Trust in Me (Hawkeye Book 2)

by Sierra Cartwright

“You’re welcome to take my place.”

  Silence returned, and she exchanged grins with Trace.

  Intimacy. How had it happened? When had it happened? Slowly, over the time they’d shared, the weeks of watching television, sharing meals, taking care of Eureka, sleeping beneath the same roof.

  At times, like yesterday, it still chafed. Occasionally, she liked it.

  “Come back,” Riley said, some seconds later. “We have a bad connection, Romero.”

  “Two minutes,” Trace said. “I’m hoping she takes pity and allows us to run on the track.”

  “I’d rather do the trail,” she replied.

  “Your lucky day, Romero.” Riley’s voice was ridiculously cheerful.

  About sixty seconds later, his voice again filled the living room. “All clear. Martin is heading over there now.”

  She frowned, glancing up from her fitness watch. Though it made sense, she hadn’t realized another agent ran with them.

  “Joseph Martin?” Trace asked.

  “Yeah. He’s back on duty.”

  “Good to hear.” Trace glanced at her. “You ready?”

  She tightened her ponytail. “I am now.”

  Because she was tired and groggier than she would ever admit, she set a reasonable pace, and Trace didn’t have to work as hard as normal to keep up. He’d done better every day as he acclimated. “Who’s Joseph Martin?” she asked as they reached the end of the street.

  “A fellow agent. He was shot while protecting Wolf Stone.”

  She’d heard stories about the legendary Stone, and knew that there’d been a huge bounty on his head, to prevent him from testifying in a high-profile court case. “I’m glad he’s okay.”

  “So am I. For a long time, we weren’t sure he’d ever be fit for duty again.”

  The trail was single track, which meant they couldn’t talk once they started the ascent. Maybe that was the reason she’d chosen Green Mountain rather than opting for the high school where he could remain by her side.

  She kept her heart rate where she wanted it and reached the end of the trail. Trace was right behind her, barely winded. “Nice job, Romero.” With a grin, she headed back down the mountain.

  At the end, she slowed to a walk. Now that she had some energy, she wanted to talk, and it was easier outside than in the confines of her house. “I thought we might walk back.”

  “You’re showing mercy? Now?” he asked.

  “I didn’t sleep well.” She shrugged, as if the admission hadn’t cost her much.

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  Grasping for courage, she nodded.

  He fell in step next to her. “I’m all ears.”

  “I want to know why you got into BDSM.”

  “Does your mind ever stop?”

  She slid him a glance. There was no judgment in his voice, but rather, genuine interest. “Honestly? I’m trying to make sense of the whole thing.”

  “You know, Miss Inamorata, you keep wading into very hazardous waters.”

  Yet she couldn’t stay away.

  A minute later, when she wasn’t sure whether or not he would respond, he spoke. “There was a guy at the police academy who belonged to an exclusive club in New Orleans. The Quarter. We drove down for a few days after graduation and visited the dungeon. I didn’t participate, but it wasn’t anything like I expected. I guess at the base level, it was the same thing that drew me to police work. The thrill.”

  “And you already had the handcuffs.” She shouldn’t have said that, provocative, flirting in a way.

  “I already had the handcuffs,” he agreed. “I joined a club in Dallas. Had to go through some classes first, and I was assigned a mentor. Learned the ropes. So to speak.”

  It was his turn to tease, and butterflies of awareness danced in her.

  “I like the implements, how they each do different things to a woman’s body. And pleasing a submissive is the most sublime of experiences. There’s a rush I don’t get anywhere else. We might be in a room filled with people, dozens of scenes going on, but no one but her exists. I’m focused—maybe in the same way I am right before I deploy into a dangerous situation. Her responses become my world.”

  Was it really that way for a Dom. She drew her eyebrows together.

  “What?”

  They turned onto her street and passed the SUV that Riley and Bree Mallory occupied. Bree, always reserved, surprised her by lifting her coffee cup in salute as they walked by.

  “I think she likes that you kick my ass.”

  She grinned. “Since it’s probably the only thing I’ll ever win at, I’m going to celebrate my victory.”

  They put their conversation on hold until they returned to the house. As usual, the ever-vigilant Trace locked the door, then checked all the windows, then each room, before disappearing into the office, no doubt to check the surveillance video.

  She opened the cage for Eureka. Trace nudged her aside as she pulled down a bag of coffee from the cupboard. She scowled. He’d turned off the switch before they left, and the remnants in the carafe were cold. He might be tough enough to drink a warmed up cup, but she wasn’t.

  “I’ll do it. You can, ah, relax. Relaxing is good.”

  Eureka flew over and perched on the top of the refrigerator to watch him, and no doubt to secure more food of his own.

  “How about I make you an omelet?” Trace offered.

  The contents of the fridge were a little bare since they hadn’t been to the grocery store recently. She’d spent her days working, her evenings thinking about Trace. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  “We should call the supermarket and have them deliver some food later.”

  “I’d rather go myself.” When he raised his right eyebrow, she sighed. “Right. We’ll go together.” Along with half of the Hawkeye team. “We can combine it with my coffee run.” That would save them deploying another two times. The logistics of getting through the day unnerved her.

  “Uhm, I need to get eggs from the refrigerator.” He eyed Eureka.

  “Off there,” she told the bird, putting her hand in front of him.

  Eureka just stared at Trace.

  “Eureka…” The two had been getting along so well. Even when it was just her and the bird, he occasionally misbehaved, but Trace’s presence made the mood swings more prevalent. “Off there,” she repeated.

  “He likes oranges, right? We can share one with him.”

  Traced cut an orange into sections, then showed a quarter of a piece to Eureka before carrying it to the cage. Still watching Trace, Eureka stepped onto her hand.

  This time, she didn’t close the cage so that he didn’t learn to associate treats with being closed in. As smart as he was, it wouldn’t take him long to figure that out.

  Trace added green peppers and onions to the omelets while she set the table. And fortunately, the coffee was ready, so she poured them each a cup.

  After plating their breakfast, he joined her at the table.

  “You frowned earlier.” He’d waited until they’d had a few bites before speaking. “When I said I love pleasing subs.”

  “You surprised me.” And he’d done so a second time by bringing it up, after all his warnings to avoid the conversation. She carved off a small section of her omelet but put down her fork without trying it. “That’s not why I thought the Dom—Top—would be into BDSM.”

  “Tell me more.”

  She knew why she would be into it. The brain chemistry, subspace, made sense to her. Even thinking about it was enough to consume her. “I thought it was about the Dom issuing orders, getting the sub to do what he wanted so…” She took a breath when he sat back. Her words sounded ridiculous to her. “I’m messing this up, aren’t I?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m listening… I want to give you my full attention.”

  “Maybe I have some misconceptions, but I thought the Dom, the Top, got his joy from the power. From getting a woman to follow his orders.”


  “That would have a certain charm, I’ll admit.”

  She could get lost in his eyes. A teasing smile curved his lips. Despite the tension inside her, he was teasing. “You’re hinting that I haven’t been the easiest client.”

  “In all honesty, querida? You’ve done much better than I ever would. It’s been three weeks. That’s a long time to have your life turned upside down.”

  “You haven’t been the worst jailer ever.”

  “Thank you. I think.” Then, just as fast, his expression changed. “Back to your very serious question—maybe some Doms are in it for that reason, but I don’t know anyone like that. Yes, I enjoy wielding the power that my play partner gives to me. I accept the honor and responsibility with the greatest respect. My true pleasure comes from watching her, drinking in her whimpers that fill the room, tracing the streaks of red on her skin. Her gratitude feeds my hunger.”

  He wove a spell so compelling that she wanted to step inside his world.

  “If you didn’t derive pleasure from it, neither would I.”

  She scooted back in her chair and curled her hands around her mug.

  Eureka climbed out of his cage and made his way to the perch on top. He rang the bell and admired himself in the mirror, repeating, “Pretty bird.”

  “I want my sub to get off, to have exquisite orgasms.”

  His words rocketed through her, making her hot.

  “I want her to be able to let go of her worries and stress, focusing only on herself.”

  “You make it sound like a spa day.” She gave him a halfhearted smile, but he didn’t return it.

  “It’s my responsibility to keep her safe so that she can get there.”

  Had he always been like that? Protective, with a hero complex? Compelled by duty to save the world?

  “The more my partner trusts me, the deeper she can go, the more she can receive.”

  “Last night…”

  He waited. Not that it surprised her. He knew what he wanted, and if patience was the way to secure it, he’d take all the time it required. It was comforting. And a bit confounding. “I wanted to know how you’d—we’d—proceed if…” She crossed her arms on top of the table. “You know.”

  “No. I don’t know. And this is too important for me to make guesses.”

  “If I wanted to learn more.”

  “How much do you want to know? What do you want to know? It’s one thing to talk about it, and knowledge is good, but there is no amount of talk or reading, even watching videos, that can adequately prepare you for the real-world experience of someone being solely focused on you, your pain inextricably bound to your pleasure. Theory is one thing. Experience, another.”

  A shiver rippled through her. “I meant…” She looked at him pleadingly. But he continued to regard her in silence, not making it any easier for her. “I’d like…” She blew out a breath. “Hypothetically, if you were interested, what would we do first?”

  “Before we began, I’d want to learn about you, discover what intrigues you, what turns you on, what satisfies you. Hypothetically, I’d touch you, explore you, see where your pain threshold is. I might start with a few commands to see how you respond, if you’re willing—or able—to give up control. It might be that you just like a little kink in the bedroom, a blindfold, a soft pair of cuffs. To be clear, whatever your preferences are, they’re fine. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  She was pretty sure she wanted more than that.

  “You have nipple clamps.”

  So he had found her toys that first day when he rummaged through her bedroom. After the conversation they’d been having, nothing should have embarrassed her, but it did.

  “Do you play with them?”

  She took a drink of her cooling coffee, stalling though she didn’t know why. “I do.”

  “Has anyone ever put them on you?”

  “No.”

  “But…? You’ve thought about it? Wanted it to happen?”

  The confession was difficult. “It’s sometimes part of my fantasies.”

  “Mine too. I love tormenting a woman’s nipples, just at the edge of what she likes, not too much. The exact right amount.”

  Which was how much, for her? She swallowed.

  In the office, her phone rang. She glanced at the clock. Her heart fell. Trace had held her so spellbound that she’d lost track of her very real responsibilities. “My conference call.” To discuss ideas for correcting the code so that the mosquito injection mechanism achieved a ninety-nine percent effective rate.

  “If you’re interested, this evening, after dinner, let me know. We can go as slow as you want. Or not at all.”

  The phone rang again, yet she hesitated before dashing to answer.

  Trace’s eyes were rich, beckoning. Tempting. She wanted to trust him. She wasn’t sure if she dared.

  Chapter 5

  After their dinner of a frozen pizza—and the nerves that had made it impossible to think—Aimee fled to the bathroom.

  She turned the taps on and added a heap of salts. Lavender, she understood, was relaxing, not that it ever worked for her. After testing the temperature with her toes, she clipped her hair up, then stepped into the water. Steam rose, and she sank in to rest her head on the rim as water rose around her.

  Ever since she and Trace had returned from their run this morning, Aimee had tried to act as if it were an ordinary day. It was anything but.

  After her conference call, she’d lost herself in work before she stopped to take a shower. The break in her concentration hadn’t been good. Over and over, her thoughts returned to Trace, and that led to fantasies about what might be later in the day, if she found the courage to move forward.

  Midafternoon, she and Trace had gone to the grocery store and the coffee shop. He’d been cordial but nothing more. He didn’t bring up the evening ahead or anything about BDSM. It was as if their kiss had never happened and their deep discussions hadn’t occurred. Whatever happened next truly was up to her.

  She leaned forward to turn off the taps.

  There were a million intelligent reasons for her to go to her bed instead of returning to the living room. The sound of his voice reached her, and it was oddly comforting to know she was so protected. He moved through each room, checking and rechecking locks, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He left nothing to chance.

  Once she was sure he was no longer in this part of the house—Eureka’s squawk of “Agent!” was proof of that—she leaned forward to pull the drain plug.

  She’d made her decision. Trace had been right. Theory was one thing. Experience was another—like moving from a classroom to the laboratory. She may never have another chance to have this kind of experience, and certainly not with a man like Trace.

  Wrapping herself in a towel, Aimee bypassed her dresser in favor of walking to her closet.

  How was she supposed to dress for an introduction to BDSM?

  If he’d invited her to a club, she could have gone shopping to order something appropriate. And sexy shoes.

  As it was, her selection was limited. She bypassed her one sexy black dress—too forward—in favor of a long casual T-shirt. She skipped a bra but pulled on a thong and a pair of shorts. Since her hair was wild from the humidity in the bathroom, she pulled it into a ponytail.

  Barefoot, fighting a sudden surge of nerves, she walked into the living room.

  Trace looked up from the documentary he’d been watching. He clicked the remote’s Off button. “I wondered… Hoped.” He stood.

  “Uhm…” She floundered. She’d never been this uncertain before. Now that they were so close together, this seemed premeditated, shifting her sense of the world. The few times she’d had sex for the first time, there was a rhythm to the encounter. Dinner, a movie, holding hands, a sweet kiss, an inevitability. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll guide you. You can trust in that. In me.” He rounded the couch to take her shoulders.

  “Aimee!”


  She looked over at Eureka. “Night-night.”

  He closed one eye, but she swore he regarded Trace suspiciously out of the other. “Night-night,” she repeated.

  Eureka turned his back on them.

  “That crazy loro is too damn smart.”

  “I keep thinking the same thing.” Eureka’s interruption had allowed her a moment to regroup, and while she was still off-balance, her hand had stopped trembling.

  Trace stood in front of her, overwhelmingly large. His black T-shirt hugged his chest. She couldn’t remember if his arms had always been that developed or whether he seemed bigger because of their proximity.

  For a moment, she fixated on the size of his hands. They were enormous. To think of them curved around her breasts or landing on her bare bottom… She shifted from side to side.

  “Have you thought of a safe word?”

  “Krypton.”

  “Preciosa, I think you’re going to be my kryptonite. Nothing else on the periodic table you’d rather choose?”

  “I like krypton.”

  “Krypton it is.” An approving smile slipped across his features, and her heart fluttered in response. “Use it at any time. This isn’t about terrifying you.”

  She already was.

  “But about helping you learn about yourself. Is it the fantasy you want? Or the reality?”

  He pressed a thumb beneath her chin to tip it back while he gripped her left shoulder with his free hand. His strength was undeniable. Yet she had no doubt he would let her go if she struggled.

  Trace captured her gaze. With the force of his own, he compelled her not to look away. His scent, his masculine presence, overwhelmed her.

  “I want to know everything about you. Be honest with me and yourself.”

  Surely that was his most difficult request.

  “Don’t hide, querida.”

  “You know I’m nervous.” Ever since Jack had used her words against her, she’d been careful to disguise her vulnerabilities.

  “Nervous?” he pressed. “Or frightened?”

  For a moment, she considered his question. “I’m not scared.”

  His smile sent her heart spiraling to her toes.

  “Will you take out your ponytail?”