Slave To Love (sizzling erotic thriller noir - full length)

by Black, Nikita

  “You do,” he countered, reaching for her again. “You want me to fuck you.”

  She lurched backwards and tripped on her skirt, still bunched around her ankles. He grabbed her and yanked her back. She kicked him, slammed him with her fists.

  “Ow, shit!” he swore, dodging her blows as best he could. But he didn't let her go.

  Managing to break free, she ran across the room. The handcuffs still dangled from one wrist. A floor lamp toppled with a crash. “Stay away from me, Mick!”

  “Not a chance.”

  He stalked after her, fire snapping in his pale blue eyes as sharply as a dungeon master's whip. His erection crested the low waistband of his pants, straining to lose its bonds.

  “I'll scream.”

  He barked a laugh, and lunged for her.

  She screamed. And jumped away just in time. She ran behind the sofa, back and forth, avoiding his grasp.

  He moved lithely, following her like a big cat tracking his prey. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you're so afraid of.”

  “You!”

  “Liar.”

  He smiled. A tight, demoniac kind of smile. His hand lashed out and caught her arm, tumbling her over onto the couch. He was on top of her in a flash, holding her wrists firmly above her head.

  “It's yourself you're afraid of.” He kissed her, whispering roughly, “You love what I do to you, what I make you do. You love how it feels with me. And it scares the hell out of you.”

  He leaned down and licked her breast, biting her nipple when it swirled into a tight bud. Her body arched convulsively, seeking more.

  He looked up, triumphant. “See? You want me to take you. Any way I can.” Gathering her wrists in one hand, he reached down and unzipped his pants.

  She bit him on the shoulder, hard, rolling him onto the floor when he shouted in pain.

  “Fuck, woman!”

  The coffee table tipped over with a crash as they landed in the gap. In the confusion, she scrambled away from him on all fours, only to be caught firmly by one ankle.

  “Oh, no you don't.”

  “Let me go!” She shook her foot, attempting to loosen his grip. She dragged herself forward, hoping it would slip. “You'll never have me again. I won't let you.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  His other hand clamped onto her free ankle, and she felt herself being hauled backwards along the carpet, her slippery stockings affording little friction against his relentlessness. She tried to kick up with her foot.

  “You slice my face with these heels and there'll be hell to pay,” he said.

  “What about my bruised knees?” she retorted, still trying to wriggle free.

  “There's an easy way to avoid discomfort,” he said silkily. He grasped her hips and pulled her up to her hands and knees again. “Submit.”

  She was in perfect position to be entered from behind, and she suspected that's exactly what he was preparing to do. She made one last break for freedom.

  His arm tightened around her middle and a loud crack resounded through the room. Suddenly, her bottom was on fire; a stinging pain flashed red hot through it, centered right at her most intimate area.

  The bastard had spanked her!

  She yelped in outrage, but her protest was immediately swallowed by her enormous gasp as he rammed home, hilting into her.

  She exploded in a kaleidoscope of pleasure. Never had she felt such acute, unbearable desire in her life. She wanted Mick deep inside her with a hunger that took her breath away; she shook with an almost painful need for him to make her come.

  She battled against it. “No!”

  With near desperation, she vaulted away, breaking their slick contact, leaving him kneeling there on the carpet fucking thin air.

  It took him about two seconds to recover and bring her down in a flying tackle.

  “You are determined to task me,” he ground out, flipping her onto her back under him.

  “I said I would,” she threw back, near tears from the irresolvability of her situation. How could she ever have the strength to fight him, this iron-willed man she wanted more than anything on earth?

  “Yield to me, or I'll take what I want.” He seized her wrists, stretching them high above her.

  She shook her head, knowing she could never win against him. “I won't.”

  She struggled to the last, even when she heard the mechanical click of the handcuffs locking her to the overturned coffee table. She bucked and tried to pitch him off, presenting a moving target to his cock as he thrust himself between her thighs.

  “Hold still!” he ordered.

  “Make me!”

  She writhed with all her might, one last time.

  He grabbed hold of her knees, spread them wide, then scythed into her. She almost sobbed with relief. Or anger. Or some indefinable emotion she couldn't begin to name.

  He groaned, and plunged into her again. His hands ran up her body, grasped her breasts. He squeezed them, pinching the nipples so she felt it to the roots of her hair. She inhaled sharply, cried out in sweet agony.

  “Tell me to fuck you,” he demanded, thrusting deep.

  She shut her eyes tight and wrenched against her bonds. “Fuck you.”

  He rolled her nipples between his fingers. Hard. She almost screamed. So good. Without thinking, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  His breath hissed into her ear. “Tell me to fuck you harder.” He thrust again, filling her completely.

  She practically saw stars. She was teetering on the verge, right on the very razor's edge of orgasm. “No.”

  “Then, I'll stop.” He jerked out of her, leaving her cold and empty and quivering with enormous, unsatisfied need.

  “No!” She clutched his waist tightly with her legs. “Please,” she desperately said. “Don't stop.”

  He stared down at her, the muscles of his face taut with his own urgency. He didn't move.

  “Say it.”

  She could feel the head of his cock rhythmically touch her sensitive, swollen nether lips, pulsing to the beat of his thundering heart. Just out of reach.

  She knew what he wanted. She also knew with agonizing certainty that unless he got it he'd walk away from her, here and now.

  Oh, God.

  The tables had turned. She was in charge.

  She suddenly didn't like this game at all. It wasn't like their exhibitionistic dominance fantasy at Brimstone. That one they'd both enjoyed thoroughly. Because it hadn't been real.

  This was real, and they both knew it.

  He wanted her, but he wanted her on his own terms. By making this demand, he was giving her the decision to be with him or not.

  But the irony was, if she stayed, he would truly be her Master and she his slave.

  And he was making her choose with the dice loaded.

  To her surprise, he lowered his face to hers and caressed her lips, barely touching them. His tongue licked delicately at her, leaving trails of wetness on her mouth and cheeks.

  “I'll make it so sweet for you,” he murmured seductively. “I'll service you well.”

  He shifted slightly and slid his hand between her legs, brushing his thumb gently over the apex of her need. She almost came.

  “I know what you like, Caro. Far better than you do.”

  She squirmed. She wanted to claw at him, make him fill her again with his delicious, punishing hardness. He was right. He did know her better than she knew herself. From the first moment he'd laid eyes on her, he'd known exactly what she wanted, even before she did. And now, now he'd led her into dangerous, uncharted waters and was threatening to abandon ship just when she needed him most.

  A million reasons to send him on his way played through her mind. But the one thought she couldn't shake, as much as she wanted to, was that she still wanted him like crazy. Wanted his touch, wanted his taste, wanted the feel of him claiming her body for his pleasure, and hers.

  His thumb skimmed over her again. “Tomorrow when we're at Brimstone, I
'll touch you just like this, in front of anyone.”

  Hot flames seared into her, quick and electrifying. The first tingle of orgasm fluttered through her throbbing pearl. She yanked at the handcuffs holding her fast to the table, trying vainly to press herself up onto his hand. His fingers lifted, then she felt one slide into her. Just enough to prevent relief from abandoning her completely, but not enough to push her over the edge. She whimpered.

  “I'll lick you, too,” he purred, throaty and rough like the purr of a lion. “Here. Up on the stage. With everyone watching.”

  She swallowed heavily, her throat aching with lust for him, for his touch, his penetration. She didn't even want to think about what her reaction to his shocking statements meant.

  “Please, Mick,” she begged.

  “What's it going to be, Caro? What do you want?”

  “You,” she whispered, her voice strangled with conflict.

  “What do you want me to do, baby?”

  “Fuck me. I want you to fuck me as hard as you can, and not stop until I beg you for mercy.” She wiggled under him, stretching to meet him, to take him into her.

  The tip of his cock pressed tight against her tumid, pulsing point of need. She lifted, wanting to pull him inside, but the head followed the movement and didn't budge from its spot. She looked down and saw he was holding it in position with one hand. Sticky liquid oozed from the tip, spreading itself over her, lubricating them both with the essence of his want. As she watched, he guided his length in a tiny circle, scarcely moving, but enough to make her want to crawl up inside him.

  Her mouth went completely dry. More flutters started, this time in earnest.

  “Fuck me, Mick. Please. Now.”

  “No, you fuck me.” He slid the slit of his penis over her small, pulsing clit and worked it like a tiny mouth.

  She froze in astonished delight. Her orgasm roared over her, convulsing her body under his, making her cry out with the intensity of it. And suddenly he was slamming into her, pounding in and out with the fierce frenzy of a man who'd waited for this moment far too long.

  He came as she peaked for the second time, but kept hammering into her until he couldn't any longer, as unwilling to end the pleasure as she was. She didn't think it was possible for anything to feel this good.

  He collapsed, reaching for a kiss as he melted into a limp heap on top of her.

  “You're my slave, Caro. You'll do as I say. Always.”

  Then he kissed her deeply, stirring the embers of emotions she knew would be her downfall.

  She'd be a fool not to cut them off ruthlessly. It was bad enough she'd just delivered her body into his power and lustful dominance, to do with exactly as he wished. To subject her heart to the same panacea would be nothing short of insanity.

  But what would one kiss hurt?

  The ringing of a phone jerked both of them out of the kiss. She blinked, meeting Mick's equally startled eyes. The phone rang again, from the floor next to the upended coffee table, not four feet away. His cell phone.

  Oh, my God.

  “Shit,” Mick swore, at the exact same moment there was a loud pounding at the front door. “Ah, Christ.”

  He bounded to his feet, yanking up and zipping his pants in the same fluid movement.

  “Open up!” an official-sounding voice shouted from outside the door. “Pasadena Police!”

  Chapter 11

  “What the hell...?”

  Mick let fly an even more potent oath.

  “Mick!” Caro called, trying to sit up, and he realized she was still handcuffed to the coffee table. “The key!”

  He stopped in his tracks and took in the sight of her, all naked and flushed and looking so well-fucked he got hard just looking, and for a split second he considered leaving her lying there just like that. If she'd been anyone else, anyone but a cop, he might have given in to the temptation.

  But no. He fished the key from his pocket, opened one of the cuffs and motioned to the bedroom. “Go. I'll deal with this.”

  For once she had no trouble obeying him. She ran for cover, leaving him to explain the upset furniture and abandoned clothes to their colleagues.

  The pounding continued, as did the phone ringing.

  “PPD! Open the door or we're coming in!”

  Mick swiped up the phone, kicked Caro's skirt and bra under the sofa and yelled, “Keep your shirt on, I'm coming!” He punched the phone's 'on' button as he walked to the door.

  “What the hell's going on over there?” Bobby’s voice demanded.

  “Just raping Caroline.”

  His friend chortled. “Very funny.”

  “Bobby, why are the cops here?” Mick swung open the door to see two officers standing on the front porch, weapons at the ready. He stood stock still except for raising his free hand, and forced a smile. “Talk to me, buddy.”

  “Someone called in a domestic disturbance. Dispatch put it out before they saw whose address it was. Okay, what was really going on?”

  “Please put down the phone, sir.” The officer on the porch peered around Mick, saw the state of the living room and blasted him with a scowl. “Is everything all right?”

  “Just great. Bobby, don't do anything till I call you back.”

  He hit the off button and lowered the phone slowly. “What seems to be the problem, officers?”

  He didn't recognize either one, which struck him as a little unusual. But lucky, since it meant they wouldn't know they were dealing with two cops.

  “Would you mind if we came in and took a look around? A neighbor reported a disturbance.”

  Good old Roger.

  Mick smiled through his teeth. “Not at all.” He stepped aside and swiped his fingers through his hair. It would be better for all concerned if he could avoid telling these two who he and Caro were. And what they were doing. On any front. “I know what it must look like, but, uh...”

  “Yes?” The female officer scanned the room, then turned to him, hand still on her weapon. She was not amused. “But what? Where's your wife?”

  “Wife? We...uh, she's in the bedroom. She's fine.”

  “I'm sure she is. I'd like to speak with her, if you don't mind.”

  This was getting too complicated. He should just tell them they were cops so they'd leave without demanding any more explanations. He and Caro didn't need this making the gossip rounds at the station tomorrow. “She's in bed. Listen—”

  “I got him, Mick! I threw him out the window!” Caro appeared at the bedroom door, clad in a robe and pink slippers with her hair up in one of those claw barrettes. She still looked deliciously rumpled and sated, but it might pass for sleepy... “Say, did I hear someone at the—?”

  Threw him out the window? What the hell was she talking about?

  “Caroline?” The female officer's jaw dropped as she took in Caro, and did a thorough double-take on Mick. “Detective McGraw?” Her eyes practically bugged out.

  So much for anonymity.

  “Hey, Sheila. What's going on?” Caro replied, coming to his side.

  “A domestic was called in on this address, and judging by the furniture...” Officer Sheila left the sentence hanging. “Um, never mind. I can see you're okay...” She started backing toward the door, motioning the other cop along.

  Caro laughed. “It was a mouse. Mick was helping me catch the little bugger.” She looked around at the mess in mock consternation. “Yikes. I guess we got a bit carried away.”

  “Yeah, um—”

  Caro pretended to suddenly catch on. “Oh! No, no, no! It's not what you think. We're doing an undercover operation together. Mick was just dropping me off when I spotted the stupid mouse in the kitchen. I was making tea.” She pointed at the abandoned kettle on the wet-bar.

  The guy officer hid a smirk while Sheila nodded seriously, studiously avoiding looking at Mick's bare chest and leather pants.

  “I see. Well, that explains it.” Sheila continued to back toward the door. “We'll just be going, then
. Good seeing you again, Caroline. Drop by Traffic and say hi when you get the chance. I'd love to catch up.”

  Mick barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Best nip this one in the bud, but quick. He was sure his killer hadn't followed them, so there was no reason to stick around on that account. It was almost dawn, anyway, time for his run.

  “I'll take off with them, Officer Palmer, so you can get some sleep. I'll see you later at the station. Don't forget to lock up.”

  Caro sliced him a gaze. An awkward moment went by before her shoulders straightened slightly, and she said, “All right, Detective. Good night.”

  He wasn't going to feel guilty.

  The night was over. It was back to their badges. Better to leave now.

  He grabbed his harness from the floor, and followed the two officers out, then waited until he heard the sound of the deadbolt locking behind them. Before sliding into the Z parked in the driveway, he scanned the shadows of the neighborhood, giving a surreptitious shake of his head to Denny and Brady who'd scrunched down in the front seat of their surveillance vehicle. No sense blowing the whole freakin' operation.

  The blue-and-white pulled away from the curb, and Mick gunned the Z to life, following in their wake.

  He dialed Bobby on the cell phone. “Well, that was interesting.”

  “What happened?”

  He gave Bobby the sanitized version of events, including Caro's ridiculous mouse story, since it would be around the whole station in about ten minutes flat, anyway.

  His partner was silent for a moment, then chuckled, then out-and-out belly-laughed. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  Mick sighed. “Don't I wish. You know what everyone's going to think, regardless.”

  “And...?”

  “And nothing. Breaking lamps and knocking down furniture? Please.”

  “Oh, excuse me. I forgot I was dealing with the Iceman. Heaven forbid you should get a little rowdy with a woman. Much better to be chasing mice.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Bobby snorted with disgust. “Gimme those names to run, will ya?”

  “You get any sleep at all tonight?” Mick asked.

  “Did you?”

  “Fuck. Who needs it, anyhow.”