AtHerCommand

by Marcia James

  “Oh this is going to be fun…” she murmured, “for me.”

  * * * * *

  Dalton stormed through the front door of Jason’s house, ignoring his feeling of déjà vu and the cat’s familiar unblinking stare. Just as with his first post-dominatrix-session homecoming, he headed for the master bath, shedding clothes along the way. Maybe a cool shower would numb the super-sensitized nerves singing under his skin.

  Turning on the shower taps, he forced himself to remember that enduring the tickling torture had been worth it. No uniformed bouncer had materialized after the session to escort him to the club’s entrance so Dalton had managed to do some snooping while taking the long way out. He’d overheard a couple of lackeys talking in the loading dock area about a shipment to the Cabazone organized crime family. If the club was involved with the Mafia, it could mean anything from drugs to money laundering. The men had moved out of earshot before Dalton could learn more but the information was a start. It could be an important step toward learning what had gotten Jason killed.

  Dalton tested the cold water and then stepped under the spray. Hell. The chilly shower was almost soothing but he still felt jangled up inside. Of all the things the merciless Mistress Bella could have done, tickling was the worst. She hadn’t forced him to beg but it’d been close.

  He held his head under the brisk water and let it sluice down his overstimulated flesh. He could still feel the tip of the white feather Domino had stroked with tortuous languor under his arms and across his ribs. The sensations had been so intense, so close to pleasurable, he’d almost been disappointed when she’d bypassed his package to tickle his legs. Then while he’d hung from that hook balancing practically on tiptoe, she’d used that feather on the soles of his feet.

  Dalton shuddered and he wasn’t sure if it was the awful memory or the icy shower. He turned up the hot water and gradually stopped shivering. But he couldn’t suppress his thoughts as easily. Having his feet tickled had been worse than the time he’d snapped his dislocated shoulder back into place without anesthesia. Even the humiliation of being handcuffed paled by comparison.

  He picked up the soap and lathered his body. Boy, he’d love to turn the tables on the smug Mistress Bella. When Domino Petracelli was brought in for questioning, he’d ask Captain Bennett to give him five minutes alone with her and that damn feather. He’d see how she liked to be tickled without mercy. Dalton almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought.

  As he washed the backs of his legs, he noticed his reflection in the mirrored shower door. There on the side of his butt was Dom’s parting gift—a heart drawn by her own hand to commemorate his Valentine’s Day session. An arrow pierced the center of the heart where she’d written “M.B.” for Mistress Bella. He scrubbed the soap over the penned tattoo but the indelible black ink proved stubborn. Until the damn thing faded away, he wasn’t using the cop shop or gym showers.

  Dalton rinsed the soap off his skin, his mind wandering to the one part of the session he’d enjoyed. For several minutes, he’d stroked Dom’s feet and legs, touching and kissing as he’d pleased. He remembered the warmth of her body and the earthy scents of leather and musk. For those few moments, he’d wrested some of the control away from her and she’d been dazed by the chemistry between them. He was sure of it. When he’d pressed his mouth to her skin, he’d felt her pulse racing under her flesh…pounding in an echo of his own.

  Dalton reached for his cock to relieve the sexual pressure just thinking of Domino produced. No. As crazy as it sounded, getting off after a session with Mistress Bella was just too much like surrendering. He could visualize her grinning, pleased that she’d pushed him to masturbate. Not tonight. He dropped his hand, refusing to let her win.

  Angry with his own mind games, Dalton shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. It was late, he was tired and tomorrow was sure to be another killer day. As he toweled off, he decided to call Suzi’s cell phone in the morning to tell her about the Cabazone family lead. She could pass the information along to Captain Bennett without revealing the source.

  He dried off his hair and threw the towel over the shower stall. Not bothering with a bathrobe, he walked into his moonlit room and fell into bed. The flannel sheets, soft against his bare skin, warmed quickly from his body heat. Dalton stared at the ceiling, wondering how his life had become so surrealistic and wishing he could turn back the days to save his best friend. But there were no do overs in life, just revenge against the murdering bastards. So he willed sleep to come and resisted thinking about a sexy-as-hell woman who was driving him crazy—a woman who just might be up to her pretty neck in the mess that had gotten Jason killed.

  Chapter Ten

  Her throaty laugh scraped his senses like her feather had rasped his flesh. Dalton struggled to shake off sleep. This was a dream. He was in bed, not in Mistress Bella’s sexual lair. But the spicy scent of her perfume surrounded him and his body was alive with his need for this woman.

  He was back at the club or was it an illusion? Domino stood near the mirrored corner of the S&M room, her luscious figure and cascade of dark hair reflected to infinity in the silvered glass. Beside her was the futon bed, open and inviting. If this were a nightmare, he didn’t want to wake. Dalton moved forward, drawn by the challenge in her eyes. She still wore the stiletto shoes, red leather dress and mask of Mistress Bella, but he sensed the rules had changed.

  He stopped in front of Domino, just a little too close, forcing her to tilt her head to meet his eyes. But she didn’t step back. Dalton wasn’t surprised to find her undaunted by his size or his nearness. The top of her head barely reached his chin but this woman was no shrinking violet. And her spirit made him want her more than his next breath.

  Without a word, he cupped the nape of her neck with his hand and took her mouth hard and deep. It wasn’t a seduction, a soft teasing of lips and sliding tongues. This was hunger finally unleashed. Dalton held her firm, the kiss almost bruising, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, with a soft sound in her throat, Domino pressed against him as wild for his taste as he was for hers.

  His heart bucked and raced as a thick haze of lust, the color of her crimson mask, clouded his mind. Now. He had to have her now. Dalton broke the kiss, found the Velcro fastenings on her leather outfit and tore the dress from her body. Dom’s incredible breasts were bare, and her black stockings stopped high on her thighs, clinging without garters. Only a scrap of black lace stood between him and his goal.

  Dalton claimed her mouth again, steeping himself in her exotic flavor. He wanted to savor her, kiss her for hours, but his need for Domino was overwhelming. Ending the kiss, he swept her up and placed her on the futon. She ran her tongue over her lips, the gesture making his fingers shake as he fumbled with his zipper. Freeing his straining erection, he shoved down his jeans and briefs together and kicked them off. Now. Hurry. The urgent impulses drove any semblance of romance from his mind as he climbed onto the futon toward her welcoming arms.

  Seizing her panties, he simply tore them off. She gasped but opened for him. His control shot, all thoughts of foreplay and finesse a memory, Dalton surged into her wet heat. Damn, she was so tight…so good. Domino moaned, wrapping her legs around him and meeting his thrusts with abandon.

  He kissed her, sliding his tongue in counterpoint to his plunging cock. His. She was his. The mantra swirled through his lust-filled consciousness. He drove her up toward a mind-shattering release, her beating pulse and sexy moans signaling her approaching peak.

  Dalton grasped her hips and pushed deep and high, rubbing against her sensitive center. With a cry, Dom climaxed. He pressed into her, trembling with the effort to give her as much pleasure as he could.

  Her shudders lessened and she opened her eyes to stare dazed into his. Dalton kissed her and started thrusting again, slow and deliberate. He was on the edge, but he wanted one thing before he followed her over. He wanted to see her face.

  Without stopping his sexual stroking, Dalton reached
for her mask. Dom pulled away but then nodded her assent. She was willing to show him the real Dominique Petracelli, the private person she shielded from others. And he found the thought incredibly erotic. With shaking hands, she untied the mask and slipped it off.

  God, she was beautiful. Dalton forgot to move and just gazed down into those incredible eyes, that striking Mediterranean face. And when those full, wet lips curved into a smile, the last vestige of his control snapped.

  He surged into her, the orgasm hitting him with the force of a sledgehammer.

  Dalton jack-knifed into a sitting position, his body quaking with the aftershocks of the staggering lovemaking. What the hell? He was in bed at Jason’s house. The sheets were twisted around his sweating body and he’d just had his first wet dream since high school.

  He groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his gritty eyes. So much for trying to control his desire for Domino. Apparently his subconscious mind hadn’t been satisfied with the post-session cold shower and his refusal to seek manual release for his pent-up lust. Dalton could just imagine how amused Mistress Bella would be if she ever learned about this little lapse in his control.

  He stopped rubbing his tired eyes and stared at the rumpled bed. Maybe once the club investigation was over, he’d see if Domino were willing to explore the chemistry between them.

  “Yeah,” he grumbled aloud, “I’m sure she’ll want to date a cop who shutdown the club and lost her a job.”

  Hell, he could end up proving she was involved in the whole mess and sending her to jail. Wasn’t that a great way to win a woman’s undying devotion? Besides, he might have imagined Dom’s interest in him—the desire in her eyes, the almost kiss. What if the whole thing were an act, something to hook her clients into a sexual addiction?

  Dalton glanced at the bedside clock. Three in the morning. Groaning, he untangled the sheets, stood and headed for the shower. In a couple hours, he’d call Suzi on her cell phone in case her home phone was tapped. He had the Cabazone family news to share with her and maybe she had some leads as well. The sooner he solved this case, the sooner he could get some answers about Domino. And the sooner, hopefully, she’d get out of his mind and his dreams.

  * * * * *

  Using a metal nail file, Suzi roughed up the edges of the rubber washer and reinstalled it in the faucet. She turned on the water in her massage room’s sink and let it run for several seconds. When she turned the water off, the faucet dripped with a steady, irritating ping, ping, ping. Perfect.

  Suzi slipped the file into the pocket of her Xecutive Branch uniform. Now that she’d sabotaged the faucet, she could get on with the rest of her plan. She needed to get aggressive in her investigation of the club.

  Thanks to Dalton’s call that morning, she knew about the possible Cabazone family connection. In turn, Suzi had informed Captain Bennett of the lead, implying she’d overheard the crime family conversation herself to protect Dalton’s involvement. Then she’d devised a plan to do some snooping on her own. Suzi was psyched, ready to break this case and avenge Jason. And with a good half hour before her next client, she had time for some undercover work.

  Closing the door behind her, Suzi exited the massage room and headed down the hall away from the club’s reception area. Strolling along as if on a coffee break, she glanced into open rooms as she passed. Late afternoon was a slow time for the club so she wasn’t surprised the hot tub rooms were empty. One of the mattress rooms was being prepared however and she stopped to chat with the two male assistants. Like many of the club’s staff, they’d become somewhat friendly acquaintances after her first week as a masseuse.

  “Hi. Got a hot one scheduled tonight?” Suzi asked.

  The thin, red-haired man named Brian grinned, his pale skin almost indistinguishable from the white uniform the assistants wore. “Yeah, a mattress party for some bigwig,” he said. “They’re expecting over thirty people.”

  “Gonna be one helluva fuckfest,” the second assistant, a leering, ruddy-faced guy named Chad, announced with relish. “Want to take a break later and watch some of the action through the two-way mirror? If you pick up a few pointers, you can practice them on me.”

  Suzi hid a shudder of distaste and smiled at the stocky man. “Gee, I hate to miss the live sex-ed class, but I’m pretty booked this evening. Besides, I don’t think Killer, my biker boyfriend, would approve.”

  “You don’t have a biker boyfriend named Killer,” Chad scoffed, but not looking entirely convinced she was kidding.

  “You’re right, that’s not his real name,” Suzi said. “That’s just what the other bikers call him since he took care of that narc last September. Have fun, boys.”

  Smiling at the stunned assistants, she turned and continued down the hall. Maybe that little bit of misinformation would get around and she wouldn’t have to deal with any other unwelcome come-ons. Suzi had already turned down several sleazy requests from male staffers for free full-body massages. In this place, apparently the female employees were considered fair game—always in season, no hunting license required—and she had no intention of being stuffed and mounted, so to speak.

  Suzi waved to Ellen, the dominatrix-slash-dental student who was hurrying toward the women’s locker room. The girl waved back and pointed to her watch before disappearing into the changing area. Obviously Ellen was late again, a common occurrence according to the club grapevine. Suzi hesitated outside the locker room door then reconsidered and continued down the hall.

  The employee lunchroom was deserted so Suzi ambled on. She passed the elevator to the private customer parking and greeted Ramon, the unsmiling assistant whose job description appeared to be checking customer parking keycards and scowling. The aloof Latino nodded in return but didn’t engage her in any small talk. She kept walking.

  Ahead of her, the door to the employee parking lot opened and Benny, one of the muscle-bound bouncers, stepped in from the cold. Based on the cloud of smoke that accompanied him, Suzi guessed he’d taken a cigarette break.

  “Hey, Benny, is it snowing yet?” she asked.

  Suzi knew he’d been hired for his brawn not his brains, but the guy was a gentle giant. If any of the customers got rowdy, the female staff always called Benny to help them out.

  “Hi there, Suzi-Q.” A grin split Benny’s homely face. “There’s lots of clouds but no snow yet. Sure hope we get some though.”

  Suzi stopped next to Benny and smiled up at him. Despite his receding hairline and boxer’s nose, the man acted like some overgrown, jug-eared kid most the time. According to a coworker, during the last big D.C. snowstorm, Benny had built a snowwoman near the club’s front entrance. The icy, well-endowed figure had sported foil condom packs for eyes and a vibrator for a nose. Contrary to the Xecutive Branch’s policy of maintaining a low profile in the upscale Washington neighborhood, the snowwoman had caused quite a stir in the ritzy locale. Benny’s creation had been quickly disassembled, to the staff’s sorrow.

  “I like the snow too,” Suzi agreed before changing the subject. “How’s it going? Staying busy?”

  “Nah. Hasn’t been any action since that jerk took a swing at Ramon.”

  Suzi nodded. She’d heard about the incident. An esteemed congressman from Montana had misplaced his parking keycard while in one of the role-playing rooms and had objected to Ramon’s refusal to allow him access to the private elevator. Grabbing the self-important customer by the back of his coat, Benny had shaken the politician like a rat. Eventually the keycard had been located among the delicate lingerie in his briefcase, to the cross-dressing congressman’s mortification.

  “What do you do when you’re not rescuing your coworkers?” Suzi asked.

  Benny blushed, a charming sight given the barrel-chested man’s hulking presence.

  “I help out on the loading dock,” he answered. “We have boxes coming in all the time.”

  “Like from New York?” Suzi asked.

  “Yeah, New York, L.A., even Hong Kong.”
<
br />   Suzi could imagine what were in the boxes from Hong Kong. The Xecutive Branch probably bought sex toys by the ton. Were the New York boxes from the Cabazones?

  “Sometimes we send boxes to New York too,” Benny continued. “Some days I feel like a mailman.”

  “Break’s over, Benny.”

  The bouncer flinched and Suzi turned to see Clyde Salvi, the club’s major-domo, standing several feet away. Benny mumbled a quick goodbye and headed toward the loading area. The epitome of a Mafia hitman, Clyde stood regarding her coldly.

  “Hi, Mr. Salvi,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “I was hoping to find you. I’ve got a problem.”

  “A problem?”

  The man’s emotionless voice and penetrating eyes made Suzi very uncomfortable. Clyde wielded significant power and his menacing demeanor was intimidating. She suspected he’d not only known about Jason’s murder but had probably ordered it. It was time to launch into her cover.

  “I need my massage room sink fixed,” she explained. “The dripping faucet’s like Chinese water torture. Too bad it’s not dripping in one of the S&M rooms.” Suzi could see her little joke hadn’t amused the man. “Several customers have complained.”

  “When’s your next appointment?” Clyde checked the expensive watch on his arm, the only jewelry he wore.

  “In ten minutes or so,” she answered.

  He slipped a cell phone out of his pocket and flipped open the lid. “I’ll have the receptionist send your next customer to one of the other girls,” he stated. “Go back to your room and someone will meet you there to check the problem.”

  “Thanks.”

  Suzi smiled at Clyde but he’d already dismissed her and was punching his speed-dial for the receptionist. She walked briskly back to her massage room, hoping he hadn’t overheard her quizzing Benny on the club’s shipments. With a little luck, she’d soon get another chance to talk to the bouncer about loading dock activities. Until then, she’d watch her back. It never paid to underestimate a man like Clyde Salvi.