So, it was to be a search.
But how thorough?
Letting himself seep back into the twilight world of unconsciousness, he wondered what her expression would be, how she'd look at him when he awoke.
Chapter 14
Caro bit her bottom lip as she peered in at Mick. He was still asleep. Naturally.
She'd known she was an hour early when she left the station, but she'd been so excited by what she and Peter had come up with that she hadn't been able to wait a minute longer to tell Mick. Seeing him now, sprawled across his king-sized bed sleeping peacefully, she didn't have the heart to wake him.
She also resisted the urge to join him in the invitingly masculine bed. If he woke up, there'd be no more sleeping, and at the moment that's what he needed most.
She backed out of the room, wincing when the floor chirped like an angry cricket. With a last glance at Mick, she quietly closed his bedroom door and turned into the living room.
Sunlight poured in through windows whose designer blinds had been pulled all the way up, reflecting off a glass office building across the street and onto the room's white walls, muted blue furniture and several colorful paintings.
For a bachelor pad, the place was immaculate. Everything was just so, no clutter, no dust, not a thing out of place. Thinking about her own home, she imagined them trying to live together, and almost laughed out loud. Never in a million years would that work. She'd drive him to strangle her within days with her untidy ways.
Good thing she had no ambitions in that direction.
Wandering to the bookshelves lining one entire wall, she smiled at titles she recognized on the upper shelves. Douglas, Harris, Moffatt, Ressler, Rule, all arranged in alphabetical order. The next few shelves contained a variety of tattered paperback murder mysteries and thrillers, many of which she'd also owned over the years. She pulled out a few authors she hadn't heard of and read the back covers. They sounded good. Picking one, she strolled to the kitchen, intending to find something to drink and read for an hour.
She stopped short at the sight that greeted her. A small square table was precisely set for two, with real china and sparkling silver and glassware. There was even a vase of flowers and a candle that had never been lit. As she stood there, the oven clicked on, apparently set by timer.
Her jaw dropped. She never dreamed that “grab a bite to eat” meant he planned to cook for her. Astounded didn't come close. She eased out the breath that had stuck in her lungs and stepped backwards out of the kitchen, too. She didn't want to touch a thing. It was all too perfect.
The living room furniture was upholstered in leather, which looked elegant and sophisticated—and noisy. She could just imagine the crackling if she sat down on the couch or easy chair. He'd wake up for sure. Glancing around, she spotted another door and opened it.
Shock slammed into her so hard she had to grab the door frame.
Newspaper clippings and crime scene photos were pinned helter-skelter onto four corkboard-covered walls: gruesome before-and-after shots of smiling faces and bloody corpses. A high-tech desk spanned two walls and a corner, every square inch of it littered with computer, radio, video and photographic equipment, discs and tapes, papers, files...and more photographs and newspaper clippings, all scattered like snowdrifts.
Everything around her referred to just one subject—the Teddie Murders.
Her heart stalled for a long second. The room was so much like something out of a bad stalker flick, where at the end of the movie the cops break into the bad guy's house and find a candlelit room dedicated to the poor woman he'd been terrorizing.
She let out a nervous laugh and shook herself mentally. There were no candles, and of course Mick would have a room like this at home. He was lead detective on this case, obsessed with it, living and breathing the Teddie Murders. If he got up in the middle of the night with a new idea or angle, he'd want to check it out immediately, not wait to drive to the station.
Silly.
She approached the desk, impressed by the sheer volume of clippings, reports and crime scene photos covering it. Her own summaries sat right next to the keyboard. Skimming a finger over a complicated-looking scanner and state-of-the-art printer, on the shelf above them she saw a row of assorted reams and boxes of paper, everything from photo paper to post card and business card blanks to 20 weight printer paper in every color of the rainbow.
What on earth did he use all this stuff for?
At the end of the desk was a police scanner, pre-set to the main PPD channel. Again not surprising. She didn't have one herself, but she knew many cops who did. Especially the unmarried ones.
She glanced around again at the creepy room. There was no way she could read in here, with all those lifeless eyes staring down at her.
About to retreat back into the living room to brave the crackling sofa, she spotted the red gym bag Mick had carried with him last night sitting on the floor. His 'kit' he'd called it. So what exactly was a kit, anyway? If she was going to be in Homicide, she should probably find out the difference between the black crime scene kit and this red one.
Lifting it to a corner of the desk, she unzipped the bag. And gasped. She dropped the handles in surprise.
Okay. So, not a Homicide kit, then.
She peered into the bag, half scandalized, half dying of curiosity. Gathering her courage, she reached into its depths and removed the top object. It was the flogger Mick had worn at his side at Brimstone. The strands felt surprisingly soft to the touch, thin strips of supple leather. The grip felt good in her hand. Powerful. She gave an experimental slap on her palm. It stung, but very softly, more like a sharp tingle.
It reminded her a bit of the spank Mick had given her last night. A second of pain, then the soothing rush of heat and the erotic caress of his hand to intensify the sensations.
Hmm. Maybe the woman on the St. Andrew's cross wasn't so crazy, after all.
Yeah, right.
Caro dropped the flogger to one side and opened the bag wider. Next came a couple pairs of police handcuffs. Then several orange silk scarves. She held one up and nibbled on her lip. A very weird coincidence that both Mick and the killer used an orange blindfold for their...activities. No wonder Mick had acted so strangely when Dr. Maria announced her findings at the meeting. That must have come as quite a shock.
Setting aside the cuffs and scarves, she gingerly reached for the next items, a trio of— Oh, God. Dildos. She'd never actually seen one in the flesh before—as it were—but their shape and purpose were unmistakable. Holy crap. She turned the largest one over in her hand. It felt...real. In fact, it looked exactly like...well, like Mick. Same impressive length and thickness, same distinctive helmet, same excited color.
She felt herself tighten and moisten in all those places which knew him so intimately. Without panties on, her body's recognition was impossible to miss. She squirmed at the slick flesh-on-flesh feeling of her rising desire and set the dildo aside to pick up the others.
They were both vibrators, one a smaller, narrower version, the other long and thin, made of smooth plastic. She frowned. Weren't vibrators something women used?
Setting them down, she explored further, pulling mysterious things out of the bag one by one until a row of objects reposed along the desk.
There were two leather paddles, a length of nylon strapping, several fleece-lined leather buckle-cuffs in varying sizes, and a bunch of things she had no idea what were. Some vibrated, some were long and thin, some short and stubby; a handful were small leather rings of various construction that snapped closed, several other objects were too complicated to figure out. There was a pack of condoms of assorted textures, and even two silicone sheaths that were completely covered with bumps and ribs.
Heart beating wildly, Caro stared with growing consternation at the intimidating array of implements in Mick's kit. Did he intended to use them on her?
A coil of terrified excitement wound through her center and tightened painfully. Di
d he mean to tie her to the bed and work his way through these mysterious instruments of pleasure on her body, willing or unwilling?
“Find something you like?” his deep-rough voice sounded behind her.
She let out a cry of surprise and whirled.
He looked stunningly sexy standing there all sleep-rumpled, wearing only his boxer briefs. He gazed at her from half-lidded bedroom eyes, sex and power oozing from every pore of his towering body. Her own trembled, the blood in her veins slowing and thickening to molasses.
“I'm not sure,” she answered, trying hard to keep her voice steady. “Why do you have these things?”
His lip tipped up. Moisture slid down her inner thigh.
Wordlessly, he picked up the orange scarf from the desk and tied it over her eyes. Excitement sang through her, squelching any urge to resist. She wanted this. Oh, God, she wanted this.
“Come,” he said, and took her hand, leading her out of the room.
She didn't know where they were when he stopped, but she suspected it must be the sunny living room because the orange of the scarf lit up like a brilliant sunset. Her heart sped.
He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her a quarter turn, and said, “Wait here.”
The short zip of a blind being lowered matched a slight dimming of the orange before her eyes. Footsteps padded around the room, then stopped.
“Mick?”
“Walk toward me,” he said. “It's okay. I'll be your eyes.”
“Say something so I can follow your voice.”
“Not necessary. You'll feel where I am. Come.”
Even though she was blindfolded, she closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she was surprised when she caught a trace of his scent. Trusting her instincts, she walked in the direction the scent was strongest. Right into his arms.
They wrapped around her and his mouth came down on hers. He tasted minty and musky and so incredibly good.
She moaned and they spun slow circles around the room as they exchanged a long, hot, eating kiss.
“Touch me,” he murmured, pressing her hands to his chest as he nipped her lower lip.
Greedily, she ran them over his well-defined pects and crisp whorls of chest hair. “You feel so hard. So strong.”
His kiss deepened even more. She plucked at his kernelled nipples, eliciting a moan from him. She ran her hands down the hard muscles of his abs and around to his butt, where she slid them under the elastic waist of his underwear. And pressed, so his hard length lodged firmly against her center.
He tore his lips from hers. “Do you want it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Inside me.” She pulled his boxers down and felt him kick them away.
“Touch me first,” he ordered softly. “Take me in your hands.”
She did so, cradling him in her palms. But there was something— Small leather bands circled the base of his cock and the top of his sac. Like a tiny harness. “What's this?”
“To keep me hard for you.”
Wishing she could see it, she traced around the tight rings several times, exploring the device with her fingers, finally recognizing it from the toy kit. “You feel...huge.”
“You like that?”
She licked her lips. “Yes.”
She caressed the silky steel of his magnificent erection, running her fingertips over the popping veins and rigid head. Wanting it in her even more. She guided it toward her.
He let out a harsh oath and jerked her away. “No.” He moved behind her, holding her close back-to-chest, so she couldn't reach him. “Your turn.”
Taking his time, he reached around and unbuttoned first her suit jacket, then her blouse, letting his fingers wander over her breasts and shoulders until she shivered with desire. When he got to her bra, he unhooked it in the front, and pulled all three layers aside.
“Do you like when I feel your breasts?” he asked, fondling them, gently dragging his fingernails over them, squeezing them.
“More than anything,” she said with a gasp as he pulled at the aching tips.
“Anything?”
“Well—” She sucked in a sharp breath when he rolled her nipples between his fingers. “Almost.”
Her clothes slid down her arms and suddenly she was bare from the waist up. She felt the rays of a sunbeam warming her skin as Mick's hands heated her insides. She could still taste his tongue and mouth on hers, and smelled his desire, musky and arousing, mixed with her own.
“Take off my skirt,” she murmured, wanting his arousal pressed stiff against her bottom.
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“That's what you want? To be naked with me?”
“Naked under you,” she corrected.
He licked her ear, his arms banded firmly about her waist. “What if I have something else in mind?”
“Like what?”
His hand prowled around and between her legs, his fingers teasing the swollen, sensitive folds. “Do you like surprises?”
She parted her thighs slightly, giving him easier access, wanting him to touch her more. “No.”
“Do you trust me with your pleasure?” She hesitated and he nipped her earlobe. “To know what excites you? What will make you come harder than you've ever come before?”
She thought about the daunting array of sex toys in the next room and a shiver of trepidation sifted through her.
Or was it anticipation?
“Yes,” she whispered. “I trust you with my pleasure.”
He growled low, and lifted her up by the waist, bringing her down perfectly onto his cock. “Lean forward, baby, let me support you.”
She groaned as she did so, wriggling her bottom against him, working herself as far onto him as she could manage. “You feel so good.”
He clamped his arms tight around her, caressing her breasts with one large, muscular hand, her clit with the other. “I can feel better.”
“Im-possible,” she gasped as he slowly drew out, then impaled her again. His finger worked in slow circles around the center of her dazzling need. She opened her legs wider.
“Take off your blindfold.”
She tore it off and dropped it, winding her arms back around his head as he nuzzled her.
“Open your eyes, Caro.”
She did, squinting against the brightness, taking a minute to realize—
She and Mick were making love right in front of the window! And the blinds were open! They had only been lowered about a foot, exposing her whole front from the lips down.
She cried out, and tried to escape Mick's grip. To no avail. He wouldn't let her budge an inch. Except to drive her back down on him so hard she felt it clear to her throat.
She cried out again, this time in exquisite pleasure.
“Don't worry, they can't see your face. Just your beautiful body,” he murmured.
“They can see you're fucking me,” she shot back.
Catching her breath, she took a good look out the window below the blind, but saw only the sidewalk and the first floor of the—
“My God! The whole office building across the street can see us!” The ground level had no windows, but the other five floors were practically all glass.
He drew her closer still, painting his tongue along her slave necklace. He pulled out and quickly thrust back in. “How many people do you think are watching us?”
Mortified at the very thought, she couldn't understand the bolt of arousal that slammed through her.
He pinched her nipple. “How many?”
“I don't know!”
“Why don't you check?”
She whimpered, knowing he'd already won. Her body was on fire, and it wasn't all from his expert touch. How did he know these things about her? Things she'd never have dreamed she could feel?
“Crack the blind, Caro, and count the people standing in their windows, watching us fuck.”
His finger paused on her need.
“Please, Mi
ck.”
“Count.”
She couldn’t bear to have him stop. She reached up to the top part of the blind that was hiding her face and spread the slats, like Mick was spreading her. She could see at least— She swore, fighting the delicious excitement building low in her body. “A dozen or more.”
He eased out and ground back into her, swirling his finger at the same time. “Start from the top. Tell me what they're doing.”
She panted, torn between perfect pleasure and perfect mortification. She compelled her gaze upward. “Penthouse. One guy. He has a telescope!”
He swirled again, nearly making her knees give out. “The old pervert. I've been thinking of busting him.”
A laugh tried to escape, but turned into a long moan as he circled her again.
“Go on.”
“Top floor, two men at a window...with drinks.”
Another swirl. Her clit throbbed like a tympani, begging for more. She closed her eyes. “Faster, Mick.”
“Next floor.”
She forced them open. “Four at one window, two at another.”
He teased her with a light brush. “Any women?”
“One. With the three men.” She writhed, seeking his hand.
“How does she look?”
“Worried.”
A deep purr sounded in her ear, like a lion's warning growl. “Maybe they'll pin her to a desk and take turns.” He swirled harder, squeezing a moan from her.
“What if she doesn't want to?” she panted.
He pulled out and drove into her twice. “She'll say no.”
The first tingling of orgasm drove everything else from Caro’s mind, centered her entire being on what Mick was doing between her legs. The slats of the short blind slipped from her fingers. She grabbed for his thigh.
He stopped and held perfectly still. “You're not done, Caro.”
“Please, Mick.”
“How many on the next floor?”
Her urgency ebbed to burning frustration. He wouldn't let her come until he was sure of his control over her. And that damned device he was wearing guaranteed he wouldn't come until he was good and ready.
Slave To Love (sizzling erotic thriller noir - full length) Page 19
