Damaged Goods (10 page)

Brice leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers against his lips as he studied the murder board. Wrong thing to do if he wanted to concentrate on the case. He’d taken Terryn long into the night and when he woke for work this morning, he’d opted to have her one more time in the shower.

After their shower he mentioned his regret that she didn’t smell like pie anymore and she’d smiled and handed him her purse. Inside was a travel-size bottle of her lotion and he’d covered every inch of her in it before he left. So, as his fingers were pressed to his face he could smell her on them.

It caused an instant reaction in his lap as well as skittering his thoughts back to the woman he’d left in an exhausted heap in the middle of his bed. He closed his eyes and basked for a moment. Allowing the raw images to flash like a movie reel through his mind while he took deep, savoring breaths rich with the lingering scent of cinnamon sugar-coated woman.

“Do you smell pumpkin pie?”

Brice cracked one eye open and looked at Kent, wondering if he was being serious or messing with him. Kent looked around, his expression similar to that of a kid waiting for Santa. Brice thanked his years on the force for being able to keep a straight face.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, man.” Brice sat up and shuffled papers, trying hard to look anywhere but at his partner as the guy craned his neck to look around the office.

Just when he was about to lose it and burst out laughing, Kent started to whistle.
Shit.
As the familiar tune of “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” happily sounded, Brice’s laughter melted away to resignation. “Cut the crap for once, Kent,” he said. “She’s an A.D.A. when she’s here, not your cousin. Give her some slack and show some respect.”

“Yeah, Brandon,” Ziporah Feldman said with a smirk “Why don’t you grow up and cut me some slack?”

She and Kent had a love-hate relationship that went all the way back to the cradle. Brice didn’t try to get in the middle of it often. The two fought and squabbled every time they came within shouting distance of each other. He had never seen two people who loved to fight as much as these two.

She was drop-dead sexy. All New York sleek, with mile-long legs and a figure that made every straight cop in the precinct do a double take. She had glossy brown hair that fell in a straight bob to her shoulders and big brown eyes that could drown a man or cut him in two depending on her mood. And she had the kind of wit that he knew brought his partner to his knees. Brice often wondered if Kent even realized that most of the women he dated were dead ringers for his cousin.

“Why would I want to do that when you’re such an easy target, Zippy?” Kent smiled at her, obviously enjoying the signs of agitation she couldn’t hide.

Ziporah tried to school her features and not show how much he irked her when he called her that. “You know damn well what my name is and if Ziporah is too hard for you, you can call me Ms. Feldman.”

“Zip it for a minute, would you?” Kent interrupted and turned to look at Brice. Brice knew Kent could see her all but combust out of the corner of his eye. He also knew that it was everything his partner could do to keep a straight face. “Brice, did you call for the suit? If you did, I need to know. I mean, we’re partners and I could’ve used some warning that the suits were descending on us today.” He cut a look over his shoulder where his nemesis was all but fuming in her temper. “After all, if I’d known I would have dressed up.”

“You’re a moron. Aunt Betty should have traded you in for a puppy. How you made it to detective, I’ll never know.” Ziporah gave him a look that should have shriveled his balls and turned to Brice, deliberately turning her back on Kent. She laid the stack of files on his desk. “Here are the files you requested. Everything I could dig up on Brian Gwin and the girls at the Surf-N-Slurp. Not much there.” She leaned close and looked deep into Brice’s eyes. “You really think we got a serial killer here? If we do, you know you gotta turn it over to the feds.”

Brice picked up the files and said, “I have no proof that we’ve got a serial on our hands. As soon as I do, you know Detective Kent and I will report it accordingly.”

Ziporah smirked while Kent coughed “bullshit” into his fist and said, “Your captain loves you ’cause you always tie up your cases with a pretty bow for me. Same reason
I
love you, but you’re walking a tight rope that could hang you if you’re not careful.” She patted his cheek as she straightened and walked away. “So be careful.”

When Kent couldn’t leave well enough alone and started whistling that obnoxious song again, she held up a choice finger for him without turning around. She repeated, “Moron,” then turned the corner and headed for the elevator.

“So what files did you get zipped over here?” Kent asked.

“You know she’s gone and can’t hear you anymore, right?” When Kent just smirked, Brice answered, “I got her to dig up any juvenile records she could find on Gwin and the co-workers. It’s a stretch but the best I could come up with at this point.”

“Stretch is right. What the hell. Hand over one of those and let’s get started.” Kent opened Brian Gwin’s file and asked, “Why does she love you enough to get you sealed records anyway? She wouldn’t give me shit if I asked. And we share blood.”

Brice couldn’t believe the guy even asked. “Hmm, Kent, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t act like a schoolyard bully every time she comes around.”

“What?” Kent shocked him by being completely baffled. “I’m only playing with her. You don’t think the teasing really bothers her, do you?” While Brice tried to come up with something more mature than the “duh” that he wanted to say, Kent shrugged and said, “Nah.”

Brice let it go. There were more important things he could be doing than enlightening his partner.

Chapter Ten

Almost a full week later and they had learned very little that could lead them toward a killer. Brian Gwin had had some trouble. Mostly what you’d expect from a good-looking middle-class kid. Speeding tickets within a month of getting his license, underage drinking and partying. Pretty typical, harmless stuff.

The girls at the shop were a dead-end. Angie was an army brat who’d moved a lot yet still managed to pull in decent grades and keep her nose clean. Mandy had done time in a juvenile ward for underdeveloped or troubled kids—no surprise there considering how slow her mental faculties worked—but she’d kept out of trouble and stayed in school. Brice would be digging deeper into that anyway, just to be sure, but he wasn't expecting much. Jenny, the owner of the coffee shop, was squeaky clean. Youngest of five kids, married to her high school sweetheart and mother of three teenage girls. And every other file was just as much a dead-end as the last.

Brice let himself into his apartment with a million facts and images from the day still brewing in his mind. Terryn had his spare key and was going to be meeting him here any minute. He could not pull his head out of the case and focus on getting ready, even with the stop he’d made on the way home. He was so distracted with his thoughts that he’d taken three full steps into the living room before he saw her. Then he froze and abruptly forgot everything, including how to breathe.

Terryn knelt in the middle of the room with her head bowed. That radiant hair was pulled back in a tail that curled loosely down her back. Her knees were spread wide and her hands rested atop her thighs; one of them cradled a glass of wine. She was naked except for one thing.

A collar.

It wasn’t from the club; it was white and had a gold heart-shaped loop dangling from its center. The fatigue, the strain and the stress of the day melted away as he studied her. His sub. The beauty of her at this moment was on level with a masterpiece. Light from the crystal chandelier glinted off her hair, making it glow as it brought out the many different hues of red that made it so breathtaking. Her lovely willowy body still showed the signs from last week’s lovemaking. There were faint pink patches scattered from cheek to knees from his five-o’clock shadow. There were also a couple of faded bite marks and hickeys in some tantalizing places.

Looking at her like this, willingly submissive and awaiting his pleasure while covered with marks from his lovemaking, settled something in him that he’d been unaware needed settling.
This
, he thought to himself,
This is what Heaven would be like if I could design it.

He stepped forward and brushed one finger down her cheek, “Is that wine for me, little sub?”

Terryn felt alive as she never had before. The only thing that kept the pain of Katie’s loss away was focusing on what she had discovered about herself at the hands of Brice last week. When she and Katie had first started exploring BDSM, she had thought it sounded exciting. She pictured herself having an adventure. She also feared finding it a lot less glamorous than the books promised. Although she had hoped for the glamorous, she was prepared for lackluster at best and a painfully awkward embarrassment at worst. She’d never dreamed it would turn out to be her destiny.

She knew that Brice was a huge part of the reason everything was so perfect right now. She was never going back to the vanilla way of life. This is what she had been searching for. This is what had always been missing from every relationship she ever had. Now that she’d found it, it would never be missing again.

When it came to sex, she wanted to serve her Master. More importantly, she wanted to serve
this
Master. To please him. She wanted to give control of her body and pleasure over to his will. Whatever that may be. In this place of peace where she’d centered herself and cleared her mind of everything, she didn’t think about all the logical reasons that said she was moving too fast. She couldn’t hear the inner voices that would caution her to hold back. In this place, that pounding drive in her heart that told her he was everything she’d dreamed of was the only voice she heard.

Surviving in a big, overcrowded city was both fun and a challenge. She had to battle her way through one job after the next, even with her degree. Every chore, bill and duty was hers and hers alone. As she reflected back on it now, her previous relationships had been just another responsibility on top of all the others. They were for the most part decent guys who had seemed to truly care for her. Unfortunately Terryn could see now that she had steered clear of men that had any backbone at all. Too frightened of ending up in a relationship full of drama, she had chosen easygoing, mild-mannered men. And all of them had been just as passive in bed as out of it. Not uncaring of her, just not what she needed. In every other aspect of her life she had to make decisions. For the first time she found a way to let go. A safe place to let all the decisions and control rest in someone else’s hands. Yeah, she was never going back.

With BDSM, she had no responsibility other than what her Dom desired. Terryn was free to let go. In this perfect moment, her mind was at peace. There was only a sense of safety and calm as she offered the wine she had prepared and whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

The glass was lifted with one hand and he used his other to tilt her chin until she met his smoldering gaze. His lips parted and the deep red wine seemed to caress them as it passed into his mouth. His dark pink tongue came out before he lowered the glass to catch a drop that lingered on the edge. Watching a man take a drink had never been so erotic.

“Thank you, sub.” His fingers brushed the sensitive skin under her chin while his thumb stroked lightly along her lips. “I’m glad you’re here.” Terryn could only nod as he took another tantalizing dink and continued to touch her. “I like the collar, but it’s not mine. Take it off.” With shaking fingers, Terryn released the clasp and dropped it to the side.

“From now on, you’ll wear my collar and no other. Even at the club. Understood?”

Recognizing that for the claim of ownership it was caused Terryn’s breath to catch on a gasp. Brice took advantage of her parted lips by sliding his thumb in. Without being told, Terryn locked her lips around the digit and started to worship it with her tongue and suck on it like a favorite candy treat. She was rewarded with a deep groan while he took another taste of wine. His thumb wasn’t enough—she wanted more.
Needed
more.

She started to raise her hands and was stopped by his arched brow. Her eyes implored, and with another sip he nodded his consent. First the belt gave way, then the slacks and silk boxers, until finally he was hard and hot in her hands. Pulsing in her grasp. He was magnificent. She gripped the base and gave a firm pull all the way to the flared head then stroked back again. His hum of pleasure was like nourishment to her. When he slid his thumb from her mouth and guided her to his cock as he continued to enjoy his drink, she thought it was the sexiest thing she’d ever done.

His taste flowed into her senses the way the wine must have been flowing into his. The shaft was long and thick, the head so wide she feared catching it on her teeth. He controlled all the action as he slowly and steadily slid to the back of her throat. He held there, restricting her breathing, and Terryn concentrated on taking shallow breaths through her nose until he relented and slowly eased back out.

Nothing in her life seemed to matter as much as pleasing him, bringing him even a fraction of what he’d bestowed on her. Terryn pulled everything she’d ever read about blow jobs and every trick she’d ever learned into her mind and poured it all into motion. She licked and sucked and swirled and bobbed as he drank his wine and stroked her hair.

Before long, she noticed a tremor in his hand that then transferred to his legs. His breathing grew frantic and the hums of pleasure were morphing into deep growls of lust interspersed with phrases like, “Oh fuck, baby” and “God, that’s good.” Then, “Yeah, like that. Hmmm, harder. Suck me harder. Yeah.”

Terryn had never enjoyed going down on a man more. As his moans got louder and his directions more coarse, her own desire climbed. She was dripping wet and as impossible as it seemed, she felt perilously close to an orgasm. That feeling only intensified when he fisted his hand in her hair and started thrusting, wrenching control away once more.