Don't wimp out on me now,” he urged, and kissed her.
You shouldn't be doing this, a voice inside him whispered. The situation was far too volatile to contain. Fuck.
He ignored the inner warning and for a moment allowed himself to revel in the taste of her, to lose himself in the close, edgy, perfumed atmosphere of the dark room. In the eyes on him, in the things he was doing to her, and the control he had over her.
He kissed her, long and hard and hungry, until he finally came to with a start. Shoring up his badly flagging concentration, he reached up and slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders. Not all the way, which would break club rules and earn their expulsion, but far enough down her arms to thoroughly scandalize her—and elicit a growl of anticipation from the masses. She tried to pull away.
He held her firmly in place, and looked past her to the entranced spectators, searching the faces of those who seemed particularly intent on watching their test of wills. Searching for one in particular.
She twisted in his grasp, so he nipped at her bottom lip, drawing her focus back to him, re-establishing his dominance. Reminding her of her role and why they were there.
“Easy,” he whispered.
This wasn't a tough crowd, but it was a somewhat jaded one. They'd gotten its attention, but to make an impression—and raise the chances of the operation succeeding—they needed to come up with a suitably arousing end to this little show. She couldn't lose her nerve now.
“Stay with me, baby.”
He switched from nibbling to licking her, a more aggressive and overtly sexual assault than kisses or bites. She gasped as he covered her breasts with his hands.
She leaned into him, pressing closer, and the tips spiraled pebble hard against his palms. He caressed them, feeling her skin ripple with gooseflesh. Deflecting a painful spurt of arousal, he painted his wet tongue over her jaw and down her throat. And perused the crowd again. Cody now stood among the stags, rapt in observation of what he was doing to her. Too rapt. For a split second he considered adding his old friend to the official list of suspects.
A small whimper pulled Mick back from his irrational jealousy. His lips were tracing the pliant softness of Caro's breast. Her breath came in short bursts, pushing the mound of flesh up against his mouth in an irresistible invitation. Without thinking, he slipped his hands under the crescents of her bra, stroking over the ripe buds with his thumbs.
She gasped and sat up, clutching at him. Then her fingers shot through his hair, gripping his scalp almost painfully. Holding him to her.
He froze for a split second, paralyzed by her reaction. No one could see anything. Not really. Her breasts were completely hidden behind his face and hands. But everyone watching knew what he was doing. And that was enough. He stifled a rumbling groan of pure need. Nothing could have prepared him for his own powerful response to her actions. He was on fire.
A thick, sexually-laden quiet descended over their corner of the room. Only the snap of the flogging onstage, the creak of the St. Andrews cross, and the heated cries of the woman chained to it penetrated the tense silence.
Excitement vibrated through him as he slowly lifted Caro’s breasts from their confinement, and took a nipple into his mouth.
Her breathless, whispered, “Oh, God, Mick,” told him she was just as aroused as he was. Just as unnerved. And just as intoxicated by the fantasy.
He barely resisted the urge to crow in triumph.
He pulled her close and suckled her hard, flicking his tongue over her stiff, elongated nipple. She shuddered in his arms. He bit down on her with his bared teeth, as a wolf would bite his mate, letting her know she wasn't alone. He was her Master, and no matter what happened, from this moment forward she was completely, utterly his.
With unhurried movements, he finally released her from the bidding of his mouth and pulled her bra back into place. Straightening, he saw the stunned, barely restrained panic that flashed in her eyes, and met it with a merciless, knowing stare.
Silently telling her there was no way to escape him now. No way in hell.
Because he knew her terrible secret.
They were cut from the same cloth.
Her dark secret exposed, something primal and fundamental shifted between them. Mick could feel it—potent and dangerous, a current arcing back and forth between the two of them like a downed electrical wire.
There wasn't a doubt in his mind he should do his damnedest to avoid getting caught in it. A vast, untapped power, it lured him with the promise of heat and light to his ice-filled life. It defied him to ignore its presence with all the mercy of an executioner's smile.
He knew damned well if he let himself be tempted by her, by the power of their secret, it could only end badly, igniting them both in a spectacular conflagration of destruction. He knew it as well as he knew his own past.
Was he strong enough to resist?
Not a chance. He wanted her too damned much.
He felt another prick of guilt over his deliberate role in her coming ruin, then shoved it aside. He hadn't done anything she didn't want him to do, and he never would. He wouldn't have to. Her own nature would bring her to him, begging for more.
Yeah, she'd have to come to terms with parts of herself she obviously wasn't comfortable acknowledging. Though, after what had just happened, she should have a hell of a clue. But eventually, she'd see it. And crave it as badly as he did. Wanting to join their secret passions into an orgy of dark pleasure and forbidden delight.
And he would give it all to her.
But he must be careful never to allow their intense physical relationship to push him beyond a casual emotional attachment. To do so would invite the real disaster.
He knew very well what always followed more substantial attachments. The man who'd terrorized his way through Mick’s childhood on the strings of his mother's heart had taught him well how easily feelings changed from affection to antagonism. Mick's own lessons had escaped the severity of his mother's only because he'd never been regarded with particular affection or antagonism by his father. With few notable exceptions, he'd been pretty much ignored, thank God.
But he knew himself. He must keep his feelings for Caro under strict discipline. The thought of her pretty face bruised and battered, or worse, sickened him. No, Mick wasn't his father. But as long as his father was alive, the violence lay coiled around Mick, like a nest of vipers ready to strike when he was most vulnerable.
She would be safe as long as he stuck firmly to his plan. To their agreement. Casual and short-term. He wouldn't take any risks. Not with Caroline.
But that didn't mean he wouldn't eagerly accept every inch of tantalizing flesh she offered, every gratified fantasy, every night of salacious pleasure that pushed them beyond the pale of political correctness, even into the realm of pure decadence.
Hell, no. He could hardly wait.
***
Caro was running scared. Mick watched her try to hammer up a barrier between them by resorting to the hooker persona she used on the streets for john busts. The rest of their time at Brimstone she was flirty, sexy, seductive. He might easily have been fooled into believing her a true slave to his will. But he knew better. She was terrified to let him close.
She meant to deny him.
He could feel it in his bones.
Every time he looked at her she lowered her gaze, playing her slave role like a pro. But he saw past the acting. She was horrified by her own behavior in the seraglio. By what had transpired between them. And she was determined to withdraw. But he wasn't about to let her wriggle out of the profoundly intimate bond they'd established.
As for the uncomfortable feeling that he had somehow overstepped some intangible boundary he'd been shying away from his whole life, well, he'd deal with that later.
Meanwhile, he never let Caro slip out of his reach. Her brief surrender in the dark had kicked in his territorial instincts in a big way. He'd started her down this path, and it was his responsibility to protect her, keep her safe, and he was determined to do so. He wouldn't ever let uncontrollable emotion put his woman in danger again. From himself or anyone else.
Thankfully, Caro's own resistance to a relationship would help him keep his emotional distance, even while he enjoyed her body. By holding his own feelings aloof he would protect her from the disaster he was courting by getting close. But physically, he was resolute. He meant to have her, fully and often.
For the rest of the time they spent in the club, he kept his hand on the small of her back, or her arm, or around her shoulder. He danced with her close as a shadow. He ushered her between the various rooms, showing her off, stopping frequently to talk to the curious and envious men they encountered along the way. Her subtle skittishness only lent her an air of innocent mystery which made her all the more appealing as his pleasure slave. By the end of the evening, Mick was absolutely sure if the man he sought was there, he must have noticed them. Now the only question was, would the sick fuck make a move tonight?
Or would Mick be allowed the chance to fulfill his own plans for Caro, free of untimely and unwanted interruption?
***
“Time to go,” he said quietly when his watch glowed nearly two a.m..
Caro speared him a glance, the look in her eyes reminiscent of a druggie caught with the goods. She was thinking of what would happen when they got home. Just as he was. Obviously she felt threatened by what was developing between them. Christ, she wasn't the only one.
“Club's closing. We've got to hang a few minutes in the parking lot. Let him get in position to follow us,” Mick said.
She nodded, winding her forefinger in her leash. “Okay. I'm all set.”
Sure she was. He couldn't tell what she dreaded more, a possible confrontation with the killer, or the inevitable one coming between them. The least he could do was ease her mind on one of those scores.
“Don't worry. LAPD's got our backsides. Everyone's ready for him.”
“Yep.”
“And remember, none of the couples were attacked the night they came to Brimstone.”
“I know.”
“We just need to be alert so we can spot him when he follows us.”
“Right.” Her shoulders straightened. “Listen, Mick—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Shhh.” He kissed her. Short, intense. “Let's go.”
Keeping a vigilant eye on the jostling stream of members exiting at the same time, he slung an arm tight around her stiff shoulders and led her out to the Z. The two men Cody had in the parking lot were still there, talking and looking around as though waiting for friends.
Mick went to the passenger side of the convertible and leaned his butt against the door.
“Kiss me,” he said, glancing around the lot. He held out his arms. When she hesitated, he added, “C'mon, Caro. We've got to play for time.”
“Enjoying yourself?” she ground out, stepping closer.
He lifted a corner of his mouth. “I live for undercover work.”
“You're way over the line on this one, Mick.”
“Am I?”
She looked away. “I never agreed to any of this stuff when you asked me to be on your team.”
“No. But you did when you became my lover.”
He took hold of her leash, right next to the collar he'd had specially made for her, and tugged her to stand between his splayed legs. “Last night you said, ‘Take me over the edge, Mick’. Change your mind?”
“Yes.”
“Too late.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, sliding his tongue between her warm, reluctant lips, momentarily forgetting all about his quarry and his plans. Her recalcitrance slowly melted into desire under the patient plying of his mouth.
“It's too late to back out now,” he murmured when he drew back. “We're way past the point of no return.”
***
The drive back to Pasadena was silent and filled with sizzling tension. When Mick spotted their LAPD tail after a block and pointed out the car to her, Caro jerked a nod and forced herself to concentrate. For the rest
of the drive she carefully scanned the traffic, searching tensely for familiar faces from the club.
By the time they pulled into her darkened driveway, her heart was pounding double-time. There'd been no sign of the killer. Everyone had hoped he’d follow them home tonight, casing them and the house in preparation for his attack in a few days. She'd been nervous about that, but this was far worse.
“Where is the fucking bastard?” Mick asked, pounding the steering wheel, knuckles white. She'd never seen him this agitated before. His usual icy cool was completely shot. Could he also be reacting to the tension between them?
“I don't understand,” she murmured. “What went wrong? We had to be convincing enough.”
In the pregnant silence, everything they'd done at Brimstone to be convincing enough assailed her mind in mortifying detail.
“Damn it,” Mick finally said. “He wasn't there.”
A strangled choke escaped her. “Not there?”
“We knew all along it might take several trips to lure him out. I’d just hoped...”
“Oh, hell.” She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought that it had all been in vain. And that she might have to endure Mick's outrageous behavior for another night.
Mick's behavior? No, her own. She was the one who'd sat there in full view of dozens of strangers and let him suck on her bare breasts.
“We’ll just have to go back again tomorrow.”
Damn.
She popped her eyes open and grabbed for the car door handle. She didn't get far. Yanked back by the throat, she turned to find him holding the end of her leash in his hand, eyes blazing.
“Going somewhere?”
“Bed.”
“We should wait a few more minutes. Just in case.”
“Alone, Mick.”
His eyes didn't waver as he handed her the leash. Then he broke contact and pulled a small red gym bag from under the seat. Unlocking the glove compartment, he retrieved a service revolver from it and stuffed the Berretta into the bag.
Slave To Love (sizzling erotic thriller noir - full length) Page 13
