The woman didn’t actually claim Frank would be missed, which seemed like refreshing honesty under the circumstances. Even in his element, talking about important work with people who actually understood it, Frank had still been a grumpy bear. Suzanne laughed. It sounded more like a bitter cackle, and felt like one from the inside. “It’s a relief to hear you say that. I was starting to wonder if I’d known him at all. Apparently he was impossible everywhere he went.” She wasn’t sure if she felt like she was betraying Frank by saying this or acknowledging a truth about him but she forced herself to think of it as the latter.
“Unfortunately for our program, and for you, he is being just as difficult in death. We’re still missing the final version of his Project Frontier plans, which we know were complete. We’re not the only people who are looking for it. And I would guess some of them have found you, probably the Iranian contingent, though Frank did his best to disassociate himself from anyone he cared about at all.”
“Oh.” A very different oh from the last one. More like a squeak.
“If you find anything, you know how to contact me. I will be in touch in the morning with someone who can tell you more about the murder investigation. It’s late, and despite the area code on this phone, I’m in DC. Good night, Mrs. Mayhew.”
“Suzanne, please,” she said instinctively. Even when everything had been great with Frank, she’d disliked being called Mrs. Mayhew.
Right now, she’d like to be called by a completely different name. Kathleen Murphy had a nice ring to it. There had to be about eight thousand of them in the greater Boston area, so she could just blend in.
At that thought, she started to laugh into a now silent phone. Ms. Chang apparently didn’t believe in saying goodbye. Neil gently turned her around to face him, rested one hand gently on her face. “Talk to me,” he said. It wasn’t an order or a cop’s habit of authority. It sounded more like a plea.
“They murdered Frank.” She managed to stay calm as she said those three simple, life-altering words. “Someone murdered my husband, probably Iranian spies, and the last time I talked to him I called him a miserable, cold, cheating bastard. The reason it’s taken the bad guys so long to track me down is that he…he hid me. I thought he didn’t care, that he was hiding things because he didn’t care. But he was protecting me.”
Neil drew her close, kissed the top of her head as if she was a child.
And like a child, she clung to him as the tears started.
Chapter Seventeen
“I talked with Ron Delvecchio at the FBI today,” she told Neil as soon as he walked in the door. He’d had a weird shift today, so it was only around three. Thank goodness. Keeping the latest developments to herself had been painful. “Iranian spies killed Frank, The FBI and Homeland Security and the whole damn lot of them suspected that, but hadn’t been able to narrow down which Iranians. I learned that in the morning, and I told them the Bellwood police had sketches of the guys we saw the other day. Apparently they were helpful. I don’t know exactly how, but I got a call about half an hour ago that they caught the spies. We’ll hear all about it on the news at 11. Well, at least the part they can share.”
Neil let out an audible sigh of what had to be relief. “You’re safe now?”
She’d hoped so too. Trying to answer the question, though, made her break into a nervous sweat, her stomach roiling. “Maybe. I told Delvecchio about the break-in and he went silent in this ominous way. Then he started in with the questions. He didn’t actually tell me what he was thinking, but I got the feeling that he suspects the same thing we did, that the break-in was done by a different group of people.”
“But he’s not going to commit to saying that without more information. I know this dance.” Neil sighed again, and this time it definitely wasn’t a sigh of relief. He closed the gap between them, wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You’ll be all right. They’ll be watching out for you now. So will I.”
“I took notes as Agent Delvecchio and I talked,” she said. “You can look at them later. Right now I just want to feel you.”
He smelled good. Well, really he smelled a bit like Dunkin Donuts and stress, a more masculine version of her own scent at the moment, but it was Neil’s scent and she liked it. Funny how that worked, how quickly he’d become a comfort to her. She nuzzled against him. “Got an email from Ly Vo today. The new Mayhew CEO,” she added when Neil looked puzzled. “He asked if I could stop by his office this evening around seven. He didn’t say it in so many words, but I got the feeling he’s heard from the feds too and wanted to touch base.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She shrugged. “I already emailed back to set up a time on another day. Too much to deal with tonight. We can arrange the time so you can come along without it being a huge hassle.”
“Do you want to help me look over the Mustang? I slept too late this morning,” he said without mentioning that it wasn’t as much that he’d overslept as she’d been reluctant to let go of him. “I know Dad offered to help, but maybe it’s better if you and I do it.”
Suzanne nodded. She got why he’d think that. Give her something useful to do, something that gave her control over the situation or at least an illusion of it. Not to mention he loved cars so much he probably thought of this as a fun activity they could share.
Under other circumstances, she might agree. Not tonight. “Maybe tomorrow morning,” she said after some consideration. “I’ll try to make sure we get up early enough. Or at least not actively prevent it. But I don’t want to think tonight.” She looked up at him, tried to put all she was feeling into her gaze.
He seemed to get it. “What do you want to do instead of think?” He smiled and ran his hands down to cup her ass.
“Something that pushes me out of my head and into a place where I feel too good to be scared.”
He smiled. The hands on her ass switched from a gentle caress to a firm, possessive grip. His fingers found places she hadn’t realized were tender until he pinched them. “I think I can manage that. What do you want?”
“I’m not usually going to say ‘whatever you want,’ but tonight…tonight I want you to make the decision. I trust you.”
Neil swallowed hard at that moment, stunned by her trust and knocked speechless by the blood rushing to his cock.
So perfect. She didn’t know how perfect this was for him. He needed to stop obsessing over things he couldn’t control, needed to stop worrying about Suzanne’s safety, if only for a little while. A good scene, where Suzanne didn’t need to think beyond the moment’s pleasure and he could control most of the elements, was just what the doctor ordered for both of them.
Which was why Suzanne ended up blindfolded and bound, wrapped lovingly in yards of green rope. Neil enjoyed the functional side of bondage more than the actual rope-work—he did simple restraints, not artistic shibari—but Suzanne’s first reaction to the rope on her skin was so sweet it went to his head and his dick in equal measure. A gasp, then her eyes rolled back into her head and she melted as the scent of her arousal filled the air. God, he could see why people got into the more complicated stuff. He’d ended up adding some extra fillips instead of sticking to tying her wrists and ankles to the bedframe. Ropes around her breasts. A harness that wrapped her waist and tugged at her sex, toyed with her asshole. It looked gorgeous, even if some of the rope-work was sloppy. But her reaction was the important part and if the act of being tied up made her that soft and dreamy, he’d swallow his pride and ask Janice or one of the local riggers for a refresher course.
What? You want to learn new skills for someone? You realize that implies a future together, don’t you? He could practically hear Janice’s dry voice mocking him.
Only she wouldn’t really be mocking him, just pretending to because it was the kind of friendship they had. Janice might be resolutely single herself, playing with a lot of g
uys, keeping it on a friendly level outside of scenes, but she was always delighted when people she liked found someone special. She just had to tease them mercilessly about it because that was the way she was.
And maybe he deserved teasing. If you’d asked him less than a week ago to describe the woman who might make him want to settle down, he’d have been stumped, other than “attractive, kinky and with a piece of brain lodged in her skull.” Now that dream woman looked a lot like Suzanne Mayhew. Not only was she smart, good looking and just the right amount of twisted, she was brave. She was aware of danger, and sometimes it got to her, but she faced it head on, figuring out how to deal with it. She’d remained pretty calm considering the level of shit-storm going on around her. A couple of crying jags, sure, but hell, he’d felt tempted to cry or at least scream like a frustrated toddler a few times lately, because he couldn’t do much to help with this clusterfuck. (Though apparently the FBI and NSA had been stymied by the huge clusterfuck too. And he and Suzanne had helped by describing those two Iranians.) Mostly though, she’d been able to roll with the punches. An important quality for a prospective cop’s wife.
Wait a damn minute: wife? Big jump from I like her and she’s fun in bed to wife. But I can see it working down the road.
Freaky thought to have about someone he’d known less than a week…but the fact he wasn’t trying to run screaming away from his own brain told him it wasn’t the worst crazy idea he’d ever had. Way too soon to consider it seriously but if Suzanne did turn out to be the one for the long haul, they’d have gone through enough law-enforcement-type insanity in the first week of knowing each other that the joys of a cop’s life wouldn’t seem that daunting by comparison.
He stepped back to take in the view, Suzanne’s beautiful ass on display over a wedge pillow, the twines and vines of green rope against her skin. Damn, he liked the effect, almost as much as he liked Suzanne’s reactions to the rope. Liked Suzanne’s reactions to just about everything.
He was going to fuck that incredible ass later. They’d already agreed on that. Something different in a good, sexy way to distract from all the different in a really bad way shit that had been going on. First, he wanted it red. Red as the sweet candy-apple Mustang that had brought them together, but with some stripes like a muscle car from the 70s.
Neil leaned over, kissed Suzanne’s shoulder, then bit down, not hard but enough to break through the rope-induced dreaminess. She squealed, jumped, then wriggled in her bondages and moaned, “Oh, yeah.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“You, and something that cracks me open so all I can do is feel.”
“Way too coherent,” he quipped, running his hands down her bound form until he reached her beautifully exposed ass and sex. “But I like it.” Like it as in his cock was hard as a stick shift, like it as in his brain filled with red swirls and blood pounded in his head and his dick simultaneously and he didn’t know whether to take his time, play out this scene the way they’d both envisioned it or fall on her now, devour her, slake them both hard and fast so maybe they could focus on the more elaborate scene.
No. Newbie to BDSM or not, Suzanne was wise enough to know what she wanted and needed—another great thing about her. He might not be able to deliver her the bad guys’ heads on a platter, and he hadn’t yet tracked down Frank’s missing notes—since both the feds and the bad guys had been looking at least since Frank was killed, though, he didn’t feel too bad about that—but he could give her that much. Could give them both that much, the sexual satisfaction of surrender and control.
He caressed the curve of Suzanne’s ass, dipped his hand between her ass cheeks to taunt and tease her. Her swollen lips were held open by the thin green rope, and his fingers swam in her moisture. He swirled two fingers around her clit, tugged at her ring, which was almost too slick to grasp. She undulated and he thought of the curves on the Kancamagus Highway, up in the mountains of New Hampshire, and how the Indian swerved and hugged them. He skirted her cunt in the same way, riding the lips like you ride a great stretch of road, but he gathered moisture as he did so when he reached her anus, he could slick it. No entry now, just stroking the opening, sensitizing it until Suzanne moaned and the little puckered hole opened and closed under his attentions. “So eager. You want more, don’t you? Want something in there, filling up that hungry little hole?”
“Oh…oh please…please…”
“Patience.” He wasn’t feeling all that patient himself, so he sympathized. But some things shouldn’t be rushed, and anal sex was one of them, especially if the receiver was out of practice. Maybe it wasn’t fair to tease her, but he never claimed to be fair. And he loved seeing her melt, watching the tension wash out of her body except for the pleasant tension of arousal.
She pushed back, eager for more, and the scent of her need, the heat of her skin was tempting enough that he wanted to give in. Damn, this woman had gotten under his skin so quickly, shattering all pretense of being in control of the situation. He needed to regain it and not just for the sake of making this a scene they’d both enjoy. Enough was out of his control right now. Out of hers, too, but in a bad way.
So he’d keep control here, and he’d give her something she’d like, though not exactly what she was begging for at the moment. Something to turn the sense of being out of control into something fun, exciting—sexy.
After one last caress, he drew his hand away then smacked it down onto the delicious curve of her butt, right at the sweet spot where it connected with her thigh. She jumped, of course; he deliberately snuck it up on her. But the noise she made was a happy one. “Good girl,” he whispered, because she liked those words and the way she smiled when she heard them made his cock happy. Then he spanked her again.
After a lovely warm-up spanking that left her with a wonderfully rosy butt, he ran his hand over that now-tender skin, then, impulsively, bent and kissed her right ass cheek. That made her giggle, a wonderfully relaxed sound, and he couldn’t resist. He bit down on the tender flesh, then sucked, hoping to leave a different kind of mark, one that might last longer than light bruising and stripes.
He liked the idea of his marks on her. Maybe he’d see she was up for trying a cane. Canes made lovely marks. No, make that another night, because caning took focus and finesse, and his cock was already interfering with his brain, knowing that hot, tight ass was waiting for him.
“Moving away for a second.” He liked to warn a lady he was about to break contact—unless, of course, it suited his purposes not to do so. He’d laid out a few toys on a chair near the bed so he didn’t have to go far to grab the flogger. Medium weight deer suede, green falls, green handle accented with black. He thought it was just the right weight for the job, not too harsh for Suzanne’s relative inexperience, but not a light tickle either.
The flogger felt right in his hand, an old friend, almost an extension of his arm. He swung it experimentally so it struck the bed next to her, and was pleased by her shiver, her delighted little gasp. One more test swing. Perfect—it fell exactly where he wanted it to, a welcome affirmation of control. Suzanne’s body and pleasure were hot, addictive, but he needed this element—not the toy, but the dominance it symbolized—to make his own pleasure complete tonight.
Neil took aim, swung at her ass. “Oh God,” she cried. “Feels so good. Please…”
And this time she was begging for what he wanted to give her in this moment. He aimed again then struck. As the flogger made contact, he said, “You like that, good girl?” and was rewarded with a gasped “Yes.”
“Good. I like it too.” He swung the flogger again as he spoke.
After that, he fell into a rhythm. Took control of the rhythm.
Let the rhythm and the pops of the flogger and Suzanne’s pleasured pain wash away every aspect of his life that wasn’t so perfect.
Chapter Eighteen
Suzanne’s mind had been spinning like
a hamster in a wheel, even after Neil had tied her up. Oh, her body had been with the program the whole time. She’d been excited in anticipation, waiting for Neil to come home because she needed so badly to fall into his arms and into the magic he could work with pleasure and pain. Waiting for that, holding on to that, had kept her functional as she talked with the FBI agent about Frank’s murder. “We knew they were Iranians because chatter revealed they had a bogus version of Frank’s plans,” he said. “But when they were fully decrypted, they were all about cars and a cat named Daisy.”
Agent Delvecchio said they might be making arrests as soon as tonight. But that gave hours for someone to find her. And the people who’d broken into the house didn’t seem to have the finesse to be actual trained spies. So of course she’d jumped every time she heard a noise on the street, then panicked at the grim direction of her own thoughts. Cringed at memories of Frank sweeping her off her feet, an up-and-coming entrepreneur and inventor with a great classic car and a fascinating distance to him, not like the emotionally vulnerable, confused guys her own age. Lingered over the image of her touching Frank’s hand over Daisy’s black-and-white fur as the old cat’s labored breathing stilled, wondering why it took this to bring them together. Latched on to a thousand little details that made her question whether Frank had really been pulling away from her in the last few years or it had been the habit of secrecy gone too far.
Drive: Cougars, Cars and Kink, Book 1 Page 15
