by Lainey Reese
Both her arms were secure now, and he knelt down to place her feet. As he positioned each one in turn, he removed her shoes. Heels may do wonders for a woman’s legs, but for him nothing was sexier than bare feet during a scene.
The restraints were leather. Lined with thick cotton, they safeguarded against injury. Even so, he checked the fit on all four before standing back. “Any collar, even a green one, doesn’t mean a sub is up for grabs. The sub always has the true power. Did you know that?” His eyes wandered over her slowly, from her bare spread feet to the tips of her widespread fingers.
When he met her fascinated gaze, she shook her head and said in a whisper, “How could this be power? I’m trapped. You could do anything right now.” From the look on her face, he could tell that thought was equally arousing and frightening to her.
“Ah, I could, huh?” He stepped close, until his chest was against her breasts and his lips brushed her cheek as he spoke. “I could flog you?” She caught her breath and held it. “Or perhaps I could strip you and share you with some of the men watching from the bar?” Her head whipped around to stare in horror at the bar and the people who were watching them instead of the show going on behind the bartender. “Wait, I’ve got a better idea—how about I just lift this charming dress out of my way and fuck you where you stand?” He slid a palm up one perfect, trembling thigh, and just as he was expecting, as soon as he reached the hem of her gold skirt, she panicked.
“No! Pickles! Pickles!” Every muscle in her body strained against the bindings. Before the words had even left her lips, he was two feet away from her with his hands up in front of him. For a moment, she still looked frightened, and then the fear gave way to understanding.
When he was sure she was no longer scared, he stepped back into position. “The sub always has the ultimate power, because with one word, no matter how ridiculous that word may be, she can stop everything.”
He brought his hands up where she could see them and slowly lowered them until they were on her waist. “It’s a dance, Terryn,” he said and took a nip at her earlobe.
“A dance on a high wire suspended over shark-infested waters. I have to know how far to push.” His hands slid up and cupped both breasts. “Where you like to be touched.” His thumbs feathered across nipples that turned hard as granite.
“And just how much pain is pleasure to you.” He pinched down on the hardened tips and felt like a rock star when she arched and let out a cry. “Mmmm, that was a nice sound,” he praised. “Can I make it happen again?”
With his thumbs and forefingers, he grasped her nipples and tugged until her breasts were lifted and elongated. Then he pulled in small, forceful pulses. Watching her face for signs of true pain was necessary, but she only arched and panted for him.
He pulled a little harder and—“Ahhh, there it is.” He let up and leaned down to lay a kiss on her cheek. “I do love that sound.” Then he stepped back and reached for the zipper he’d felt hidden in the side seam of her dress. “This gold color looks amazing on you, but for a sub, you are extremely overdressed.”
The silky gold material loosened as the zipper lowered. It was a strapless number, and in a matter of seconds he dropped it at her feet. The throbbing pressure in his cock turned critical as every cell in his body reacted to sight in front of him.
Her red hair blazed in the glow of the lights, surrounding her face in waves of flame. Her arms and legs were stretched, and he could make out the supple musculature in each mouthwatering limb. She was slender and toned, with a gentle flare to her hips. The strapless black bra she had on barely covered her nipples, and he could see them clearly outlined in their delicate covering. The matching panties were those micro style kind that never failed to make his mouth water, just a couple of strings and a triangle of satin. Just above a tiny satin bow where the string met the crotch panel, something caught his eye, and he knelt down for a better look.
“Is that what I think it is?” Her face turned the brightest shade yet, and with one finger he moved the panty aside so he could see. A tattoo of a cartoon bear no bigger than his thumbprint sat just on the edge of delicate red curls.
He leaned forward for a closer look, and she whispered, “It’s Winnie the Pooh.” When he brought the panties lower and saw what she had on the opposite corner of those curls, she added, “And his honey pot.”
Sure enough, across from Pooh was a honey pot lying on its side with honey pouring out of it in a tiny splash that disappeared into the curls below. Both were small and well done. He wasn’t a man who normally liked tattoos. If a woman was going to be marked, he preferred to do the marking and to have those marks fade so he could do them again. But these… “Clever, whimsical and just a little bit naughty. Was this your design?” he asked without looking up.
“Um.” She cleared her throat and had to take a deep breath before she could talk. He wondered if it was embarrassment or if having him staring so intently at her honey pot was to blame. “It was mine. I was eighteen and thought it’d be flirty. Now I just get embarrassed whenever a man sees them.”
He looked up at her, but stayed where he was. “Why?”
“Because, I thought they’d make me more mature and daring. But, hello, it’s Winnie the Pooh. Now whenever someone sees them, I feel like a little kid.”
“Well,” Brice said, looking back at the tattoos, “I like them and think they have just the right amount of daring.” He flicked a look up at her with a raised brow and a pirate’s grin. “It’s daring me to have a taste for myself and see how far down that honey has spilled.”
Then he lowered his head, swirled his tongue around the honey pot and followed that splashing trail. When he reached the point where curls gave way to the delicate pink folds of flesh, he eased back. Her panties were dainty and sexy as hell, but they were in his way.
“I’ll buy you a new pair,” was all he said and then snapped them from her hips with one firm yank. Her gasp and whimper was the perfect soundtrack to accompany what would come next. She was already open thanks to the restraints. Her pubic hair was close-trimmed and didn’t cover the fragile lips of her sex. They were stretched wide and glistening. Her clit was slightly enlarged from the little they had done so far, and Brice was determined to see it swell even more before he was through.
“Such a pretty little pussy you have here, Terryn,” he complimented. He ran one thick finger around the edge of her inner labia, tracing a teasing arch over her clit without actually touching it. “What do you call it?”
“M-my…” She squirmed when he hit a particularly good spot, then sighed, “My g-g.”
He shook his head slowly as he continued to circle and trace the tiny part of her that was growing more plump and damp by the second. “Such a silly name for such an important thing.” He rubbed harder, still only grazing one side and then the other of that sensitive bundle of nerves, and he could see she struggled not to beg. “G-g is what a little girl would have. Not a beautiful woman. This lovely, glistening flesh should have a name that matches it.”
He traced lower now and found her core melting with juice and heat. It coated the two fingers he used to circle her opening and then slide back between the cheeks of her ass. When the muscles there tensed in shock, he deliberately circled her rim before sliding back to stroke and lightly pinch her outer lips.
“I like pussy. Or core. Or, if I’m feeling especially barbaric, I will call it your cunt. I like the word cunt—it’s raw and carnal. It makes me think of all the raw and carnal things I want to do to it.”
Terryn whimpered, and Brice felt a shudder go through her. Her clit was so engorged now he knew that it would take very little to bring her to orgasm. He marveled that the men from her past had trouble satisfying such a responsive woman.
He blew on it lightly, and Terryn’s whimpers turned to a moan. He drenched one fingertip in the nectar all but dripping from her and slid it slowly and firmly right up to her clit. She squeaked. He again rubbed first one side then the next
, careful not to rub over the crest of it, lest she come too quickly. Her leg muscles started to quiver. Next he leaned forward and did the same thing with his tongue. Gone were the whimpers—now she groaned.
It was a mistake. He’d wanted to tease her more. He’d wanted to make her first time in restraints a long, sweaty affair that she would always remember. One taste of her, however, and he knew wouldn’t stop. She was slick with arousal, and her velvety flesh felt like heaven under his tongue. With a growl, he forgot his intentions and sucked the pearl of her clitoris into his mouth. He laved it like his favorite piece of hard candy, then thought he’d go mad when she screamed and started climaxing right then.
He didn’t let up, didn’t think it was possible to at this point. He needed more and angled lower to fuck her with his tongue. She bucked again in her restraints, her screams escalating while his tongue danced in and out of her. With both hands, he reached for the globes of her ass and, with another primal growl, pulled her tight to his face. He wanted to drown in her. He wanted to gorge himself on her until his body was covered with her juice. With a wail that fired up every neuron in his brain, she came again.
Slowly, he stood up, so he could suck and bite and lick his way up her delectable body inch by inch. When he got to her still-covered breasts, he shoved the offending material down with a snarl and sucked one pebbled nipple into his mouth. At the same time, he slid two thick fingers into her still-fluttering sheath. The combined actions set off another piercing orgasm in her, and Brice felt ten fucking feet tall. He pumped hard with his hand, barely remembering to be careful not to hurt her in his passion. After an eternity, he released her breast with a last soft bite and stood to his full height.
He kept his hand lodged deep and flexing as her core continued to pulse around his fingers. He looked into her glazed, unfocused eyes and asked, “Is this what you hoped for?” He leaned down and licked his tongue into her open and panting mouth. “Does this live up to your dreams?”
Another lick, then he sucked her plump bottom lip into his mouth and bit down just hard enough to make her gasp. It also made her pussy clench on his fingers. “God, sweetheart, I could keep you like this forever.”
She pleased him right down to the ground when she moaned, “Yes, please,” and nodded her head.
“I wanna fuck you, Terryn. I wanna fuck you right here and now. I want to fuck you while you’re spread and ready for me. If you aren’t ready for that, say pickles now. If you don’t, I’m going to fuck you hard and fast and I won’t stop until you’re begging.”
Her glazed eyes slowly came into focus and he saw her try to concentrate. He made himself stop moving. He couldn’t quite bring himself to dislodge his fingers or step back—he was only a man, after all—but he held still and let her think.
He didn’t get the chance to hear her answer. Just then, there was a discrete tap on his shoulder. He turned with a snarl, ready to pummel the person who dared to interrupt his scene and saw Candy the check-in girl.
“I’m sorry, Master Brice,” she whispered with her head down and hands shaking. “I never would have bothered you, but your phone is going off in your locker. You said that I was supposed to come get you no matter what if it ever did that and, well…it did.”
Brice bit off a nasty curse and immediately regretted it when Candy took a hasty step back. “It’s all right, Candy. You were right to come and get me. Thank you.” With a deep breath, he tried to wrestle his libido into submission. “Look, I have to go—that will be important. Will you help Terryn get home when I leave?”
“Oh, yes, Master,” she replied, eager to please. “I’d love to. I’ll take extra special care.” Brice smiled at her and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek, then turned back to Terryn, who was slowly coming back to her senses.
“Oh, little fireball,” Brice said, looking his fill at her—stretched, naked and very well used. “I have to leave. Nothing short of murder could pull me away at a moment like this, so I have no choice. It’s work. Nobody else would call me this late.” As he spoke, he started unbuckling and checking her limbs just in case the restraints had hurt her. “A Dom should always see to aftercare. It’s my job to make sure you are pampered and well-tended after offering so much of yourself and pleasing me so well.” As soon as she was free, he took the thick robe Candy had thoughtfully snagged and slipped it on Terryn.
“I want to see you again very soon. I don’t have the right to be making any demands, but I will make a request.” He cupped her softly pointed chin in his palm and looked deep into her eyes. “I would ask that you not come here again without me. I would ask that you allow me to be your Dom, at least for now.” He brushed a fiery lock of hair back from her check and gently rubbed her earlobe between two fingers. “I am not usually a possessive man but I find I don’t like the thought of another Dom touching you.” Then he smiled and leaned down to whisper, “At least not without me there to watch.”
Terryn gasped and let out a little moan. He smiled and thought she just might be perfect for him, if that thought turned her on. “So, will you wait for me?”
At first she took so long to answer he thought she was going to decline—he didn’t like to think about what that did to his insides—then she nodded.
“Good,” he said, and kissed her full and deep. “That’s real good. Candy will give you my number and make sure she gets yours to me. I have to go.”
To Candy he said, “Take care of her and when you get a cab for her, make sure she gets in it.” He winked at Terryn and went to his locker.
He was a homicide cop. If he got called in to work after-hours, that meant only one thing—someone was dead. His libido would have to wait. He quickly gathered his things, and his phone went off just as he was leaving. With a snarl and a curse, Brice answered as he headed for the door.
Chapter Five
Katie Jernigan was tiny. According to her driver’s license she was only five-one. In death she looked a lot smaller. Her miniature figure was crumpled on its side in the fetal position. Her small arms were slashed to ribbons where they had curled over her head, fruitlessly trying to protect her face from the relentless hacking of a knife. Several of her fingers were severed and lying around her while what remained were hanging on by threads of tendons and muscle tissue. If he were to judge by her clothing, she’d been out on a date. She was wearing a slinky black dress, high heels and matching jewelry. However the date had started out, it hadn’t ended well.
The streetlamp was a ghastly spotlight on her crumpled form in the deserted parking lot. Brice crouched down to look closely at her without disturbing the scene. The forensic guys were snapping away with their cameras and until they were sure they’d gotten every inch and every possible angle of the crime scene, nobody was touching anything.
“Poor baby,” he murmured to her when he could see under her arms. “It didn’t help, did it? Bastard still got your pretty face.” Pity wrenched his stomach into a hard ball of fury when he saw the jagged slice that split her cheek clean in two. The slash had been so vicious that it’d cut through the gum as well, displacing several of her teeth. There was a sickening pattern to the multiple stab wounds spread over her. They were deep and wild and committed with a brutal abandon that he had become all too familiar with lately. He gazed over the damage with a sinking heart and recognized the signature of Amber’s killer as if the prick had signed his fucking name.
The attack had been aimed at her head. Chunks of scalp and what had once been streaky blonde hair lay scattered among the blood puddles surrounding her. Her ear with its dangling black earring was resting about three inches too high on her head. His guess? It must’ve got caught on the knife and plunked back down as her killer had kept stabbing. Her arms and shoulder got the worst of it; the shoulder looked like the psycho had tried to hack it off completely. There were a couple stabs to the ribs and kidney area that looked to him like they were thrown in for good measure after the killing frenzy had passed. They weren’t as deep or
clustered together as the ones surrounding her head.
He’d have to wait for the official report to be sure, but he’d bet his ass she’d been alive long into this attack. Brice knew there wasn’t a thing he could do about that. About the pain and terror she must’ve gone through. But he could damn well make sure that she was the last girl this fucker butchered. He looked back to her face, saw past the damage to the girl and he made a promise that that’s just what he would do.
“Fuck,” Kent knelt down next to Brice and saw all that he did. “You recognize her, right? I hate this job.”
“No,” Brice returned without looking up. “You love it as much as I do.”
“Are you kidding?” Kent’s voice dripped with disgust at the waste of such a young life. “Nobody could fucking love this.”
“No. Not this. But we’re gonna love putting this fucker in a cage.”
It was past dawn when Brice and Kent called time out and headed for their homes again. They had done all they could and needed down time and some sleep before they could take the next step. The precinct would send grievance counselors to inform her parents since they were out of state, so that was one duty off their shoulders. Meanwhile they would be tracing all of Katie’s steps backward for the last days leading to her death. It was routine. Standard procedure. The thing was, nine times out of ten, standard procedures led them to the killer. No murder was perfect. There were always clues, and if he and his partner were good enough they would get the bastard and end this now.
Six hours later, Brice and Kent found themselves at the Surf-N-Slurp. “What a small world,” Kent quipped. “Imagine, Amber and Katie working together. This could be just the break we need.”
Brice smiled at the sweet woman at the counter. She had a fairly vacant look on her face, almost as though she wasn’t quite sure what was going on around her and was more than a little surprised to find herself here. She was just shy of thirty years old and had a strong, solid build, not the wiry model-thin look that so many New York women had. Her blonde hair was thick and shiny. In Brice’s opinion it was her best feature—it framed her pleasant face nicely and went well with her light blue eyes.
