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

by Black, Nikita

  “Why?”

  “Because—” she licked her lips, already feeling the tightening of her muscles in pleasure “—because it'll make me come.”

  His brow lifted. “A moment ago I almost made you come with my hand. I noticed no objections.”

  She gave him a moue. “That's different.”

  “How so?”

  She squirmed again. “Because it was you doing it.”

  “But so is this. Look.” He lifted his hand for her to see the small remote he wore like a ring, facing down. “It's my thumb controlling your pleasure. Just as you like it.”

  He switched it off and an involuntary sound of protest escaped her.

  “See? Already you miss its caress.”

  “You are a beast, you know.”

  “And that’s why you love me. Now, one short vibration means yes, two means no.”

  He demonstrated. To her chagrin, it worked rather well.

  “Several short blasts means watch out, something's happening.”

  He tried that and she nearly crawled up his chest.

  “Enjoying yourself?” she gritted out.

  “Immensely,” he answered with another devil smile. And kept the vibrator going on and on and on.

  “And what does that mean?” she asked, losing her breath. “One long one?”

  “That I'm hard as a steel pipe and want to put you against a wall and ram myself into you.”

  Her nipples zinged with need. His blue eyes glittered from behind his executioner's hood. He looked so irresistibly evil she was forced to kiss him.

  “I promise I will find a way to pay you back,” she whispered with as much menace as she could dredge from under her unbounded lust for him.

  He laughed and set her away. “I look forward to that.” He grasped her leash and clipped the end decisively to his harness. “It's showtime.”

  ***

  It was amazing how quickly one became accustomed to decadence. Was it really just twenty-four hours ago that Caro had been shocked senseless upon entering the demi-monde of Brimstone?

  When she thought of all that had transpired since then, the whole scene before her tonight seemed somehow...tame.

  What a difference a day made.

  Music blared as the dense crowd danced around them, once again dressed in all manner of fetish clothing and everyday business suits, along with the occasional member who’d been stripped to their underwear. The room was hot as Hades, criss-crossed by wait-slaves in shorts and skimpy tops with drink trays held high.

  Tonight she could concentrate more on the people behind the provocative costumes rather than the costumes themselves. Even the activities the people were engaged in seemed much less exotic and kinky. This time she understood what was going on.

  Caro and Mick hadn't been inside the club more than two minutes before Rick the security man cleared a path to them.

  “Well, if it isn't the stars of the evening news,” he said with a lecherous grin.

  Oh, great.

  Mick slung an arm around Rick’s shoulder and leaned in so he could be heard above the din. “I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't spread that around. If folks know we're cops, we'll never meet anyone interesting, know what I mean?”

  “Sure, buddy. I get it.” The creep winked at her, his gaze slithering to the orange silk tied around Mick's biceps, then to the paddle and quirt hanging at his side. Oh, gross. The man had on eyeliner! “Use your little slave girl to attract the perverts, then wham! You arrest them.”

  Mick shook his head with conviction. “No. This part of our lives has nothing to do with the job. We just enjoy...well, sharing our hobby with others of like mind.”

  Rick snickered, looking up again. “Shared your hobby with a whole lot of people this afternoon, what I hear.”

  “Unfortunate timing,” Mick grumbled convincingly.

  Caro looked closer at Rick's face. Very subtle, and in the dim, flashing lights of the club it was difficult to see. But she was pretty sure—yes, he was wearing makeup. More than just eyeliner.

  “Want me to hang around? Make sure no one gives you any trouble?” he asked.

  The shape of his dark eyes had been changed, his cheekbones sharpened, the hollows beneath them deepened. And...was that long black hair really a wig?

  She strained to visualize his face without enhancements. And remember who he reminded her of....

  Mick turned to her. “What do you think, baby? Want Rick to tag along?”

  The tiny vibrator inside her buzzed once. She jumped. What did it mean again? One for yes, two for no.

  She clung to Mick's arm and gazed up at him adoringly. “Whatever you wish, Sir. I know you like being watched.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “What about you? Do you like it?”

  She wound her arms around his neck and gave him a long, thorough kiss. “I like what you like.”

  The pale blue of his eyes turned dark as indigo. The vibrator started humming deep within her, a steady, erotic sensation against the sensitive passage that ached for his solid, taming presence. The loud techno-music surged around them pulsing in time to the throbbing inside her body. She could smell him, warm and musky. She closed her eyes and kissed him again, surrendering to their hidden secret. Letting herself surrender to her desire for him.

  The buzz stopped when the kiss ended.

  “Sure, hang with us for a while,” Mick called to Rick. “See what happens.”

  It took her a second to re-orient herself. Brimstone. People everywhere. Rick. The killer.

  Suddenly the picture clicked. The image she'd conjured of Rick's face without makeup reminded her of...Rodney Smythe!

  She couldn't be completely certain, but— Oh, God. She had to tell Mick!

  She buried her nose in the crook of his neck. “It's Rick!” she whispered urgently. “He's Smythe!”

  Mick pulled away and shook his head questioningly. “Can't hear you,” he yelled over the music. “Come on, let's go to the seraglio. It's quieter there.”

  He led her past the cages, where today a woman in her underwear was being fondled by three men from outside the bars. Her expression was blissful. The wall was full, too—at the moment only men were shackled to it, facing both forward and backward, all in various states of undress. Caro slowed to admire the scenery.

  Mick tugged at her leash. “Interested in any of them?”

  She slid her tongue over her bottom lip, savoring the testy tone of jealousy. She liked that he was jealous. It excited her, confirmed the power she held over him, even in her subservient role.

  “Maybe.” She thought about baiting Smythe and glanced back at the men shackled to the wall. “Would you let one of them watch you fuck me?”

  Mick's eyes flared briefly in surprise. She held his gaze, trying her damnedest to silently communicate her fears. Why hadn't they put a vibrator in him, too?

  “Let me watch instead,” said Rick, right behind them.

  Heart thundering like Niagara Falls, she whirled to contemplate the man who was probably a vicious, remorseless killer.

  “Sorry,” she said. Shouldn’t appear too anxious. She recalled the color of his hair in the prison photo. “Sir prefers blonds. Even his men.”

  Mick's lips parted slightly, then pressed together. The vibrator buzzed on-off, on-off, on-off, like a bee hitting a window again and again.

  She smiled tremulously, locking her thighs together. “Don't you, Sir?”

  “What I prefer is obedience. I'll decide who watches and who doesn't.”

  Rick smirked, his eyes devouring her flesh like a ravenous animal, then to her shock, treated Mick to the same, lingering on his by now sweat-slick abs. Damn. Her skin crawled just thinking about the man watching them make love. And felt a huge spurt of nausea at a mental image of the eviscerated victim she'd seen front-on, transposed with Mick's face.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, and hugged his body close, unable to shake the horrid, bloody vision. She trembled, and he gazed down at h
er searchingly. But Rick was watching them closely, so she couldn't say what she wanted to shout in his ear. Instead, she kissed him and pulled herself together.

  She couldn't protect him by being a wuss.

  ***

  What the hell was going on with Caro, Mick wondered as they made their way toward the seraglio. She looked like she was going to faint any second, or puke—though she was hiding it well. But he knew her intimately enough, the precise tone of her skin, the relaxed slope of her shoulders, to know when she was about to lose it.

  What had spooked her so badly? He'd never seen her like this. Except maybe at the crime scenes.

  He scanned the room, searching for something that could have set her off. Nothing, except Rick following behind like a faithful hound dog. He knew she didn't like the man—hell, he didn't like the man—but such a drastic change from last night? No, it must be something else.

  They slipped through the thick velvet curtain into the room beyond. Exotic music tinkled softly, a welcome relief from the strident metal beat that blasted through the main club area. As always, it was nearly dark, only the lighted stage shedding a pale glow over the room. Tonight, the cool fog that swirled around guests seated at low tables smelled of oranges.

  Slowly, the three of them passed through more doors, sinking deeper and deeper into the dark warren of sinful dens, each with its own peculiar brand of entertainment. Mick was looking for Jakob Robbins, the blood-letter.

  He felt a feminine hand slither up his leg. “Is that you under that ridiculous hood, sugar snap?”

  Fuck.

  This was exactly what he did not need tonight.

  “How's it going, Lauren?”

  Not that he hadn’t been expecting her to show up. Her relentless phone calls had told him she was bent on renewing their acquaintanceship, he suspected on a quite different level than before. He shook his head at her and kept moving. Or tried to. Like a talon, her grasp tightened on the leather of his pants.

  “Hang on. There's someone I'd like you to meet.”

  He stole a glance at Caro before turning back to Lauren. Caro’s smile was sharp enough to cut a man to ribbons. Double fuck.

  “Yeah?” he asked Lauren, and started lazily winding Caro's leash around his palm, so she was forced to move closer to him. She fought him all the way.

  “This is Rebecca,” Lauren said, indicating a woman lounging next to her. They were both wearing nothing but... white silk teddies.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” Mick growled, ignoring the introduction. “This is sick and dangerous, Lauren. You should know better than to play with fire.”

  He hauled Caro close so she was standing right in front of him. She leaned back against his chest and the tall spike of her heel ground into his boot toe like a sharp nail.

  “I, on the other hand, love your teddies,” she purred. “Wherever did you get them?”

  What the— He pushed the vibrator control twice, then twice again for good measure. No, no, no. This was not a topic to be discussed.

  “At Robinson's,” Lauren answered with a sly smile. “Caro, isn't it? You don't think they're too over the top, Caro?”

  “Oh, no,” she cooed. “I've been thinking of getting one myself. What fun!” Caro turned at his continued buzzing and leveled him a challenging look. “What is it, sweet pea? Not man enough for that particular fantasy?” Her gaze landed on Rick, who was following the whole exchange as though mesmerized. “Or maybe I need to find myself a new Master. One who's not so—”

  Mick grabbed her shoulders and shook her once. “You find a new Master you won't need a white teddie,” he spat out. “I'll kill you myself. You're mine. Got that?”

  Wide-eyed shock stared back at him for a brief second. It vanished, but her arms quivered lightly under his hands. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

  His stomach clenched.

  Damn, damn, damn it to hell.

  It was starting.

  Despite his best efforts and vigilant inner warnings, he'd fallen for her. Gotten himself emotionally involved. And now it was all starting, just as he'd known so well it would.

  The irrational jealousy. The violent urges. The blinding fear.

  Everyone was staring at him. At them. He couldn't back down from the role now.

  He relaxed his grip. Smiled forgivingly. “That's better. There'll be no more talk of leaving. Right?” Just in case, he buzzed her once.

  She started badly. Then replied, “Yes, Sir.”

  “You don't really want to leave me, do you?” When she didn’t answer immediately he buzzed her twice.

  “No, Sir,” she responded.

  Still, he hadn't heard enough. “You'll always do exactly as I say. And never betray me.”

  This time she answered on her own. “No, I'll never betray you.”

  He pulled her close. “Because you love me,” he insisted.

  She swallowed heavily. “Yes.”

  She was still resisting. He could feel it in her tight muscles, in the way she fought his hold on her.

  “Say it, baby. Say you love me.”

  He knew he was being a class-A bastard. This wasn’t part of their script. There was no reason to force her to say the words he longed to hear spill from her mouth of their own accord. No reason at all. Except his neurotic, perverse need to know she was his. Beyond wisdom, beyond logic, beyond any sense. His and his alone.

  The muted stage-lights swam in her eyes, small points in a sea of shiny desperation.

  “I love you,” she said, and put her forehead to his shoulder, as though she could no longer bear to look at him.

  “My, my. Isn't this touching,” Lauren muttered with a dose of disgust in her tone. “Well, sugar snap,” she said, casting a look around, spotting Rick standing close by, “if you’re done with your revolting display, maybe you'll introduce Rebecca and me to your friend?”

  Caro wrenched from his arms. “No!” Her gaze arrowed to Mick’s. “I mean...he’s with us, isn’t he, Sir?”

  The almost frantic look in her eyes was like nothing he had seen before. Jealously crawled through Mick’s veins like fire ants, injecting its venom so he could barely see straight.

  He ignored her plea. “Sure,” he said. “Lauren, Rebecca, this is Rick. He works security here at the club.”

  With that, he grabbed Caro’s leash and left them, quickly stalking his way back through the labyrinth of rooms, tugging her along in his wake. She yanked on the tether and called his name a few times, but he refused to turn.

  He couldn’t face her now. He had to separate himself from her presence, get his perspective back. Calm down.

  This was not the time to lose it. Which he was, big-time.

  When they emerged into the main club, he took a deep, cleansing breath and hailed a mini-skirted wait-slave. After a few words, she led them to the room’s dominatrix. It was the same woman as yesterday, tonight dressed in scarlet latex and thigh-high, spike-heeled boots, complete with ornate whip.

  “I’ll need a cage for this one,” he simply said, indicating Caro and showing the dominatrix his member card fished from a pocket.

  The dominatrix’ lips curved up. Caro’s jaw fell.

  “No!” she cried against the din of the metal music. “Mick, you have to listen to m—”

  “Silence, slave!” he ordered. A little space would do them both good. The cage might not be comfortable, but she’d be safe in full view of the whole club, and Cody was sitting right at the bar. She’d just have to deal with it.

  “Certainly, Master Michael,” the dominatrix said, reading his name from the card. She led the way to a cage that was just being emptied of its captive.

  “Mick!” Caro hissed, and he silenced her with a bruising kiss.

  “Get names,” he said into her mouth, “Everybody who approaches you. I’m going to find Jakob Robbins.”

  He easily lifted her into the cage, despite her kicking and yelling. The dominatrix locked the door and handed him the oversized, gilt
skeleton key.

  He gave her a twenty. “See that nobody lets her out of the cage but me. Nobody.” He eyed Caro’s outraged face. “No matter how much she begs.”

  “I understand,” the dominatrix said with a malicious smile. “You can rely on me, Master Michael.”

  He took a last look at Caro, standing splay-legged in the narrow cage, hands fisted around the black iron bars, shaking them like a prisoner slated for execution.

  “Let me out, Mick!” she yelled. “You’re making a mistake!”

  Frankly, he’d expected more rage. Maybe something about cutting his balls off, or such. That would be more like Caro. As it was, she seemed less angry than...afraid. Which vaguely surprised him. But it didn’t change his mind.

  He turned on a heel and headed back to the seraglio. He’d find Robbins, cool down, then come back for her.

  Even without the need to get away from the emotions she aroused in him, he realized this was a good strategy. They’d made their presence known in the club; now it was just a matter of being available to the killer.

  So he could approach them. Maybe he felt more comfortable one-on-one. Or she, Caro would remind him.

  For some reason, the image of Lauren lounging in her white teddie flitted through Mick’s mind. The woman was definitely a sick agent, dressing herself and her friend like that. She bore careful watching. But first things first.

  Keeping to the shadows and the wall, he slowly prowled through the maze of small, crowded rooms, searching for the stage where he’d find Jakob Robbins and his depraved sideshow.

  Deep in the darkened bowels of the very last den, on a black-draped stage against blood-red walls, he was rewarded.

  Jakob was wiry and muscular with light, military-short hair. Dressed in olive camouflage pants and no shirt, in his hand he held a huge hunting knife, obviously razor sharp. He bent to his task with steady concentration.

  His blindfolded victim was tied wrists and ankles to a St. Andrew’s cross, his back to Robbins. It was a man.

  The top of the man’s back was already scored with bright red cuts carved into his skin in a chevron pattern. Thin rivulets of blood dripped and dribbled down from the slanted lines, pooling in the waist of his white boxer shorts.