“I can’t explain it now. They’re coming. We have to go now.”
“Who’s coming? What’s going on? Is there a security problem?” She blinked several times and adjusted her scarf, but it wasn’t necessary. Jason was the only person who didn’t gape at the ugly scar.
He grabbed her arm, turned her to face him. “I’ll give you details later.”
Her body stiffened. “Are they bringing someone down for interrogation?”
“What?”
“Isn’t this an interrogation room?”
“Interrogation room?” He chuckled. “It’s a bit more complicated.” Again, the voices emanated from behind the walls. He looked toward the sounds and held up a hand to be quiet. At least she wasn’t crazy. He’d heard them, too. Then silence.
Footsteps approached down the hall. “Shit, too late,” he said as he closed the inside door. The room swallowed them in utter blackness. Zoe held up her cell phone for light. Jason flicked on a penlight.
“Which way?”
“In here,” he ordered. He grabbed her arm and shoved her into a small storage closet, then closed the door. Her cell buzzed. “Phone off.”
Zoe glanced at her phone and let out a sigh as she turned it off. “Thank God.”
“What?” Jason asked.
“It’s Damien.” Zoe let out a breath. She hated when her brother was late, even when he was beating the crap out of her in the Words With Friends game.
Jason’s expression softened. “Iran?”
She nodded, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting.
“Turn it off. Now.”
“Okay. What’s happening?” As much as she wanted to be angry at him, her stomach fluttered with excitement and her sex throbbed. He always managed to turn her on, especially when they were in danger. He smelled so good, too. A new shampoo, body wash? Whatever it was, it made her remember so many scorching-hot nights, breathless from hours of fucking. She wanted him again, wanted him now.
He took the phone, made sure it was off and stuffed it in his pocket. His penlight was still on. “Now listen to me. We cannot leave this closet or make a sound until it’s over, under any circumstances. Do you understand?” His frown grew fierce and his eyes wild.
“Yes.”
He cupped her chin with his hand. His mouth was close to hers as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Zoe. I should’ve called, should’ve explained.” He squeezed his eyes closed then looked at her again. “Please, trust me.”
“Trust you? But I don’t know what the hell is going on.”
“Zoe, please.”
She knew that tone, knew him well enough not to argue. Trust wasn’t always easy for her.
“No sound.” He turned off the penlight.
She leaned against the wall, listening. A rush of adrenaline surged through her. The sound of her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Like old times on a mission together. The doorknob to the room rattled. Then the door squeaked open, and a sharp click of the light switch sent a shudder of excitement through her. The sound of people entered the room. Zoe tried to estimate the number. At least three, maybe more. Women and men by the voices and heeled shoes. She gasped but only a whisper. He placed a hand over her mouth, and she nodded. She held her breath.
“Anything you need before the room is sealed?” a male’s voice asked.
“No, we’re good. Seal it.” Was that the first lady? Slowly, Zoe’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and a sliver of light appeared beneath the door. Another sliver of light cut through the doorframe where the old wood had warped. Angling her head just so, she squinted through the crack, trying to get a fix on the outside room. As they moved around, four people came into view, two men and two women.
Good God, one woman wore leather fetish wear—a corset, thigh-high boots and stockings. And the other with blond hair wore a black scholar robe. Beneath the robe she wore five-inch heels. Their faces were covered with elaborately decorated Mardi Gras masks. Two men were also present. One young guy with a muscular build was dressed in a black T-shirt, tight pants and wore a leather face mask. Between the robes and the guy all in black, the scene had a Gothic, macabre feel. What kind of rendezvous was this?
The older man wore business clothes. He was the only one without a mask. When he turned, Zoe thought he looked familiar. He was a small man, middle-aged and not very attractive. By his smile, he appeared to be enjoying the encounter. Zoe studied the furnishings now that the room was lit. Shit. This wasn’t an interrogation room. It was a kinky-sex dungeon. Under normal circumstances she’d have been laughing. This wasn’t funny. This was the White House.
The blonde had to be the first lady. The voice, the mannerisms. Oh my God. Shock and panic ripped into Zoe. She didn’t want to be here to see this. Zoe tugged Jason’s arm to take a look. He tapped her hand once, their signal for “no.” Then he paused and did a series of two taps. She took that to mean, yes, yes, he knew. So quickly they fell back into their old patterns where they could communicate without speaking during a mission. Why couldn’t they talk about their love life? Why had he left months ago without a word?
The woman with dark hair must be Melissa. She had the same build and hair. The first lady was into kinky sex? Who knew? Did the president know? No wonder Jason had looked terrified.
Oh God, oh God. Jason must’ve heard her ragged breathing. If this hadn’t been the White House, or if this had been a torture scene, she could’ve handled it, but she hadn’t been prepared to observe a scandal at this level. He squeezed her shoulders and rubbed them gently. She took a slow breath in and let it out easy. What the hell?
Quiet. She must be quiet. Peering through the crack, Zoe watched the woman with the long, dark hair strut up to the older man and whisper something to him. Yes, it was Melissa. She’d shown Zoe those boots the other day when she noticed the box by her desk. Melissa had called them her party boots. Zoe hadn’t thought anything of it.
“Let’s get started,” the first lady announced as she untied the robe, revealing her outfit. Her breasts thrust high over a red corset, thigh-high stockings and spike heels. Matching satin gloves came to her elbows. She strode to the table, picked up a crop and smacked it in her hand, then came around to stand beside Melissa. Both women kept their bodies angled in a particular way so their backs always faced the one wall with an intricate mural of American national parks.
“I’m Mistress D,” Melissa said to the man as she stroked his back, speaking in a soothing tone. “Remove your clothes, please. Place them on the chair, then present yourself to me. When I ask you to present yourself, I want you to stand with your legs slightly apart, hands behind your back, right hand over your left and eyes looking down at the floor. Understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.” He lowered his head and began to undress. Shit. If only she could figure out who the man was.
“Mistress R is here to observe only,” Melissa said, referring to the first lady. “If she feels the scene is getting out of hand, she’ll signal by smacking her crop or stopping the scene.”
The first lady stepped to an area out of Zoe’s view.
Jason placed a hand on Zoe’s shoulder to pull her back. She responded with a one-finger tap to his hand.
The man was standing as Melissa had requested. She made a few adjustments. “Very good. This is how I want you to stand when I ask you to present yourself. It’s a small task and a way for me to break up our time together. I can also see how well you’re handling my session.”
Melissa picked up a leather flogger, smacking the knotted thongs on the nearby table. The man jerked, but he didn’t look up. Naked, he stood sideways, fully aroused. His cock jutted straight out. Melissa approached the man and brushed the thongs across the tip of his cock.
“Kneel,” she ordered, pointing to the bench. He complied. She hit him on the back and buttocks gently with the flogger in caressing strokes, a warm-up. Then harder and harder. Zoe cringed with each strike, her fingers digging into the doorframe.
The encounter was
like watching a burning building in slow motion, mesmerizing and scary. Zoe knew people got into this bondage stuff. It didn’t do much for her, although her body heated up with each strike. His moans were of pleasure mixed with pain. He was enjoying this. After a time, Melissa stopped, bent down. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he answered with enthusiasm. There was an accent, Middle Eastern, Zoe thought. She knew six languages fluently as well as basic words in a few others.
“Do you like this?” Melissa asked the man.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good. We’ll see how well you obey.”
“Yes, Mistress.” He rocked on his hands and knees and shifted side to side.
“Relax. Stop fidgeting. You’ll enjoy this more.”
He took a deep breath and stopped moving, except for his toes and fingers.
“You know the rules and have your safe word.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Melissa then picked up a cane from the table. She touched his buttocks with it, not hitting, just touching as if teasing. She did that several times. After the fourth or fifth time, she smacked him hard, and he swore in Arabic. The moans and strikes were loud. Zoe wanted to cover her ears. She cringed and squeezed her eyes closed.
When she opened her eyes again, the man followed Melissa over to the wooden cross shaped like a giant letter X. “Present yourself to me,” Melissa ordered.
The man stood in front of the structure, arms at his sides, head bowed. Melissa walked around him and studied his position. “No, this is not correct,” she scolded. “Right hand over the left.” He made the correction.
When Melissa was satisfied, she directed him to lean against the cross, facedown. She strapped him down in a spread-eagle fashion.
The implications of what was going on in this room were beyond imagining. If the public found out about this, what would happen to this administration? The peace talks? This was more damaging than a stained blue dress. This was a nightmare.
Jason touched her shoulder. His fingers slowly skimmed down to her upper arm, where he grasped her and tugged her closer. Outside, the bondage ordeal continued. Red marks crisscrossed the man’s back and buttocks. She’d seen enough. Jason’s other hand slipped to her waist. He leaned into her. Warmth, hardness, and the scent of male. She shouldn’t be so turned on. The hairs on her arms stood up. Her breasts felt heavy, and her nipples grew tight. What was Jason thinking? After all this time, he wanted to get busy with her in a closet? Really?
She pulled away and tapped a “no” on his arm.
He tapped “yes” on her hand and slowly turned her around, pulling her against his body. God, he felt good. So many nights she’d imagined Jason in her arms like this. She had to control her breathing to keep from making any noise. The real torment was being trapped inside the closet. Sex with Jason had always been the hottest when they were on a mission. Why couldn’t they have sex and a relationship like normal people?
They didn’t know how to do day-to-day. Everything they once had came tumbling back. She wanted him again, wanted to give in with complete and utter abandon. Her body was on fire, throbbing, needing him now at the wrong place, the wrong—
Craaack!
In the next room, a flogger or cane smacked what sounded like bare, taut skin in quick repetition. The man cried out.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No, Mistress, more, please.” Another sharp crack sent shivers up Zoe’s spine. How could he stand the pain, let alone enjoy it?
Jason’s warm, moist mouth pressed on her ear, her neck, and she sucked in a little breath. His tongue drew a line to the hollow of her throat.
Yes, she ached to say, yes. Jason’s touch was torture, sweet, sweet torture. She gave in a little, pressing her sex against his hard shaft bulging beneath his pants. She did want him but not here, not now.
On his arm, she tapped “no.”
He hesitated long enough for her to wish she had said “yes.” After all these months, they’d barely had enough time to say hello and already they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Nothing had changed. He rested his forehead against hers, and she heard his intake of breath and a long sigh. Outside, Melissa shouted orders, and the man groaned. Jason pressed his lips to Zoe’s ear and barely mouthed, “I want you.”
Then why did you leave me?
Outside their closet, in the dungeon, voices and the smacking got louder. Inside, Jason pulled her against his chest and stroked her hair. She breathed in his scent, and time slipped away to the many heated nights he’d held her close. He knew how to draw out every exquisite sensation with his touch. Before she got too worked up, she backed away, slowly because she didn’t want to knock into anything in the tiny closet. The sex party going on was so loud, Zoe doubted they would have heard anything.
His hands slid around her waist, holding her captive. “Sorry. Missed you.” His words tore through her, ripping her heart in half. If he wanted to continue where they left off, she couldn’t.
She leaned toward his ear. “Missed me? You’ll have to do better than that.”
His mouth came down on hers, and she sensed his hunger, felt her own heating up her body. His tongue slid across hers, drawing the passion from deep in her core. Her hands reached up along his hard chest, moved up and around his head, where she tangled her fingers in his hair. She resisted the urge to spread her legs. To encourage him would only make their situation more difficult.
Clinging to him, she gave in this time and melted deeper into the kiss. She couldn’t fight him here. His hand reached under her skirt and slipped inside her pantyhose. Her sex was so wet, he easily parted her folds and thrust a finger inside her channel. With a silent gasp, Zoe broke away from the kiss and lifted up on her toes. He steadied her against his body. Matching his thrusts to the rhythm of groans and strikes outside the closet, she rode his hand closer to orgasm.
On impulse, she reached for his cock. The hard ridge bulged against his pants, and she pressed the heel of her palm along his length until she heard his intake of breath. The roughness of his hand rubbed her clit. Heat and throbbing intensified, coiling deep, bringing her to the edge of release. Yes! She wanted to scream and tell him not to stop, but it was sweet torture having to remain silent. Almost there.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Zoe heard the first lady say. She pulled her hand away from Jason’s cock at the same time he slipped out of her pantyhose. Her body continued to throb, her vagina clenching at empty space and aching. When she peeked out through the crack in the door, the first lady had already slipped on her robe.
“Very much,” the male guest answered. “I must say this type of American hospitality was unexpected.”
“Our pleasure.” She handed him his clothing, and the man finished dressing. “Secret Service will escort you to your car.”
“Thank you.”
The group left. The man in black was the last to leave, switching the lights off and closing the door. Again, Jason and Zoe were surrounded in blackness.
“Now what?” Zoe whispered.
“We wait a few minutes.”
The walls of the closet closed in. “You want to tell me now or later?”
“About what went on out there, or about us in here?”
“Either, both.” She leaned against the door and crossed her arms. “You leave Langley without a word months ago, and then you end up here, like me. Funny coincidence. You act like nothing ever happened.”
“Not a coincidence. You were handpicked for a project, like I was.”
“What project?”
He hesitated. “You’ll be briefed soon, but I suggest you don’t take this job.”
She groaned. “Why would I be briefed about someone’s sexual activities?”
He cleared his throat and took a breath. “Zoe.” His voice softened. “You should leave before you learn any more.”
“Learn about what?” She laughed. “I don’t know anything except the first lady might be
a sex addict. Oh God. Does the president know?”
He groaned. “Zoe, quit your job, resign. Go back to Langley.”
She shoved at his chest. “I can’t go back. I think the Big D arranged this job to avoid firing me.”
“Firing you?”
She nodded, although he couldn’t see her. “Turkey was my fault. He probably doesn’t want a repeat.”
“It was my fault, too.” He swore.
Silence rose between them. “Is that why you left? You didn’t want to be my partner anymore and they wouldn’t reassign you?” Now that he was stuck with her again, he wanted her to leave. Her throat tightened.
“No. That’s not why I left. It was a mission ordered by the White House. I can’t tell you more yet.”
She laughed. “Whatever it is, it looks pretty entertaining.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to be involved with this.”
“Well, I’m not quitting. Can I have my phone back?” She heard him moving around, then the phone was pressed into her hand. “Thank you.” She checked Damien’s message. He’d made a play. “Forty-three points? The bastard.” She’d check the game later. She had three E tiles among her seven and didn’t know what word she could make with that. Sometimes the small, insignificant words had better scores. It was all in the placement. At least Damien was back at the base instead of on a mission somewhere in Iran or Afghanistan, where much of the fighting was.
“How’s Damien?” His words had softened a bit.
“Conditions aren’t great over there. Deteriorating, from what I hear. Damien’s been out on a number of missions. I’m worried. And the peace talks aren’t helping. He should be coming home on leave in a couple months.” She couldn’t wait. At least she could count on him.
“That’s good.”
Three hard thuds hit the closet door. Zoe launched herself into Jason’s arms. It sounded like Goliath outside pounding with a club. “Jason? We’re all done here,” a man’s voice said. He chuckled. “Need a hand in there?”
What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 7) Page 29
