by M. S. Parker
I shook my head, then, after a moment’s consideration, clarified. “It was the first someone else had given me.”
He scowled. “If I ever meet that ex of yours, I’m going to kick his ass.” Then he nipped at my thigh and I let out an undignified sound. “Or maybe I should thank him.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I get to be the first man to show you just how many times you can come from someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“And you do?” I shot back with a grin.
A dangerous look came into his eyes.
Shit.
Any other thought I may have had flew out of my head the moment Cross buried his face between my legs and set out to prove just how much he did know what he was doing.
He was relentless, driving me toward an earth-shattering climax within just a few minutes. But he didn’t let up, continuing to lick and suck and nip until I was writhing, almost sobbing with the intensity of sensation coursing through me. I tried pushing his head away, but he merely caught my hands, laced his fingers between mine, and held them. Just when I was ready to scream out my safe word because I couldn’t handle anything else, he sat back on his knees, his face glistening, a smug smile on his face.
“You proved your point,” I said once I’d found enough air.
“And now I’m going to prove another one,” he said as he climbed off the bed.
He reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out not one, but several condoms. He tossed them onto the bed and moved back to kneel between my legs.
“What point is that?” I asked.
He grinned at me. “That I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk, make you scream my name until your throat hurts.”
I swallowed hard.
“And I’m going to make you come so hard that you pass out.”
My eyes widened slightly. Oh, fuck.
Chapter Sixteen
Cross was definitely as good as his word. On Tuesday, he did indeed fuck me until I passed out. And yesterday morning, I could barely walk and my throat was sore. So yesterday’s lessons had all been gentle. Sensation play, he’d called it. He’d blindfolded me, tied me up so I couldn’t move, then used ice and feathers and silk until I’d begged him to do something else, anything else. Then he’d tortured me by taking me to the brink of release, then backing off.
Today, apparently, was about obedience despite discomfort, as well as pushing my limits.
His way of doing that was for us to have breakfast on the enclosed porch...and then ordering me to strip completely naked while he stayed clothed, opening his pants only wide enough for his cock to come out. He’d rolled on a condom and given me further instructions.
So, now I was riding his cock, my back to him, my legs spread wide as I moved up and down, breasts bouncing. And anyone who happened by the side of the cabin could’ve looked in and seen everything. Seen the way Cross’ cock stretched me wide as it slid in and out of me. The way Cross was making me cup my breasts, roll my nipples, pull on them until they were throbbing.
The muscles in my legs were starting to burn, but Cross had given me strict orders that I wasn’t allowed to come until he said I could. And I needed to come. My nerves were stretched so taut that if I didn’t climax soon, I was going to explode.
Oh, and I wasn’t allowed to touch my clit either.
I could only see Cross in the window reflection, but it was enough to annoy me. He was leaning back, arms crossed behind his head, looking at ease with the world. Then his eyes met mine in the reflection, and I saw that he wasn’t as laid-back as he seemed.
I flexed around him and he swore, his calm demeanor cracking. He sat up, sliding his arms around my waist. He pressed his mouth against my ear even as he pulled me down onto him. He moved me in circles, back and forth, creating a new sort of friction.
“When we get back to the city, we need to talk about what we should so that we don’t have to bother with condoms.” His tongue flicked against my earlobe. “I want to be able to take you whenever I want. Up against a wall, in the car, public, private, anywhere I want you. Everywhere I want you.”
I closed my eyes. Fuck. I wanted that too. Wanted to feel nothing between us but skin.
“Come for me, baby.” He nipped my ear. “I’m close. All I need is to feel you squeeze me.”
Then his fingers were sliding over my clit, giving me the last bit I needed to come. I cried out, my muscles tensing, doing exactly what Cross had wanted. He groaned and his grip around me tightened. He pressed his mouth against the side of my neck. I could feel him sucking, biting, and I knew he was going to leave a mark. I was still shuddering from my climax and didn’t have the strength to protest, even if I’d wanted to.
It wasn’t until several minutes later, when I was wrapped in a blanket and curled on his lap that I finally spoke.
“Did you seriously give me a hickey?”
He laughed and kissed my forehead. “Yes, I did.”
“You seem rather proud of yourself,” I said, sounding more annoyed than I was.
He slid one hand under the blanket to cup one breast. “Just wanted to give you a bit of a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?” I asked as I leaned into his touch.
“That you’re mine.”
Before I could even process the statement, his phone rang and he was moving me onto the love-seat as he got up to answer it.
Had he seriously just said that? He’d wanted to remind me that I was his? When had that happened? Just a couple days ago, we’d been talking about the difference between being a lover versus just a sexual partner. Now he was saying that I was...his? And what exactly did that mean?
“One moment, Roster. Let me put you on speaker.”
Cross sat back down next to me and put the phone on his knee. His expression told me that whatever was going on, it needed to take precedence over his random – or maybe not so random – statement.
“I have Juliette Breckenridge’s sister here with me,” he said. “I want you to repeat what you just told me.”
A man’s voice came through the phone, his tone crisp and business-like. That was good. I preferred that to any sort of sympathetic condescension that someone might’ve thought appropriate given the circumstances.
“I was able to find a letter Miss Breckenridge received from her stalker and trace it back to a post office. Long story short, it comes back to this guy named Howie Pant.”
The errant thought flashed into my head that it sounded like a porn star from the seventies.
“I haven’t been able to find the guy yet, but I’ve put together some information on him,” Mr. Roster continued. “Turns out, he and Juliette were...involved.”
I frowned. Juliette hadn’t ever mentioned a boyfriend. In fact, I’d gotten the impression that she hadn’t wanted one, that she preferred her single life.
“Hanna is aware of her sister’s sexual habits,” Cross said. “You can be blunt.”
I found his interpretation of protecting me quite interesting. I would’ve assumed that someone who wanted control, who wanted to protect, would be the sort of person who’d essentially treat the object of his affection as if she was fragile, breakable. He’d refuse to let her do anything herself, refuse to let her know anything that might hurt her. Cross, however, seemed to understand that fine line between protecting and domineering.
“Pant was Miss Breckenridge’s submissive. The two of them had been seen together a couple of times, but Juliette made it clear that there was nothing outside of sex. The people I talked to said that she ended things when it became clear that Mr. Pant thought there was more between them than there was.”
I shivered, rubbing my hands over my arms. I was suddenly very aware that, beneath the blanket, I was naked.
Cross wrapped his arm around me and pulled me against him. I leaned on him, grateful for the support.
“Do you think this guy has Juliette?” Cross asked.
“He hasn’t been seen or
heard from since the night Miss Breckenridge disappeared,” Roster answered. “Hasn’t shown up for work or at his apartment. Neighbors have no clue where he is.”
“Is it possible that he’s just avoiding the police since he has to know he’d be a suspect?” Cross asked.
If the PI took offense to the questioning, his voice didn’t show it. “It’s possible,” he said. “Especially since everyone I talked to said that Pant barely did anything without someone having to tell him to do it first. The letter he wrote to Miss Breckenridge supports that. He believed she abandoned him and that, without her, he couldn’t function.”
“How could someone like that kidnap someone like my sister?” I asked. The answer came even as I finished the question. “Unless he drugged her.”
“Again, possible,” Roster said.
Cross tapped his fingers on is thigh. “But you have another theory.”
“I do,” the PI replied. “I think this was at least a two-person job. Remember, this isn’t just about Juliette being kidnapped. Hanna was drugged as well.”
“I’m aware of that.” Cross’ voice was tight and I reached over to take his hand.
“There’s a chance it was a coincidence.” Roster acted as if Cross hadn’t spoken at all. “But my gut tells me differently. I think Pant’s been after Juliette ever since she dumped him. I think he probably even fantasized about taking her so that she could never leave him. But I think he never intended to do anything. He’s smart enough to know that he couldn’t handle Juliette himself. His drive to obey her would be too great.”
That was a good point, I realized. If this guy had taken Juliette and he was truly a Sub, he would’ve been conflicted to say the least when she ordered him to let go.
“I think this was all stewing in Pant, but if he’d blown on his own, it would’ve been something spontaneous and probably more about hurting himself than her.”
“Like killing himself in front of her so she’d feel guilty,” I suggested.
“Exactly,” Roster said. “But I think someone intervened. Someone who was more organized, more careful. This would be someone who could provide Pant with what he needed to carry out a kidnapping. Something that would enable him to keep Juliette without having to worry about her ordering him to let her go. Someone who knew exactly what sort of leverage they’d need.”
I didn’t get it until Cross swore, his arm tightening around me. I went cold, and it had nothing to do with what I was or wasn’t wearing.
“I was the leverage,” I whispered.
“I believe so,” Roster said. “I think they wanted to take both of you, using you to keep Juliette from trying to escape, keep her compliant.”
“Who the fuck is the puppet-master, Roster?” Cross voice was sharp.
“I don’t have a name yet,” he said. “But I do have two possible leads. One is finding who drugged Hanna. I have a couple people talking to the bartender.”
“The cops already questioned him,” I said. “He didn’t know anything.”
“My men can be a little more...persuasive than the police. They won’t do anything illegal, but they’ll toe the line,” Roster said. “I think he either did it himself, or knows who did since the only two open drinks would’ve been within his view. We just have to find the money trail.”
Cross fingers flexed between mine, tension radiating off his body. “What’s the second lead?”
“I was able to get into Pant’s phone records,” Roster said. “He left his laptop in his apartment and his passwords were juvenile.”
“Mars.” Cross spoke from between gritted teeth. “I don’t care how you got it. Just spill.”
“There’s a number Mr. Pant calls several times a day, starting from just before Hanna arrived in LA.”
“You think that’s who’s pulling the strings?” I asked.
“I tried calling it, but whoever owns the phone won’t answer,” he continued. “And an online search just tells me that it’s a cell phone. Whoever has it knows how to hide their number. I have someone on it, but I figured you might want to have the cops working on this too.”
“I’ll give the detectives a call,” Cross said. He released my hand and pulled up the notes on his phone. “What’s the number?”
As the PI rattled it off, a chill went through me. “Could you repeat that?”
Cross must’ve heard something in my voice because he looked over at me. I didn’t respond though, forcing myself to focus on the numbers, hoping I’d heard them wrong the first time.
I hadn’t.
“What is it?” Cross asked, concerned.
“We don’t need to search for...” My mouth was dry and I had to stop to swallow. “I know whose number that is.” I looked at Cross even as I pressed my hands together to try to stop them from shaking. “It’s my sister’s assistant. Emmalyn Baxter. That’s who this guy’s been talking to.”
Chapter Seventeen
I barely remembered what happened after I’d recognized Emmalyn’s number. I do know there was plenty of cursing from both men, and I was pretty sure Cross yelled at the PI for not having investigated Juliette’s assistant. I might have tried to tell him that it wasn’t Roster’s fault, that the stalker angle had clearly made more sense.
At some point, Cross had ended the call, and then told me that we were going back to the city to meet with the detectives. I was pretty sure that was when he’d realized that I hadn’t been entirely processing things.
Time moved in skips and jumps after that. I was dressed without remembering doing it. Then in the car, heading back to Hollywood. Some sort of music played in the background, instrumental, soothing. I knew I should have been able to name one of the pieces, but I felt like I was working hard just to remember to breathe.
We pulled into the police station parking lot, and Cross came around to open my door. I knew why we were here, and knew I needed to pull myself together. I took his hand, trying to use it to center myself. All I could do, though, was finally say what had been bouncing around in my head from the moment I’d recognized the phone number.
“I should’ve known.”
Cross looked down at me as he closed the car door. “You should’ve known what?”
“That it was Emmalyn,” I said dully. “She answered Juliette’s phone in the apartment, remember? I should have seen it then. That it was her.”
Cross let go of my hand to cup my face between his hands. “No. Don’t do that. This is not your fault. None of it. Now, I might not know your sister personally, but I feel pretty safe in saying that she’d agree with me here.”
I frowned at him. “I doubt that. She doesn’t like you.”
He gave me that half-smile, but there was a hint of something sad in his eyes. “Then, I guess when we get her back, I’ll just have to prove myself to her.”
He bent his head and pressed his lips firmly against mine. It was a chaste kiss, one to give me strength rather than to arouse. I laid my cheek against his chest and let him hold me as I closed my eyes and repeated his words. I knew them in my head, that there was no way I could’ve known any of this would happen, but I needed to get them into my heart.
When I finally pulled back, my head was clear, and I was ready to go over everything with the detectives. I nodded in answer to the question in Cross’ eyes, then took his hand and we walked into the police station together.
Neither Bison nor McAllister looked pleased to see us, though I supposed that could’ve had as much to do with the fact that they were probably ready to go home, as it did that they didn’t seem to like us. They didn’t blow us off though.
Instead, they escorted us to a quiet room, and listened as both Cross and I explained everything. Detective McAllister wrote everything down, her face blank.
Then the mood in room shifted.
“Do you happen to know how your private investigator was able to get Mr. Pant’s phone records?” Detective Bison asked Cross.
Cross folded his hands on the table in front of
him. “I do, but I’d prefer not to say. As I’m not a police officer, it’s not really my concern.”
Detective Bison’s dark eyes narrowed. “You could be charged with being an accessory to anything your PI did.”
Cross mouth flattened. “If you can find a judge willing to swear out an arrest warrant for that when there’s a missing woman, you can continue this conversation with my attorney. Or we can work together to get Juliette Breckenridge back to her sister, and then we’ll never have to see each other again. I know which one I’d prefer.”
“Mr. Phillips,” Detective McAllister spoke up. “Do you think that your family money grants you some sort of special treatment?”
Cross shifted in his seat and I reached under the table to put my hand on his leg. The muscles there were tense, but I felt him relax ever so slightly at my touch.
“I think that I expect you to do your job,” he said. The edge to his voice was sharp. “And your job is to find Juliette. I don’t care what else you do or how the hell you do it. But I do promise that if you don’t follow these leads, and something happens to Miss Breckenridge, I will use my family’s money, as well as whatever influence I have, to bury the two of you.”
Detective Bison held up a hand. “Mr. Phillips, I think my partner spoke out of turn. We’re just looking out for your best interests as well. We want Miss Breckenridge found safely, just as much as you do.”
I doubted that, but I didn’t say so.
“We just don’t want you to getting yourself into trouble,” Detective McAllister said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Let me worry about myself,” Cross said. “You just worry about finding Juliette.”
The detectives exchanged looks that I couldn’t read, then turned to me.
“Miss Breckenridge, did you ask Mr. Phillips to hire a private investigator?” Detective Bison asked.
“No,” I answered, squeezing Cross’ leg when I saw his mouth open to answer for me.
“Are the two of you sleeping together?” Detective McAllister asked.
