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Authors: J. D. Faver

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense

Kill Shot (33 page)

BOOK: Kill Shot
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“The money that Jobe gave you for the CD.” Oz heaved a sigh. “The envelope of cash that Luka gave you.”
Micki nodded. “What about it? I turned it in.”
“The DA decided it was a legal sale of your material and he released the money. It’s all yours.”
“Mine?” She sat up and stared down at Oz. “As in all mine?”

He stretched his arms behind his head. “You have to pay taxes on it just like any other income, but, yeah. It’s all yours. You can make your dreams come true.”

Micki nodded and grinned.
“It looks like you have a dream all picked out,” Oz said, a note of sadness in his voice.
“I do,” she said. “I can pay for our wedding. You know my mom doesn’t have that kind of money.”
Oz sat up in bed. “Our wedding?”
“And, I’ll have enough left to rent a small place for a real photography studio.”

Oz was hugging her and laughing. He rolled her onto her back and kissed her. “I thought...I thought you’d be planning a trip to Italy or France. I thought you’d be dropping me a postcard from Shanghai.”

Micki laughed. “Nope, our honeymoon is coming out of your paycheck.”

 

#####

 

 

About the author:

 

 

J.D. Faver lives near Houston, Texas with two spoiled, rotten cats, Emily and Daisy, and a rescue dog, affectionately called Heart of Darkness, Horrible/Adorable, or Minx for short. She writes humorous contemporary romance and romantic suspense, both seasoned with plenty of steamy passion. Even the darkest murder/suspense is riddled with numerous snarky sentiments. She is actively involved in several writer’s organizations, including National RWA and three of its local chapters, West Houston RWA, Houston Bay Area RWA and Northwest Houston RWA. She also belongs to Bay Area Writer’s League and Houston Writer’s Guild. She loves to spend time with family and friends. She writes daily but has time for other interests including painting, cooking and gardening.

She Tweets.
http://twitter.com/#!/JDFaverauthor

She FaceBooks.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/JD-Faver-Author/

She loves to hear from readers. www.jdfaver.com

 

#

 

Available soon from Amazon:

 

BAD GIRL!

By J.D. Faver

BAD GIRL!
-Mystery/Suspense/Thriller-Steamy Romance; 91k

When her clients start dying, Kris Delaney, a beautiful dominatrix is forced to rely on controlling detective Nick Price, who wants her more than he wants his shield. She fights to maintain her privacy, while struggling to resist Nick, who is everything she fears in a man. One-by-one, her clients are being dispatched by some grisly means related to their particular kink. As the bodies pile up, Nick tries to keep Kris out of danger and breach her thorny defenses to prove he is worthy of her trust.

 

CHAPTER ONE
Tuesday, March 14
th
, 7:30 PM

 

“This is not a date!” Her stilettos paced a tempo on the hardwood floor, echoing throughout his sparsely furnished bachelor apartment.

“Well, it kinda is.” He grinned up at her. “I look forward to Tuesdays now that you’re a part of them.” He tried to play the cute card, but her cool expression told him she wasn’t letting him get away with it.
No gain on play
.

She gazed at him with the same detached air, not a sign of emotion, like a scientist observing a lab rat. “This is strictly a business arrangement.”

“We could make it a date.” He patted the sofa beside him. “Why don’t you sit down and relax?” He flashed his boyish grin. It usually worked.

She huffed out an impatient sigh. “That’s against the rules. You better get this right or I’m outta here.” She turned as if to leave.

The rules again
. “Wait! I worship you. You’re a goddess. You drive me wild with desire. I think about you all the time, even when I’m at work.”

“And?” A smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“And-—” He loosened his tie. “The mere thought of you turns me into carbon steel and warm butter at the same time.” He ran his fingers through his dark auburn hair, cropped short in an unsuccessful attempt to gain control over the tendency to curl.

“And?” She took three steps toward him, stopping so close the scent of her musky perfume hit him like a fist. She tapped one of her four-inch red stiletto sandals.

He stared at her pedicured toes, gleaming as bright as the gold ankle bracelet he’d bought her. “And because I’m your worthless slave to use and abuse as you will. Do with me as you please, just do me.” He glanced up to meet her eyes.

Her expression didn’t change. “Not an option,” she said. “You must please me and you must obey my every command.”
“What’s your desire, oh mistress of my heart?” He reached out to touch her but she drew back.
“You didn’t say may I.” Her glossy red lips curved up into a smile. “Bad boy. You must be punished.”
A tingling sensation stirred the base of his spine. “Punished? What sort of punishment?”
“Whatever I choose. I am the mistress of your desires. Remember?”
His throat suddenly felt dry. “The mistress of my heart, as I recall.”
She raised her eyebrows, regarding him as though from a distant planet. “You dare to correct me?”
“May I beg your forgiveness, Mistress? I didn’t mean to offend.”
She made a little purr of amusement in the back of her throat. “Beg more.”
He licked his lips and swallowed. Her pouty mouth was getting to him. “Of course Mistress. A thous—”
She pointed one slender finger to the floor. “On your knees. This must be a truly abject apology.”
Turning away, she afforded him a view of her remarkable backside accented by the short clingy red dress.
He dropped to his knees. “Oh, no Mistress. Don’t leave. I beg you. Take mercy on your humble servant.”

She paused, as though considering his request, then strolled casually back to face him. “Since you asked so nicely, you may kiss my toes now.” She placed one sandaled foot on his coffee table. The dress crept up her firm thighs to show off the black thong she wore. “Did I say you could look at my pussy?”

He felt like an insect trapped in a pool of molasses. “No, Mistress. I humbly beg your forgiveness if I’ve offended you. I couldn’t look away. Please allow me to kiss your toes.”

“You may, my slave.”

He lavished kisses and tender caresses over her foot. Stroking her, his hand looked large and muscular compared to her slender ankle. He tried to be gentle, fighting the urge to grab.

“That’s better. Now, stand up. Take off your clothes for me and try to be entertaining.” She sat down in the oversized black leather chair, as though telling a man to strip for her was a common occurrence.

Confused, he stood with his hands spread in a helpless gesture. “You mean, like, dance or something?”

“Yes...or something. Be inventive. I prefer that my slave be creative.” She stretched out her long legs, crossing them demurely at the ankles.

“I need music.”

“By all means.”

He picked up the remote to his sound system. B.B. King’s guitar strings twanged out a bluesy ballad with a strong beat. He began moving to the music.

Slipping the knot loose from his tie, he enjoyed a fleeting fantasy of tying her up with it, exploring her body with his tongue and finding the means to break through her icy facade. He blinked to clear his head and danced with the tie before tossing it to her.

He tried to concentrate on unbuttoning his cuffs, followed by his shirtfront.
“Not too fast,” she admonished. “Tease me.”
“Yes, Mistress.” He slid the shirt down one shoulder far enough to expose one of his well-muscled pecs.
Her gaze swept over his torso, for the first time giving out a hint of interest. “Ooh, nice. You’ve been working out.”
“I have a tough job,” he said. “Lots of stress.” He exposed his other shoulder and then let the shirt fall to the floor.
“The thrill is gone,” B.B. rasped to the music.
“Don’t you believe it,” he growled as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.
“Show me the merchandise, slave.” Her eyes were half-closed as though she shuttered herself from his scrutiny.

He dropped the pants and kicked them aside. Dancing closer to her, he was embarrassed by his arousal, covering himself with his hands.

“Are you feeling shy, my slave?” Her voice was soft, caressing, almost tender.

“A little. I’m the only one here without my clothes.”

A glimmer of a smile lifted the corners of her lips as she visually cruised him from head to briefs. “And yet you still wear those tidy whities. They offend me greatly.”

He stopped moving and stood grinning at her, hands on hips. “You’re kidding. Right?”
“No. I find them offensive. Discard them immediately and come here.”
He made a hissing noise, sucking air between his clenched teeth. “I can do that.” He dropped the briefs and started toward her.
“On your knees, slave,” she said. “I want you to crawl over here to me.”

He grinned and shook his head, but dropped to all fours. The cold hardwood floor hurt his knees as he crawled toward her. He was at eye level with her legs.

She smiled encouragement and opened her knees slightly, allowing him to gaze at the long expanse of smooth thighs and the tiny strip of silky fabric separating them.

“Do you like what you see?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” he whispered.
“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He closed the distance between them, stopping with his face close to her knees. He inhaled the clean woman smell and felt the warmth radiating from her skin. Curbing his desire to press himself between her thighs and crush her against him, he turned to gently brush the inside of her knee with his lips.
She better be wet
.

“You didn’t ask permission to kiss me.” She shoved him back with her foot, the heel of her stiletto grazing his shoulder. “You’re such a bad boy. You’re just begging to be punished.”

She rummaged in her bag, then fastened a thin leather collar around his neck and snapped a leash to it. Standing in one graceful movement, she pulled the leash. “Heel!” she commanded.

He was compelled to follow close to her left ankle. She circled the room twice, making tight turns when they reached the door and hallway. He had to scramble to stay in stride. The floor scraped his knees.

“Now, stay!” She removed the leash and rummaged in her large handbag.

He remained frozen on all fours, hearing rather than seeing her return to stand beside him.

“This hasn’t been a good session.” She spoke close to his ear in a husky voice that enthralled him, raising goose flesh along his neck. “You must learn to obey immediately without question and to ask permission. I’m in control of you. Do you understand?”

Her accent wasn’t from New York, but he couldn’t identify her origins.

“Yes, Mistress.” He felt the first stinging swat on his flank as she spanked him with a small paddle. The spanking continued with four more equally sharp swats.

He’d never been hit by a woman before this one. He wasn’t the kind of man to allow himself to be hit. He wasn’t the kind of man not to rise up and hit another man back. He wasn’t the kind of man not to keep hitting until he was the last man left standing upright...and yet, he allowed this sexy little tease to hit him, not once but five times.

“Now, what do you say?” She leaned close again, her expression betraying no hint of emotion.

He swallowed hard. “Thank you, Mistress.” He stared into the ice blue eyes, hoping he would be given the opportunity to warm them up.

“Good boy.” She crossed to the coffee table and picked up the envelope. She didn’t count the cash. She did make sure it was inside before tucking the envelope and the paddle inside the large handbag. “Do you want me to return next week?”

She’s leaving already
. “Yes, please. I want to see you again.”

“Keep the collar. I selected it especially for you. Have it on when I arrive.”

His throat closed up like he was choking but he managed a half whispered response. “Yes, Mistress.”
Please stay. Please
.

“And Nick,” she said, her hand on the doorknob, “Get some silk boxers. That would please me.”

“Anything to please you, Mistress.” He realized she had gone and left the door ajar. He struggled stiffly to his feet and crossed the room to secure it. He felt vulnerable and exposed.

Nick touched the collar around his neck.

He picked up his clothes and switched off the music. Next Tuesday he would be sure to please her.

#

Tuesday, March 14
th
, 8:05 PM

 

Her stilettos click-clacked on the pavement.

Two blocks. It seems like two miles
. Kris Devlin walked the entire distance to where she’d parked her car without once hurrying or looking over her shoulder. She had an aerosol container of pepper spray on her keychain, just in case. She kept her shoulders square and her chin up, forcing herself to maintain a steady stride in spite of the wobble in her ankles.

BOOK: Kill Shot
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