Going Down (24 page)

The insides of her elbows, back of her knees, chin, hip bones, wrists and between her fingers, armpits, the ladder of her ribs—all those places and more absorbed his touch. As he worked her, she ping-ponged between sensations, always off balance and yet accepting. Wondering. Questioning. Rocking her hips from side to side and grinding her buttocks into the coverlet. Lifting her ass off the bed and him sliding a couple of pillows under her.

Although he'd crawled onto the bed and positioned himself between her splayed legs, her head was so far back that her view of him was now limited to the shoulders up. He became not just big but huge, massive, and masterful.

“Missionary did you say?” Sliding closer, he positioned his cock at her entrance. “Why?”

Hurry, please!
“I don't know.”

There he was, tall and strong and over her, his hands gripping her hips and lifting her up. Mouth hanging open, she let herself melt from the waist down. Her fingers found his forearms, and she raked the tanned flesh.

Then his silken cock head kissed her core. “Oh God, God,” she whispered.

He gathered himself, pushed even farther forward, the movement sleek and controlled. Instead of the raging waterfall of need she expected, she kept on melting, drifting off into nothing behind her now-closed eyes.

“Damn. Damn.” His voice was as low and slow as hers had been. “You're killing me.”

She was boneless, nerveless, stripped of all muscle. He was in her. With every breath she took, her body absorbed even more of him. Her pussy was both her power and weakness, master and slave. And much as she wanted to ask if he felt the same—whether there were times when he feared the power of what lay between a woman's legs—it would have to wait.

Filling up, expanding, legs starting to tremble, knees bent and feet pushing into the bedding, head sliding yet closer to the edge. When she opened her eyes, she saw only the ceiling and the lighting fixture hanging from it. It seemed to be moving but maybe the movement came from her. And him.

There. Suddenly so deep into her that his balls pressed against her. She was gripping his wrists, no longer scratching, hoping she hadn't drawn blood. If she relaxed her hold, she might slide onto the floor—if his hold on her hips didn't keep her in place and they weren't anchored to each other.

Mewling sounds rolled out of her, not the harsh, hungry cries that had wrenched free when her clit was under assault, but soft and low and sleepy. That was her, that contented woman with the blood running into her brain and her body still drifting?

He started moving, not thrusting yet but something soft and sleepy, a kind of quest, questions being asked maybe.
Yes,
she responded by tightening her pelvic floor muscles.
Yes, I want you here.

Why,
he seemed to ask during a long, slow push.
Why do you want me?

I don't know. The intensity of what we've shared, yes. But more than that. Closeness. Barriers breached. Intimacy sought.

There, stronger but still building, a promise and threat of what he was capable of. Wise in the way of the male body and maybe mind, she knew he'd crossed over a line. He might speak. He might even say words that reached her heart, but he was all about himself now, primitive and demanding.

She wanted demanding and primitive—primitive was essential. And yet she continued to float, to ooze, to simply be. Even as she rolled her head from side to side and the pressure on her shoulders built, she remained disconnected from fucking and being fucked. It didn't matter how many objects and organs had filled her because it had never been like this, her turning herself without reservation over to a man and trusting him to put her back together when he was done.

A warm and languid twitching rolled over and into and through her cunt. Fascinated, she gathered up what brain fragments she could find and molded them into the semblance of a question. The twitching came from deep inside, from a place beyond where Reeve's cock reached and yet was dependent on it. She could distinguish between a climax triggered by her clit and one her G-spot lay claim to, but this was neither of those. Similar. Incredible. All-consuming. And yet different.

It built, warmed, and spread, burning her throat and stealing her muscles. She wasn't floating so much as flying now, gasping at the quick assent. Then as she pondered whether she might be turning inside out, the deep shivers smoothed. And in their wake came something familiar, her clit overloading and spraying electricity over everything.

She knew this electricity, its quick and delicious heat. Mindful of how quickly it could come and go, she mounted it, pressed her body tight around it, rode it. Her nails dove into his wrists as if she were trying to draw the blood out of him.

“Killing me,” he snapped. “Killing me.”

No, it was he who'd laid wreck to the old her.

“O
fficial cause of death—broken neck.”

“From being thrown out of a vehicle?”

“No. According to the autopsy, she was already dead when they dumped her along the side of the freeway. Going by the bruising, someone did it with his hands.”

Reeve had heard and seen a lot of things in his life that would make most people sick so he'd anticipated something like this, but it still hit him hard.

“You needed to know that,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “Looks can be deceptive. As long as they know what they're doing, a pampered CEO could have the strength for—”

“I get it. You're warning me not to trust anyone, which I've already figured out.”

“I'm sure you have. Reeve, you're not going to want me to spell it out, but I'm going to anyway. It's different for you this time. You're personally involved.”

I can deal with it,
he wanted to say but didn't. He'd placed his call to The Clan headquarters because they needed to know that The Slavers wanted to see him and Saree again, tonight. The conversation with agent B was supposed to be about plans and logistics, not him being psychoanalyzed.

“Are you listening to me?” B asked. “She's gotten under your skin.”

“Call it an unavoidable by-product of the working conditions. As we speak, I'm forwarding the e-mail that came to her in-box to you. Maybe the computer geeks can trace it, maybe they can't. What matters is that we're not going back to Segun's. Whoever wrote the e-mail called Segun a transfer site and said they're looking forward to showing off their private quarters.”

“Wait. Yeah. It just came in.” B paused. “This is it. I know it is.” He sounded excited. “You're going to be walking in the front door tonight.”

“That's what I got out of it. And we both know what that means.”

“Yeah. Time to spring the trap.”

“But how?” Despite his best efforts, his thoughts went to the woman watching TV in the living room. “I don't know where they're taking us. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they made us wear blindfolds. You can't spring a trap if you don't know where the prey is.”

“We'll track you.”

“How?”

“GPS.”

Holding onto his temper, Reeve pointed out a simple fact. Although the geeks at The Clan had perfected a GPS tracking device that was no bigger than a AA battery, given how thoroughly he'd been patted down before going into Segun, it would be found. And although he wanted Saree dressed tonight, she too would be searched. “Bottom line,” he said, “I'm not taking her there unless I know you're going to be busting in the doors before the night's over, and you can't promise that. I'm not risking her neck, got it?”

“You can't pull the plug at this date, you can't! Do that and you're through here.”

Eyes closed, Reeve shook his head. So years of giving The Clan everything he had to give didn't count for crap. The only thing that mattered to those who ran the organization was shutting down The Slavers. In exchange for once again risking his life, he'd be allowed to remain part of the only sense of belonging he'd known since his father's rampage. And if he rebelled, he'd be cast aside—unless someone decided he had too much insider knowledge and needed to be silenced.

Like he didn't already know that.

“If I didn't have the balls for this, I wouldn't have signed up for the gig,” he pointed out. “And you wouldn't have selected me if you couldn't trust me. I'm a pro. As such, I'm making sure all bases are covered, number one being that Saree and I get out of there alive. I wouldn't be any use to you if that wasn't my priority, and you know it.”

“Yeah, I do. Maybe I shouldn't have questioned your professionalism, but something's happening with you that hasn't before.”

“Which is?”

“Falling in love with the subject.”

“Love? Where the hell did you come up with that?”

“I'm not an idiot.”

No, B was far from stupid, but he was way off base on this one. Love, whatever that was, came after a man and a woman got to know each other. Once they'd spent time in each other's company, time doing ordinary things, they might slide into something deeper—not that he could speak from personal experience. Just because he'd handled every inch of Saree's body and fucked her, just because he'd given her a massage didn't mean—

“That new GPS, could it be hidden in a collar?”

“A collar. Shit, I don't know why not. Look, let the geeks work on it this morning. I'll have it expressed out to you this afternoon. Reeve, now you're sounding like the agent I know. Keep your head pointed in that direction, and we'll put those bastards behind bars.”

If only it was that easy.

 

Saree ran her fingers over the leather collar Reeve had just fastened around her neck. It wasn't as wide as the one she'd worn earlier, but it was a little thicker, hopefully not noticeably so. Knowing that what was in it represented their only link with the outside world scared her, but even more unnerving was the unknown they'd be walking into in a few hours.

Ever since the e-mail from The Slavers had shown up she'd been able to think of little else, which in a strange way was a relief because otherwise she'd continue replaying the last time she and Reeve had had sex, the lingering yet explosive quality.

“I want to call my sister,” she said. When he started to speak, she held up her hand. “I'm not going to give away anything. I know her. If she believed calling the cops would increase my chances of staying alive, she'd do it no matter if I yelled at her not to.”

“What about you? Don't you care about staying alive?”

“Of course I do.” Damn him for sitting across from her without his shirt on while she wore one of his. His scent on the fabric plus knowing it had caressed his skin—“But I can't turn my back on the most important thing, freeing my friend and the other women.”

“What are you going to talk to Hayley about?”

“Girl stuff,” she snapped. “Things a man can't possibly understand.”

He frowned, then shrugged. “Go ahead. I trust you.”

He trusts me, does he,
she mused as she picked her cell phone off the coffee table and walked into the room she'd been confined to when she first came here. Telling herself she didn't care what he thought, she closed the door behind her. Only, now that she didn't have to look at him, her self-defenses fell away. Ever since the best massage she'd ever had had turned into something incredible and impossible, she'd spent her time trying to pull herself back together. The core problem, she determined, was that although she knew how to deal with men manhandling her, she was a babe in the woods when it came to handling lovemaking.

Yes, that's what it had been, not fucking or even sex but that mystical and romantic thing called lovemaking.

Well, it had been a mistake. A huge one on her part. He'd been messing with her body and mind, maybe so she'd go through with this insane and dangerous plan of theirs. And she'd bought into the mystical and magical, briefly turned her back on the reality of their relationship.

“No,” she told her sister a few seconds later. “I'm not crying. Close to it but not there.”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”
Everything.

“Don't give me that crap. If you're in danger—”

“I'm not,” she lied. “I've just been messing up my mind.” She drew in a deep breath that failed to calm her. “That's why I called. I don't need advice, at least I don't think I do. What I need you to do is listen to me. I'd love to have you tell me that I don't know what I'm ranting about, but I'm afraid you can't.”

“To quote Dad, that's clear as mud.”

Her father. Dead before his time. “I'm sorry. All right, you know how I pay the bills.”

“Go on.”

This was so hard to get out. “Maybe—maybe if Mom and Dad were still alive, I wouldn't have taken off in the direction I did. But you said you weren't embarrassed, and they weren't here to keep me in line.”

“You always said why shouldn't you make good money doing what you loved doing?”

“Yeah, I did.”
Stupid, stupid!
“But most people don't think of it that way, especially men.”

“I'm missing something here. The majority of your fans are men.”

“Ones with overdoses of kink in their systems. But what about decent men, the kind who are looking for someone to marry and raise their children?”

“Is that what this is about? You've fallen in love with whomever you're with?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Protesting a little loud there, kid. All right, this hypothetical decent man who's after a brood mare, he's got your thinking all turned around, hasn't he?”

“Sis, I've been ridden hard and put away wet by more men than I can count.” Standing in this room made for bondage was getting to her, yet she sank onto the bed and closed her eyes. “There isn't a part of my anatomy that hasn't gone out over the Internet.”

“I can't argue that.”

“I'm soiled property. Overused.”

For the first time, Hayley didn't immediately reply, and when she finally did, her voice was low and soft, a touch across the miles. “Don't put yourself down, not after all this time. All those conversations we've had about free will and doing what feels good—I bought into them as much as you did.”

“Not quite as much. You didn't make your living the way I did.”

“You're using the past tense. Have you quit your job?”

Her
job
was part of a world she could barely remember. “No. I don't know. Until—until he and I have done something, nothing else matters.”

“It's dangerous, isn't it?”

“I can't talk about it. I promised—”

“I'm not your nosy neighbor. I'm your sister. All right, forget I said that. I never could pull things out of you if you didn't want. Like when our folks died and you didn't cry, I knew you were as torn apart as I was, but you bottled it all up inside. Then you threw yourself into porn, and I figured that was your brand of therapy.”

“So that's why you didn't try to talk me out of it, because you figured it was cheaper than paying for a shrink?”

“Oh hell, I don't know. Hon, until Mazati came into my life, until he did the bondage thing with me and everything started revolving around him, I didn't understand what you got from being tied up. The truth is, I didn't want to think too much about what you were doing. But there's something about it, like I've given up control and turned it over to someone sexy and mysterious. That's a hell of a turn-on.”

“It is,” she agreed, not sure how the conversation had taken the direction it had, “for those who get off on it. As for others…”

“Like whomever you're with?”

She could have told Hayley about how Reeve had imprisoned her and turned her love of bondage to his advantage, but that would mean revealing more than she'd promised him she would. “He hasn't said anything, but I know he doesn't embrace that scene. How could he?”
He's all about risking his life to save others.
“Look, I have to go. I just—just needed to talk.”

“I'm glad you called, but did you figure anything out?”

Yes,
she silently answered.
I'm not good enough for him.