Edge of the Enforcer (17 page)

“We went out last night. Tonight we’ll stay in.” He motioned to the grocery sack at his feet. “Can you cook chicken? Southern fried chicken?”

“DeVries, have you been taking your meds?”

Fuck, he liked her sassy mouth. He bent down and sampled, feeling the way her lips softened. Her scent drifted upward, the fragrance like a flower garden in the spring. Bet she just got out of a bath. He deepened the kiss.

She took a step forward, her hands on his shoulders. Oh, she was into him whether she thought it was smart or not. Lifting his head, he whispered against her lips, “Answer my question, baby.”

“Um…” She backed away and shook her head like a boxer after catching a hard punch.

“Can you cook chicken?” he repeated, curving a hand around her bared nape. Tiny soft tendrils tickled his fingers.

“Of course. But what are—”

“Good.” He picked up the grocery sack and his toy bag and walked through the door. “I brought food. And a movie.”

“Excuse me.” Her voice rose. “Stop!”

Almost to the kitchen, he turned. God, she was cute.

Hands on hips, she glared at him. “Polite people call first. They don’t ask themselves right over.” The Texas twang had definitely increased.

“Don’t like talking on phones. You gotta eat supper; we can eat together.” He strained to keep his face straight when the ire in her eyes burned. Be fun if she attacked him.

“You-you…” She caught up to him in the kitchen and grabbed his arm. “I’m not your damned cook!”

“Sure you are. I’ll help.” Chuckling, he set her on the counter beside his toy bag.

Her unexpected kick to his gut knocked him sideways a step. Her eyes rounded. “I’m sorry—I—”

“Not a bad defense, but you should have followed up.” Pinning her lower legs with his body, he toppled her over onto her back on the counter. “Now you’re going to pay.”

“Damn you, don’t you dare!” She struggled, but the gleam in her eyes, the way her nipples strained inside the T-shirt—fuck, she wasn’t wearing a bra—he knew her objections weren’t serious. Still, in case…

“Safeword still works.” He met her wide-eyed gaze and smiled slowly. “Nothing else you say will.” And he yanked her jeans down.

Lightly tanned legs. And one red lacy excuse for underwear, which barely covered her pussy. He removed her right pants leg, leaving her left leg encased. After shoving the loose end into a drawer, he leaned on it, trapping her leg with the caught fabric.

They’d played lightly a few times over the past week. She knew him fairly well. Time to push her a bit. And…well, how convenient…there was a knife rack.

When he drew the wood-handled butcher knife out, she froze, staring at it, a rabbit cornered by a wolf.

He took an alcohol swab from his bag. As the sharp scent filled the air, he cleaned the blade and leisurely dragged the edge like a shaver down her stomach.

Her breathing stopped.

He slid it under the left side of the underwear, feeling the fibers part. Pretty damn sharp. “Guess I owe you new undies.”

Her eyes couldn’t get much bigger. Fuck, he loved this.

He did the other band of the thong and bared her pussy. “You’re not going to kick me again, right?” he asked softly.

Her voice came out in a whisper. “N-no. DeVries—”

“I like being called Sir. Master works once in a while.”

“Sir. You wouldn’t really—”

“Shut up, babe.” He touched the point of the knife to her nipple. Just so she could feel the point—not nearly enough to draw blood.

Her pounding pulse jiggled her little breasts, and she was hardly breathing.
Nice. Just right.

He laid the hilt on her stomach and positioned the hefty bare blade between her breasts. “You planning to move?”

Her no was so low he barely heard it.

“Didn’t think so. Gonna have some fun now… Warning, babe, you wiggle and I’ll amuse myself with the blade instead.” He kept his weight on the drawer, ensuring the jeans would keep her left leg anchored. With a firm grip, he pushed her right knee outward, opening her pussy. The folds glistened, assuring him she liked edge play as much as he did.

And he did; he was hard as a rock.

After giving her a warning look, he bent and licked from above her asshole to her clit. Under his palm, her leg muscles jumped. Be fun to see how long she could hold still. In fact…

Since his hip and left hand were keeping her open, he happened to have a free hand. With his right thumb and forefinger, he captured her nipple. Nothing felt as smooth as a nipple. Nothing tasted like a woman’s cunt. He wiggled his tongue over her clit and pinched her nipple at the same time.

The sound she made, fear and passion. Yeah, he’d enjoy this. Working his way down, he pushed his tongue into her entrance, felt the first wiggle. Lifted his head. “Did you move?”

Her hands clenched again. “No. Please, no.”

He released the jutting peak, smoothed over it, took the time to pinch the other, and felt her legs jerk. She was already nicely close to coming.

Spotting a dish towel, he arranged it over her eyes to block out her vision. Firmly, he took her hands and put them under her lower back in a token restraint. “Now, that’s just pretty. All laid out for me.”

She made a noise of frustration but was smart enough not to speak.

After unzipping his toy bag, he found a soft anal dildo, lubed it, and fitted it against the tight rim of muscle. “Let it in, babe,” he cautioned. As it slid in, he saw the tremor run through her. Perfect. The pressure would keep her right on the edge while he played…with edges.

After quickly cleaning the blades of his two favorite knives, he lifted the butcher knife from her chest. With her eyes covered, she wouldn’t know what he used—and he preferred his own where he knew their sharpness—they didn’t have any burrs to catch flesh—and how hard he could press.

If she figured he was using the butcher knife, well, wouldn’t that just break his heart?

“You played with knives before, pet?” He leaned forward, pinning her legs down again.

“N-no.”

“This time, I’m not going to cut you, babe. Might welt you up a bit; not more. We clear on that?”

Her head moved up and down an infinitesimal amount, as if she were afraid to move.

Why did playing with knives and little females make him want to laugh? “Good. Safeword is red. You get too scared, and you let me know.” This time around, he wouldn’t push her further.

He dragged the knife over the flatter parts of her body—her tender stomach, tops of her thighs. Normally he’d start on her back, but he liked this position for her. Trapped by her own tight jeans.

“Let’s see how pretty a line I can make,” he whispered. Using his forearm to pin down her torso, he picked up his smaller knife. Tilting the blade so the flat side was toward her, his finger near the tip, he lightly drew the point across her stomach.

A fine line appeared. Good, her skin was his favorite kind. Not so thin as to tear; delicate enough to mark easily. She’d have a pretty red line there in a few hours. “Oh yeah, that’s nice, Tex.”

She swallowed. “DeVries, I—”

“Uh-uh.” He took the butcher knife up and laid it between her breasts, so she could feel the weight of it. Recognize it. When he saw the tiny quiver of her muscles, he picked the knife up and rested the back of the blade against the side of her neck.

Her muscles all went tight. With no experience, she’d only note the coldness of the edge, not that it wasn’t the sharp side.

“What’d I ask you to call me, Lindsey?”

“Sir.” The cords in her throat stood out with her tension. “I’m sorry. Sir. Master.”

“Very good.”

HE WOULDN’T HURT her, she told herself that. Again. And Again. Every cell in her body seemed located in her neck where the cold steel lay over her carotid artery. Her breathing was so shallow, she could feel the tiny lift of her ribs with each fast breath.

Hours passed, years, eons, before he lifted the blade away. “Ready for another mark?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered. Pressed down by her weight, her hands clenched. And despite the fear—maybe because of it—she had a desperate need for him to touch her. The heat of his hard thighs pressing on her and the scrape of his clothes made her head swim. The plug he’d inserted somehow seemed connected to her pussy.

He drew the knife down between her breasts, the scraping bite at the edge of pain, leaving a lingering burn in its wake. Gradually, he made more marks, cross-hatching her stomach, going lower and lower, until he left one right above her mound—and the biting sensation gripped her clit with a pressure all its own. Her hips attempted to lift, but he had her so securely pinned she couldn’t budge.

“Getting antsy, are you?” His rasping voice matched the rawness of her need.

“Yes, Sir,” she tried to say. Only a grunt escaped her dry throat.

“Good to know.” The scrape went back up her body and slowly circled her breast.

Pain burst in her nipple.
He cut me!

She screamed, struggled to wrench away, and realized he hadn’t used a knife. He’d applied a nipple clamp; she felt the points digging into her sensitive flesh. “Oh my effing
God
. You bastard.”

“That’s me.” His voice was deep and satisfied.

Her left breast flowered with the thick heat of a clamp as well. The pain was so much easier to endure when she knew a blade hadn’t been the cause.

She heard the zip of something, the sound of a condom wrapper. And his mouth came down on her. His tongue worked her clit until her leg muscles trembled, and her every breath held a low moan.

The tangle of welts added to the hot arousal pooling in her belly and the pressure building low in her pelvis.

God, she was going to come.
I mustn’t.
If he picked up the knife again, she’d lose it. His tongue flickered over her, teasing. Everything inside her was boiling; the tiny button of nerves was consuming her whole lower half.

When he lifted his head, she groaned. Her pussy felt swollen to ten times normal size. She was a second away from coming.

He moved between her legs. She was no longer pinned by her clothing. “Put your legs around my waist.”

The loose jeans weighted down her left calf as she locked her ankles behind his back.

The dish towel covering her eyes was suddenly gone, and she blinked up at him.

Holding her gaze, he picked up the butcher knife, turned it so the light glinted off the shiny sharp metal, smiled at her low moan, and laid it aside.

“Up you come.” She stared into his sage-gray eyes as he gripped her waist and lifted her up, face-to-face with him. He handled her so easily, as if she were a fragile doll. “Hang on, babe.”

She felt his cock seeking entrance through her swollen folds. When he entered her slightly, she gasped at the feeling—even the tip was stretching her.

“Eyes on me,” he said. He held her gaze as he ruthlessly lowered her. Penetrated her. Filled her completely.

She shuddered. The relentless need was too much, burning inside her with a dark hunger. “Oh please.”

“Beg more,” he whispered. He moved his hands to grip her ass, lifted her, and little by little let her sink down onto him. Far too slowly.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “DeVries…Sir…please. Faster. Do something. Please.” She tried to wiggle on his cock.

“Do something? Anything?” He secured her with one hand under her butt. His other hand smacked her ass so hard the sound echoed in the kitchen.

The brutal, scorching pain burst inward, sizzling every nerve tip in its way to her core. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders. “Aaah!”

Hands gripping her hips, he lifted her up and down, hard and fast, pulling her in until her clit ground against his groin with each downward movement.

Another and another.

Her neck arched as the coiling pressure grew and grew and burst outward—a violent flash flood battering her senses and filling the rivers of her body with pleasure.

Gasping for air, she braced her head against his shoulder and heard him murmur, “You really are gorgeous, babe.”

The words soaked into the hollows in her heart, making her glow from the inside out.

“Hang on, now,” he muttered.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. As he lifted and lowered her, her vagina pulsed with pleasure. He took his time, enjoying himself with powerful, driving strokes.

He buried his face in her hair with a harsh, almost silent exhale and pressed her down onto his thick, iron-hard shaft, holding her in place, and she felt him pulsing inside her as he came.

After a minute or two or three, she lifted his face. Kissed him—which, of course, he turned into something long and wet and deep. And then glared into his eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll cook you some damn chicken.”

The sound of his laughter filled her so brightly she probably lit the kitchen with her happiness.

He rubbed his cheek against hers and looked at her with a serious expression. “Should have had this discussion before.”

She wet her lips. “What discussion?” As anxiety quivered awake, her grip on his shoulders tightened.

“You’re the only one I’m seeing, babe. You feel the same way?”

As her breath sighed out with relief, she nodded. “No one else.”

“I know Dark Haven has test results, but we get tested again and lose the condoms. You good with that too?”

So deVries. An order, and yet giving her a chance to object. The thought of really feeling him, all of him, made her clench.

His dimple appeared. “Yeah, you like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Burying her face in his neck, she inhaled his clean scent. A thought struck her, and she started giggling so hard she couldn’t stop.

He slapped her butt to get her attention. “What the hell is so funny?”

“You.” She gasped for breath, her insides hurting as she fought to hold back her giggles. “I-I can’t believe the
Enforcer
wants to go
steady
.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed. “Now I do have to hurt you.”

Chapter Twelve

Thanksgiving Day was cold, with a small glittering sun in the gray sky. Lindsey carefully carried her pies up to the Mediterranean-style mansion, shivering in the moist chill air.
Brrr.
Unhappily her black secondhand jacket didn’t look sophisticated enough to wear today. Shoot, Xavier’s Tiburon home would make Armani feel underdressed—let alone a Texas ranch girl.