by Wolff, Tracy
What she saw nearly blew her mind; the tenderness in his black eyes as he looked into hers shook her to her core.
His fingers trailed across her cheek, toyed with her mouth before sliding tenderly over her breast and down her stomach. Response fluttered deep inside of her, shocking her. She was half-dead, her body so relaxed she feared she might melt into a puddle and run right off the bed, and still she wanted him.
How was that possible?
Cole cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”
If she could have moved, she might have followed him, just to see if he was as affected by her as she was by him. But she was still tied to the bed, her arms and legs bound for his pleasure. And hers.
Oh, God, she’d lose her feminist card for sure, because she’d enjoyed everything Cole had done to her. Worse, she craved more. Not because she wanted to be hurt, to be dominated, but because it was unbelievably exciting to match wits with a man as strong as she was. To lose the battles as often as she won them. To compete with someone who liked to win, to be on top, as much as she did.
She heard the water turn on in the bathroom and imagined him disposing of the condom. Washing his hands. Was he still hard for her, still turned on despite the sex that had nearly killed them? She was, her body hot and aching and more than ready for another round.
When he came out of the bathroom he was naked, and his cock was so long and hard it was almost impossible to imagine he had just come. But when he crossed the room, he didn’t climb up on the bed with her as she’d expected. Instead, he grinned, winked at her. And reached into the nightstand next to the bed.
“What are you—”
“Ssh,” he said, as he pulled something out, closed his fingers around it. She strained her head, tried to see, but whatever it was fit completely within his big palm.
Then he was sitting on the bed, touching her. Petting her. And she forgot to be nervous as she flexed against his long fingers. Forgot to be wary as pleasure coursed through her.
He moved between her legs, toyed with her until she was soaking wet again. Or still—she wasn’t sure if she’d ever stopped flowing. He slid two fingers inside her pussy, stretching her open. And then she felt something else sliding in, something warm but utterly unfamiliar.
“What are you doing?”
“Just enjoy them,” he said.
“Enjoy what?” she asked, shifting a little so she could look at him. She gasped as pleasure exploded within her. “What did you do?”
He grinned wickedly. “You’ll see.” Then stood and headed for the door.
“Wait!” She tried to roll to her side and nearly saw stars as whatever he’d put inside of her clanged together, then rolled over her vaginal walls.
“I have to finish making dinner.” He winked and strolled out of the room.
For a moment, time stood still as shock held her immobile. And then she exploded, anger chasing away any thought of another round. “Let me go!” she shouted, bucking and twisting in earnest as she tried to free her hands. “Cole!”
The things inside of her moved with each shake of her hips, rolling over her G-spot and a bunch of other sensitive spots she hadn’t known existed.
There was no answer, only a silence that spoke louder than words ever could. “Cole, you asshole! Get back here and untie me.”
But still he didn’t answer. Furious, annoyed, and maybe just a little bit scared, Genevieve strained desperately against her silken bonds. And climaxed as the balls inside of her bounced and rolled around every inch of her pussy.
She moaned as her body exploded, desperately trying to get some semblance of control back. But her nipples were hard, her vagina spasming, and no matter how hard she tried to hold still, she couldn’t.
A simple shift of her hips sent pleasure jangling up her nerve endings; an arch of her back had her panting, sweat rolling off her violently hot body in rivers. She tried to move just her arms, to twist her wrists in the silken restraints, but all she did was tangle herself more tightly. Not to mention cause a series of mini explosions to erupt in her sex.
She was going to kill Cole for this. She really was. As soon as he let her go, she would take her gun and—
“Oh, God!”
The pleasure was inescapable, unbelievable. Never-ending. She clenched her vaginal muscles, tried to stave off the exquisite licks of ecstasy that flowed over every nerve ending she had, but tightening up only made the balls feel bigger. Only gave them more area to touch.
“Cole!” Her voice was low, desperate, but she didn’t care. She was on the brink of another orgasm, and breathing was becoming impossible. She gasped, tried to suck air down her tight throat, but felt like she was strangling. Tried again, her whole body shaking, and was hurtled into another blinding orgasm.
“Cole!” It was a wail, a cry of desperation and fear. Her body was no longer her own—it was completely out of her mind’s control.
“I’m here, sweetheart.”
“Get them out,” she panted, her body arching, wiggling, twisting as her legs strained against the silken ties. “Get them out now—oh, fuck!” She was coming again—an explosion of pleasure that thrust ecstasy into every part of her body. Her nipples hardened, her back bowed, tears streamed down her face as she tried to escape. But it was unrelenting, insidious, the pleasure everywhere. It took her over, controlled her, trapped her as she pleaded with Cole to end it.
Sobbing, shaking, she flung herself against the ties again and again, unaware of anything but the heat exploding in her womb. And then Cole was there, untying her, slipping his fingers inside of her, searching for the balls.
His touch, his manipulation of the balls, sent her careening over the edge again and she screamed, clutched at him. Desperate for something to hold on to in the middle of the maelstrom that had taken her over.
“I’ve got you, Genevieve. I’ve got you.” The balls slipped out at the same time Cole pulled her into his arms, rolling so that she rested on top of him. He held her, stroked her, soothed her as her sex continued to spasm.
When she was finally calm and could actually breathe without shuddering, she pulled away from him. “What the hell were those?” she demanded, her voice hoarse and scratchy.
“Just something I picked up for you yesterday.”
“Yesterday? After the fight we had, what gave you the idea you’d ever get a chance to use them?”
He smiled wryly, stroked a finger lightly down her arm. She shuddered, her skin so sensitive the contact was almost painful. “I had high hopes.”
“Seeing as you were the one to get his panties in a wad, I think it took a hell of a lot of nerve to be out buying sex toys for us.”
He shrugged, but his eyes gleamed wickedly. “Maybe.”
She snorted. “Definitely.” Then started as his hand smoothed over her breast, his fingers pausing to toy with her nipples.
“Oh, no.” She jerked away. “We are so not going there again. I’ll die.”
He ignored her, lowering his head to her breast and flicking her nipple with his tongue.
She raised her hands to push at his head, but her fingers ended up tangling in the black silk instead. “I’m serious. We can’t.” The arch of her back as she pressed against his mouth made a mockery of her words.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m exhausted. And I’m still hungry. What happened to dinner?” He lifted his head, and she suppressed a moan of disappointment. “Your wish is my command.” His thumb and index finger closed around her nipple, squeezed lightly.
She raised one eyebrow. “That’s the first I’ve heard. Are you sure about that?”
He didn’t answer, concentrated instead on drawing patterns on her skin with his tongue. She shivered as he skimmed down her abdomen to the tattoo at her navel. Trembled as his tongue swirled around the elaborate design.
Her body was turning on again, responding to his tender ministrations in a way she never could have dreamed about. How could she want him again?
How on earth could her body respond after so many orgasms, when usually it took concentration of epic proportions to even get her to one climax?
He was a magician, she decided as she allowed herself to sink into Cole. A sorcerer who could seize control of her body, make it do whatever he wanted. Reaching out, she trailed her hands down his back, felt the muscles bunch beneath her fingers. Sighed as he slipped inside of her.
Maybe one more time wouldn’t hurt.
Chapter Fifteen
“Thanks for the ride,” Genevieve commented absently as she climbed out of Cole’s car and slammed the door behind her. Her mind was already on the crime scene—and on Shawn’s warning. It’s really bad.
She had just drifted off to sleep, her empty stomach finally full, her head pillowed by Cole’s chest, when Shawn had called her cell phone to tell her they had discovered the fourth body.
He’d sounded shaken, disturbed in a way that wasn’t normal for him. He’d been a homicide detective longer than she and, consequently, had developed a much thicker skin. For him to be this upset … she shuddered as she looked up at the Hotel Monteleone. It was the oldest—and most famous—hotel in New Orleans and had been a personal favorite of hers for years because of its fabulous restaurant and beautiful décor.
She’d been here to eat more than once in the past few months; had stayed here with a lover over a year ago. But suddenly, she didn’t want to be here. Wanted to be as far away from the historic hotel with its ornate columns and marble floors as she could get. Though she didn’t know what waited for her up the steps, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it could change her life forever.
Sighing impatiently, she headed into the hotel. Standing out here wasn’t doing anything but prolonging the inevitable. Whatever was in there had to be faced, and faced soon. This was her case, and if the killer had left a clue, as he’d promised, that was just one more reason to get a move on.
“Hey,” Cole called through the rolled-down window. “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait? It’s no big deal.”
She turned, smiled at him though she knew it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s fine—I’ll probably be here for hours. I’ll just catch a ride back with Shawn.”
Cole’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he raised his hand in a wave and said from between clenched teeth, “Be careful.”
She laughed. “Look around. There’s got to be twenty cops here. I’ll be perfectly safe.”
He regarded her soberly. “It’s the enemy you aren’t expecting that often does you in.” He rolled up the window and pulled away, leaving her staring after him, mouth agape.
“Delacroix.” Chastian’s voice cut through the early-morning gloom as he climbed the stairs to stand next to her. “I’m glad you could join us.”
Stiffening at the censure in his tone, she turned to face him. “Shawn called me only fifteen minutes ago, sir. I got here as soon as I could.”
“Well, I know how you ladies like to primp,” he answered, shooting her a patently disbelieving look. “But next time, make sure murder takes priority over makeup, will you?”
Genevieve bit her tongue in an effort to keep from exploding. She was sick of this bullshit, sick of the sexist innuendos and supercilious comments Chastian threw around like candy. She was already pissed enough that Shawn had been called first and had actually made it to the murder site before letting her know what was going on. The last thing she needed was her asshole lieutenant rubbing in that fact. Especially since there wasn’t a drop of makeup on her face.
Somehow she managed to keep her cool, and headed through the double doors without another word to her boss. Moving through the hotel’s extravagant lobby, she caught the elevator to the fourteenth floor. Exited and followed the signs to the Tennessee Williams suite.
As she walked down the hall, she wondered what had prompted the killer to move so far up the social scale. The Hotel Monteleone was a five-star hotel, and their regular rooms ran hundreds of dollars. The bill for three days in the Tennessee Williams suite would run well into the thousands of dollars.
The door to the room was ajar when she finally found it, but the rookie cop doing door duty didn’t give her any trouble—he was the same one who had discovered Jessica Robbins’s body and he must have remembered her.
Crossing the threshold, she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her at her first glimpse of the room. It was a scene right out of a horror movie. Bright red blood spattered the pale yellow walls in violent slashes and curlicues, while more had soaked the gold carpet around the body.
“This can’t all be hers,” she murmured as she stopped next to Shawn, who stood next to the poor girl’s body.
“That’s what I said. But Jefferson disagrees.” He nodded at the ME, who was currently crouched beside the body, doing his damnedest not to get blood on his jeans.
“The human body contains nearly six liters of blood. The perp drained her dry, so this might very well be only her blood.”
“But,” Shawn said as he leaned down and rolled the body over, “that’s not the worst part.”
“What is?” she asked, then gasped as her stomach lurched. The room began to spin, and she grabbed on to Shawn in an effort to steady herself.
The killer was getting better at his job, more brutal with each subsequent murder. Genevieve tried to fight down the sickness and horror, but they welled inside of her—combined with lack of sleep—until the room around her began to fade to black.
“I think she’s going over!” Jefferson’s voice was high with alarm, and she felt Shawn’s hands on her elbows as he tried to steady her.
“Don’t do this, Genevieve.” His voice was harsh. “Stay with me.”
But the room was spinning behind her closed eyelids, her knees buckling despite her efforts to lock them in place. Behind her, she heard Chastian’s voice exclaim, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” just before her ass hit the blood-soaked ground, hard.
“Get her head between her knees,” Jefferson said. She heard the sound of gloves snapping off, and then gentle hands rubbed up and down her back.
“Look at me, Genevieve. Come on, girl. Open those baby blues and look at me.”
She did as Jefferson asked, though her eyelids weighed a thousand pounds. She was careful to focus only on him, careful to keep her eyes off the mutilated body in the middle of the room.
“Good girl,” Shawn said. “Now breathe with me.”
“I’m okay.” She shrugged off Shawn’s hand “It just caught me by surprise.”
“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Jefferson offered a hand and she took it, letting him help her to her feet. “It’s pretty bad in here—I nearly lost my dinner, and I’ve been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you have.”
She heard Chastian snort behind her, but he didn’t say anything else, thank God. She didn’t know if she had enough control right now to keep her mouth shut if he started in on her.
“How long have you been here?” she asked Shawn as she approached the body again.
“I got here about a minute before I called you.”
“Have you looked around yet? Tried to find the clues he swears he left for us?”
“I’ve poked around a little, but haven’t found anything yet.”
She nodded and stepped carefully around the body as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves, her feet squishing in the wet carpet. Her gag reflex rose, but she beat it back—no way in hell was she losing it twice in one night. Not with her lieutenant looking for any excuse to bust her out of homicide.
“How long’s she been dead?” she asked the ME as she leaned against the only wall in the room not coated with blood and let her eyes wander over the crime scene. She’d go through the hotel room in a few minutes—take it apart inch by inch. But right now she wanted the whole picture, wanted to see what the room had looked like when the killer had finished his work.
“About three days is my best guess, at this point. Rigor mortis has already come and go
ne. But he’s had the air-conditioning pumping full blast since he left her here—it preserved her pretty well, but definitely screws with TOD.”
“How did they not find her?” Genevieve demanded.
Shawn shrugged. “The DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door; it worked until tonight. She was supposed to check out today, and the manager came in to see if she had forgotten to turn in her keys.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Supposedly, some hotshot called up tonight, wants the suite for tomorrow.”
Luc’s voice was less than convinced.
“You think it’s our guy?”
“It sure as shit wouldn’t surprise me.”
Her eyes met Shawn’s, and she knew he was remembering the killer’s note. She’s been out there, waiting, for nearly three days now. Wondering, I’m sure, how long it will take you to find her.
* * *
“Have there been any murders at this hotel?” she asked abruptly, watching as the crime scene tech painstakingly tried to get prints from the dresser across the room. What a joke—this was a hotel, for Christ’s sake. The dresser could have literally hundreds of prints on it.
“I just checked with management,” Luc answered her question as he and Roberto crossed into the room. “They said nothing like this has ever happened here before.”
“Holy Christ!” she heard Roberto mutter as he got his first look at the vic. “It looks like a Friday the 13th movie in here.”
“Has anyone checked the bathroom?” she asked, walking toward the room in question as she continued to ponder the incongruities of this case.
It just didn’t make sense that the killer had done the vic here; all his other victims had been killed in one place and dumped somewhere else. Strange that he would break his MO so completely.
She looked around the suite. He must have had his reasons, but she’d be damned if she had a clue what they were. At least not yet. She had a feeling, though, that whatever they were, they were tied directly to his identity and motive for committing these murders in the first place.
