Dangerous Master

by Tawny Taylor

  All she knew was what she felt.

  Need.

  Hunger.

  Lust.

  Desire.

  Desperation.

  Lust.

  Confusion.

  Lust.

  No man had ever made her so hot, so horny, so freaking confused in her life. What his touches did to her. What his kisses did to her.

  Sweet Jesus, he knew exactly how to use his mouth, his hands, and his words to make a girl go crazy.

  Was he right? Did she secretly long to be dominated? Would she like being punished? The mere thought of closing her eyes and waiting for the sting of the whip made her feel a little dizzy.

  She couldn’t.

  “I said, close your eyes.”

  Her pussy clenched, yet another gush of cream soaking her panties.

  Or could she?

  She closed her eyes, as he had asked. Correction, as he’d commanded. He was a dom, and he’d used a strong, domineering tone. And that tone had made her hot. She liked it. A lot. She also enjoyed several other things about this man, like the way he moved, with a fluid, feline grace. And the way he looked at her, his eyes dark, the flicker of something thrilling and dangerous shimmering deep within their depths. She’d never been a sucker for the bad-boy type, but here she was now, trembling, on the verge of orgasm, letting a very bad boy fondle her breasts.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  Considering the flimsy knit material was shoved up under her chin, it wasn’t such a big deal taking it off. But if he asked her to take off her skirt or her panties, she’d have to refuse.

  He pinched both nipples, and she saw stars behind her closed eyelids. He rolled them between his fingers and thumbs, and she bit her bottom lip, trembling at the pleasure. To her dismay, he released one of her nipples, but he didn’t leave it neglected for long. With his tongue, he took slow, languid licks, the movement reminding her of a cat. The hand that had formerly been on her right breast was slowly sliding down her stomach. Lower, lower it inched. And with each small movement it made, the tension in her body wound tighter.

  He was heading for her pussy. She just knew it.

  Anticipation of his touch between her legs had her gasping, her back arching away from the couch, her hips thrusting up into the air.

  “Has anyone ever taken you to the edge, Amanda?” He pressed against her pelvis, forcing it back down.

  “No.”

  “Good. I’m glad I’ll be your first.” The satisfaction in his voice made her body burn that much hotter. His hand jumped from her lower abdomen to her thigh, skipping the parts of her anatomy that needed his touch most.

  She didn’t want to think about that right now. All she wanted was to feel, to enjoy and experience. But a little voice was nagging her, whispering words she didn’t want to hear.

  You don’t know this man. He could hurt you.

  You’re acting like a slut.

  What if he does something you don’t like?

  Will he stop if you tell him to?

  You’re not this kind of girl.

  He nipped that spot on her neck again, the one that made her pussy spasm and made that voice shut up. His hand crept higher, sliding to the inside of her thigh, and her empty pussy started clenching and unclenching, a throbbing heat pulsing through her body. It stopped moving.

  Damn.

  “Touch me,” she mumbled, arching her neck to provide him better access to the magic spot.

  “I am.” He squeezed her boob to illustrate. But his other hand, the one she was hoping would move higher, was still stuck in the same place, inches away from her throbbing center.

  “No, you know what I mean.”

  “Tell me.” He brushed his lips over hers, the soft caress stealing her breath. “Tell me what you want.” He kissed one eyelid, then the other. It was a sweet gesture, unexpected.

  “Between my legs.”

  “What’s between your legs?”

  He was going to make her say the words, manipulative bastard.

  “Touch my pussy. Please.”

  “Is it wet?” He scattered little kisses over her upper chest.

  “Yes. Very.”

  “Hot?”

  “Burning.”

  A fingertip grazed the thin fabric covering her labia. The touch nearly sent her over the edge. Her back coiled into knots. Her lungs deflated. It was one small touch. That was all. But it was more devastating than any she’d ever experienced. “Mmm-mmm.” He lifted his finger to his mouth. “Open your eyes.” When she opened them, he flicked his tongue over the tip of his finger, and she sucked in a gasp. She could swear she felt his tongue dancing over her clit. “Sweeter than honey.”

  She pressed her thighs together and rocked her hips back and forth, trying desperately to rub away the ache in her pussy. It was getting worse by the second. She wanted something big and hard inside her, needed it. Badly.

  He kissed her, and she tasted herself on his lips, his tongue. She slid her tongue into his mouth, pulling in his flavor. She hooked her fingers, digging her nails into the rock-hard muscles of his shoulders, and opened her thighs wider. “Touch me again,” she said into his mouth. “Please.”

  His finger slipped under the satin crotch of her panties, and in the next heartbeat, the sound of the fabric tearing echoed through the room. Her thighs stretched wider. She lifted her hips off the couch again.

  Would he fucking touch her? Again? Harder this time? Please?

  “Are you suffering yet, Amanda?” he asked as he slowly kissed his way down her body.

  Oh, yes, he was going to eat her pussy.

  She curled her fingers into his hair, filling each fist, and pushed him lower. “Hell yes.”

  “I’m going to make you suffer more.”

  “Please, no.”

  “Oh, yes.” Now kneeling at her feet, he pressed her knees apart, splaying her thighs as wide as they would go. He blew a stream of air over her swollen tissues, chilling them. The unexpected sensation sent a shiver quaking up her spine. She tried to pull his face into her, but he clamped his hands around her wrists, jerking them out to the sides. “Who is in control, Amanda? You? Or me?”

  She knew what he expected, and she was more than happy to answer as he wanted, knowing she would be rewarded. “You are.”

  “Put your hands up over your head and don’t move them.”

  “Okay.” She rested her clenched hands on the top of the couch cushion and braced herself for bliss.

  Bliss came in the form of a light flicker over her clit.

  She shook from head to toe. “Ohmygod, yes.”

  “You’ve been waiting for that, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He did it again, and once more, she trembled all over. Her inner walls clamped tight, and a gush of cream coated her labia, preparing them for the penetration she hoped would come soon.

  She had never been so wet, so ready for sex.

  The third time, he added a single fingertip, slipping into her tight canal as his tongue danced over her clit, and she almost came. Something inside her snapped. She didn’t give a damn about anything now but what was going on between her legs. She sucked in a deep breath, stretched her thighs even wider apart, and said, “Please, fuck me.”

  “Mmmm,” he said over her clit. The vibration buzzed through her entire body, from the soles of her feet to the roots of her hair. “Mmmmm ...”

  “I’m going to die.” She tried to thrust her hips up again, but he held her down, applying pressure to the tops of her thighs.

  Then he pressed not one but two fingers into her hungry pussy and she screamed. Just as the first wave of her orgasm was about to wash over her, he jerked them out.

  “Noooo.” Her eyelids snapped open.

  Zane was sitting back with the world’s most wicked smile on his face. “See now?”

  Breathless and dizzy, she shook her head and tried to slap her knees back together. He stopped her. “See what?” she asked, her teeth clench
ed.

  “Was that punishment not pleasant? Did I lie?”

  She snapped her jaw shut and jerked her hands down to cover her burning pussy. “Is this just a game to you?”

  He wedged his body between her knees and caught her wrists in his fists, slamming them back up against the top of the couch. He leaned in until his mouth was almost touching hers. Dammit, did he know how to tease a girl. “No, this isn’t a game, Amanda. None of it.” He released her wrists and straightened up, and suddenly she felt small and vulnerable. His gaze flicked over her body. He licked his lips.

  She pulled her knees closed, clamping them against his legs to hide her swollen tissues. Her arms slid down her body, crossing over her breasts.

  He shook his head. “Those tits should never be hidden.” He moved away from her. “A drink?”

  “No thanks.” She scrambled for her shirt, which was hanging over the arm of the couch, yanking it over her head and pulling it over her still-tingling nipples. While he poured himself a glass of Perrier, she pushed to her feet, her focus on the door.

  “Don’t leave yet.”

  “I need to go.”

  Swiveling, he gave her a look she couldn’t quite read. He extended a hand, offering her a full glass of water. “You should stay for a few minutes. We need to talk.”

  “No. Can’t.” Feeling her face flushing, she tottered to the door, pulled it open, and stumbled out into the hallway. He didn’t follow her. Thank God. She took a few moments to get herself together. Once she was fairly certain she wouldn’t trip or stumble from being so wobbly kneed, she headed down the hallway, through the main dungeon, and out into the still, cool evening. She pulled in some much-needed fresh air as she made her way to her car.

  That was ...

  There were no words to describe tonight.

  As she flung herself into her car, she realized that they hadn’t talked about him turning her into the security staff at all the local dungeons. Would he?

  Did she care?

  Maybe it was time for a career change.

  5

  “She was wearing a red spandex bodysuit, a clown wig, and some Elton John sunglasses when she disappeared,” the petite woman sitting in Mandy’s office said matter-of-factly.

  Mandy scribbled down the description. “Was it Halloween ?”

  “No.” Blushing, the woman added, “Grandma Belton became a little eccentric after her stroke in ’02. She said she’s been given another chance at life and wants to live it to the fullest. I say she’s enjoying a second childhood and to hell with what people think. Whatever the case, her eccentricities make for some fun at family gatherings.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  Dabbing her teary eyes with a tissue, the client sniffled. “She shot the turkey last Thanksgiving.”

  “At least it was fresh. I’ve heard fresh turkey is much better than frozen.”

  “No, it was already dead. It was already cooked.”

  “Oh.” Mandy scribbled down Possibly armed and dangerous.

  “The giblets landed in Dad’s hair.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Dad’s hair was blown clear across the room by the blast.”

  A very bizarre image of flying giblets and toupees flashed through Mandy’s mind. Changing the subject, she asked, “Did your grandmother have any medical conditions that might contribute to her disappearance? Schizophrenia? Dementia? Alzheimer’s?”

  “No. Her mind was as sharp as a tack.”

  “Did your grandmother have any friends nearby?”

  “Yes.”

  That was encouraging. “Do you have their names?”

  “I have the names and phone numbers of over a thousand people. That doesn’t include her friends at Thursday night Bingo, or her Facebook and Myspace friends. All total, Grandma had over ten thousand friends.”

  Yep, it was time for a career change. Mandy couldn’t even score a simple missing-person’s case. Why couldn’t this one be a case of a dementia patient who’d wandered over to a neighbor’s house, mistaking it for her childhood home?

  “We’ve reported her missing to the police, but they aren’t doing much at all. I’m really worried about her. You will take the case, won’t you?”

  “Yes, I will.” Mandy asked a few more questions about the missing elderly woman with the unique fashion sense, then thanked her granddaughter, accepted the list of “friends” and a photograph of Grandma Belton, and showed her visibly worried granddaughter to the door. Alone once more, Mandy sank into her chair and closed her eyes.

  Sarah came bouncing into her office a few minutes later. “So, what’s the new case? Another cheating husband?”

  “No, missing person.”

  “Cool! Give me the deets.” Sarah flung herself into the chair that the client had just vacated. She snatched the photograph off Mandy’s desk. “What’s with the hair? And the clothes. Is this a woman? She looks kinda like Johnny Depp’s Mad Hatter.”

  “Yes, it’s a woman. Her name is Ruby Belton. And she’s a tad on the eccentric side.”

  “Tad? More like a ton.” Sarah returned the photograph to Mandy’s desk, then flung one leg over the other. “Of course, you’re going to let me help, right?” Sarah had been hired to answer phones, handle paperwork, deal with all those pesky little details Mandy tended to either neglect or fuck up—like plane reservations. But Sarah much preferred undercover work to filing. Not that Mandy could blame her. She did, too.

  “Of course you can help. But this case isn’t going to be anywhere near as much fun as the Clark case.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Mandy slid the list of names and phone numbers across the desk. “The missing person is eighty-three. And she isn’t into domination and submission.”

  “Most aren’t.” Forehead crinkled, Sarah skimmed the list. “What’s with the list?”

  “Those are her closest friends.”

  Sarah gave her a raised-brow look.

  “You get to call them all today.”

  Sarah’s expression soured. “All of them?”

  “As many as you can.”

  Sarah stood. “What’re you going to do?”

  “I’m going to e-mail the other nine thousand.” Powering up her laptop, Mandy grumbled, “What had ever made me think being a PI would be glamorous?”

  “It was that stupid movie, Charlie’s Angels. You wanted to be Drew Barrymore.”

  “Stupid is right.” Mandy glanced at the clock. She had four hours to kill before she headed back to Twilight, the bondage club, to try to catch Clark. Knowing most spam filters would tag an e-mail going to nine thousand people at once, Mandy opted for writing one master e-mail and then sending it to each person individually.

  Oh, the joy.

  Sitting in the limo, the windows heavily tinted to protect him from the weak sunlight, Zane double-checked the address. The building’s front entrance faced south. Not the best situation for his kind. But fortunately, the day was overcast, heavy gray clouds blocking much of the sun’s dangerous radiation. With a hat, a pair of sunglasses, an umbrella, and a trench coat, he’d make it through the front door without a problem.

  He pulled the hat on, flipped the collar of his trench up to cover his neck, shoved the glasses on, and readied the umbrella. “I’ll call you when I’m finished,” he said to the driver.

  “Very well, sir.”

  He opened the umbrella, ducked from the vehicle, and, trying not to look too conspicuous, strolled to the door. Inside the tiny building—a nineteenth-century storefront that had been converted into an office—he closed the umbrella and removed the glasses, even though he was fully capable of seeing with them on. A familiar face greeted him at the front desk.

  “Zane?” Sarah said, plunking the phone on its cradle. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Amanda Thompson.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “I’d like to discuss a professional matter with her.”

  “Sure.
” Sarah picked up the phone, then, without dialing, put up an index finger and dashed through the door behind her. She returned a few minutes later, smiling. “Mandy will see you now.”

  “Thank you.” His footsteps echoed in the small space as he headed toward the back of the reception area. He found Amanda’s office to be small but professional, decorated tastefully in mostly neutral tones, the furnishings aged, weathered, but beautiful.

  Amanda stood the moment he entered. “Zane, how can I help you?” Her face flushed a pretty shade of pink as she motioned to the chair in front of her desk, then hurried around him to shut the door.

  Zane watched her flit back to her desk as he settled into the chair. Memories of the time they’d spent together at the club and in his suite played through his mind. His dick got hard. His balls tightened. “I would like to hire you.”

  She eased into her chair, eyebrows scrunched together. “I’m sorry, but I’m a little overbooked at the moment.”

  Mandy tried to pretend she wasn’t completely freaked out about Zane’s surprise visit. She couldn’t work for him. Not after ... after what had happened at Twilight this past weekend. Not a chance. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. Better if he thought she was too busy to take on a new case than to admit how that experience had shaken her. How it had challenged the way she saw herself, her sexuality.

  “Overbooked?” Zane leaned forward, pulled a wallet out of his pocket, withdrew a stack of cash, and set it on her desk. “Are you sure?” He gave her that look, the same one that he’d given her last weekend.

  The effect was exactly the same.

  Her face became blistering hot. Her blood pulsed through her body in audible bursts. Her panties became soaked.

  Yanking her gaze from his, she glanced down at the money. That was a hundred-dollar bill on top. And who knew how many underneath it. The stack was tall. Potentially, she could be looking at thousands of dollars.

  “A retainer,” he explained.

  Thousands of dollars could sure come in handy. Her gaze leaped to the tray of unopened bills she’d been trying to pretend didn’t exist. The rent was due in a week. The electric and gas, too. Thanks to her grandmother’s recent medical bills, she barely had enough in her bank account to cover her own obligations, plus Sarah’s salary. She wasn’t expecting much action on the Clark case anytime soon. He was much more careful than she’d anticipated, and every time she’d found him, Zane was there, and had taken her camera.