Ever the thorough agent, of course Mal had checked the laundry. He’d probably also gone through her drawers, not that he’d tell her he had invaded her privacy in the name of keeping her safe.
“She’s not.” Keith needed to talk to Kat. Darcy’s deadline was looming closer, and he almost couldn’t wait for it to arrive. “I’ve been here a lot, so she’s been doing my clothes.” He took his suits to the dry cleaner, which left his shirts, socks, and underwear. Kat had washed colors yesterday, and he’d promised to see to the whites today.
Malcolm mulled this over. “That aside, it occurs to me that her stalker could be strictly a personal thing. Maybe she turned down somebody recently who is having trouble taking no for an answer?”
“I don’t get asked out nearly as often as you seem to think.” Kat gave Mal a lopsided smile as she came up the stairs. “I’ve been turned down recently, but that’s the extent of it.”
Mal considered his sister affectionately. “Whoever turned you down is stupid, so it’s better to just move on to someone intelligent enough to appreciate you.”
Kat placed a kiss on her brother’s cheek. “You’re so sweet. Are you staying for dinner? I was going to order out.”
“No.” He smiled regretfully. “I’m going to leave you here with Keith. I haven’t seen my wife-to-be since yesterday morning.” He hugged Kat.
Keith hated the position in which he found himself. On one hand, he was lying to Malcolm about Katrina. From the other side of his mouth, he was keeping information from Kat about a man she considered a close friend. No matter how he sliced it, he was lying to the two people who meant the world to him.
He inched toward the stairwell. “I’ll walk you out.” Mostly he wanted to double-check the locks to make sure they were properly engaged. He trusted that Kat knew how to work her locks, but having visual confirmation would set his mind at ease.
When they got to the front walkway, Malcolm reached up to adjust a camera that had been nudged a little out of place. “You’re right about her hiding the way this is affecting her. She’s all jittery, talking fast, and looking a little flushed.” Then his eyes widened. “Maybe she has a thing for Buttermore? Her taste has always run to men she thinks she can change for the better.” He shook his head. “It’s going to break her heart to find out what a noxious ass he is.”
Sometimes Mal’s conclusions were plain wrong, and sometimes they were close and still missed the mark. Keith coughed. “You think she has a thing for Buttermore? She’s been friends with him for years, and nothing’s happened. Plus, her taste isn’t that bad.” Only he could appreciate the irony of his statement. He was glad Kat was upstairs, because she’d probably blush down to her roots.
Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t know. It’ll be your job to find out. If that’s the case, you’re going to need to convince her otherwise. We can set her up with Owen Zaputo. He’s a decent guy.”
Owen Zaputo was a great agent, one of their best. He was a force in the field, and he had a quick, intelligent mind that could definitely keep up with Katrina. When Keith thought about it, he realized that Kat actually had a lot in common with Owen.
He did nothing to prevent the scowl from taking over his face. “Zaputo? Seriously? That guy is way too soft for her. She’d run right over him, and she’s not the most forceful person.”
“If she wants to be a Domme, she can start with Owen. He’d love to sub for her.” Malcolm chewed his lip as he considered that theory.
Keith shoved him toward the parking lot. “Go home. You need sleep, because you’re starting to sound ridiculous. Your sister is not Domme material.”
Mal moved two steps, but then he turned back to Keith. “No, she’s not. But if she wants to try out being a Domme, then we have to support her in that. She might be all sweetness to us, but she can be seriously tenacious when she decides she wants something. If we get in her way, then she’ll just push us aside. Given the danger she’s in, we can’t afford to have her pissed off at either of us.”
“Fine. Then I’ll teach her how to use a flogger. She can practice with my equipment.” Part of him wanted to see her wield it, to see if she could flog him and remain the feisty submissive he loved. “More weapons to use against an attacker.”
Malcolm grinned as he backed away. “You could even let her practice on you. She could get out all her aggressions, and you can pretend you’re doing it to be a good friend instead of admitting what a masochist you really are.”
Without answering, Keith stepped back through the threshold and closed the door. When he got upstairs, Kat was just finishing up placing an order for pizza and salad. As she tossed her phone onto the counter, he gathered her in his arms, pressing the soft length of her body against his.
“Your brother thinks I’m a sex addict.”
He thought she’d laugh, but she frowned as she considered it. “Well, I can’t disagree. I think I’ve had more sex in the last week than I have in the past year.” Then her expression morphed as she brought out that devious grin. “Dinner won’t be here for twenty minutes. Want to feed your addiction first?”
He pretended to mull the offer. “Okay, but what do you want to do with the other nineteen minutes?”
She lifted a brow and slipped her hand between their bodies to cradle his cock through his pants. “I can think of ways to fill the time.” With that, she squeezed him hard.
His breath caught in his chest until she eased her grip. Not wasting a moment, he tangled his hand in her hair and pulled. Tears wet the corners of her eyes, but she moaned. When she parted her lips, he claimed her mouth and didn’t bother to temper the violence of his passion. She made a whimpering sound in the back of her throat, and that desperate noise nearly caused him to lose control. No, he wasn’t addicted to sex. He was addicted to sex with her.
He broke suddenly, trailed kisses down her neck, and bit hard once he reached the curve of her shoulder. She cried out and gripped his head, but he was immovable.
“Mine.” He licked a path up the side of her throat and took her earlobe between his teeth.
“Yes,” she hissed, tearing at his clothes.
He bent his knees and banded his arm around her waist. Then he stood, lifting her from the floor, and he carried her down the hall. Throwing her to the bed, he gave an order. “Naked. Now.”
He ripped off his shirt and pants, thankful they’d dispensed with condoms. Glancing up, he saw that she’d shed her clothes and centered her body on the bed with her legs spread in welcome. One finger moved over her clit, pressing and circling, enticing him closer.
He crawled over her and slid inside her waiting pussy in one smooth motion. Then he lifted his hips. “Close your legs.”
When she was positioned the way he wanted, he hugged his thighs around her legs, pinning her in place. He flexed his hips, withdrawing nearly all the way before plunging deep inside. Yes, this was what he wanted. Her heat surrounded him, and her small cunt was even tighter than usual.
He wrapped his hands around her wrists and immobilized them on either side of her head. With his weight pressing her down, she could barely arch her back. She wiggled, testing the limits of this restraint. She was stuck.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of her velvet sheath. Beneath him, the sounds of pleasure grew more desperate with each thrust, and they only fed his passion. Soon he felt the fluttering of her internal muscles, and he increased his pace.
“Keith, please let me come.”
“Yes,” he whispered. This wasn’t about denial or control. She’d submitted to him already, and that was all he needed. “Give it to me.”
And she did. Her entire body trembled and shook, convulsing under him. He held her steady with his hips and arms, keeping her together as she came apart. Her surrender was a sweet balm for his soul, and he followed her over the precipice, grasping at stars as he fell.
The world spun. Slowly he became aware of her hand smoothing a path through his hair, a comforting and calming
caress that made him never want to move. Well, that and he was still buried in her warmth.
The doorbell rang before he could say anything.
Beneath him, she heaved a sigh. “They’re early. Move and let me throw on some clothes.”
In a perfect world, he’d let his sub answer the door and bring the food to him. But it wasn’t a perfect world, and she was in danger. He wasn’t going to let her do it. “No. I’ll go. You stay naked. Grab a towel and sit at the table.”
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, Keith.”
At her resigned tone, he glanced up to gauge her mood. She smiled widely as she ran her hand up her stomach and over one breast. He decided he liked her playfulness. He planted a kiss on the curve of her breast. “I’ll get to those after we eat. You’re going to need energy.”
Five minutes later, she sat across from him with the contented expression of a woman who had been thoroughly sated. He didn’t doubt her enjoyment, but they’d just fucked rather quickly. She couldn’t possibly be that happy yet.
He loaded two plates with pizza and set one of them in front of her. “Explain why you want to learn to use a flogger.”
She looked at the plate and then at the counter where a bag lay next to the pizza box. “I ordered salad. You want some?”
“Sure.” He sat down and took a huge bite of pizza. She got up and opened the bag. “While you’re doing that, answer my question.”
“It wasn’t a question, really. More like a demand.” She got down two bowls and heaped them with lettuce, tomatoes, olives, and cucumbers. “But since you demanded to know, I thought I’d learn for you.”
He blinked. “For me?”
“Yes. For you.” She set down the salad and a packet of dressing. “It didn’t take me all that long to figure out that you can be a Dominant and also a masochist. And that you’re not really much of a sadist.”
He narrowed his eyes, not sure where she was going with her accurate assessment.
The vixen smiled serenely as she stabbed her fork into the lettuce. “You know, after our little talk last Saturday, I noticed that you only do things I like now. Spanking, flogging, nipple clamps. Those kinds of things. If you were truly a sadist and you got off on my pain, you wouldn’t limit yourself to things that make me hotter for you.”
She was gloating, and he didn’t have a problem with it. Perhaps he’d been selfish in the past, but he found that he truly wanted to engage in sensation play that increased her level of sexual pleasure.
“You can talk to me, you know. Tell me anything. I won’t get upset or think less of you.” The triumph had fled from her voice. Even her volume was low now. He had no idea what she meant.
He forced himself to meet her warm brown gaze. She’d bared her soul to him, given him everything. He’d warned her that he wouldn’t give her anything in return, but he’d broken that promise already. He’d given her pieces of himself he thought didn’t exist. Washing the salad down with water bought him a few moments.
“Okay. I’m a masochist. But I’m also a Dominant. I don’t do submission.”
She nodded and smiled encouragingly. “I had a long talk with Darcy after Layla and Amy fell asleep. She told me how you painsluts interpret sensation differently from other people. I might like a little sting or a light thud, but you want actual burning pain. You need it to provide a kind of release nothing else can.”
That sounded about right. He’d gone so long without it, but that didn’t mean he’d stopped yearning for it. Perhaps he’d taken to sadism out of jealousy. He was giving his subs something he really wanted for himself.
Still, he shook his head. He couldn’t see how to get what he wanted without giving up the control he needed. “You’re not listening to me, Kat.”
She rose from her place on the other side of the square table and knelt next to him. “If you can order me to suck your cock, why can’t you order me to flog you?”
The sight of her kneeling with perfect posture and her head bowed in a show of submission was at odds with her audacity. “You kneel at my feet and question my authority. That’s some chance you’re taking, Kitty Kat.” He kept his voice soft, just firm enough to let her know that she was seriously testing his patience.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she sounded honestly contrite. “I just want to give you what you need so badly, and you’re a very stubborn man.”
He reached out to touch her hair, and he noticed his hand was trembling. “Fine. You can have what you want. I’ll teach you how to use the implements I prefer. But I’ll warn you now, being flogged doesn’t take me to subspace, and I might end up treating you very roughly afterward.”
She lifted her face, and he saw that she glowed with pleasure. “I’m okay with that.”
Chapter Thirteen
Katrina remembered to stop in the lobby to get coffee for Aaron. She’d felt like an ass when she’d checked her messages Saturday evening to find that he’d spent the morning waiting for her in the café where they frequently met on the weekends to get some work done. When she’d told him that she would pick up the coffee “tomorrow morning,” she’d been thinking it was Thursday, not Friday.
He hadn’t been upset, and when he had come over Sunday, he’d confessed that he was happy to have a reason to get away from his mother’s basement, and he had been able to catch up on one of his cases.
Her shoulders and arms were sore today. Keith had helped her practice using the flogger he now kept in her hall closet. She’d beaten a throw pillow to death in less than thirty minutes. He had patiently corrected her form, and he had given many pointers about the mechanics of each type of swing.
Then he’d massaged her shoulders. That had turned into a full-body experience that had left them both sated and exhausted.
The elevator was out of order, so she climbed the stairs to the second floor. Aaron was already at his desk, mulling over his schedule. She set down the large, steaming-hot cup on his desk.
“Good morning.”
He glanced up, frowning at her as if he smelled something bad. Then his expression cleared. He inclined his head toward the coffee, but he didn’t smile. “Thanks. I need that. Alder is breathing down my throat about some evidence that’s gone missing in the Holbrook case. First they kick me off; then they blame this screwup on me.”
Because he muttered that last part, Katrina wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. Not wanting to push on a sore issue, she said, “You’re welcome. I might have some time this afternoon. Anything I can do to help?”
He ran his hand through his short blond hair. “Go find the files you said you put away. Those are the ones that are missing. If you can find those, that would help. I have to be in court in half an hour, and I need to meet with a witness first.”
She reeled from the accusation in his voice. Though she didn’t normally second-guess herself, she wondered if one of the files had fallen out in her trunk or if her mind had been on Keith and not her work. That could lead to a costly error. She felt bad, but at the same time, she remembered Jordan’s oblique questions from a few weeks ago, and she wondered if this was related.
She spent her lunch in the file room, combing through the stacks until she found what she needed. Her mind boggled when she realized that Aaron had pulled files from cases related to open investigations. Keith and Malcolm had spent the weekend on the Friedman case, and that had been one of the misplaced files. As she riffled through it, she noticed that some of the pages were missing.
She was reasonably certain the Friedman file had been about twice as thick when she and Dustin had picked them up from the lobby floor. They’d been bulky when she’d filed them the next morning. With Jordan’s concerns ringing in her ears, she decided to take the files directly to Chief Alder. The chief was busy, so Katrina left a message with Alder’s administrative assistant.
An hour later, she sat at her desk, phone glued to her ear, pleading with a social services case manager for information about Angelina and Corey Sha
w. “I just need information on their well-being. I’m not looking for names or addresses.” Because she wasn’t a caseworker or a family member, she was being completely stonewalled. She needed contacts in CFS.
The moment she hung up, Chief Alder’s assistant called her into the chief’s office. The chief had started as a trial lawyer and Chief of Appeals at the Oakland County Prosecutor’s Office in Pontiac. Like Katrina, she was an alumnus of the Detroit College of Law. The woman was sharp, and she had high expectations of those working under her.
She was ushered right into the office, and the door closed behind her. The chief’s office overlooked the bustling traffic on West Congress, but Katrina wasn’t looking out the window. She centered her attention on Chief Alder. If she had to guess, Katrina would place the chief in her late forties. She had a commanding presence and an air of confidence. Her lips were set in a firm line, softened by evidence of laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.
“Good afternoon, Chief. I know you don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll be brief.”
Chief Alder held up her hand, halting Katrina before she could begin. “Ms. Legato, you took home confidential files containing key pieces of evidence from open investigations.”
Cold fear raced through her system. All the files were labeled confidential. They contained legal information. Katrina had clearance for that file room. She had done nothing wrong, but Aaron certainly had. No, that wasn’t entirely true. She should have put the files back immediately. Something didn’t seem right. She wasn’t sure what was going on. Loyalty wouldn’t allow her to desert her friend, but taking a fall like this could ruin her career.
She opted to draw out the conversation by fishing for more information. “Aaron asked me to help him locate some missing files. I owed him a favor.”
That answer didn’t seem to defuse the chief’s ire one bit, probably because she hadn’t addressed the chief’s concern. “I asked Mr. Buttermore to do that himself.”
Re/Paired (Doms of the FBI Book 2) Page 27
