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

by Black, Nikita

  She shuddered out the breath she'd been holding and pulled down a slat. “The floor just above us, they're all at one window. A whole group. Women. There must be...five, six, no seven.”

  “Doing?”

  “Just standing. Watching.”

  He swirled her lightly. “How?”

  In sublime frustration she searched their faces, squirming in his tight grip, wanting to make him ram deep into her. “One's about to faint, two are giggling. One has her finger in her mouth, backing away from the group. The rest look—”

  He thrust hard. “Like they want to take your place?”

  She moaned, writhing onto his hard thickness. “Yes.”

  He rubbed his hand over her breasts, squeezing and fondling them till they ached for his mouth.

  “Are you lucky to have me?”

  “Do I?” she asked in sudden desperation. “Do I have you?”

  His fingers spread across her, caressing the place where they were joined. His thumb rested on her clit and pressed. “As long as you need me,” he whispered in her ear.

  A low sound of yearning came unbidden from deep within her. Before she realized what she was saying, she whispered back, “I'll always need you, Mick.”

  Instantly horrified, she expected his reaction to be swift and negative. To her shock, he murmured, “I’m glad. Now tell me where the woman went. The one who left.”

  It took a moment to collect the chaos of her thoughts, hanging there in his strong arms, his powerful length sliding in and out of her like a slow, unstoppable piston; a dozen strangers watching him skillfully shatter her will to resist anything he asked of her.

  “The woman, Caro,” he murmured, as though he knew she needed to be pulled from a burgeoning panic.

  She swallowed heavily and searched the windows for the woman who'd walked away, feeling his hot, forceful body surrounding her, holding her tightly, filling her completely. He felt so right, so secure. How could he be so— There!

  “Oh!”

  “Where?”

  “Downstairs. The mailroom? There's a man—” Caro gasped.

  “Doing what?”

  “He's grabbing her. He's kissing her.”

  Mick's thumb glided around Caro's pulsing, aching, quivering need. She inhaled sharply, suddenly so close she could taste it.

  “And?”

  She struggled to focus on the woman, and not on Mick's exquisite torture. “He's lifting her skirt, pulling down her— unzipping— Oh!” she groaned as Mick plunged into her. Once, twice.

  “He's fucking her.”

  She sucked down a breath. “On a table. Her legs are—” she cried out as he circled again “—wrapped around—” and again “—he's pounding—” and again.

  She felt the first spasms take hold, prayed he wouldn't stop. Either of them. “Oh, God.”

  “Watch them, baby.” Mick's thumb rubbed right over the center of her need and she almost screamed. “Keep talking.”

  “She has...omigod...her head thrown back. His hair...oh, Mick—” Her body started to tremble.

  “His hair?”

  She panted. “Flies up every time he...” She held her breath, the pressure building unbearably.

  “He what?”

  “Rams into— Oh, God, he's covering her mout—”

  Her vision blurred and a freight train of pleasure crashed into her at the same time as the couple in the window. She dropped the blind hiding her face. Her body detonated into an explosion of pleasure.

  His fingers were relentless and she shook with the waves of shocking sensation that pulsed through her. She screamed. And just as she thought it would end, he swiftly pulled out, wrenched her a quarter turn and bent her over so she was forced to grab the back of a chair she'd barely noticed there. When she didn't move fast enough, he slapped her hard on the ass. This time the pain didn't even register, instantly turning to blinding pleasure when he scythed into her and hilted.

  He groaned loudly. The rings were gone. He held nothing back as he hammered into her over and over, grunting with the effort, going deeper and deeper with each thrust until he roared like a beast and took her over the edge one more time.

  Chapter 15

  Caro clung to his easy chair like a condemned woman to her last hope.

  Mick jerked the cord to the blinds and they crashed down all the way over the window.

  Show over.

  Mission accomplished.

  He didn't dare let her go. No doubt she'd crumble like a house of cards in an earthquake. He wasn't feeling all that steady, himself.

  He swept her off her feet and into his arms, grateful for the long morning runs and hours in the gym that gave him the last ounce of adrenalin needed to get them both to his bed. Laying her down, he detoured to the bathroom to flush the condom then flopped next to her, working his feet to get the blood out of his groin and back into his leaden legs.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, covering her face with trembling hands. “What have we done?”

  He closed his eyes. That didn't take long. “I believe it's called fucking each other's brains out.”

  “How can you joke when all those people—”

  “All those people what? Just got the biggest thrill of their lives? Along with you, I might add.”

  She went silent. The only sound in his bedroom was the ticking of his old-fashioned alarm clock and her hard breathing. Fuck.

  No. He wasn't willing to let her off so easily. “Admit it, baby, you got off on doing it in front of all those people.”

  She didn't respond, so he turned on his side and rubbed his hand over her sweat-slickened body. “There's nothing wrong with what we did. It didn't hurt anyone, did it?”

  “No,” came her muffled response, “but—”

  “In fact, we probably brightened their day considerably.”

  She lifted her hands and turned toward him. “Damn it, Mick, how could you make me do something so outrageous?”

  Like he said, blind, lying, or in major denial.

  “Because I knew you'd like it. Almost as much as you liked last night.”

  He moved closer, bringing them lip to lip. “I liked it too, Caro. I liked showing off your beautiful body. Showing everyone you're mine. Showing them how incredibly sexy you are when you submit to me.”

  Her gaze slid away.

  “I'll bet every one of those men will fantasize about you for years,” he whispered into her mouth. As he would.

  She smiled weakly.

  It broke his heart how, deep down under that independent, sassy façade, she was so unsure of her own desirability.

  “Might drum up some business when I get kicked back to SIS, I suppose,” she murmured.

  “You go back to SIS over my dead body. I told you I’d make sure you’re transferred and I meant it.”

  He kissed her long and hard so there wouldn't be any further talk of SIS or leaving him. And kissed her once more because she tasted so good. And then because, just like that, he wanted her again.

  He'd just rolled on top of her when the oven buzzer started blaring. He muttered an oath and sighed. One of them would have to get up to shut off the damn thing. So much for round two.

  He kissed her one last time. “Hungry?”

  On cue, her stomach rumbled. At last a smile. “Seems so. It smells great whatever you're cooking.”

  “Just frozen lasagna.”

  “Not homemade?”

  He jacked a brow. “You're kidding, right?”

  Her smile turned wry and she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, filled with such longing he almost broke down and gave in to the incredible temptation of this amazing woman's love.

  How he wished he could love her back. Wished he knew if he even had a future beyond next week.

  “The neighbors will call the police if we let that buzzer go much longer,” he said, pulling away. “Twice in twenty-four hours would probably get us in trouble.”

  She let him go, brushing his ch
eek with her hand as he eased up off her. “I really hate what you do to me, you know.”

  “Yeah. I know,” he said with a wink, and headed for the kitchen.

  ***

  He insisted they eat naked.

  He loved how she looked wearing only his silver collar with its symbolic dangling lock. He also loved how being nude made her wriggle in her chair. She'd come a long way in a short time, yet still had so many charming, innocent qualities. It was one of the things that most turned him on about her.

  Hell, there were a lot of things that turned him on about her. Too many. He better be careful or he could easily see himself falling for this woman in a big way.

  If he fell for women, that is.

  Which he didn't.

  “This is great,” she said after scarfing down half of her lasagna. “I had no idea frozen food had come so far.”

  He smiled and took another slug of beer. “You ever need heat-and-serve meal advice, I'm your man.”

  Just then the phone on the wall rang.

  “Damn telemarketers. There ought to be a law.”

  He'd turned off his cell phone on purpose so they wouldn't be disturbed unless it was really important. There were only a small handful of people who had his unlisted home number, but he must have gotten on some marketing list.

  “I'm not buying,” he grumbled into the phone.

  “Not buying what, sugar snap?” an amused voice purred.

  “Lauren,” he said in annoyance before he remembered Caro was sitting two yards away and could hear every word. Shit.

  “I tried to call you all day at the station,” his former partner said, mild accusation in her voice.

  “Yeah, I know. Busy day.”

  “When you said to call, I assumed you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I do, sweet pea.”

  “Just not now, huh? You've got company? Your little slave girl?”

  “Yep,” he said, and flashed a smile at Caro, who looked like she wanted to rip the phone off the wall, but was doing her best to disguise it by sipping her red wine. She smiled back, but it didn't even reach the corners of her mouth.

  “I wanted to let you know that Caro and I are working an undercover gig at Brimstone.”

  “So I heard. Lucky little slave girl. You never dressed up for me,” she said with a pout in her voice.

  “You know leather was never my thing.”

  “But it suits you so well.”

  “Lauren...” he warned.

  “Sorry, I forgot. Then it wasn't true, what she said about beating her.”

  “You know me better than that, sweet pea.”

  “I thought I did. But then I thought I knew Paul—”

  He cut off the subject of her ex-husband with lightning speed. Paul Adams was the last person on earth he wanted to discuss. “Look, this really isn't a good time for me.”

  “Okay, okay. She's probably sitting there all doe-eyed wondering if you're sleeping with me.”

  “Bye, Lauren.”

  “When can I see you, Mick? We really need to talk.”

  “Could be a problem. You know I'm lead detective on this Teddie Murders thing.”

  “Yes, I know. Are you really living with her?”

  He jetted out an impatient breath. “It's complicated.”

  “That I get. I'll be in touch, sugar snap.”

  “Please Lauren, don't call me here—” but she'd already hung up.

  He pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the phone in annoyance before turning back to Caro. She had finished her meal and her wine and was rinsing out the dishes in the sink.

  “Sweet pea?” she said, back turned.

  “Baby, we were young when we were partners.” Younger than he'd ever been before or since.

  How could he ever explain to Caro how much he'd needed Lauren at that time in his life? Fresh out of the Academy, they'd both had something to prove—him to the police department, that they hadn't made a mistake hiring the son of a murderer, and she to her husband Paul, who hadn't believed she had it in her to be a cop. Paul was wrong, but had ultimately won the argument through brute strength and intimidation. Something which had reminded Mick a little too vividly of his own father. Much to the detriment of his career.

  Paul Adams had been a lieutenant in the LAPD back then, now a captain.

  “And now sweet pea's back, all grown up,” Caro mocked.

  He walked up behind her and ran a hand down her back, which stiffened like a bristly cock. Gone was the soft, pliable woman he'd just been kissing.

  His body stirred at her jealousy, even knowing it should anger him, not turn him on.

  “Baby, I made you a promise about other women. You can believe it or not.”

  “Right. You promise you'll save her till you're done with me. How very nice of you.”

  “Dammit, Caro—”

  The phone rang again.

  He yanked it off the hook. “I told you not to call me here,” he snapped.

  “Well, if you'd turn on your damn cell phone I wouldn't have to,” Bobby said.

  After a second of surprise, Mick went on alert. “What's happened?”

  “Two more victims have been found. Teddies.”

  Mick let out a precise curse, spinning to meet Caro's gaze.

  “Are you sitting down?” Bobbie asked.

  “What the hell?”

  “You're not going to like it.”

  “So what's new? Just spill, Bobby.”

  “The bodies. They're in your building.”

  Mick fell back against the kitchen wall. Oh, God. That was one twist he hadn’t seen coming. “Tell me this is a bad joke.”

  “I wish, bro. I'm on my way as we speak, along with half the force, FIS and the coroner's office. Better get your ass up there. Apartment 508.”

  Still dazed, he mumbled, “508. I'm on it.”

  “Hey, Mick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do I have to call Caro?”

  He grimaced. “Um, no.”

  “Then be sure to pick up the furniture, partner. See ya in three.”

  Mick stared at the receiver, his thoughts closing in like a bad dream. Damn. He’d made one mother-fucker of a mistake. Damn damn damn. And now he was seriously fucked.

  Shit. He had to think. Hard. Was there a way to control this situation?

  “Get dressed,” he ordered Caro, already on her way to the living room to pick up her clothes.

  “More Teddies?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered, striding for the bedroom, swiping up the condom wrapper from the floor as he went. “Upstairs.”

  “What? Here?”

  “Everyone will be arriving any second.” He turned to look at her. “Caro?” She paused in pulling on her skirt to meet his eyes. “I'm really sorry.”

  ***

  They were greeted with obvious relief by the young officer who'd been called to the scene by a neighbor concerned about the foul smell radiating from apartment 508. He’d been let in by the building super and discovered the bodies.

  “You got here fast.”

  “Live downstairs,” Mick answered, pulling his badge and tape recorder out of his suit pocket.

  How he was able to dress so sharp so quickly, Caro couldn't fathom. She herself looked like a woman who'd been fucked up one side and down the other then pulled out of bed for a pop quiz on algebra. Jeez. She flashed her badge and hoisted the real Homicide kit up so Mick could grab hats, gloves, and booties for them.

  “That's convenient,” the officer said, giving her a sidelong glance. “Living in the same building. Both of you.”

  As she pulled on her gear, Mick inspected the door. “No signs of break-in.”

  “Nope,” the officer said, watching him consideringly. “The deadbolt was locked. Figure the doer must have taken a key.”

  Neither of them commented, and were spared further curious glances by the arrival en masse of Bobby, the M.E. and the FIS crew.

  This time she was
at least familiar with the routine so she managed not to get in the way as the forensics guys and photographer moved quickly to their tasks inside the apartment. Mick and Bobby interviewed the young officer and three neighbors who were home while she looked on.

  “Damn, it stinks,” she muttered after the interviews were done and they were waiting for Forensics to release the scene.

  “Better grab some menthol gel,” Bobby said. “It's going to be really nasty inside.”

  Ignoring their conversation, Mick continued to pace back and forth in a lather. She'd never seen him so...agitated. Frankly, she was worried about him. Ever since his weird apology, he'd been a million miles away.

  “It was pretty nasty last time,” she replied, bringing her attention back to Bobby. “Couldn't possibly be worse than that.”

  Mick paused in his pacing and both men looked at her with sympathy. Hell, at least it wasn't condescension. “What?” she said when they exchanged a glance.

  “Baby, this one's been around a while.”

  She saw Bobby's eyes widen at Mick's uncharacteristic endearment before she realized the implications of what he'd said. “You mean...?”

  Maria Rawlins came out of the apartment grimacing. “Looks like we’ve got our first victims, boys and girls,” she said, and jerked her thumb behind her. “You can go in.”

  Wordlessly, they pulled on their booties and descended into hell.

  Caro thought she'd try being macho and not use the gel, but realized quickly there wasn't an ice cube's chance she'd make it past the foyer without it. Even with the pungent smell of menthol streaming into her nose, it was a real test of willpower to take that first step inside.

  “Caro, you're on the dining room, Bobby, take the kitchen,” Mick directed as he strode to the bedroom.

  “What am I looking for?” she asked with guilty relief that she wouldn't have to confront the horrors of the actual bodies. Yet, anyway.

  Mick halted, looked at her distractedly. “Right. I forgot you're a rookie. Go with Bobby. He'll show you the ropes.”

  With that he disappeared down the hall.

  “He's sparing us, you know,” Bobby remarked, watching him go.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Thank God. Sometimes I think the man's a...” His words trailed off and he pulled out a notepad.