Sake Bomb

by Sable Jordan

  Now there was an oppressive fear she’d never regain what she’d so carelessly tossed away.

  Swim fast…

  Kizzie let out a slow breath. It didn’t make a stitch of space in the tightness in her chest.

  Xander was speaking and she’d long since lost the thread. She couldn’t hear his voice anymore and turned to him, head shaking.

  “I was…” She didn’t finish. The grin on his mouth said she didn’t have to. He squeezed her hand, a comforting gesture that threatened to knock her off an already wobbly pivot. “Run that by me again?”

  “Kinbaku—rope binding. Practiced by many, but there are very few as talented and well-known as Master D, especially with suspension. Those rope tattoos on Sumi’s and Akari’s ankles; the way the knots were tied around Sumi and Zlata when we arrived at Sacha’s place in Helsinki…”

  “Thought you were too busy ogling your own sub to notice the naked women at Sacha’s,” she teased with mock offense.

  “I’m not blind, Princess.”

  Judging by his darkening irises, Xander wasn’t referring to Helsinki.

  Don’t bleed.

  “You think the Mistress is a practitioner,” Kizzie said, tone matter-of-fact and all business.

  He nodded. “The good ones know each other. Master D might be of help.”

  “And if he’s not?”

  Xander smiled, the curve so slow and devastating everything in Kizzie went to mush. “If he’s not,” a pointed once over, “then we can finally get you out of that costume.”

  August 2nd

  Tokyo, Japan

  Master D knew nothing. Either that or he wasn’t telling. Kizzie couldn’t be sure, but she’d spent the last couple hours in a ridiculous getup and they were no closer to finding the Mistress than if they’d stayed in and played tiddlywinks.

  She wasn’t used to operating this way. When called for an op, there was at least some Intel to work with. This “from scratch” business was a new one. She snorted at the irony. Only days ago she’d lamented about the CIA having too much information. Now she’d settle for an obscure reference to get things started. Mr. Brown in the library with the candlestick… Anything! With no tracer and no clues in a city she had no contacts in, she was completely stuck, and Harvey was gone.

  She should get Fletcher on the line, not that he’d answer her call. It seemed he was firm on his ‘no salted bomb’ stance and all too happy to leave Kizzie on her own.

  And everyone wondered why she had trust issues…

  Huffing, Kizzie tugged at the tutu and then propped her hands on her hips. It crept up again, taffeta tickling her thighs. She needed to take the damn thing off but was too busy staring out the window at the vast expanse of Tokyo. If they couldn’t find Sumi in this handful of square miles, how would they find her on the wonderful island of Japan? A veritable speck in comparison to the size of Earth.

  Sadly, Earth just became their search area.

  Might as well be the whole damn universe.

  Her lungs filled to capacity slowly, emptied in a rush.

  “We’ll find her,” Xander said, directly behind her. She hadn’t heard him approach, so involved in scouring the ground.

  Kizzie grunted. “Not likely.”

  He pressed his hands to the window, caging her between his outstretched arms. The space at her back warmed and she resisted the urge to fall against him.

  “Be patient, Princess.”

  “Have we met? Got a better chance at winning lotto eight times in a row.”

  Xander chuckled, low and gravelly near her ear. It sent a shiver right through her and Kizzie couldn’t afford distractions. “The computer?”

  “Phil’s still working on it.”

  “What’s he cracking it with, an Apple two E?” She shifted left and Xander shifted with her, keeping her trapped. Another dangerous flutter started in her belly and she froze.

  “How about we pretend you’re patient.” He pressed a little closer. “For one night, you’re patient…and I’m not a criminal…and you’re not an agent.”

  Sounded so easy.

  With the room lit behind her, Kizzie caught the barest hint of Xander’s reflection in the glass. He had his head bent, something she didn’t need the pane to verify as his breath skated across her shoulder, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. She expected his lips. They didn’t come.

  “A game?” she breathed.

  He looked up then, naked lust and raw intensity in his eyes, watching her in the window and looking through it at the same time. “Very much reality, sweetheart. Just with some of the less tidy bits removed.”

  “Pretending or not, you’re still married, Xander.”

  “I’m not married.” A long pause and meaningful look. “There’s no Harvey. No yesterday, no tomorrow. There’s you and me and this moment. And right now, I want to kiss you.”

  Turning to face him was the wrong move. She did it anyway; stared up into those two melted chocolate pools. Someone had to be sensible about this, and clearly that someone was her. “X, we can’t do this... Right?”

  He chuckled softly. “You convincing me, or you?”

  “We—”

  “No pressure, Princess.” He shook his head, dipped closer. “Simple as Yes, Sir,” he kissed her left cheek, “No, Sir,” the right with equal tenderness, “Please, Sir,” and her forehead, lingering. Kizzie had already deduced the pattern. Her heart kicked up, belly free-falling. “Thank you, Sir,” Xander finished. His mouth hovered close to hers. “Just tell me what you want.”

  No. Definitely no.

  The long lavender pigtails rippled slightly. “Yes, Sir.”

  A bright smile split his face, and Kizzie couldn’t pull her eyes away. She’d done that—two simple words put that brilliant arc there. Nothing had ever made her feel more powerful.

  Or more nervous.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket, the buzz breaking into the silence.

  “And then,” Xander wet his lower lip, “after I kiss you, I want to make love to you. Do you want me to?”

  All the breath rushed out of Kizzie’s body, something remarkably similar to panic filling the space. She heard what he said, and he meant what he said.

  Not fuck. Not screw.

  And that was the problem.

  Kizzie had fucked and been fucked; had screwed and been screwed. Sex was a sport, like bull riding—get on, bounce around, get off. Fastest eight seconds of your life, minus the whiplash. Unless you got lucky.

  That was all she’d ever known.

  When that’s all you can allow, it’s more than enough.

  Make love? Completely foreign concept. Sounded like it came with strings too dangerous hitched to a man like him. It echoed in her head, bringing to startling clarity how pathetic her personal life was. For all her rhythm and fancy footwork, that was the one dance Kizzie didn’t know the steps to.

  Didn’t matter. He’d teach her; she’d learn.

  Quickly.

  Because right now she needed Xander more than she needed to find Harvey.

  More than she needed to get 3-19.

  More than she needed to be a good agent.

  Her hands smoothed up his powerful torso to the top button of his shirt.

  “Look at me.” Shy gaze met steady. “Say it, Princess.”

  The spot he’d rubbed into her thigh all night, that one tiny inch, suddenly burned with memory. But the hard ridge of his cock against her belly was very much happening right now.

  He’d said just for tonight. She deserved one night, right?

  He’s mar—

  And he’d still be married tomorrow, too, brain. So shut it.

  “Please, Sir.”

  Xander leaned closer. The spicy, musky aroma of his cologne and a scent that was solely his suffused every pore of her body. Kizzie tilted her head back to meet his mouth. Warm breath floated over her lips, and her eyes slipped closed.

  “First…”

  Her eyes fluttered o
pen. Smiling broadly, she slowly bobbed her head. “Guess I deserved that…you toying with me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, would I?” He winked. “Don’t move.”

  Xander strode to the closet, returned with a copper-colored silk tie. Kizzie held out her hands. “Eager, aren’t we? Next time, you’ll wait to be told.” He spun her around, loosely tying her wrists together behind her back. “Shoulder okay?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He pecked her neck and turned her again. “Take off my belt. You have a punishment to get through before you get your reward.” Her mouth dropped open in outrage. “Oh yeah, Kizzie. You’re at thirty, and I’m gonna get each and every one out of that sweet ass.”

  “Thirty? Xan- I mean, Sir, what about negotiating? Since, technically, I wasn’t your sub.”

  “So you thought your behavior was acceptable? Calling me slick after you’d been warned not to, repeatedly…taking off without telling me…your mouth?” He paused there, gaze lingering on the offending orifice. “You weren’t being willful, Kizzie?”

  She scrunched her nose. “Well…”

  “How many do you think you deserve?”

  “Should I assume ‘none’ is the wrong answer?” Xander leveled a stare at her and she quirked her lips. It was thirty. She could get through thirty. “I deserve however many you see fit, Sir.”

  A nod.

  “But about the belt. I can’t…” Kizzie shrugged to indicate her arms. With her hands tied behind her, there was a problem of logistics. His scarred brow ticked up.

  “Let’s solve that problem.” With sure hands, he ripped her tank to her belly button, tugged her bra down until her breasts rested above the cups. Cool air rushed across her nipples, working in concert with Xander’s strong, busy fingers to bring the dark tissue to stiff peaks. Not exactly the same as releasing her arms, but Kizzie wasn’t arguing.

  Big hands kneaded the mounds, intensity running the gamut from gentle to rough and she made a keening sound in the back of her throat.

  “You like this?”

  Uh…yeah. She was getting wet already. She shifted from one leg to the other.

  Xander trapped the erect studs between his fingertips and twisted, squeezing hard.

  Pain lanced through her and Kizzie came up on her toes with it, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream. Xander’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t let go.

  Goddammit, why wouldn’t he let go?

  “The belt,” he said evenly.

  She quickly nodded her understanding, and he released her nipples, dipped to soothe the pain with his satiny tongue. Kizzie sucked in a breath, taken so fast from one extreme to the next. She moaned at the heightened sensation in her tits and he stopped. Then she whined at the loss.

  A firm hand on her shoulder, Xander guided her to the floor. Kizzie maneuvered to her knees, somewhat shocked she was even doing this, but her entire focus stayed on the gold buckle at his waist. Her mouth was perfectly aligned with his cock, straining as it was against his black slacks. She curled her cheek into his groin, rubbed his length against her face. Turned and kissed along his hard shaft through the soft material.

  Her head jerked away abruptly. “No liberties,” Xander ordered, gripping a pigtail. “Crystal?”

  Eyes narrowed, Kizzie managed a soft, “Yes, Sir.”

  He pulled her head forward again, and Kizzie stretched up a bit to get access. Using her teeth, she worked the tucked end free of one side of the buckle, tasting the leather on her tongue, feeling his cock against her chin. Twisting her head dislodged the prong.

  “This is going to be your favorite belt.”

  Yes, it would.

  For tonight, at least.

  Melancholy threatened to take over and she set it firmly aside; looked up to see him watching her.

  With the leather freed, she shifted her attention to the buckle, holding it between her lips as she worked the belt from around his waist. A familiar hiss sounded as she dragged it loose until, finally, she tipped her chin up to offer it to him.

  Xander stroked his knuckles down her cheek. “Good girl.” He took the belt, draped it over her shoulders. Then he tucked his hands under her armpits and hauled her to her feet.

  Instinctively, her defenses rose at begin manhandled, but Kizzie breathed through it, maintained her headspace, let Xander have control. He knelt and smoothed his hands up her thighs, under the taffeta until his fingers hooked in the bands of her briefs and lace panties. He pulled the duo down, let them rest over the ankles of her boots.

  Nose pressed to the skirt at the junction of her thighs, he inhaled; took the belt from her neck and secured it just above her knees. An arm around her legs, Xander hoisted her over his shoulder and stood in one swift move.

  “Ah!” Kizzie shrieked. Folded over him like a sack of potatoes, bare ass in the air. “Freddy’s right. You are a Neanderthal.” Xander grunted like a caveman and she giggled. Long, lavender tresses dangled toward his calves and she remembered the ridiculous outfit. “Can you take the skirt off, Sir? It itches like a bitch.”

  He slapped her thighs and she yelped. “When I want it off, I’ll take it off.” They passed the bed and went to the double doors. “I was gonna be nice and just spank you, but since I’m such a Neanderthal, and you need to learn to watch that mouth…”

  He set her on her feet. “Kneel.”

  With her legs effectively cinched shut, it was slow going. By the time she got into position, Xander was sitting on the bed some ten feet away. He fixed her with a steady gaze.

  Did he want…? He couldn’t be serious.

  The look didn’t wilt.

  Arms behind her made balancing wobbly, and the belt afforded little room to move. Kizzie tested the limits, edging one knee forward a full centimeter. A shift and she brought the other knee up, the skin on her legs rubbing together. The leather dug into her thighs and the thick soles of her boots caught against each another.

  This would take forever.

  Scowling, Kizzie flashed a glare at Xander. Aside from the heat in his eyes, his face was an emotionless mask.

  He enjoyed this, watching her struggle.

  She grit her teeth to keep the “sadistic bastard” confined to the space between her ears. A few more centimeters forward and Kizzie might as well have been stone still. Her knees already hurt. Whoever designed hotel rooms should remember the words padded carpeting and then actually implement them into the design.

  She had to look like a fool. A clumsy, bumbling clown. The motion was awkward and with each small gain in ground her scowl deepened. Frustrated, she nudged a bit more and fell over. Curses streamed from her mouth at a volume only audible to canines.

  “Something the matter?”

  “Yeah!” she growled, trying to get to her knees once more. Her exposed boobs jiggled as ungainly as the rest of her, adding to her embarrassment. “I didn’t sign up to look like an idiot.”

  “Who says you look like an idiot?”

  That calm in his voice piqued her ire. “I do!”

  “Hm. And you want to look…graceful? Like some sub in a book?”

  “No…Sir,” she added, far too late and with way too much ‘tude.

  “You’re at thirty-three, for the eye rolling. What’s at the heart of the problem? And don’t lie to me or I’ll add three more and really make those count.”

  “I don’t want to do this.” An obvious lie since she made a point to regain her knees. More precisely, she didn’t want to do this like this. She huffed.

  “Oh,” Xander said, unaffected. “Then use your safe word and be done.”

  She didn’t want to do that. Head bowed, a fresh wave of anger rolled over her at having to admit the truth. “I don’t like…”

  Such a tiny admission, resting in her mouth like a huge ball of raw dough. It made her feel weak and vulnerable, and she wanted to fight against it with every ounce of her being.

  “Like…” Xander prompted.

  Another huff. “I don’t like�
�sucking at things, okay?”

  “God, I hope you don’t mean that.”

  She chuckled.

  “Change your attitude. I didn’t ask you to be graceful, I didn’t ask you to compete with something you read about. I want to see you crawl. Your doing that pleases me—or it will once you actually move.

  “I meant what I said: submission’s not always easy, Princess, not always fun. It’s always a work in progress. So if you think this is too hard, I understand,” Xander assured, tone borderline condescending. “Use your safe word and this ends right now.”

  By the look on his face he was dead serious. Kizzie shook her head, determined to withstand her own embarrassment both to prove she could do this and to keep from disappointing him.

  “All right. Thirty seconds to get here, Kizzie. Better haul ass, ‘cause for every second you’re late, I’ll add three more smacks.”

  A challenge. She could do challenges. Come hell or high water, she was getting to that bed before the clock ran out.

  “One…” Xander said.

  Kizzie pushed past the ache in her knees, blocked out the ominous counting. She found a rhythm, waddling like a penguin drunk on moonshine. By no means graceful and she didn’t give a damn. Xander announced “Thirty-one,” as she reached his shoe.

  Her chest heaved slightly, but he didn’t let her rest, hauling her up and over his lap.

  And that’s when it hit her: She’d rushed over for a freakin’ punishment!

  The tutu got bunched under her bound wrists, leaving her ass completely exposed. With her arms tied behind her, legs cinched closed by the belt, and her panties tangled over her boots, she was at his mercy.

  Xander rubbed a palm over her cheeks, squeezed the flesh between his hands and then rubbed some more.

  “You never answered me.”

  It took a great deal of focus to keep from wiggling on his lap. She couldn’t multitask that with mind-reading. “Sir?”

  “How many times did you touch yourself while we were apart? Every night?”

  Thank god he couldn’t see the heat spread across her face. She bobbed her head.

  “Words…” he said softly, patting her the same way.

  “Pretty much every night, Sir.”