Wicked Shots

by Katana Collins

  Christ, she hadn’t had a parent—or anyone for that matter—telling her what to do in thirteen years. Thirteen years of being in charge. And here she was in her early thirties, getting chastised for leaving crumbs on her goddamn plate—and worst of all, giddy and giggly over what he would do to her because of them! She smoothed her hair back with her palms, even though she could tell from the taut pull on her scalp that the tight, low bun still held every hair in place.

  Could she be more fucked up? Shit … or more of a hypocrite, for that matter? How many times had she scolded her little sister for lewd behavior? She constantly preached to Jessie to stay safe, be independent, be strong-willed … an exhalation blew through her pressed lips like a leak in a tire. As if Jess needed any push at all to be strong-willed. That girl was downright stubborn.

  Cass pinched the small buttons of her cardigan, rolling them around between her fingers as the lapel of her lab coat brushed the back of her hand. All her life, she had been a prep: cardigans, pearls, Keds … but inside? On the inside, she was leather and silk. And when she was with her master, she was no longer Cassandra Walters, the girl whose parents died when she was in college. She wasn’t the girl who had to come home and finish raising her teenage sister. No, with him, she was a sex goddess. She fisted her hands around the cardigan tighter, the buttons suddenly feeling like bars in a cage. She wanted them off. All off.

  All those years of scolding her sister, sacrificing friendships and lovers—and for what? After everything Cass went through to make sure Jess grew up in a safe environment, in the end it was Cass who had put Jess in danger. A lump settled in Cass’s throat as she remembered the package that had arrived late last night. Whatever she did—wherever she went—Cass could feel eyes on her. People watched every step she made, and if even one was out of line, she’d be dead or jailed in seconds. But those eyes—was it the DEA? Were they Master’s? Or were they—

  “Cass.” The sound of her name made her jump, nearly falling out of her seat as she slammed her iPad cover shut and released her hold on the cardigan. “A messenger just dropped this off for you.”

  Zooey held out a small envelope, her foot propping Cass’s laboratory door open. With a shaky hand and a gulp, Cass reached for it, turning it over in her hands. A lobster-claw seal was over the flap and she swallowed. Her blood slowed to an icy crawl in her veins and that warmth—that tingly feeling she had experienced with the e-mail—receded into a frozen tundra.

  She cleared her throat, and though she didn’t quite trust her voice yet, she did her best to keep it steady. “Thanks, Zooey.” Cass waited a few moments after the door shut before she peeled the envelope open, careful not to tear the seal.

  The note had been written on a plain notecard embossed with the same seal and inside was the cleanest cursive Cass had ever seen. A feat, since she had always considered her own cursive to be the most meticulous. It was addressed to no one and the words were simple, straight to the point:

  Changed Location. Will not meet in the tunnel, but outside near the docks at the wharf. Burn this.

  Cass’s jaw twitched and her mouth set in a hard line. Why would he change the drop-off point? They had a system going and it was working beautifully. Or so she thought. At the very bottom of the note, she noticed another line in even smaller script:

  PS – We expect the whole shipment this time.

  She paused and her lungs constricted as though they were in a vice grip. She dipped her hand into her purse and pulled out the cheap lighter she kept on her at all times. She rolled it in her hands, feeling the lighter fluid slosh around inside the cheap plastic casing. Her head told her she needed to save the letter, get it to Sam down at the precinct for evidence, especially so that she’d have someone who knew where she would be tonight in case things went bad.

  She needed the detective’s help; she knew that. She knew it. And yet she was in too deep. Sam couldn’t help her now. No one could.

  She stood, the chair scraping the floor, screeching like an owl just before a capture. She walked over to the sink and, with a flick of her thumb, burned the card until it was a pile of ash.

  2

  “Cass,” Zooey whispered with urgency, poking her head inside the lab once more. Cass’s grip on the metal sink tightened. “Your boyfriend’s here!”

  A small gasp caught in the back of Cass’s throat as she leaned out the door, peeking out front. Sure enough, on the other side of the reception desk, Master stood staring at her, his gaze heated and his jaw set. The look he gave her sent tendrils of awareness spiraling down her arms and legs. His upper lip tipped up a fraction of an inch and as his eyes narrowed, he crooked a finger, beckoning Cass to him.

  She held up a hand, signaling for him to wait a moment, and caught a surprised spark of anger and delight all at once. Oh, hell. He’d make her pay for that. She slipped back inside the lab and turned the faucet on, rinsing away the remnants of the note before packing up her iPad, slipping off her lab coat, and grabbing her purse. “I’m running out for lunch, Zooey. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Zooey fanned her face. “Shit, girl. Make it an hour and a half … I won’t tell anyone.”

  Cassandra’s face reddened. Damn him for coming here. She hated when he did that. Her one rule between them was to keep the lines separate and he continuously liked to break it. Family friends don’t meet work friends. Colleagues don’t meet college friends. And sex partners don’t meet anyone, for Christ’s sake. Then again, she had a feeling he would integrate well in almost any area of her life—if he allowed himself to, that is. Or perhaps, even more accurately, if she allowed him to.

  With chin high, she moved past her master to the elevators, pressing the down button. He sauntered beside her, and though she refused to look at him, she could feel his eyes on her. That tingly feeling of awareness that always passed over her body when in his presence. “I’ve upset you?” His low voice rumbled through her body like the growling motor of a Harley and her knees quivered at the sound.

  “You know I prefer to meet you downstairs.” She dared a quick glance at his face. His cheekbones and chin were so defined that they looked as if they had been cut straight from a slab of granite. His eyes were an icy blue, his hair black and wavy.

  “I did wait downstairs.” One eyebrow arched over those crystal eyes and Cass pressed the elevator button once more, tapping her toe. “Have you checked the time?”

  Cass slid a quick look at her watch. Shit; seven minutes after twelve. “Even still—I would have made it down in a minute more. You need to learn patience.”

  When there was no response to that Cass slid another look at him. His face held the amused look one would have when watching a child attempt to play an instrument for the first time. “Do I, now?”

  The elevator dinged and steel doors slid open before them. He sidled up beside her, his biceps brushing against Cass’s shoulder. “I would argue that you need to be more punctual.” He inhaled, cupping a hand beneath her hair. “Why do you insist on these incessant buns?” He gave a quick tug to the knot at the nape of her neck.

  “I work in a conservative office,” Cass answered calmly despite her pounding heart and her eyes scouring the elevator. It dinged as it reached one floor below them—a small magazine’s office. This building was filled with all sorts of different companies, and with each floor, Cass found herself wishing someone else would step on.

  “Did you forgo the panties today, as I asked?”

  She gulped, nodding.

  “Use words and answer me, Cassandra.”

  She blinked slowly, finally turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Yes.” Her voice came out raspy, as though she hadn’t spoken all morning.

  His smile tipped higher. “Good girl.” It was barely a whisper as he reached across her, pulling the emergency stop button. He rolled his sleeves to the elbows as Cass backed against the wall. Her stomach was in knots, twisting like a coiling snake.

  “What are you doing?”

  “
You were late. You know what that means.”

  “Now? Here?”

  He smirked. “You’re not a master yet, dear Cassandra.” With a circular motion of his finger, he gestured for her to turn around.

  Cassandra’s chest tightened and god, oh god, her vagina clenched. She was soaked down there, her curls matted with her own musk. But she did as told, turning, placing her palms to the elevator wall. “You have this elevator cleaned every night, right?” She lifted a brow, daring a glance at Master from over her shoulder.

  “Oh, yes,” he answered, dropping to his knees between her legs. “Cleaning crews come in every day.” He trailed his fingertips up the backs of her thighs in a tender caress, all the while pushing her skirt up. Cass gasped as he met the underside of her ass, squeezing, but not hard enough to be painful. Why, oh why couldn’t he have just taken her up to his penthouse office? He owned the damn building, made bank off collecting rent from the different businesses that took up residency on each floor. Not a soul would have questioned them being in his office. Her face flushed. He chose this, in the elevator, because he knew it would be more humiliating. And something she would remember every time she came to work.

  The wall was cool against her forehead and she let it absorb the weight of her neck. “And there are no cameras in here, right?”

  He pressed a kiss to the back of her knees, his murmuring lips tickling the sensitive skin there. “No cameras.”

  Despite his reassurance, Cass looked around the corners of the elevator. It didn’t appear to have any, but knowing this man, appearances meant nothing. Though she doubted he would ever lie to her. Trust, he had always stated, was the most integral part of a dominant/submissive relationship. The irony was that he had been entirely honest, up front with her even. Whereas she had a trunkload of secrets she kept from him.

  He kissed his way up her body until he was standing over her, her skirt wrinkled around her waist, her bare ass exposed to the world. Or the elevator, at least. With a few flicks of his fingers, he had her low, tight bun loosened and her dark hair cascaded down her back.

  His palm pressed into the area between her shoulder blades, gently edging her torso lower. “Bend more.” His whisper was filled with urgency.

  Cass lowered her body, spreading her legs wider for him. Her whole body tingled, ready, aware. And wanting. Shit, was she wanting. Everything felt swollen and far too sensitive to be normal.

  “You’re defiant today. I give you rules for a reason, you know that, yes?” His voice was raw, edgy, and it made Cass want him even more.

  “But I don’t even like grapefruit and I ate the whole damn thi—”

  “Cassandra!” his voice boomed and his hand came down hard on her ass.

  Cass winced, swallowing her pride. “Yes, Master.”

  “I need you to have strength, nourishment for our nights together. And when I say clean your plate, I expect you to run that glorious tongue of yours over every morsel.” His hand trailed her ass cheeks, taking a moment to run the tips of his fingers over her slick slit. Cass hissed an inhalation through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, Master,” she repeated once more, her breath catching as his finger brushed over her clit.

  “And as for your punctuality, well …” His hand came down suddenly against her bare skin, slapping with a deafening clap. “… well, that just annoys the hell out of me.” He spanked her again. And again.

  Cass’s eyes fluttered shut with each stinging slap. With the growing pain, her vagina tightened and tensed more and more until she was aching—literally aching—to have any part of him inside of her.

  His fingers curved against her ass, cupping her cleft and gathering the juices that were falling down her thighs, using it to thrust those same fingers inside of her, and Cass tightened around his knuckles. She sighed in a delicious relief that was over too quickly. He pumped in and out of her before pulling out entirely and spanking her once more. The last hit was the hardest, and he let his hand fall gently back onto her ass, caressing the tender flesh there. He grunted as his hands explored her backside, his fingers slipping inside her again with ease.

  “Cassandra,” he whispered. “Jesus, what do you do to me?” Through his wool trousers, he pushed a raging erection against her ass, and Cass gasped. His fingers—as skilled as they were—were no longer enough. She needed his length, his manhood inside her immediately. The closeness, the connection and intimacy that came with having him buried deep in her. The wool was scratchy against the tender areas he had just spanked, but she didn’t care in the least with him pressed against her like that.

  “Please El—”

  He had his hand in her hair, yanking her head back. Cassandra cried out in pain. “Ah—Master. Please, Master. I need you inside me.”

  His lips were on her ear, his breath hotter than fire as he nipped the sensitive skin at her earlobe. “I shouldn’t,” he said with a pant. “I should deprive you of an orgasm for how bad you’ve been. But I want nothing more than to bury myself deep in your cunt right now. I want nothing more than to hear you cry out for me.”

  Cass released the breath she’d been holding and bit back a smile. “Thank you, Master.”

  “You may touch yourself, but do not come,” he said as a zipper pulled down behind her.

  Cass snuck a peek over her shoulder just in time to see his veiny length jutting toward her opening. Circling herself, she used just the right amount of pressure and brought herself close—so, so close—but made sure to stop just before those sweet convulsions started. She moaned as he pressed into her opening and arched her back for him.

  He slid inside, spreading her around his girth. He was just large enough—not obscenely so but enough to cause that little bit of sting as he entered her, which managed to wear off with a few skilled thrusts. His hips circled with each pump and his muscled thighs pressed into the soft flesh of her ass.

  His fingers dipped into her folds, flicking lightly over her clit in light, short movements. Oh, she was close—so close … and if he kept right like that, no amount of self-control could stop her from coming.

  “You’re close,” he said, as though reading her mind. “I can tell. You’re wet and tight and milking me of all I’ve got.”

  “Yes, sir,” she panted. “I-I don’t know if I can hold it back.”

  “Next time I say clean your plate, what will you do?”

  Cass’s belly clenched low and tight. She swallowed. These demands were insane. And yet, with his scent and his touch flooding her mind, she had no control. And, for once, she kind of liked it that way. What would it be like when she controlled him? When she could tell him what to do?

  With one more gulp, she answered. “I will lick my plate clean.”

  He threaded one hand into her hair, tilting her head so that her neck was elongated to the side. His hips pulsed, thrusting deeper inside of her as his other hand explored the apex between her thighs. “And when I say we are meeting at twelve o’clock?”

  “I will be waiting at eleven fifty-nine.”

  He tightened momentarily before releasing her hair and pressing his soft lips to the crook of her neck. “That’s my girl,” he whispered into her heated flesh. Then added with a chuckle, “Though I’m not sure I believe you …”

  His hand fluttered over her clit, circling the wetness there. Everything felt tight—too tight—and holy shit did Cass need some relief. His movements grew quicker, with both his hand and his body. The deeper he buried himself inside of her, the fuller Cass felt. Full of joy, full of pleasure, full of excitement. Full of him. She arched her back into him and he groaned, dropping his face into her shoulder, nipping just hard enough to leave teeth marks. The pain, though minor in comparison to some of the stuff he had introduced Cass to, bolted through her body, making the pleasure of his touch between her legs all the sweeter.

  “Sweet Cassandra,” he whispered, smoothing his hand down her hair, which draped past her shoulder. “Oh, how I wish I could keep you for always.” T
he statement was so quiet that it almost felt like he hadn’t intended for her to hear it. But she stilled all the same beneath his touch, swallowing a flood of panic. He was an experienced dominant, which, in this world, usually meant once she was trained he would move on. Move on to the next client. The tightness in her throat nearly suffocated her.

  Dane’s face quickly flashed in her mind and she shook her friend from her thoughts. She had nothing to feel guilty about. Dane was a friend—nothing more. “I wish that, too,” she whispered in response. “M-may I turn around?”

  His hands shifted, gripping her hips. She could feel his hesitation in the hold. He muttered a final curse before answering simply with “Yes.”

  Cass turned slowly, relishing the feel of his hands brushing over her hips, back, and belly as she spun to face him. His face was tight, reserved. She knew the look well. She pushed him beyond his comfort. Requested things from this man he never would allow with his other subs. And yet for her—for her, he did.

  “Master—may I touch you?” Cass was impressed that she was able to keep her voice steady with the question.

  His eyes clamped shut and his jaw jumped. But she waited, keeping her breath even. You can only push a wall so far before the foundation cracks. He wasn’t inside her anymore. His hands weren’t touching anywhere but her hips. And yet, in that moment, she felt closer to him than she ever had.

  Despite the lack of movement between them, heat radiated between their bodies. His dick jutted forward, just as turned on as if they hadn’t stopped. Finally, he opened his eyes, and his glare raked her body. Months ago, Cass would have cowered beneath that steely gaze. She would have shrunk back into the recesses of her mind. But now? She stood tall, shoulders back and chin high.