Taming the Fire (10 page)

“Do you blame me?” Man, he was talking out of his ass here.

“It's not necessary. You aren't dead. So you've escaped the arms dealers… unless… did they hold you prisoner all this time? Were you in hiding? Did they do something to you?” She flushed, looked out the window for a moment, and then turned back to him. “I mean, my point is that they didn't kill you, and I can get you the money—with interest—so there's no need for revenge. You can pay those guys off—”

“So you think this is about money. And arms dealers.” Made sense, because he'd probably been homicidally pissed about losing that much money. Still, he wanted to make sure there wasn't more to their relationship. She'd said something back at the café about it being five years too late…

“Well, gee, since all you seem to care about is money and arms dealers, I don't see how I could believe you'd kidnap me for any other reason.
Since I'm not your type.”

Touchy. “Did we ever fuck?”

Her gasp of outrage pretty much answered that. “Do you sleep with so many women that you can't remember whether or not
we
slept together?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it's you who doesn't remember.” He trailed one finger over her knee and smiled. “Nah. You'd remember if I'd taken you to bed.”

“You arrogant ass.” She slapped his hand away. “You were a mark. That's all you ever were to me.”

He got the impression she was lying, but why? “Hell of a way to speak to a guy who wants revenge, don't you think? I'm amazed that with that mouth, none of your other
marks
have killed you.”

Yeah, that put the fear back into her big brown eyes. It only lasted for a moment, though, before she just looked tired. And maybe a little guilty. Was it possible that she felt bad about stealing his money?

“Just… please… stop playing these games and tell me what you want,” she murmured.

Good question. He'd hoped to learn more from her, but so far, she'd only confirmed what Itor had told him about being an arms dealer. The twenty-five million she'd stolen from him was new information, but now it made sense why Itor had said they'd saved his life. If arms dealers had been after him because he'd lost their money, he'd been in a shitload of trouble.

So now what? He was stuck on a plane with a woman who didn't know enough about him to help… but then, she was some sort of genius with a computer. And she owed him. He could use her. He eyed her slim ankles, long legs, perfect breasts.

Oh, yeah. He could use her. In more ways than one.

Trance had worked out for four hours after Rik left his house last night. No matter how much weight he lifted, how far he ran, how much he jerked off, he couldn't get the sound of Rik crying from echoing in his ears or the feel of her hand on the back of his neck.

Unconsciously, he rubbed a palm over the skin that she'd touched—it still tingled, much like the lingering afterburn of a cat-o'-nine-tails. He wondered if her ass felt the same, and, Christ, the feeling of her under him, pinned to the ground…

Yeah, he wasn't thinking like a sub at all now, but the way Rik had acted brought out his dominant tendencies—his protective ones too.

There was so much pain trapped inside of her along with the beast who lurked… and he'd nearly pushed her too far last night. Had felt the stirrings, the strength rise up in her. If she'd been his sub, he'd have pushed her—but with Rik, she'd have shifted and he wouldn't have survived.

As it was, he knew survival of any kind with Rik wouldn't come without a price.

“Welcome back.” The guy at the door gave him a once-over as he scanned Trance's card and let him into the discreet alleyway entrance.

The club was more crowded than he would've liked. Couple that with the fact that he'd gotten no assurances from Rik that she'd play with him again, and his body rode the knife's blade. Coming back into this world was not good at all. For him, acting the part of the dominant had been the best way he could think to handle his strength, to temper himself enough not to hurt someone accidentally. It had been a delicate balancing act, but this, the submission, was excruciating.

He'd spoken with Kira earlier—thankfully, she'd answered the phone and not asshole Ender.

“I'm screwed,” he'd told her. “Rik's refusing to use me a third time.”

He winced as he thought about saying that, but remembered that her voice had been gentle when she told him, “That's not a bad sign, Trance. Rik's had you twice—broken her rules. At heart, she knows she's getting attached, and so she's pulling back. But she's also an animal with animal instincts, so when she wants something, she wants it and doesn't know or care why. If you've bonded with her on any level at all, she's going to see you as hers. She won't like seeing what's hers flirting with other females. If you've gotten to her at all, animal instinct is going to override her human common sense.”

Play on Rik's animal side… Yeah, he could do that. Wanted to, actually. When he'd arrived and saw her circling another man, his own animalistic tendencies reared up from nowhere.

It was in his nature to be protective, but he'd never felt that on an ACRO mission. This wasn't the time for emotions—just cold, hard logic.

Man, he was fucked.

“Trance, are you here to play tonight?” Syndee sidled up to him at the bar and he turned his body to her, catching her between his thighs.

“I might need some convincing.”

Her hands ran up his leather-clad thighs. “I've got plenty of practice in convincing. But I don't want to step on Mistress Rik's toes.”

“I don't see her next to me—do you?”

Syndee looked at him, her head cocked, before she ran a long fingernail across his cheek, ending at his lower lip. “If you were mine, I'd never leave you alone.”

Even as she spoke, two other women circled him. “Would you mind sharing me, though?” he asked, and Syndee motioned the other women over.

Even though he wasn't enjoying acting like an eighth-grade boy in a room full of naked women, he could practically feel Rik's reach. She'd moved closer to where he sat, her teeth slightly bared, and when one of the mistresses put her arms around his shoulders and leaned in to nibble his neck, she walked toward him.

There was something in her stride, the way she moved so purposefully, that made the women back away. He forced himself to stay where he was, leaning lazily against the bar. He kept his legs spread, making sure she could see the bulge in his pants.

It hadn't been there a few minutes ago—only started when she came toward him.

“What are you doing, boy?”

“Syndee asked me to play” He could've sworn he heard a low growl.

“You're not in charge of yourself anymore—you don't get to make those decisions,” she told him quietly as she moved in closer, between his thighs the way Syndee had.

“Who is in charge of me, then? Because when I asked you last night, you refused the job.”

“You were out of line last night.”

“You came to see me, remember? No one in here's made you feel the way I do.”

“You're very presumptuous. Perhaps Syndee would be better suited to your attitude.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. You're suited for me.”

She sucked in a breath and he wondered if he'd taken it a step too far. But then she glanced over his shoulder—he did the same, saw Syndee staring at him.

“Are you going to save me from her, Mistress?”

“I didn't realize she was the big, bad wolf.” Her eyes flashed briefly, and he found himself sucking wind at how beautiful she looked. “You'll do whatever I ask of you, boy.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he breathed against her cheek, felt her stiffen as though his words produced an orgasm. Her hands clenched around his wrists, human bonds.

“You won't resist.”

“No, ma'am.”

“Go to room four. Strip and wait for me. I've got plans for you.”

U
LRIKA STOOD
outside the door to the room where Trance waited, afraid to go inside. Right now it was all she could do to stand up, let alone walk in.

She'd become aware of his presence the moment he'd entered the club, and for a while, she'd honestly believed she could ignore him. Could let him play with any other Dom. But out of nowhere, a possessive urge had risen up, and the only thing she could think when she'd seen Syndee with him was
Mine
.

Didn't matter that the reason she'd come into the club was to tell the manager she was quitting. Trance had walked in and instead of leaving like she should have, she'd stuck around, halfheartedly playing with other men, when the one she wanted had been right in front of her.

Why was she so incredibly weak when it came to him? She shook her head, because it didn't matter. Time to buck up, do the job, feed the beast, and get the hell out of there. This was the last she'd ever see of him. The last she planned to see of any man. Because today she was heading for the hills, where nature would just have to take its course.

Time to be strong.

T
RANCE LAY
flat on his back and waited as Rik began to strap him to the metal table.

He closed his eyes for a second to get himself to that mental place he needed to be, because he'd known exactly what she planned once he saw the medical tray and steel tools.

“Eyes open, boy. Or do you need a stronger reminder of who's in control of your body?”

The straps that locked his wrists to his sides, and his ankles so his legs were slightly spread, were strong—needed to be for what happened in this room. He tested them discreetly and knew he'd break them in seconds.

“I asked you a question.” Rik placed a finger under his chin, her nail firm against the soft flesh. Her other hand trailed down his chest, fingertips squeezing a nipple until he arched up as far as the bonds should've allowed.

If he couldn't restrain himself from that touch, he had no shot for what was about to come. “I know who's in control of my body, Mistress.”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound. “I'm sure you think you do. I'm here to show you so you'll have no doubt.”

She took her hands off him and he forced his breathing to slow, told himself that it would be all right as he watched her snap on surgical gloves and lube up one of the objects on the tray.

Jesus Christ Almighty—she was going to use the sounds on him. Medical play wasn't something he used as a Dom, and he'd always known he wouldn't be able to hold himself still enough to let a metal wand be put down his urethra to massage his prostate. It was supposed to be intense—incredible—and required an inordinate amount of trust in the person wielding the instrument.

She grabbed his cock without warning, a firm grip under the head, and used a talented finger and thumb to stretch the skin over the head of his cock tight before inserting the cold metal dittle sound into the small hole. Instinctively, his body surged upward and his eyes screwed shut.

“Eyes open,” she commanded. “I want you to watch while I do this to you.”

He did as he was told, swallowed hard as the sound began to travel down his urethra.

A long, low keening moan escaped his throat—he hated himself for it, for the total loss of control, the way his mouth dropped and his skin broke out in a sheen of sweat, hated the way Rik knew how much pleasure she was giving him.

She held a strong hand on his abdomen, and that would be enough for a few minutes at least. She manipulated his cock, let the sound move deeper, her ultimate goal to let the curved edge of the wand massage his prostate.

He wouldn't be able to stay still, to not hurt himself. He was going to have to use his safe word, but he resisted doing so with every fiber of his being as the steel tip brushed his prostate and the jolt of complete and utter pleasure nearly drove him off the table.

“My boy likes this,” she murmured. “This is just the beginning. We'll work up to the bigger ones.”

“Rik,” he said through his deep panting breaths. “I can't…”

“It's
Mistress
. And you will.”

“No, please…”

“Relax. You can't go anywhere.”

“He watched the sound drop more as he held his breath, his entire body turning into one long shudder. “Please, just stop for one second.”

“You don't make the rules.”