by Cynthia Dane
“Pizza will be here in about five,” Vincent said. “Guy knows me well. Always gives me first dibs on his route.”
“How often do you order pizza?”
“I dunno. Once, twice a week? I also tip well.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” The man had no qualms slipping her a grand a week for pretending to be his girlfriend, so the pizza guy probably got a Benny for putting Vincent first on his delivery route.
Nala had to hand it to Vincent. He had a great view of the river from here, including of the boats gliding effortlessly back and forth like tiny white dots. Inner east Portland lit up as the evening wore on. There, in the comforting warmth of Vincent Lane’s loft, Nala almost felt at home. It was better than Patrick’s place, anyway.
“It’s not as cozy as a craftsman like yours, but…”
“Hm? You think I own that house?”
“Well, no, but…”
She cut him off again as he offered her a glass of water. “I barely even live there. I pay three-hundred bucks a month, plus my part of the utilities, to say I live there. Really, I live there on paper. It’s not a home.” Nala wouldn’t mention the sleeping arrangement.
“Forget I said anything.”
The pizza arrived in three minutes. The man was more than happy to take Vincent’s generous tip before going on his way, and the smell of veggie pizza smacked Nala right in the hungry stomach.
“You play?” Vincent asked, pointing to his video games as he sat down with pizza on plates. Nala helped herself to the two slices he gave her, mindlessly taking note that the box was on the kitchen counter with more slices inside. “I don’t have as much time anymore. Too busy coding this shit to play it.”
“You make video games, huh?”
“Not anymore. I dallied in college. Then…”
“Then your girlfriend died and you decided to go the app route like she was going to.”
Vincent put down his pizza and glared at her. “I never said she was my girlfriend.”
“I deduced.” The pizza was the perfect balance of greasy and tasty. “And I don’t really play. Not anymore. That was more my ex’s thing and I played with him.” Fallout, though. Anything by Bethesda was good shit. I had the most kickass Nord mage on Skyrim. Oh, the things she lost when she dumped her boyfriend because of grief.
Apparently Vincent was not going to talk about video games anymore. “Desirée wasn’t my girlfriend,” he said, his voice low. “She was my fiancée.”
“Ouch.” Nala hadn’t figured they were that serious, but that was only because Vincent seemed as personable as a fruit fly. When he wasn’t fucking her, anyway. “I’m sorry.” That explained a lot, though. Fiancée probably conjured up a different kind of grief from girlfriend.
“Thanks. We were two months away from getting married when she died. That was three years ago, though. Feels like yesterday.”
“It feels like yesterday when my sister last called me to make plans for Christmas.” Grief had a funny way of bending time like that.
Was there anything more to say? Nala wiped her fingers on a napkin and sank deep into the comfortable couch. Vincent remained silent, as he always did, jaw working on pizza while countenance whirled in thought. The man spent a lot of his time thinking… Nala supposed that was necessary for someone who made a living off being on the cutting edge of technology.
“So, there was something you wanted to talk about,” Nala said after a long, unperturbed silence. Plates were empty on the coffee table. Drinks were half consumed. She and Vincent lay sprawled on their respective couches, staring at the dark, lofted ceiling while thinking of God knew what. Even Nala wasn’t sure what went through her mind right now.
“Yeah. A couple of things.”
Neither of them moved. Neither of them said a word.
“Well?” Nala sat up, hoping that some movement would get him talking. “You’ve dragged me around half of Portland and brought me home, where you plied me with pizza and a few words about video games and your dead fiancée. I think it’s time you started talking.”
“If I may confess…” Vincent joined her in sitting up. “I had a lot more resolve earlier.”
“What happened?”
His stare was unwavering. “You did, Nala.”
“Oh, come on.” She laughed, uneasily. “Be serious like you usually are.”
“I am serious. When you were a woman helping me with something… before you had a real identity to me… it was much easier to tell you things bluntly. Now I feel like I have to cushion everything.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to scare or hurt you.”
Nala shuffled in her seat, thighs going up and down as she stuffed her hands farther beneath them. Her own natural heat was the only comforting thing in that big, cold loft right now. “I can take it. Whatever you need to say, I can take it. Even if it scares me a little, it’s worth it, if it means getting vengeance for my sister. And your fiancée, I guess. And anyone else he’s hurt. What is my pain and discomfort if it means having a chance to take down that son of a bitch?”
Vincent had an uncanny way of studying her. Uncanny because it vaguely reminded Nala of her sister, who used to stare at her much in the same way, as if she were dithering between giving her the cold, hard truth of a situation or continuing to coddle her because she cared too much. This man is definitely not my sister. The implications were too grim.
“Go on. Tell me what you want to tell me so badly.”
“It’s actually two things.” Vincent reached into his back jeans pocket and pulled out a small envelope embossed in gold. Had he been carrying that thing all day? “Guess I’ll tell you this one first.” He handed Nala the envelope. “It’s an invitation to the next Aviary meeting on Wednesday. It’s at The Crow’s Nest, where he holds most of the weeknight meetings.”
Before Nala could pull out the letter and read it, Vincent gave her the bomb.
“He wants us to become official members, which means we need to perform.”
She didn’t bother to read it. She didn’t need Crow’s words telling her to bend over and get spanked in front of him.
“I didn’t think you’d be excited.” Vincent picked up his glass and wetted the back of his throat. “It’s good, though. It means he trusts us and wants us in his inner circle. We’ll soon be invited to his house. I have plans for that, if you’re interested.”
“What kind of plans?” Nala tried to focus on that and not the conflicting images entering her mind. BDSM play with Vincent… but in front of those weirdos. And Crow. Fucking Crow.
“I dunno, are you a sneaky woman?”
“You mean can I sneak around?” She grinned. “With the best of them. When I was a real shit I used to sneak money out of my mom’s purse to get gum and stuff. Let me tell you, she is not easy to get past. I still don’t know if she knows I did it.”
“Good. If I can get you near his office or something, I’ll need you to infiltrate.”
“Like a spy? Awesome.” It was a scary thought, and yet Nala’s adrenaline was already pumping in anticipation. I’ll find the evidence, Vincent. You play your smooth businessman game, and I’ll get the evidence to take him down. Damn, they could make a good team.
“We’ll still need to perform. Be convincing.”
Nala came down from her productive high. “I see. So you gonna swing me over your lap and spank me?”
Perhaps she said it too candidly, for Vincent’s eyes widened in disbelief. “We don’t have to do that, but we should plan something out. Something you’re comfortable with.”
Butterflies twisted in her gut. “I’m not going to be comfortable with anything, but not wanting to die would be great.”
“No spanking.”
“You’ll have to buy me a few more dinners first.”
Vincent ignored her. He rubbed his chin, lost in thought as if he were figuring out a complicated algorithm instead of guessing what to do about Nala and her nubile body. “We could do a
bondage show. No actual touching, but you’ll have to make sure you look like you’re getting off on it. Can you do that?”
Nala nodded. “Tie me up. Whatever. Better than you spanking me.”
“All right. I’ll have to brush up on my bondage knots. I’m a bit rusty.”
Nala almost missed that. “Excuse me? A bit rusty? What, do you tie bondage knots for fun in your spare time?”
She couldn’t imagine it. This cool and collected man getting a hard dick from tying knots of all things. Sure, spanking was erotic with the right person. God knew the man was hard as shit fucking her the other night, acting like some badass who owned and controlled her person. Calm down, Nala. That was us getting the sexual tension out of our systems. Explosive chemistry. Yup. Bottled it up too long and then bam! Body fluids everywhere.
Yet Vincent did not falter. He held her gaze, challenging her to defy him – if she dared.
“That’s the other thing I wanted to talk about.” His voice… how low and gruff it was, devolving into that beastly growl he acquired the other night when he thrust Nala against a dark wall. Oh, shit. She knew what was coming now. Something she had long suspected ever since that first night when Vincent’s strong, commanding grip saved her from herself.
Oh, shit!
Vincent stood, hands slapping against either side of Nala’s head, his fingers gripping the back of the couch so tightly that she cowered beneath him. Not out of fear. Out of a natural respect that made her think he was a man worthy of shrinking before.
This wasn’t a game to him.
The next few words out of his mouth? She expected the first part, but the latter hit her right in the chest. In the heart.
“I’m a Dom, Nala. That’s what makes this infiltration so easy for me to play at. Because I’m not playing. I’m really like those other ‘weirdos’ at those meetings. And let me tell you, Nala…” His hot breath hit her face, threatening to kiss her lips if she turned her head back too far. Oh my God, no! She couldn’t fall for him like this right now. The other night? That was all hormones. Nala was supposed to be in control of them now. In control!
His nose traced a line from her cheek to her throat, catching her words there, her complete and utterly forgotten sanity.
“Let me tell you. From that first night I met you, I’ve wanted to do nothing but take out all my latent frustrations on you. Because you’re making me come undone, Nala Nazarov. I haven’t felt like this in so fucking long. I didn’t even think I was capable of wanting a woman like that again. It scares me. It makes me feel like I’m losing my vision. You want to stay focused on your mission of vengeance? Well, so do I, but with you unknowingly seducing me at every turn, I am finding it very, very difficult to stay focused. One minute I’m planning my takedown of Xavier Crow, and the next I’m fantasizing about your body beneath mine, writhing as you struggle to take my cock.”
Fingers lightly touched her arms. Even through her thick hoodie, Nala tingled. Oh. My. God. Her nipples hardened in her bra. Her thighs heated up in her jeans. No, stop… no, don’t stop… Her lips lifted toward his. Any other man, and Nala would have made the first move. This was Vincent, though. She wanted him making the move. Like Friday night, when he gave her the best sex of her life, even without an actual orgasm.
“So if we’re going to keep doing this, Nala…” God, she loved the way his tongue slipped off the roof of his mouth when he said her name. Like it was honey he flicked off his precious organ. I wonder what it would feel like on me. She knew what it felt like in her mouth, down her throat, and even on her neck. Elsewhere? This man could do some serious damage. “I need you to know where I stand. I want you. I want your body. I want to tame this wild, contrary streak of yours. I need to know that I can trust you, and the only woman I can trust in this venture is one who knows how to follow my directions.”
“I…”
“No.” He pushed himself away, slightly. No longer a danger of kissing her, but still imposing above her body. His arms had her trapped – not that Nala wanted to go. “I’m serious. I’m not looking for love. It’s best if love isn’t even on the table. Let me tell you, though, I’ve gone to bed more than one night since meeting you and thought of nothing but making you my sub.”
Nala’s lips parted, her mouth dry.
“Let’s put it this way. We have to be a Dom/sub couple to be a part of The Aviary. I’m fine with that. I’ll Top you until the end of time – or until that man is either dead or in jail. I’ll fuck you. I’ll tie you up, spank you, consume your whole body both in private and as a performance. On my end, it will be real. I’m not acting, Nala. I’m showing both you and Xavier Crow who I really am. To that end, I will gain everyone’s trust. What will you do?”
Her hands clasped upon her chest, as if her meager barrier was enough to keep this new side of Vincent at bay. No, it’s not new. He’s been this way the whole time. Kissing her. Leading her around. Telling her what they were going to do. Sending her money. Fucking her like that. The man was a Dom through and through. Nala had been too much in denial, too consumed with her own mission to have seen it.
Until now – no, until Friday – she never thought such a thing would turn her on.
“I don’t know anything about that,” she said, meeker than she ever intended. “I’ve never done that. I don’t know how to sub.”
“I’ll teach you. I’ll make it so you’re not lying. Because…” One hand lifted, caressing Nala’s cheek. She looked away, her breaths ragged and her arousal threatening to betray her. “You won’t be lying. You’ll know exactly what to do. And you’ll want it.”
“No… no I’m not like that.”
“You’re not? You seemed to like it the other night.”
“Vincent, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry.” He put a little more distance between them, but it wasn’t enough. “It’s not about scaring you. It’s about owning you, even for only a few hours a week.”
Owning me? No man owned her. No man controlled her. She wasn’t like that. She wasn’t into that. No… no she wasn’t…
Them, in bed, naked, his hips thrusting between hers as her fingers clawed at his chest…
Them, on this couch, clothes barely off as he treated her to round 2 of Friday night, this time with her climax matching his…
Them, sharing tender moments, because that’s what one did in a relationship.
“Don’t be scared, Nala. I’ll take care of you in ways you’ve never experienced. You won’t want for anything. In return, I’ll trust you, wholeheartedly. Without trust, we cannot succeed in our mission.”
He spoke a language of flowers. No, not poetry. Flowers, as in he promised her a sunshine-laden meadow as opposed to the muddy valley she trekked through now. Except Nala didn’t rely on anyone but herself. She couldn’t. She didn’t know how.
So, perhaps he would trust her, but would she trust him?
“Do you want me, Nala? Do you want to make love to me in the way I want to make love to you?”
Against her instincts, Nala nodded, frightened of herself. Of her body. Of her heart.
“Like I told you, I will teach you how to submit to me in a convincing manner. No one will suspect we’re not a real Dom/sub couple. Because we will be. Do you understand?”
Nala wanted to say no. Then she thought of Tasha, of Desirée, of all the men and women who died because they knew too much or almost did too much good for the world. Their sacrifice is nothing compared to mine. Perhaps it was a dangerous way to think. Nala didn’t care. She would do whatever it took, no matter how much it went against her perceived nature.
“I’ll do it,” she muttered. “Teach me, Vincent.” New resolve surged within her, rising to the challenge she now set for herself. “I will submit.”
“Good. We don’t have much time, so we better start tonight.”
His kiss almost destroyed her.
Chapter 14
Never before had Nala forgotten her woes so easily. One minut
e she was focusing on what she had to do for the good of her mission, and the next she entirely forgot what that mission was. Deep inside her subconscious, she chastised herself for this, but the greater parts of her knew it was futile to feel bad about it. Because sometimes a girl needed to feel good.
Vincent made her feel fucking good.
“Like that,” he muttered on her lips, still overtaking her on the couch. She had barely moved, but here she was, sinking so deep into the leather couch that she thought it might swallow her whole. Assuming it could beat Vincent to the punch, of course. His lips were devouring her, sucking on her mouth, plundering it, and exploring some of her innermost parts before diverting to her ears, her throat, and sweet, reddening cheeks. “Don’t be a wilting flower. It doesn’t suit you.”
That’s right I’m not a wilting flower! She felt a bit wilting beneath Vincent, but she knew what he meant. You’re not the kind of sub who is passive. Be active in our experiences. Defer to my orders, and my wants, but don’t pretend to be a doll. The fact she understood that so easily made her shiver beyond control.
Vincent sensed it. “Fuck me, Nala. I’m glad you want this.”
She gasped as he sucked her throat, his hand pulling apart her ponytail and threading fingers through her thick, straight hair. “Would you do this if I didn’t?”
“No. I would die of lust, though.”
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, trying to bring him down upon her. “Me too. Fuck me, Vincent.”
“Fuck me, sir.”
“Fuck me, Master.”
He bit her earlobe. A squeal of delight echoed against his shoulder. “Good catch.” Vincent pulled back, still threading her hair, letting it fall in a wispy veil to her body. “I don’t mind you calling me either one. Although Master gets me harder, and hopefully you wetter.”
