If only

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Ah, but we do,” Vance said. His mouth tipped up slightly, but his gaze was that of a Dom, reminding her that sometimes a submissive was pampered and sometimes she was…not.

  The world shifted around her, and she stopped struggling.

  Galen’s cock slid in all the way. Stretching. Burning. Yet, the knowledge of being controlled, taken, impaled, was so decadently wicked that it almost sent her over.

  “Imp, you feel very, very good.” He gripped her shoulders, pulling her until her back met his chest. He rubbed his cheek against hers, and his beard stubble was scratchy. Sexy.

  The water in the pool splashed over the very bottom of her butt cheeks, leaving the rest of her out of the water.

  She jumped when Vance spread her legs open before stepping between them. He put an arm under each knee. Lifting. Forcing her down on Galen even farther, sending a quaking sensation through her. So full…

  Galen wrapped an arm around the outside of her left elbow and across her waist, immobilizing her. His other arm went on the outside of her other elbow, and his hand settled on her breast. “She’s all pinned down—ready for you, bro.”

  He pinched her nipple.

  The sensation was almost too much, and she whined.

  “God, I like when she clenches,” Galen muttered. “You planning to stand there all night?”

  “I want a taste first. See if I can make her squirm on your dick,” Vance said. He put her legs over his shoulders and lowered his head.

  At the slide of his hot tongue over her engorged clit, everything inside her contracted…around Galen’s thick shaft. “Aaaaah.” And she couldn’t keep from wiggling as Vance’s tongue teased her with little flicks.

  “Didn’t take you long,” Galen said. He groaned, holding her tightly enough that only her hips could move. Slowly he rolled her nipple between his thumb and fingers, and another layer of sensation built on top of the others. She started to shake.

  With his thumbs, Vance pulled her labia apart. He settled his mouth over her clit. Hot, hot, and so wet. Pausing, he gripped her hips and lifted her, pulling her almost off Galen’s erection.

  The slide of the thick shaft leaving her ass was an exquisite torment, and then Vance ruthlessly rubbed his tongue over her clit. Like cotton candy being formed, sensation whipped around inside her, catching and building. She was close to coming, shockingly close.

  With a low laugh, Vance pushed her down firmly on Galen’s cock, and she gasped with the stretch and slide. The wave of sensation sent her—

  Vance lifted his head.

  “Noooo.”

  A cruel pinch on her nipple made her struggle. The iron-like arm around her waist tightened. Galen’s breath touched her ear. “You get only what we give you, pet. And you take everything we give you.”

  Her clit was throbbing. Needing. And yet, she had a moment to worry about that ominous-sounding everything.

  Vance grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs up almost to her head. Afraid she might hurt his healing back, she didn’t struggle at all.

  His hands were big enough that he needed only one to restrain her ankles and hold her legs high, making her bottom fully accessible. With his other hand, he guided himself to her entrance and pressed in. Slow. Powerful. Putting pressure against…everything, especially where Galen filled her already. Nerve after nerve seared straight into flame as Vance continued, absolutely unstoppable until both cocks filled her completely.

  God, with her legs pushed up over her head, she was past full. She could only moan at the overwhelming, uncomfortable—amazing—sensation.

  From behind, Galen still had her arms pinned to her sides. Her legs were pushed up, leaving her ass completely at their mercy. She couldn’t do anything.

  By tilting his hips, Galen started sliding in and out in small, fast thrusts. Not even trying to coordinate with him, Vance pulled out very slowly and thrust in deep and hard. Very hard. Over and over.

  The erratic combination of cocks was splitting her mind in two, leaving her nothing to focus on as the sensations bombarded her.

  She felt Galen’s hand ease downward, past where Vance was pushing her thighs against her stomach, between them, over her lower pelvis, and onto her mound. It took a second to realize his fingers were vibrating.

  He had the vibe between his fingers.

  Too much. If he put that on her clit, she’d die. She bucked violently. “I can’t. Don’t.”

  They stopped. But not to help her. Vance tightened his hand on her hip—forcing her bottom to be still.

  Keeping the vibe above her clit, Galen put his other hand over her throat. Gently. Carefully. Firmly. “Lie back and don’t move,” he said, and the slight pressure on her throat served as his warning.

  He wouldn’t cut off her air. She knew that—and yet, with his hand there, with the primitive fear, her body…succumbed. Submitted completely. Her head fell back against his shoulder; her hands lay flaccid in the water.

  “Very nice,” he murmured. “Stay just like that.” And he slid the vibrator the last two inches to her clit. The whirring vibrations did nothing for a second, and then the ball of nerves sprang toward an excruciating peak. Her insides clenched.

  “I like that.” With a rumbled laugh, Vance pulled out and thrust in hard, hard, hard. Stretching and hammering, even as Galen’s shaft pistoned into her asshole.

  Everything inside her clamped down. Like two hands, her muscles fisted around the two penetrating cocks. The vibrator drove her higher; each thrust sent her closer, and even without Galen’s hand on her throat, her breathing stopped. Her muscles froze. Every nerve halted.

  She hung there on the pinnacle, almost…just almost. And then Vance rotated his hips, his cock slamming in short, rapid movements against a different area.

  Galen drove in powerfully. Yanked back. Thrust in again.

  And she came in massive waves of sensation.

  She came. Screaming and bucking and flailing.

  She came, as the men laughed and took her and took her and took her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Shadowlands was just starting to rev to life. With a sigh of exhaustion, Sally settled into a chair in a quiet part of the room. God, after the long, long night before, she was tired—and her body still hummed with satisfaction. Demon Doms.

  Amazing Doms.

  Okay, focus. She tipped her chair slightly, so she could watch the happenings and hopefully not be noticed.

  She spotted Rainie. The trainee was at the bar, donning a starchy bib apron. Since she hadn’t worn anything on top, her heavy breasts swayed in and out of concealment of the ruffles running up the sides to the straps.

  In a tight dark red latex skirt and bandanna-style top, Uzuri was arranging a munchie table that didn’t need any arranging. Her head kept turning so she could monitor the door between the main entrance and Master Z’s office. It was the door to the Masters’—and Mistresses’—area where they kept lockers with their clothing…and their gear.

  Master Z didn’t keep the door locked, although that might change one of these days. Unfortunately, he might decide to solve the problem by simply handing over wayward trainees to a couple of the sadists.

  Sally grimaced. She wasn’t a trainee any longer, so Master Z wouldn’t punish her without the Feds’ permission. G and V might well frown on her…assisting…her friends.

  But jeez, she and Rainie and Uzuri had been planning this forever.

  A few minutes ago, their target, Mistress Anne, had entered the Masters’ locker room. Sally tilted her head, trying to follow in her mind what would be happening.

  Since the slender brunette had looked rather scruffy, she was probably showering over on the female side of the room. Master Z kept robes and towels in there, so she’d have donned a robe. She’d open her locker and…

  No noise.

  Huh. Well, maybe the rubber spider hadn’t scared her, although it had probably pissed her off. But there were a few other treats tucked away, and one that—
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  “Shit!” The voice was Anne’s, and even with that, she hadn’t screamed. “Goddamn son-of-a-bitching brats!”

  Gotcha.

  Giggles rose in Sally’s belly like champagne bubbles, impossible to suppress. At the munchie area, Uzuri had her hands over her mouth. Rainie—being smart—had turned her back to the door, but her shoulders were visibly shaking.

  Oh God, we’re all going to die.

  Feeling a twinge of worry, Sally scooted her chair around and curled into a smaller, less visible ball, before peeking around the edge.

  Mistress Anne stalked into the club room. A couple of scenes had already started. Anne glanced at them, and her mouth tightened. She was too experienced to start shouting and disturb the session.

  Instead, she went to the bar and spoke to Master Cullen.

  Both Master Cullen and Mistress Anne turned to stare at Rainie.

  The big, beautiful woman visibly shrank.

  Hell, that was way too fast. Sally scowled. Next time, they’d better stick to the newer Doms who couldn’t read body language so easily—and who might be embarrassed to mention a prank to other Doms.

  Mistress Anne didn’t embarrass. Shit.

  Look innocent, Uzuri. Facing the room, Mistress Anne slowly looked around the room. Her gaze came to rest on Uzuri.

  The short trainee had turned her back and was unloading a tray. The red beads decorating her kinky black hair swung from side to side on her back as she swayed to the music. Yeah, obviously, she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Way to go, Uzuri. Who would have thought Rainie would have no acting abilities?

  Mistress Anne strolled across the room toward the munchie table, looking just like Glock stalking a cricket in the grass. The Mistress set her hand on Uzuri’s shoulder.

  The trainee jumped. Spoke. Smiled. Everything looked good, as far as Sally could see.

  Then Mistress Anne took Uzuri’s chin in her palm, closed her fingers tight enough to make the trainee flinch, and said something.

  Uzuri caved. Totally caved, going as spineless as an amoeba.

  Sheesh, where’d the trainees’ courage go? This was only Mistress Anne…the most sadistic of the Doms.

  As Uzuri joined Rainie at the bar, Sally slunk lower in the chair. The girls wouldn’t give her up. Not ever. But—with a sinking sensation, she saw Master Cullen point right at her.

  Didn’t it just figure he’d noticed her arrive? And he knew she’d been an accomplice to every prank committed in, like, forever.

  Oookay. Look at the bright side—at least I don’t have testicles to torture.

  Like Darth Vader, Mistress Anne appeared and stood over her, looking down. A small cane swung from her braided leather belt.

  Great. I hate canes. Sally endeavored a smile. “Good evening, Mistress.”

  Hands clasped behind her back, Mistress Anne stared at the ceiling. Silently.

  More silence.

  More silence.

  Sally felt sweat bloom on her upper lip, on her low back.

  Mistress Anne looked down. “I don’t like bugs.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Sally said ever so politely. “We thought it was our duty as trainees to help you conquer that problem.” Don’t laugh; don’t laugh; don’t laugh.

  “Did you,” Anne said in a flat voice.

  Sally’s urge to giggle died as worry flooded in.

  Master Cullen wouldn’t let her be whipped to death…right?

  Master Z would be upset to have dead trainees. All that paperwork.

  Housekeeping might quit.

  Anne’s voice was level. Quiet. “I have had a bad day. My permanent submissive, Joey, moved out last week. My secretary is on vacation, and papers are piling up. I caught a fist to the face from a cheating husband who didn’t appreciate the pictures I gave to his wife of him and his twenty-year-old fling.” Anne gingerly touched a darkening bruise along her jaw.

  And continued slightly louder. “But when I got here, I thought life was looking up. I had a nice shower and was starting to relax, and then I find that my locker. And clothing. And shoes. And toy bag”—her voice rose—“are filled with rubber bugs!”

  Sally stared. Mistress Anne had lost Joey? But they’d been so good together, and although Anne usually had more than one submissive under command, Joey had been with her ever so long. “I…I’m sorry, Mistress.”

  More silence.

  Why did the demon Dominants like to use stillness as a weapon? Sally’s teeth ground together as she started to shake.

  “You aren’t a trainee, Sally,” Mistress Anne said finally. “You aren’t mine to punish…which means you shouldn’t pick me as a target.”

  Ouch. Explaining that they’d planned the joke pre-Feds ownership of Sally probably wouldn’t help, would it? “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “So my only recourse is to inform your Masters of your misbehavior. And how I feel about it.” Mistress Anne fixed cold eyes on Sally. “I’m sure they’ll think of something to do with you.”

  Oh shit. Oh man, this was bad. “Yes, Ma’am.” As the Mistress walked away, Sally had to force herself not to run after her. Please, don’t tell Galen and Vance. Pleaaase!

  When Mistress Anne reached the bar where Rainie and Uzuri waited, Master Cullen made a gesture, handing the two over to her. But she shook her head and said something.

  Master Cullen glanced at his watch and nodded.

  Right. She wouldn’t punish a submissive if she was angry. Sally winced. Somehow she doubted a cold Mistress Anne would be any gentler than a pissed-off one.

  Sally took out her phone. Maybe—if she could think of what to say—she could sneak in an explanation to her Doms before Anne talked to them.

  “Hey, Sally. I’ve been looking for you.” Kari walked over. “Are your guys here yet?”

  “No. I’m going to call and see what’s keeping them.” Should I sound sweet or cute or…

  “Cool. Dan’s running late too.” Kari shifted. “Too much diet soda—I’m going to visit the restroom. After you call, we can run upstairs and see Jessica.”

  “Sounds good.” Sally stared at her cell phone, not quite ready to dial. Maybe penitent? Remorseful? Or flirty…flirty might work well, especially after last night.

  * * * *

  The door to Vance’s office opened, letting in the noise from the main room. Early Friday evening, the FBI downtown field office was chaotic with the last rush of activity before the weekend.

  He knew the feeling. If he could just get this report written, he and Galen could get to the Shadowlands and meet Sally.

  As Vance looked up from his writing, Galen entered, looking sucker punched.

  “What’s wrong?” Vance pushed aside the court case.

  “The arsonist.” Galen’s voice was harsh. Tight. He set a memo onto the desk. “Two houses burned down last night. Police detectives—and their families.”

  “Why would he kill cops now?” Vance glanced at the names of the deceased, and a cold chill ran through him. Those were the two cops who—along with Galen—had killed Somerfeld. Fuck. “Any other law-enforcement officers killed?”

  “Just them.”

  Vance’s jaw went tight as he remembered the scream of rage they’d heard at Somerfeld’s death.

  “Leads?”

  “Yeah, actually.” Galen looked even grimmer. “Research finally dug down to the untold story of the Somerfelds—although someone had done a pretty good job of burying the information.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Drew had a twin named Ellis who burned down the family home with Daddy alive inside. Got caught in the fire himself but survived. Judged criminally insane. Committed. Mom suicided.”

  “Fuck, there’s a mess.”

  “Ayuh. Drew went on to become a lawyer, assistant district attorney, and head of the Harvest Association.”

  “The brother is loose?” A proven arsonist and crazy.

  “Discharged from the mental institute a few years ago. Cutbacks, you know
, especially since Drew pulled strings,” Galen said in a dry voice. “Once out, Ellis went off the grid. New York is searching Drew’s records to find him.”

  “Goddamn it.” The sick feeling in the pit of Vance’s stomach increased. An insane bastard out for revenge. If Drew had kept him in check, that control was gone.

  “Got a hit.” Annabel hurried in, holding a folder away from her body as if it was contaminated. After swallowing a few times, she said, “Drew owned a cabin in the Adirondacks. We did an inquiry…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Talk, Annabel,” Galen said, taking the paperwork from her.

  Vance’s cell rang, and he answered automatically. “Buchanan.”

  “Aren’t you official?” Sally’s vibrant voice was clean and bright and beautiful, a complete contrast to the atmosphere in the office. “Where are you anyway? Kari and I are waiting for our law-enforcement boys.”

  As Galen opened the folder, several photographs spilled onto the desk. A woman’s body. Her legs and torso were charred black, her face so battered that she was unrecognizable. A begrimed metal collar was around her neck.

  Jesus. Fuck. Vance’s mouth went dry.

  Annabel was telling Galen, “…arrived too late to save her. She was already dead. If only…”

  “Vance, what’s wrong. Who’s dead?” asked Sally.

  He couldn’t look away from the pictures. His stomach clenched as he moved the top photograph and saw another. Whip marks striped the back of the body.

  A hand appeared in Vance’s field of vision, setting down a folder over the photos. Covering them. Freeing him. He looked up.

  Galen’s gaze met his. “Where is Sally?” His voice was strained but controlled.

  “The club. With Kari.”

  “Tell her to stay there. Dan can take her to his house.”

  “Vance, I can hear him,” Sally said on the cell. “What’s wrong? Did I do something—”

  “You heard Galen,” Vance said. His skin felt cold. Two cops were dead. Somerfeld was out for revenge, and Galen would be next on the list.

  What the bastard had done to that woman… Sally needed to stay far, far away from them. Vance’s voice was harsh as he said, “Stay with Kari. We’ll send your things to you there.”