“Good, I'm glad to hear it.”
“What are you glad to hear?” Martinez's smooth and silky tones slipped around Lucia's ear drums like Pavlov's bell. And just like the sick bastard's dogs, she felt like drooling at his presence.
“I was asking Juan about Chela and her art exhibition.”
Martinez stepped onto the verandah and waved his hand. Juan stood and stepped away, leaving the space for his boss. He didn't walk off though, just headed for the fencing that wrapped around the porch.
She tilted her head to the side to study the man who could work more magic on her pussy by simply being in a room than a vibrator could on most nights. He wore a cream polo shirt over brown jeans. And he was barefoot.
Christ. His feet were nude.
She tried not to gawk. She really did, but aside from that one night, she'd never seen his feet. And apart from that, she'd never seen him so casual.
“I thought you went to bed in a suit,” she told him and then wanted to cut out her tongue. Talk about the most gauche thing to say to a man. Fuck.
Martinez eyed her, but amusement made his eyes sparkle.
In front of them, Juan snorted then mumbled, “I'm out of here. Boss, you need anything?”
With his gaze still locked on her, he murmured, “There's a list on my desk. I need most of it attended to before the end of the day.”
In the periphery of her vision, she saw Juan nod and move away from the pair of them.
“I'm going to assume you didn't realize how provocative that question was?”
She blinked. “I didn't mean it to be. I just...well, I've never seen you look so relaxed.”
“If you hadn't run from me, you'd have learned I'm not the pajama wearing sort.”
“I didn't need to go to bed with you to realize that. And I don't really think you wear a suit all the time. It just came as a shock, that's all.”
He smirked. “I think I like that you wonder what I wear to bed.”
“Don't,” she retorted. “I think about stuff like that.”
His smirk turned into a chuckle. “You wonder what Juan wears to sleep in?”
She glared at him. “Yes,” Lucia lied.
“You're lucky I don't believe that.”
“Why? What would you do? Spank me?”
“I think we've already established that I won't do that. Even if I'd like to.”
For a second, she pictured herself bent over his knee, naked, his hand slicing through the air before it whacked against the tender flesh of her ass. The bubble of heat, deep in her core, came as a surprise.
When she said nothing, still shocked at the notion of feeling aroused at being spanked, he murmured, “Where did you learn to bind me the way you did?”
Lucia frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Those weren't basic knots.”
“How the hell do you know?”
He rolled his eyes. “Does it matter? I know they're not something you learned in the Scouts.”
She crossed her arms under her chest. “How do you know? Attend many Girl Scout Jamborees, did you?”
“No, but I know how I know them, I'm just curious how you do.”
“Just because I don't have sex with people doesn't mean I don't think about it.”
“No, I imagine that you think about it all the more because of that very reason.”
Stiffly, she nodded.
“And? What do you do when you think about sex?”
“I used to go to a club near where I lived. Not surprisingly, there's nothing like that around here.”
“What kind of club?”
“Do you need me to spell it out?” she snapped. “B for Bravo, D for Delta, S for Sierra, and M for Mike.”
“No need to be bratty,” he replied easily. “I just wondered, that's all.”
“Yeah, well, wondering can be a dangerous thing to do.”
“Breathing is dangerous where you're concerned, Lucia.” When she frowned, he turned to her, and then with his forefinger, scrubbed at the pucker marring her brow. “You're more lethal than you realize. And I don't mean that I feel my life is in danger.”
“What do you want from me?” she whispered, when his finger dropped down, moving to trace over her lips.
“Everything you have to give.”
“That's too high a price.”
“What if I work fairly?”
“What? You give me everything too?” At his nod, she nibbled her lip. Studying his earnest brown eyes, she whispered, “You're not going to be satisfied with me dominating you, Martinez. You're not. We both know it. You're not switch material.”
“Are you?”
“Maybe. Once upon a time. But not anymore.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” he told her, a gentle smile crossing his lips. “Tell me, what's your vice?”
She blinked at that. “Rope.” Lucia blushed at how quickly, and how easily, that popped out.
He tapped her rosy cheek. “No need to be embarrassed. Shibari?”
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat.
“Is that it? Just bondage?”
She nodded. “Weird, right?”
He shrugged. “Not necessarily. It's a control issue, I'd assume. It's not that you have an affinity for the rope. It's that you like what it does. Puts you in charge.”
“Who made you a shrink?” she asked, snootily.
“The University of Columbia, actually.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I have a Bachelors and Masters in psychology. I just need the appropriate licenses to practice.”
A groan escaped her. “No wonder you're interested in me. You think you can heal me.”
When she made to stand, he grabbed her arm and held her down. “I don't want to heal you because you're a case study. I want to heal you because you deserve to be free. My main goal here is to get laid. Not to analyze you.”
“You promise?”
“Considering you have trust issues, I doubt you'll believe me either way. But yes, I promise.”
She pursed her lips. “I told you my vice. What's yours?”
“Discipline.”
That had her snorting. “Like that comes as a surprise.”
“You're a brat. Is it any wonder I'm attracted to you?”
Her glare wasn't as full-throttled as it could have been. Mostly because he was right. She was a brat. “It's a good thing I have a thick hide. All the compliments you and Juan have been doling out this morning. It's enough to give anyone a swollen ego.”
“You can take it,” he told her easily.
“Story of my life,” she grumbled. “Taking it,” she clarified when he looked at her, puzzled.
Martinez reached for her hand, and when he laced their fingers, Lucia wouldn't lie, her heart went pitter-patter in her chest. She sighed, unable to refrain from tightening hers about his. “How about we work out a deal?”
“What kind of deal?”
“A regular contract between two prospective sexual partners. Limits,” he clarified. “Maybe, if we put them down on paper, we'll be able to approach this situation a little easier.”
She shook her head. “I don't get this. I don't get why a guy like you wants a girl like me. You can say what you want about the sicko in your soul having a crush on the one in mine, but that's not enough.” Lucia jumped up, bubbling in agitation before she wafted a hand in front of her, a move that encompassed her small stature, her barely there tits, and a body that had more muscle than curves. “How can you want this?”
Martinez settled back into the rocking bench seat. “How can I not?” he countered.
She sighed. “I'm not asking you this so you can boost my ego.”
“I know you're not. If you were, I wouldn't find you as attractive as I do.”
“Maybe we should just fuck. Get this over with. You’ll realize I'm crap in the sack, you can go on your merry way, and I can stay here.”
“You want to stay in South Dakota?”
For the first time, she realized she'd shocked him. “Yeah. I do. I like it here.”
“Never let it be said you're not full of surprises, Lucia Kingston.”
“I live to please,” she retorted.
“Let's not get off topic. While I very much intend to fuck you, there won't be any going on my merry way. I've waited too long for this for it to be over in one day. Why the hell do you think I'm here? Why do you think I've been searching for you since that night?
“If one night was enough, I'd already be over you. But I'm not. You're like a fucking virus in my blood. I want you, and I won't be satisfied, until I'm satisfied.
“I don't know what you see when you look in the mirror, but it isn't what I see. I see an ass that I could bite, and I'd have to fight to, because it's so fucking firm I could bounce marbles on it. I see tits that, yeah, they're small, but your nipples—” He shuddered, and when he spoke next, his voice was hoarse, “They're perfect. Tiny, juicy morsels. I can span your waist with my hands, and your hips are perfect for grabbing onto while I fuck you. Every bit of you is hard, and yeah, if you like curves, then you wouldn't fit the requirements. But I don't. I like you.”
“You forget, I've seen your past bed partners.” Her voice was snappy. It had to be in defense of his words. Her nipples were juicy morsels?
The remark was enough to make her want to peel down her top and gawk at the offending extremities up close. Only, if she did, he might take it as an invitation.
That might not be a bad thing.
He shrugged. “So? More often than not, Matteo sent them up to me.”
“Your brother scored for you?”
At her scorn, he glared at her. “I'm a busy man, Lucia.”
“Too busy to score?” She chuckled and, then bizarrely pleased by that admission, took a seat next to him. “Okay. Let's do this. I'll write down my limits. You write down yours.”
Martinez stilled. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“You should compliment me more often. It might make me far more amenable.”
“How amenable?”
Lucia smiled. “Try it and see.”
“What kind of contract are we writing?” he asked, eying her teasing smile with a warmth that amused her. “Is it one-sided or…?”
She pursed her lips. “Let me see what you like then I'll make a decision. Because you can't lie to me, Martinez. I know these feelings don't go away. If I try to dominate you, I know you might find pleasure from it, but it's half of what it should be.
“Whether you like it or not, I just might not be right for you.”
“I refuse to believe that.”
“Now, isn't that a nice thing to say.”
When his eyes flared, she had to fight the blush of pleasure it caused. That he was really attracted to her set her nerves alight. She didn't know if she could do this. She wasn't sure if it was even possible, but she had to try.
If there was any guy who made her hot enough to give it a go, it was Martinez.
Chapter Twenty
Armed with the needle and little else, Lucia was astonished at what she'd managed to achieve. She blinked, looking down at the man who had held her captive for less than a lifetime, but what felt like forever. The syringe waggled in his eye, jerking with the faint shuddery breaths that escaped him. It was a grotesque sight, but she stared, rapt, nonetheless.
He was down.
And she was mobile.
Combine it with the adrenaline flooding her brain, she knew she had only a little time before weakness assailed her and even less time for him to wake up. She'd shocked him. He'd handed her the needle, and with his free hand, unfastened the Velcro keeping the blindfold's two ribbons together.
In the time it had taken for the black sheath to fall into her lap, she'd grabbed hold of the syringe and aimed at any part of his face. It was either dumb luck or fate that had her finding a target in his eye.
His bellow of agony and rage had ricocheted around the room, stunning her with its force, but she had no time to kill. She'd jumped up, her legs working only by the will of God, and with more strength from some unknown source, had smashed his head down into the gurney she lay on.
Crashing into the floor, he'd passed out cold, but somehow, that needle was still stuck in his eye. She wished it wasn't. It was one of the grossest sights she'd ever seen, and she was in a fucking torture chamber, for Christ's sake.
The woman tied to the St. Andrew's Cross began mumbling behind her gag, garbled noises, desperate sounds. Lucia turned to look at her, saw the despairing hope in the stranger's eyes: the realization that death had been stayed for another day.
She ignored her, irritated once more by the sounds she made. “Shut up,” she snapped and hated herself for making tears roll down the stranger's face.
It disturbed her but not enough to move. For some sick reason, she was more intent on looking around her. On seeing what had been denied her for oh, so long. Even as she looked, her eyes ached with the joy of finally being allowed sight. Somehow, the sensory deprivation had been more torturous than the endless cutting.
If there had been a time where she'd wanted to beg Josiah, it was for the luxury of sight. Only knowing it would have been a weakness, one he'd have pounced on, had stopped her.
And as hideous as the view in front of her was, it was disturbingly beautiful. She could see. At last. Colors, light, shapes, shadow.
After a handful of minutes, the notion of luxury fell away, to be replaced with gut-wrenching disgust.
The room was an anemic white. The floor, too. She could see the puddle of piss pooling directly beneath the woman's legs, and saw the sluice bucket the sick bastard used to swill the floor.
Her bed was a hospital gurney—she’d thought it was a cross, but it obviously wasn’t. He’d just tied her that way, arms and legs akimbo on the metal tray that he'd placed a towel on for her comfort. Fucker.
On a wall, there were counters, like kitchen work surfaces. They were neatly kept. Everything in its proper place. She realized she'd been wrong about him. She thought the infection had come from dirty knives used on her but realized it must have been the sores on her back because the utensils were spotless.
The same couldn't be said for his victims.
She looked at the woman, saw dried blood had coagulated on her limbs, and even from ten feet away, the ripe stench of her body was strong.
Unable to help it, and with legs that were in no way strong enough, she kicked her leg back and, with all her might, pummeled it into Josiah's gut. Once, twice, three times. Over and over. On and on. Until her leg trembled, and she was panting and gasping for breath, her kicks having less and less effect when she wanted them to bestow roundhouse kicks on the fucker. Torture him like he'd tortured her.
But weakness filled her. Weakness and hatred. The combination was discomforting. It made her want to stab the bastard, use the same knives he'd used on her but on his defenseless form. But the weakness, it sapped at her strength, and she knew she had to get out of here before she completely ran out of energy.
Seeing blood pool at Josiah's lips, she smirked in satisfaction. She hadn't castrated him, something she'd dreamed about on the endless nights, but she'd hurt him. That had to be enough.
Staggering over to the other woman, she demanded, “Shut the fuck up.” Those goddamn gurgling sounds were driving her insane. At her bark, the mumbled sounds slowed. “If you want me to let you loose, shut. Up.” At that, blessed silence.
For a second, she wanted to weep. Her eyes fluttered shut at the delicious peace, and then, the sounds started again. This time, they were panicked. The woman's eyes were darting about, and Lucia turned in time to see Josiah's body start to curl up. More adrenaline pounded through her debilitated body, coming from only God knew where. She reached for the tray lined with knives, shoved the blades onto the counter, and flung the tray at his head. Her aim, miraculously, was true if weak.
But someone was, once again, on her side. The corn
er of the tray slammed into Josiah's head. Blood unfurled from his temple, and she really hoped it was a killing blow but knew that would be too much to hope for. Fortune only favored the brave to a certain degree.
She returned to the woman, carefully stepping around her mess, and unfastening the bindings that lashed her to the cross. She had to support her when she released her legs, and together, they had to hobble out of the room. Their knees shaken, their limbs trembling, every part of them weak and aching, sore and bruised, damaged and cut.
The door was open. That didn't surprise her. She only heard the lock twice. When the bastard was about to enter and when he was about to leave.
And together, the last survivors of Josiah's reign of terror escaped, locking the door behind them, and imprisoning the evil fucker who had reduced two grown women to ghosts of their former selves.
Chapter Twenty-One
Present Day
“Have you ever done this before?”
Martinez raised his head from the sheets they'd downloaded from the Internet. “Yes.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
“You haven't.”
“No.”
“Then how do you know what you like?”
She snorted. “Just because I haven't done it doesn't mean I'm unaware of how it makes me feel.”
He cocked a brow. “If you say so.”
“The first time I've felt alive, really alive, in years, was when I tied you to that bed. The idea of those neckties being hemp rope almost had me humping your leg,” she told him bluntly. “I know what I like. I'm not a child nor am I an idiot. I'm inexperienced. That's all.”
“I never said you were a child.”
“Yeah, well, I'd have preferred for you to say that you never thought I was an idiot.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Lucia, let's not get distracted. I want to know if you think I'm too perverted to fuck.”
That made her grin. “I'm sure you are.”
“You don't sound too freaked out by that.”
“Never said I wasn't interested, did I?” She rapped her knuckles against her forehead. “What goes on up here doesn't necessarily control what goes on down there. Most of the time it does, but you never did fit the bill.”
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