Sake Bomb (25 page)

—not the reason they were here.

Sun helped his sub don her robes, and the
din of the crowd picked up again.

Blinking herself back to the present, Kizzie
turned directly into Xander’s scrutinizing gaze. How long had he
been doing that? His thumb was still burning a brand into her
thigh, sending that tingling fire through her body. His leg had to
be asleep by now, seeing as how she’d spent the last ten minutes
impeding his circulation.

She shifted to hop down and paused, her
thigh snug against a thick, hard bulge.

Xander’s circulation was working just
fine.

He stared at her openly, and they were so
close that looking left or right didn’t take her out of his field
of focus.

“Uh….” Kizzie stammered, sliding from his
lap. The move made his hand glide up the crease of her leg and over
her hip, lifted the gobs of taffeta. When she turned his wide palm
dragged across her ass. Not what she’d planned, but a solid 9.6
from the American judge for the dismount.

Her feet tingled now that they were on the
ground and her knees almost gave. Only reason they were weak.

Xander steadied her with his hands at her
hips, and a hot flush rushed from arches to head. She had to think.
Yes, kick-starting the brain was priority one.

“The Mistress…” Sounded like a lame ass
segue even to Kizzie’s ears and she’d said it. She cleared her
throat. “We should look for her now…split up.”

Xander found her hand and twined their
fingers, a move that was happening far too frequently and with
greater ease. His gaze locked on hers. “No, we shouldn’t.” Her brow
shot up and he jerked his chin toward the stage. “We’re here for
him. Master D, the
bakushi
who just performed.”

He stood from the seat, hard body pressed
against hers. Kizzie took half a step back.

“Because he knows the Mistress?”

Clearly Operation Brain Start was a failure.
But the question was far more useful than the thoughts in her head,
most of which involved a lot less clothing than the taffeta and
tank top. Hovering too close to the forefront of her mind was
something deeper than sex with Xander.

Far more dangerous.

Sleep with one eye open…

Kizzie twisted her head, hoping to shake the
stupid loose. Whether Xander was in an open marriage or not wasn’t
the issue.
She
was off the market. As an agent—and him a
criminal—she had to be.

Master D and his submissive were still at
the front, the connection between them a tangible thing. Sun’s need
for Moon was obvious. Doms dominated, kinda right there on the
package. It was Moon’s need Kizzie couldn’t wrap her mind around.
Free as the day is long, she gets caught by the Sun and learns a
new kind of freedom in reflecting his light. Mushy as mashed peas,
but was
that
the draw of the D/s relationship? Not just pain
or sex or control, but… balance?

All at once an overwhelming sadness filled
the spot just behind Kizzie’s breastbone and she found it hard to
breathe. Leaving The Point and joining the CIA in a covert
capacity, there were a lot of things she’d given up. At the time,
and due to the circumstances surrounding her abrupt departure from
academia, walking away from “normalcy,” healthy relationships, and
trust in sentient, bipedal organisms wasn’t a hard sell. She’d had
no use for any of it anyway.

Now?

Now there was an oppressive fear she’d never
regain what she’d so carelessly tossed away.

Swim fast…

Kizzie let out a slow breath. It didn’t make
a stitch of space in the tightness in her chest.

Xander was speaking and she’d long since
lost the thread. She couldn’t hear his voice anymore and turned to
him, head shaking.

“I was…” She didn’t finish. The grin on his
mouth said she didn’t have to. He squeezed her hand, a comforting
gesture that threatened to knock her off an already wobbly pivot.
“Run that by me again?”

“Kinbaku
—
rope binding. Practiced by
many, but there are very few as talented and well-known as Master
D, especially with suspension. Those rope tattoos on Sumi’s and
Akari’s ankles; the way the knots were tied around Sumi and Zlata
when we arrived at Sacha’s place in Helsinki…”

“Thought you were too busy ogling your own
sub to notice the naked women at Sacha’s,” she teased with mock
offense.

“I’m not blind, Princess.”

Judging by his darkening irises, Xander
wasn’t referring to Helsinki.

Don’t bleed
.

“You think the Mistress is a practitioner,”
Kizzie said, tone matter-of-fact and all business.

He nodded. “The good ones know each other.
Master D might be of help.”

“And if he’s not?”

Xander smiled, the curve so slow and
devastating everything in Kizzie went to mush. “If he’s not,” a
pointed once over, “then we can finally get you out of that
costume.”

August 2
^nd

Tokyo, Japan

M
aster D knew
nothing. Either that or he wasn’t telling. Kizzie couldn’t be sure,
but she’d spent the last couple hours in a ridiculous getup and
they were no closer to finding the Mistress than if they’d stayed
in and played tiddlywinks.

She wasn’t used to operating this way. When
called for an op, there was at least
some
Intel to work
with. This “from scratch” business was a new one. She snorted at
the irony. Only days ago she’d lamented about the CIA having too
much information. Now she’d settle for an obscure reference to get
things started. Mr. Brown in the library with the candlestick…
Anything
! With no tracer and no clues in a city she had no
contacts in, she was completely stuck, and Harvey was gone.

She should get Fletcher on the line, not
that he’d answer her call. It seemed he was firm on his ‘no salted
bomb’ stance and all too happy to leave Kizzie on her own.

And everyone wondered why she had trust
issues…

Huffing, Kizzie tugged at the tutu and then
propped her hands on her hips. It crept up again, taffeta tickling
her thighs. She needed to take the damn thing off but was too busy
staring out the window at the vast expanse of Tokyo. If they
couldn’t find Sumi in this handful of square miles, how would they
find her on the wonderful island of Japan? A veritable
speck
in comparison to the size of Earth.

Sadly, Earth just became their search
area.

Might as well be the whole damn
universe.

Her lungs filled to capacity slowly, emptied
in a rush.

“We’ll find her,” Xander said, directly
behind her. She hadn’t heard him approach, so involved in scouring
the ground.

Kizzie grunted. “Not likely.”

He pressed his hands to the window, caging
her between his outstretched arms. The space at her back warmed and
she resisted the urge to fall against him.

“Be patient, Princess.”

“Have we met? Got a better chance at winning
lotto eight times in a row.”

Xander chuckled, low and gravelly near her
ear. It sent a shiver right through her and Kizzie couldn’t afford
distractions. “The computer?”

“Phil’s still working on it.”

“What’s he cracking it with, an Apple two
E?” She shifted left and Xander shifted with her, keeping her
trapped. Another dangerous flutter started in her belly and she
froze.

“How about we pretend you’re patient.” He
pressed a little closer. “For one night, you’re patient…and I’m not
a criminal…and you’re not an agent.”

Sounded so easy.

With the room lit behind her, Kizzie caught
the barest hint of Xander’s reflection in the glass. He had his
head bent, something she didn’t need the pane to verify as his
breath skated across her shoulder, raising the fine hairs on the
back of her neck. She expected his lips. They didn’t come.

“A game?” she breathed.

He looked up then, naked lust and raw
intensity in his eyes, watching her in the window and looking
through it at the same time. “Very much reality, sweetheart. Just
with some of the less tidy bits removed.”

“Pretending or not, you’re still married,
Xander.”

“I’m not married.” A long pause and
meaningful look. “There’s no Harvey. No yesterday, no tomorrow.
There’s you and me and this moment. And right now, I want to kiss
you.”

Turning to face him was the wrong move. She
did it anyway; stared up into those two melted chocolate pools.
Someone had to be sensible about this, and clearly that someone was
her. “X, we can’t do this... Right?”

He chuckled softly. “You convincing me, or
you?”

“We—”

“No pressure, Princess.” He shook his head,
dipped closer. “Simple as Yes, Sir,” he kissed her left cheek, “No,
Sir,” the right with equal tenderness, “Please, Sir,” and her
forehead, lingering. Kizzie had already deduced the pattern. Her
heart kicked up, belly free-falling. “Thank you, Sir,” Xander
finished. His mouth hovered close to hers. “Just tell me what you
want.”

No. Definitely no.

The long lavender pigtails rippled slightly.
“Yes, Sir.”

A bright smile split his face, and Kizzie
couldn’t pull her eyes away. She’d done that—two simple words put
that brilliant arc there. Nothing had ever made her feel more
powerful.

Or more nervous.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, the buzz
breaking into the silence.

“And then,” Xander wet his lower lip, “after
I kiss you, I want to make love to you. Do you want me to?”

All the breath rushed out of Kizzie’s body,
something remarkably similar to panic filling the space. She heard
what he said, and he
meant
what he said.

Not fuck. Not screw.

And that was the problem.

Kizzie had fucked and been fucked; had
screwed and been screwed. Sex was a sport, like bull riding—get on,
bounce around, get off. Fastest eight seconds of your life, minus
the whiplash. Unless you got lucky.

That was all she’d ever known.

When that’s all you can allow, it’s more
than enough.

Make love? Completely foreign concept.
Sounded like it came with strings too dangerous hitched to a man
like him. It echoed in her head, bringing to startling clarity how
pathetic her personal life was. For all her rhythm and fancy
footwork, that was the one dance Kizzie didn’t know the steps
to.

Didn’t matter. He’d teach her; she’d
learn.

Quickly.

Because right now she needed Xander more
than she needed to find Harvey.

More than she needed to get 3-19.

More than she needed to be a good agent.

Her hands smoothed up his powerful torso to
the top button of his shirt.

“Look at me.” Shy gaze met steady. “Say it,
Princess.”

The spot he’d rubbed into her thigh all
night, that one tiny inch, suddenly burned with memory. But the
hard ridge of his cock against her belly was very much happening
right now.

He’d said just for tonight. She deserved one
night, right?

He’s mar—

And he’d still be married tomorrow, too,
brain. So shut it.

“Please, Sir.”

Xander leaned closer. The spicy, musky aroma
of his cologne and a scent that was solely his suffused every pore
of her body. Kizzie tilted her head back to meet his mouth. Warm
breath floated over her lips, and her eyes slipped closed.

“First…”

Her eyes fluttered open. Smiling broadly,
she slowly bobbed her head. “Guess I deserved that…you toying with
me.”

“I wouldn’t do that, would I?” He winked.
“Don’t move.”

Xander strode to the closet, returned with a
copper-colored silk tie. Kizzie held out her hands. “Eager, aren’t
we? Next time, you’ll wait to be told.” He spun her around, loosely
tying her wrists together behind her back. “Shoulder okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He pecked her neck and turned her again.
“Take off my belt. You have a punishment to get through before you
get your reward.” Her mouth dropped open in outrage. “Oh yeah,
Kizzie. You’re at thirty, and I’m gonna get each and every one out
of that sweet ass.”

“
Thirty
? Xan- I mean, Sir, what about
negotiating? Since, technically, I wasn’t your sub.”

“So you thought your behavior was
acceptable? Calling me slick after you’d been warned not to,
repeatedly…taking off without telling me…your mouth?” He paused
there, gaze lingering on the offending orifice. “You weren’t being
willful, Kizzie?”

She scrunched her nose. “Well…”

“How many do you think you deserve?”

“Should I assume ‘none’ is the wrong
answer?” Xander leveled a stare at her and she quirked her lips. It
was thirty. She could get through thirty. “I deserve however many
you see fit, Sir.”

A nod.

“But about the belt. I can’t…” Kizzie
shrugged to indicate her arms. With her hands tied behind her,
there was a problem of logistics. His scarred brow ticked up.

“Let’s solve that problem.” With sure hands,
he ripped her tank to her belly button, tugged her bra down until
her breasts rested above the cups. Cool air rushed across her
nipples, working in concert with Xander’s strong, busy fingers to
bring the dark tissue to stiff peaks. Not exactly the same as
releasing her arms, but Kizzie wasn’t arguing.

Big hands kneaded the mounds, intensity
running the gamut from gentle to rough and she made a keening sound
in the back of her throat.

“You like this?”

Uh…
yeah.
She was getting wet already.
She shifted from one leg to the other.

Xander trapped the erect studs between his
fingertips and twisted, squeezing hard.

Pain lanced through her and Kizzie came up
on her toes with it, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream.
Xander’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t let go.

Goddammit, why wouldn’t he let go?