by Lainey Reese
Dude didn’t trust himself to talk. Her trust, her surrender was enough of an aphrodisiac as it was. For her to throw in that ballsy spunky challenge tested his control like nothing else could have.
Dude rose and got into position behind her kneeling form, lifted the skirt and folded it over her back so her luscious ass was revealed in all its glory.
He took a few moments to run his hands over the soft globes before he began. A quick, firm massage to awaken the nerves just below the surface, with some squeezing and jiggling thrown in for nothing more than the pleasure it brought him to touch her.
He knew the others in their party had formed a semi-circle to watch, along with several club members. They all faded to the edge of his consciousness. Too many years in the military under his belt to allow him to ever completely close out his surroundings, but this was as close as he’d ever come to it. There was nothing in the world but him and his woman and the gift of her submission.
Slap. The first strike was light, just enough for a surface sting and to deepen the flush that his massage had started. Shy was so lost in the clouds of subspace that her only response was a purr. He swatted the other cheek next, a little harder, and she only purred louder.
Smack! Whack!
Two sharp blows came next, fast, one after the other, and her purr morphed to a moan. Dude, emboldened by her obvious enjoyment, struck harder and faster. Her supple flesh blossomed with color and the way her ass jiggled under the impact of the blows was a thing of beauty.
With one hand, Dude reached between her legs and double checked the positioning of the butterfly just to make sure it was where it needed to be, then he flipped it on.
Cheyenne went nuts.
Her cries rang out with delighted ecstasy as the dual sensations catapulted her right back into delirium. Dude readied himself, opening his fly and fitting on the damned condom since it was a club rule and, at last, stood behind his sub. He watched as he rubbed the engorged head of his shaft over her folds, each stroke from it bringing a plea for more from her lips.
She was pushing back into him and begging now, her cries frantic with need. “Please. Faulkner, God, please. Now. Now, oh God, now!”
And he was lost.
Sinking into her was like falling into heaven. Only, heaven could never be this decadent, this carnal. His body roared with the need for release and the raw animal hunger that clawed at him like a beast trying to get free snapped his fucking leash and ravished.
Dude’s hips bucked against the cheeks he’d reddened, the globes as fiery as she was on the inside. Dude wasn’t the vocal type typically but there was no holding back tonight as Shy met him lunge for lunge and stroke for stroke. Fucking him back with all the crazed passion he was fucking her.
He was going to lose it. Lose it now, and he didn’t want to reach the end without her. Dude bent forward and wrapped her dark hair in his fist. With a tug he brought her head back until she was arched for him, and the angle pressed her hips hard against the vibe. With every thrust, she jolted from the dual impact and after five, soul-freeing pumps, she flew. Shy’s screams fell soundlessly from her open and gasping mouth. The orgasm so powerful she went silent as Dude felt her pussy clamp on to him like it had teeth.
He didn’t just come—she fucking took his climax. The force of hers ripped it from his body so there was no control. No holding back or holding anything in.
He laid his soul bare for her and with his entire being caught in the grips of it, flooded into her the most powerful release of his life.
Chapter 9
The next morning, Shy was having brunch with Riley and Terryn as promised. They’d taken her to a lovely café with a view of Central Park. It was a bit of a challenge to stay focused on the conversation, as Shy was still reeling from the events of the night before.
She remembered how she’d lain sprawled in that sex chair, floating in a cloud of iridescence unlike she’d ever known. She had gazed up at Faulkner in wonder. The ferocity of passion in his face was a sight she wouldn’t forget. He’d demolished every inhibition she’d ever held and laid her soul bare to him with that scene.
Even though her head felt stuffed with cotton, and ears rang like Christmas bells, Cheyenne had still heard Dude say she was getting spanked loud and clear.
The scene that followed, her first spanking and their first public sex, had been the darkest of fantasies come to life. It had been heaven. After they’d left, she’d not believed he could possibly have another round in him. Her husband had other ideas though—they had not included more time in the club however.
He had bundled her up and carried her out with hardly more than a word to their new friends. They said their goodbyes in the lobby and took their own cab back to the hotel. Riley and Terryn both promised to see her bright and early for their siege on the city before she’d been whisked away, though.
Faulkner hadn’t been through with her that night. Not by a long shot. In the cab, he’d leaned close and whispered instructions to her that gave new life to the embers of desire she was sure would have been beyond her at that point.
She should have known better. When it came to her SEAL, more than enough was just where he warmed up.
“Shy,” he’d said. “When the car stops, I want you to head straight to our room. I’m going to hit the lounge and order one drink before heading up.” He’d taken her chin in his hand as if he hadn’t already had her full attention. “When I get to the room, I want you naked and on your back on the bed. Arms and legs spread for me. And Shy, I want you blindfolded.”
Cheyenne sipped her sweet tea with lemon and sighed like a dreamy schoolgirl as she remembered what had happened next. The hurried walk through the lobby—
“Wait.” Something flashed in her mind that stopped her steamy thoughts in their tracks.
“What’s up, honey?” Riley asked from across the table. Cheyenne met her politely inquisitive expression.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt and say that out loud,” she said as she realized she had cut Terryn off in the middle of a story about some of the kids from the shelter.
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Terryn waved off her apology. “It’s just shop talk anyway. What were you going to say?”
“You know how sometimes you can see something, and exactly what you saw won’t register until much later?” When the other girls nodded she continued. “Well, I just remembered my walk through the lobby last night when we got back to our hotel.” Cheyenne squinted and rested her forehead in her hands as she tried harder to focus. “But I couldn’t have. That just can’t be right.”
“Cheyenne?” Terryn asked, concern in her voice. “What? The suspense is killing us.”
“It’s the damnedest thing.” She plopped her hands on the table and looked into the faces of her new friends. “I must be going crazy, but I could swear I saw someone from home by the elevators last night.”
“They were probably just on vacation too,” Riley told her and took a bite of her Cobb salad. “This is New York City, after all. The place is crazy with tourists.”
“Yeah, I know that and maybe I’m wrong,” she said, even as certainty settled like a lead ball in her gut.
“But you don’t look like you believe that,” Terryn told her and placed her hand over Cheyenne’s.
“To be honest, no. I don’t believe I’m wrong. The problem is I can’t shake the feeling that there is a reason he’s here.” She took another sip of her tea and it felt like she’d swallowed sand instead of liquid, thanks to the choking fear that had grabbed hold of her. “A not good reason either. You guys know how Faulkner and I met, right?” When the others nodded she went on. “Well, during the rescue, the guys holding us hostage were all shot down by the SWAT team. Then a few months later, the brother of one of those men and the sister of another got together and kidnapped me again.”
The others gasped and offered words of shock and concern, but she waved those away with a smile of thanks and went on. “It
was somehow their twisted sense of revenge.” Riley and Terryn both reached out in comfort again, but Shy was quick to assure them. “No. No, I’m fine. It’s all water under the bridge and Faulkner saved me that time too. So, it’s all good.”
“Is the person you saw one of those last two who attacked you? Aren’t they in jail?” Terryn looked outraged at the possibility that they were free.
“No, those two are in jail and won’t be coming out any time soon. It was Miguel, the third brother. I would know him anywhere.” When the other two looked a little confused, she clarified. “I couldn’t help but watch every interview and show the families of those who attacked us appeared on,” she admitted, feeling sheepish. “After it happened, the reporters were relentless, and when neither Dude nor I would give interviews, they just twisted the story around to police brutality and made the whole world feel sorry for the men who tried to blow me up.”
“That’s just bullshit.”
“I know, right?” It felt incredible to have their instant and unwavering support. “It was so hard for a while there. Even my own mother and sister believed the reports and took their side against me.”
More shock and outrage, and Cheyenne couldn’t have put into words what their reaction meant to her or how it helped fill in the hole her family left behind. “But, I still watched every clip and exposé and that’s how come I recognized Miguel. He was just starting high school so the reporters really pushed on how he lost his ‘father figure’ so violently and tragically.” Remembering it that way pulled at her heartstrings for the poor kid all over again.
“Psssh!” Riley had a look of disgust on her face. “Seriously? Some cretin straps a bomb to you and the media is worried about someone losing him as a father figure? Yeah. That sounds like the father of the year to me. What about you, Terryn?”
“Oh yeah.” The sarcasm Terryn loosed was sharp enough to cut. “If only Brice would be as good of a father.”
“Oh wow. You guys are awesome.” Cheyenne felt close to these women after their shared night of passion. Maybe for people used to the BDSM scene, nights like that would be no biggie, but to her, it had been life-changing and these women had been an integral part of it. They mattered. Their support mattered.
“I get it, and I couldn’t agree more that he had to have been a terrible influence. My question is, why is Miguel here? That’s what’s got me worried. I don’t mean to be all over-dramatic and woe is me, but am I crazy to think him being here when we are is more than just a coincidence?”
“You don’t think he’s going to try and uphold his family’s legacy do you?” Riley’s eyes got huge in her pretty face as the worry that Cheyenne was feeling seemed to settle in her gut.
“I don’t know, but…” Terryn fished in her purse and came out with her cellphone. “I think we need to let Brice and Kent know just in case.”
“I hope to God we are overreacting.” Cheyenne pulled out her own cell and called Faulkner.
Overreaction or not, she knew she’d feel better once she talked the whole thing through with him.
Chapter 10
Faulkner hung up his cell slowly and with great care. He felt old, as if the last five minutes had aged him a dozen years. Miguel Delgado in New York City and at their hotel. It had to mean bad news for everyone involved. After Shy’s call he’d immediately contacted Wolf, the first one of his SEAL team that came to Dude’s mind in a situation like this. Less than two minutes and Wolf had confirmed one thing; Miguel was not in Riverside.
It was enough for Faulkner to be convinced.
With a groan, he leaned his back against the wall for support and barely registered the bump when his head met drywall with a loud crack.
“Faulkner.” Brice Marshall came toward him in a ground-eating stride and there was urgency in every line of his impressive build. “I just got off the phone with Terryn. Did Cheyenne get a hold of you yet?”
The halls were filled to bursting with both on- and off-duty police, as well as other people in law enforcement for the convention.
“Yeah. She just called,” he answered as the most likely reason for Miguel’s presence here settled in his gut like a cancer. “He’s going to blow up the hotel, Brice.” Faulkner felt the weight of certainty settle on his shoulders like a hundred pounds as the muted rumble of over a thousand law enforcement officers echoed in his ears. “We gotta evacuate and sweep the building.”
Brice looked as concerned as Faulkner felt, which he appreciated because at a time like this, the last thing he needed was a Doubting Thomas slowing up what needed to be done.
“All right.” Brice checked his watch. “My captain just started his lecture in the Liberty conference room in the west tower. He should be wrapped up in an hour. Maybe we get an additional fifteen minutes after for Q and A. But no more.” He stepped closer when a group of uniformed cops poured into the hallway from a nearby elevator. “That doesn’t give us a helluva lotta time. We gotta either find the kid or find the bombs before he’s free. Because no way in hell is the captain going to okay an evac on ‘I think I saw someone who might be’. No way in hell.”
“Dammit.” Faulkner knew Brice was right. No one in their right mind would take such drastic measures on what amounted to nothing more than a hunch. It didn’t change the fact that he knew he was right though. Not one bit.
“All right. Kid’s in the system already. Think you can arrange to get his mug shot passed around here? Maybe get the hotel to print it up for us at the desk?”
Brice nodded as he worked his cell. “Already on it. What else you need?”
“I’m going to hit the laundry rooms, storage rooms and the like to start looking for bombs.”
“Great. I’m going to snag Kent and a couple guys from my squad. We’ll start looking for witnesses and we’ll look for anything that might be planted up here while we’re at it.”
“Perfect.” Faulkner stood and extended his hand, and the two clasped in a firm grip of unity. “Do me a solid. Tell your women to keep Shy the hell away from here until they get the all clear from us. That woman is hell-bent on getting herself blown up in these situations.”
“No shit? Yeah, my Red put herself in harm’s way before. Once. About killed me,” Brice said, and from his expression, Faulkner knew he understood the soul-wrenching fear that only happened when the love of your life was in danger.
“Yeah,” Dude said. “I like her all in one piece though, selfish bastard that I am. So I’d like to keep her as far away from here as possible.”
“I second that. In fact, I’ll text the whole crew and make sure they all steer clear till this is settled.”
Faulkner was relieved to see he was true to his word as Brice was already tapping away on his phone before he’d turned to leave.
He knew he should call Cheyenne and keep her in the loop on what was happening. If Faulkner believed she’d do nothing with that information and stay put, he would. However, he knew his woman, and Cheyenne was not the type to sit idle when she knew people were in danger. Especially if she thought she could help. In this case it was even worse. Faulkner knew Shy would somehow feel responsible.
She was a sensitive and empathetic person who always felt deeply for the pain of others. It was what made her such an incredible 911 operator. She put herself in everybody else’s shoes and talked them through the tragedies and triumphs of their lives.
So naturally, she’d been heartbroken for the dirty, underfed boy whose family had been literally blown apart.
Cheyenne had made several anonymous donations to a bereavement account for him until the news had broken with a story about the mother squandering all the money.
Cheyenne never quite shook the unwarranted sense of duty she’d felt for the kid and although he couldn’t claim to share the feeling, Faulkner understood her. That was why he knew that unless the others physically prevented it, Cheyenne would show up here and try to help.
Brice said they had an hour to find proof before they went to th
e captain. Faulkner figured he had half that to find the kid before Shy broke away from the others and came charging in on a white horse.
“Fuck.” At Brice’s exclamation, Faulkner turned toward him. “They aren’t answering their phones.” Brice looked again at his, as though by the power of his will, he could make one of the women respond.
“I got a bad feeling about that,” Faulkner told him.
“Me too.” Brice spotted his partner headed their way. “Change of plans. Hold one second.” Then jogged to meet him halfway.
There a brief, intense discussion that ended with Kent bolting away while barking into his radio. Then Brice was back.
“Kent is gonna organize and start the search. Let’s go find our women.”
Chapter 11
In an alley two blocks over, Miguel threw his burner phone to the ground and smashed it with a brick—one he’d taken off the pile of trash he was hiding behind.
Tears he’d thought had run dry over the last ten hours started up again and rained down his dirt-smudged face, leaving trails in their wake.
The sharp impact when the rock hit plastic and the crunch that resulted was a relief. So he hit it again. Shards flew in all directions. One tiny sliver lodged itself in the back of his hand.
The symbolism wasn’t lost on him. The complete destruction of something by the force of his actions.
So he hit again, harder, and again with a sound like a wild thing rising in his throat. Then he couldn’t stop. Not the cry, nor the pounding because Miguel knew, no matter what the outcome, he was going to die today.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Terryn asked in a whisper as though their husbands might overhear them from two blocks away.
“No, I’m not sure about this at all,” Cheyenne confessed. “But I do know I will go crazy if I don’t at least try to help.”
