Tygers 2: Sweet Perfection

by Melinda Barron

  TYGERS 2:

  SWEET PERFECTION

  Melinda Barron

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  DISCLAIMER: Many of the acts described in our BDSM/fetish titles can be dangerous. Loose Id® publishes these stories for members of the community in which these acts are known and practiced safely. If you have an interest in the pleasures and pains you find described herein, we urge you to seek out advice and guidance from knowledgeable persons. Please do not try any new sexual practice, whether it be fire, rope, or whip play, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id® nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Sweet Perfection

  Melinda Barron

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © September 2007 by Melinda Barron

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-59632-542-5

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Maryam Salim

  Cover Artist: April Martinez

  Author’s Note:

  Remember, readers, that BDSM is fun and challenging but takes a great deal of thinking and trust to do it right. Keep it safe, sane, and consensual. Special thanks to my editor, Maryam, who put up with the multitude of computer problems I had while writing this story and always kept a cyber smile on her face while I was freaking out. Thanks also to Maura, for her input and willingness to read, and read, and re-read the same thing.

  –MB

  Chapter One

  Eric rounded the corner of Brownlee’s and stopped dead in his tracks. Lucy lay on the ground, Rodney Black kneeling over her, his hands wrapped around her throat.

  His angry words reached Eric’s ears. “I’m going to make this one last. Maybe, if there’s justice, your bastard uncle’s watching and will feel the pain, too.”

  Eric watched as if the world was going in slow motion. He screamed out a warning, letting Baker know he was a police officer. He watched as Lucy fought back, finally grabbing a handful of dirt and throwing it in her attacker’s face.

  Eric warned him to get down. Baker ignored the warning, and then, as if watching the event unfold from somewhere nearby, Eric heard the gunshots, watched Baker’s body fall.

  Seconds later, Baker sat up, blood dripping from his chest. He ran his hands over the wounds and sighed.

  “Shit, man, you shot me. You killed me.”

  Eric’s chest heaved. The palms of his hands started to sweat and his throat dried up. “I, oh my God, I did. I…”

  “You son of a bitch. I can’t believe you did this to me.” Baker climbed to his feet with his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

  “Don’t you fucking blame this on me. You were gonna kill Lucy. You already killed Craig, and your boss. You brought this on yourself.”

  “Bullshit. You didn’t give me a chance. I just wanted to scare the bitch. You fucking killed me.”

  “Don’t pull that shit on me. You can’t blame this on me. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t…”

  Eric Neal sat up, his gaze drifting around the room. Sunlight drifted in through a crack in the blinds and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. He took several deep breaths to calm his breathing and wiped sweat away from his forehead.

  Two months. Two fucking months and he was still having nightmares featuring that damned prick. Every time it happened, the dream was the same. Eric shot him, in defense of Lucy, and then Baker got up and let him have it.

  It was the talking that bothered Eric the most. If Baker got up from the dead and went on a killing rampage, Eric could deal with what happened easier. Instead, he got up and blamed Eric. He sounded sad. He sounded frightened. He sounded alone.

  Eric always expected demons to come from the ground and pull him down. After all, the man was a cold-blooded killer. But they didn’t. He always just stood and stared at Eric with those fearful eyes.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared at the clock. It was after seven. He needed to get up and shower. Get ready for work. Yet he sat on the bed, running his hands through his short blond hair.

  Maybe I should see if I can transfer to Narc. I could go undercover, grow my hair out. Of course, there was still the chance of a shooting.

  He shook his head. The words of the shrink he’d had to see after the “incident” floated back through his mind.

  “Most officers don’t ever have to draw their guns. There were approximately six hundred fatal officer-involved shootings last year. Almost one hundred and forty officers died in the line of duty. I’ve looked at your report and talked to witnesses. You did the right thing. You saved a woman’s life from a known killer; the man who had killed her uncle.”

  Yes, I did. But then how come that bastard keeps coming into my dreams? How come I’m now questioning every decision I make? How come my job is faltering and my sex life is now null and void?

  Eric stood and walked to the bathroom. He relieved himself and then stood in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. He’d lost weight, almost ten pounds. On his six-foot-four frame, ten pounds from two hundred made him a little too skinny. He needed to bulk up. He looked down at his cock.

  Usually, it was ready for action at any time of the night or day. Today, though, as it always did after one of the dream nights, it lay limp between his legs. He should go to Tygers tonight, find some nice, sweet, willing submissive and make her come, and come, and come. That would provide some relief for him. He loved to watch a submissive in the throes of orgasm, loved to be the one providing that orgasm to her.

  But he hadn’t been to Tygers in almost a month. And he’d turned down Lake’s offer to come and play with him and Lucy at their house. He was scheduled to have lunch with the couple today, though. He was sure they would offer again, and maybe this time he needed to say yes. Maybe that would help push Rodney Baker from his brain, from his dreams.

  He showered quickly and dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, making sure his tie was perfect. His work performance had been less than stellar lately. He’d been late for meetings, and had missed some altogether. And his mind had wandered while he’d been on cases. He needed to get back on track before his boss decided to bust him from detective back to patrol.

  The I-40 traffic wasn’t too bad, and the Sandia Mountains looked fresh and inviting in the early October morning. Maybe he should take the weekend off, go hiking up in the mountains, maybe pitch a tent in a far off place, and try to get his mind back on track.

  The Orionids Meteor Showers
were scheduled to start in a few days, and stop at the end of October. He could go then, sit up half the night, and watch the meteors shoot past the earth. Ponder the meaning of life…ponder whether or not he was on the right track.

  The shooting had brought one major thing into focus in his mind: Life was short. You needed to live everyday as if it were your last, because you never know when it might be just that. Instead, for two months he’d been wallowing in self-pity. He needed to get over that. He just couldn’t figure out how.

  He exited the highway and crossed into town, parked in the station lot, and glanced at his watch.

  “Fuck a damn duck. I’m late again.”

  He rushed in to catch the end of the briefing, getting a baleful look from the captain. Eric knew they’d been more than lenient with him. He’d been on administrative leave right after the shooting and during the investigation. But once cleared, he’d come back to work. Physically, that was. Mentally, he felt like he was still out to lunch.

  When the meeting was over, Captain Ortiz jerked his head toward his office and Eric nodded. Once they were behind the closed door, the captain sat, and cocked his head at Eric.

  “Alarm clock broken?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Traffic backed up on the forty?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Long line at the doughnut shop?”

  Eric shook his head. “I know I’m late.”

  “For the second day in a row. Last week it was four.” When Eric opened his mouth, Ortiz held up his hand. “You’ve been through a lot, I realize that, but your excuses aren’t cutting it anymore. You have to decide whether or not you want to be a cop, or whether you want to keep second-guessing something that is done and over with. You can’t undo what’s been done. When you strap on a gun, you know the risks you take.”

  Eric straightened his shoulders. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “So, what’s it gonna be?”

  “I’m a cop. I’ll always be a cop.”

  “Good. I have an assignment for you.” He pushed a sheet of paper across the desk.

  Eric picked it up, read it, and frowned.

  “A burglary at a bakery? What’d they steal, some sacks of flour? Money from the till?”

  “They stole nothing, except some cookies from the storeroom. It’s all in the original report. I left it on your desk.”

  “Sir, I think a common burglary would be better suited to someone who doesn’t have as much field experience as I do.”

  “This is your catch, Neal. Don’t screw it up.”

  Eric realized the dismissal for what it was. He left the office and went to his desk, opening the file that sat neatly in the center.

  “La Tienda Dulce,” he said as he sat down.

  “That means sweet shop,” said the officer sitting next to him.

  “No shit? I grew up here, you know. I know as much Spanish as you do.”

  “Doubt it, gringo. The woman that owns the shop, Angelica Vega, she’s a piece of work.”

  Eric lifted his eyebrows at Ernesto Sanchez, who nodded with a smile on his face.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Let’s just say she’s no angel.” Sanchez laughed as he made for the doorway. “Have a good time, Neal.”

  “Asshole.” Eric flipped through the pages and frowned. Someone had broken into Angelica Vega’s bakery two nights in a row. They’d tossed the place both times, and taken nothing but cookies.

  That left out street kids. The people who broke in were looking for something, which meant Angelica was probably involved in something she shouldn’t be. But if she were, why would she call the cops and risk being exposed?

  Eric doubted she would. Still, something was going on there. Thieves didn’t break into a business two nights in a row to steal cookies.

  He stood and stretched and made for the door. Hopefully, Angelica would have some strong coffee in her sweet shop.

  * * * * *

  Angelica Vega patted her floury hands on her apron and wished her hair wasn’t covered up by the red bandana that was part of the La Tienda Dulce uniform. The man standing in her doorway was gorgeous ‑‑ tall, blond, and muscular. And there was no way he was a tourist.

  Tourists came in with their families in jeans and sneakers and wanted to eat something “authentic.” This man was looking around the shop with a practiced eye, as if measuring the worth of every item. Maybe he was from the insurance agency. Maybe, just maybe, she’d get some money for her broken tables and chairs.

  They’d already hauled the broken things out the back door and were waiting for replacements from a shop downtown. Hopefully, they would arrive before the lunch rush.

  She watched the blond giant turn his gaze to the colorfully tiled floor, then to the bakery cases, which were full of cookies and pastries. There were a few other people in the shop, but her workers were taking care of them.

  Angelica turned to the back counter and lifted a cup from the depleted stack. She filled it, and when she turned back around the man was standing at the counter.

  “Café de Olla?” She pushed the cup toward him and watched him with careful eyes as he took a sip of the brown sugar-flavored drink.

  “Very good.” His voice was like chocolate, and Angelica thought she might melt on the spot.

  “How about some buñuelos? Or some huevos reales? Or a breakfast burrito. Best on the square.” She gave him a dazzling smile.

  “Royal eggs? Burritos? I thought this was a bakery, not a restaurant.”

  “Well, we’ve expanded our menu, to some acclaim I might add. Can I interest you in some food, Mr…”

  “Neal. Detective Eric Neal.”

  “My goodness. I see I rate the big guns. That’s nice to know. You sit and I’ll bring you some breakfast.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not here for food. I’m here to discuss your break-ins.”

  “We can eat and discuss at the same time. I haven’t had time for breakfast, either.” She waved him toward a corner table and was pleased to watch him go. Watching him walk away proved to be very entertaining. He had a nice ass, even if his pants were a little too loose. She needed to fatten him up a bit.

  Up close she could see the man was even more handsome than she’d originally thought. But he was embrujada, as her grandmother would say. Bewitched, or haunted. Angelica could see it in his eyes. If her grandmother had been standing next to her when Eric Neal approached the counter, the older woman would have kissed her rosary and made the sign of the cross, whispering prayers for the surroundings so Neal’s demonio didn’t escape and find its way into her body, or into the store.

  She quickly fixed him a plate with a tortilla stuffed with eggs, sausage, cheese, and potatoes, and covered it with red chili sauce. She added some frijoles on the side. She fixed herself an identical plate and carried them to the table where he sat.

  “I figured you for a red chili kind of guy,” she said, placing the plate in front of him and sitting down opposite. “The sauce this morning is particularly hot, and will waken your senses.”

  “Do I look like I need it?”

  “You look like you had a rough night,” she replied. She watched him take a bite and nod his approval. Then she beamed with pride as he dug into his plate with gusto.

  “Delicious.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a drink of coffee. “You must be popular with the tourists.”

  “I’m glad you like it, and yes, we are. We’re open from seven to seven Monday through Saturday, and ten to five on Sundays. We get lots of traffic.”

  “That’s good. But I’m not here to do a travel article.”

  Angelica stiffened a bit. “No. You’re not. Are you going to find the men who broke into my shop? They’ve done tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of damage.”

  “But they haven’t taken anything?”

  She shook her head.

  “You receive any threats lately, any demands to move, or offers to buy your space? This is prime realt
y, right on the square.”

  “No, I haven’t. Things like that don’t happen here. All the merchants like each other. We watch out for each other.”

  “That doesn’t mean somebody hasn’t targeted your store. They might think they can scare you off and then take the space for cheaper, citing the problems you had as a reason for lowering the rent.”

  “I own this store. I don’t rent it. It would take a lot to scare me off.”

  “Do you live upstairs?”

  “No. I have a house near the university. The upstairs is vacant at the moment.”

  She studied him as he made some notes. His hands were strong and she wondered what they would feel like if they were holding her close. She felt a tingling in her nipples and swallowed to get her emotions under control.

  This was no time to be looking at a potential lover. She needed to concentrate on what was happening, make sure the criminals were found so it didn’t happen again. Still, he would be a perfect man to take to bed. She bet she could do things that would wipe the sad look from his eyes and would make them sparkle with delight.

  She could start with what she was sure was a massive cock. The loose-fitting slacks he wore didn’t do it justice. She dropped her gaze to his hands. They were strong, with long, full fingers. In her experiences, that translated to a long, thick cock. And she’d had a few experiences. Maybe not as many lately as she’d had in the past, but she still knew how to please a man, and herself.

  “Ms. Vega?”

  “I’m sorry, what? And please, call me Angel.”

  “I need to talk with the employees that were here the day of the break-ins, and a few days before. How many employees do you have?”

  “Five, not including myself. Two of them are high school students who work the afternoon rush, and on weekends. They won’t be here until almost four.”

  “That’s fine. Give me names and I can start with who’s here now, if they’re not too busy.”