AtHerCommand (4 page)

The room’s air-conditioning teased the ends of her wavy,
blue-black hair as it brushed her bare shoulders. Her olive skin hinted at a
Mediterranean heritage and he wondered if Bella was her real name. Then his
glance landed on her blood-red lips, which had quirked into a cruel smile. God,
he’d love to kiss that smile off her face.

Above those sinfully full lips, a black leather mask covered
the upper portion of her face. Cat-eye cutouts framed her thick-lashed
eyes…dark, intense eyes that stared insolently into his. A shiver of dread
joined the anticipation coursing through Dalton.

“Present yourself, slave.” Her sharp command snapped like a
whip across his senses and she pointed to the floor with the riding crop in her
right hand.

Shit.
On the verge of blowing his cover, Dalton
racked his sex-fogged brain for the correct response. He’d spent the last two
nights researching the scene. And now, to revenge his dead partner, he had to
overcome his inherent revulsion of kowtowing to anyone. Dropping his eyes,
rounding his shoulders and trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all,
Dalton moved forward. When he was several feet from the woman, he dropped to
his knees in front of her.

“You’re either a novice or a glutton for punishment.”

Mistress Bella’s husky voice held a hint of amusement but
Dalton thought it wise to remain silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
her raise the crop and braced for a blow. But instead, she slid the looped tip
of the whip under his chin and lifted his head to meet her gaze.

“Is this your first time?” she asked.

Instead of following his initial impulse and ripping the
crop from her hand, Dalton forced himself to think meek. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mistress Bella.”

She nodded, and with an internal smirk, Dalton congratulated
himself for coming up with the right answer. His mental high-five was cut short
by her next words.

“I
do
love breaking in a virgin.” She chuckled low at
the startled look on his face. “There are rules to this game, slave, and
unpleasant consequences—as you will learn—for breaking them.”

She raised her gloved hands and suggestively stroked the
rigid, whip-like instrument. Despite his attempt at control, Dalton felt his
body react as though she’d traced those fingers over the length and breadth of
him.

“There can also be great pleasure and a freedom unlike
anything you’ve ever experienced,” Mistress Bella continued as she bent the
crop into a half circle. “But first there will be a painful learning curve.”

She walked around Dalton, examining him with an unnerving
thoroughness.
Damn the woman.
He fought the urge to shoot her his cop
glare, known to make hardened criminals sweat. This was just a game but one he
had
to win.

Halting in front of him, she demanded, “Why are you here?”

Toning down his aggressive baritone, Dalton launched into
his cover story. “I run a company with over a hundred employees…people whose
jobs I’m responsible for. Twenty-four hours a day, I make all the decisions and
everyone expects me to be a rock. Even the women I date defer to me. I don’t
have time for long vacations but I need some time away from the stress. I…I
want to give up control to someone else occasionally.”

He stopped, unsure what else to say.

“I see.” Mistress Bella leaned closer. “I can guarantee
while you’re in this room, I’ll be the one in control. If I give you an order
and you even hesitate, you’ll be punished. If you refuse an order, the session
will end and you’ll be banned from the club from that day forward. Do you
understand?”

Dalton nodded, not knowing if she was serious but determined
to play along to ensure access to the club. When she didn’t continue to speak,
he realized his mistake.

“Yes, Mistress Bella,” he said.

She smiled, looking anything but friendly. “See, you’re
learning. Now, tell me some of your darkest desires.”

Stumped for submissive fantasies, Dalton thought about the
S&M literature he’d read. “I dream about being dominated…by a strong,
beautiful woman. To be helpless to resist.” Dalton ground his teeth.
Man, it
was hard to say these things.
“I want to worship my mistress in any way she
demands.”

The cocky grin that split her face had Dalton fisting his
hands by his sides.

She noticed and smiled broader. “Then your sessions with me
will be the little bit of heaven—and hell—you’re seeking.”

A stern look replaced her amused expression as she ran the
tip of the crop down the front of his silk shirt. “Take off your shirt. Let’s
see what I have to work with.”

Caught by surprise, Dalton hesitated and received a slash
across his shoulders from the crop. He flinched and–-remaining on his
knees—quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Cool air brushed the hair on his chest as
he drew off the garment and dropped it on the concrete floor.

“Hands behind your back. Chest out. Head down.” She barked
the instructions like a drill sergeant and he followed them without comment.
“When I snap my fingers, you’ll assume this position. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress Bella.”

She stepped closer and he held completely still while she
ran her left hand over his pecs. Her leather glove felt smooth and very erotic
against his skin. When she reached his right nipple, she brushed the flat nub
and then twisted it cruelly between her forefinger and thumb. His breath hissed
out but he refused to pull back from the pain.

“So, you’re sensitive
and
have a high tolerance for
pain.” Her tone was amused. “A fun combination—for me.”

Mistress Bella ran the crop across the fly of his khakis.
“Before I see the rest of the merchandise, I’ll explain the basic rules.”

She stepped back several feet and he kept his head lowered.
“In this room, your body is mine. I will sensitize it and train it to delay
sexual gratification. I will punish it…sometimes solely for my own pleasure.
And, if you perform adequately, I will allow you to reach a sexual climax so incredible
it’ll be addicting.”

Her words were outrageous and threatening, yet Dalton found
his cock hardening in response. Was this what Jason had felt?

“If things become too intense, say the word ‘yellow’, and
I’ll slow down.” Arrogant and seductive, Mistress Bella continued. “Say the
safe word ‘red’ and I’ll stop. But understand this, if you ever say the safe
word, our sessions will end and you’ll be banned from the club.”

She chuckled when he looked up at her, stunned. Could she
really get him banned from the club?

“Don’t worry. If we regularly sent clients to the hospital,
the Xecutive Branch would go bankrupt. But testing your limits is part of the
fun. Right, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress Bella.”

“Now, since you’re a beginner, I’ll allow you to tell me
three things you absolutely won’t do.” Her right eyebrow rose above the mask.
“Be sure to choose carefully.”

Shit.
He couldn’t think. Dalton glanced down at his
tented pants and blamed his confusion on his johnson, which was hogging all the
blood normally used by his brain. What were three things he couldn’t stomach?

“Sex or sexual sandwiches with other men…” he began.

“Something tells me you and two women would be acceptable
however.” Her words sounded amused.

Since it seemed more like a statement than a question,
Dalton continued. “No body piercings or tattoos…”

“Okay, no
permanent
marks.”

The ominous tone of her comment filled him with apprehension
but he finished his list. “And no water sports.” He’d read about the fetishes
of some submissives who confused bathroom functions with sex and he wanted no
part of that.

She nodded her agreement. “I’ll note your preferences in
your file. Now, stand and strip.”

Dalton stood slowly, delaying the inevitable. He was about
to be naked in front of this woman. It wasn’t as if he had anything to be
ashamed of. Hell, the women he’d slept with had showered him with compliments
about his body. But Mistress Bella wasn’t a sex partner and her clothes were
staying on unfortunately. Maybe if he pretended she was a doctor and this was
just his annual exam.
Yeah, right.

Kicking aside his abandoned shirt, he toed off his loafers
and pushed them to the side as well. Then he began to unbuckle his belt.
Damn.
Not buying into the doctor story, his cock was hard enough to drive nails. As
he slowly unzipped his pants and slid them to the floor, Dalton tried to think
about “coyote ugly” hookers, baseball scores, even dead kittens but nothing
worked to deflate his obvious interest.

He might not be hung like a horse but Dalton Junior was
nothing to be ashamed of. So he took a deep breath and pushed down his white
briefs. After nudging the briefs and pants aside with his foot, Dalton stood
with his hands behind his back and watched her reaction.

Bellissimo.
Behind Mistress Bella’s cool, expressionless
exterior, Dom was knocked for a loop by his masculine beauty. The hard planes
of the man’s chest and abdomen were a banquet for the eyes with the swirls of
reddish-brown hair just the icing on the dessert.

Following the line of hair that arrowed southward, she felt
the air leave her lungs. His penis was awesome, curving aggressively upward as
if flaunting its size and readiness. To cover her reaction, Dom once again
walked slowly around Dalton and instantly realized her mistake.
What a butt.
She wasn’t a season ticket holder to the Chippendales male strip show, but
Domino definitely appreciated a muscular male ass. If she kept her wits about
her, this session could be fun.

Assuming her Mistress Bella persona again, Dom completed the
circuit around her client and stood silently before him. Dalton was definitely
too proud of himself, something any self-respecting dominatrix would correct.
It was a dirty job but she’d have to do it. Dom smiled at her thoughts and
watched some of the confidence fade from his face.

“You’ll do,” she said with a forced disinterest.

Domino raised the crop and saw Dalton tense. Keeping him
mentally off balance, she ran the tip of the implement up the vein that pulsed
in his penis.

“I’m sorry to see however, that you lack sexual control.”
That
pricked his ego—pun intended. She fought a laugh. “I’m used to a standing
ovation from my clients so I’ll just ignore it…for now.”

She snapped her fingers. After the briefest hesitation,
Dalton dropped to his knees in the position she’d taught him earlier. Leaving
him to worry about her next move, she strolled over to the cabinet of toys.
Hmmmm, handcuffs? Yes. Nipple clamps? Probably. And then she noticed a cruelly
clever device called The Gates of Hell.

Chapter Four

Dalton stormed through the door to Jason’s house and slammed
it shut. Ignoring Chi’s startled gaze, he stomped past the cat into the master
bedroom, shedding garments in his wake. The session had been worse than he’d
imagined and he needed to scrub away the feelings threatening to swamp him.

Stalking into the bathroom, he turned on the shower, tore
off the last of his clothes and stepped naked under the blistering hot water.

His blue curses bounced off the shower doors as hot needles
of water connected with his tender flesh. Quickly turning the water to warm,
Dalton rubbed the soap over his bruised chest. God, had he really just knelt
there and allowed that woman to put sharp-teethed alligator clips on his
nipples?

He closed his eyes as the scene played out in his mind.
Mistress Bella had shown him the vicious-looking things and then placed the
clamps on his chest. The sharp initial pain had lessened to a dull numbness
after several minutes, lulling him into a false sense of security. But when
she’d removed the little bastards, he’d gasped at the burning rush as feeling
had returned to his abused nerve endings. Bella had simply smiled.

Dalton wasn’t sure which had been worse, the pain she’d
meted out or the humiliation. At one point, Bella had manacled his wrists
behind his back using padded handcuffs. It was demoralizing for a cop to be
handcuffed. Sure, she hadn’t known his true profession but Bella seemed to be a
mind reader when determining the best ways to degrade him.

Turning, Dalton let the water cascade down his back and
winced as he glanced at his reflection in the mirrored shower doors. There were
welts across his butt, compliments of Bella’s crop. The red marks fanned in a
pattern that looked as though he’d backed his bare ass into a hot radiator. The
woman had wielded the crop with surprising strength, but it was the shame not
the pain of the brief whipping that had gotten to him. Okay, so Bella thought
he wanted the S&M treatment—was paying big bucks for it in fact—but it
galled him to submit to the beating and the mind games.

Rubbing the soap over his striped skin and down his arms and
legs, Dalton tried to decompress. Anger, embarrassment and disgust over the
evening’s events warred with something he could barely admit even to himself.
There’d been times during the session when he’d been incredibly turned on.

Gently, Dalton soaped his punished penis. The Gates of Hell
was aptly named. When Bella had approached him with the strange-looking
metal-and-leather restraint, he’d recognized it from his research. It was a
cock harness designed to maintain a man’s erection at a tormenting half-mast.

He’d gritted his teeth as he’d waited for her to strap it on
him. She’d denied him the small pleasure of her gloved hands on his cock
however, by tossing him the bondage toy and instructing him on its use. Forcing
his erection into the cold sheath with its ever-narrowing steel rings was a
torture he never wanted to repeat.

Flashbacks of Mistress Bella’s mocking smile and cruel humor
played through his mind, tensing muscles he’d almost relaxed. Her
leather-encased body had been mouthwatering and his cock throbbed to life at
the vivid memory. Dalton squashed his thoughts but visions of her arrogant eyes
slipped around his defenses. Despite the physical discomfort and humiliation
he’d endured, Dalton felt himself harden within his soapy hand.

Hell. What’s the matter with me?
He was getting an
erection just thinking about the woman. It
had
to be a byproduct of
being aroused all evening without climaxing. No way would he find submitting
exciting.
No way.
She just hadn’t allowed him the end-of-session orgasm
Jason had raved about in his journal. According to Bella, he hadn’t earned it.
Apparently his performance wasn’t submissive enough, Dalton thought, as he
carefully fisted his cock.

Dammit,
someday he’d love a chance to show Bella just
how well he could perform. Closing his eyes, he imagined carrying her to his
bed, slowly stripping off that leather corset and thrusting deep into her
tight, welcoming heat. She’d moan and arch under him as he sucked and nipped
those magnificent breasts.

When he took her lips and tasted that smart mouth of hers,
she’d be intoxicating and spicy, like a good Chianti. And when she came, Bella
would wrap those long, long legs around him and scream out his name…

The orgasm slammed into Dalton, taking his breath with its
force and duration. As the semen pulsed through his tender cock, Dalton
remembered Bella’s promise to sensitize his body and take him to new heights of
pleasure. She’d kept her word.

For several long minutes, Dalton braced himself against the
shower wall and let the warm water sluice over him. When his legs no longer
trembled, he turned off the shower and toweled himself dry. He was exhausted,
both physically and mentally—drained in every sense of the word.

Without bothering to throw on his sweats, Dalton walked out
of the bathroom and over to the bed. Gingerly, he lowered his bruised body onto
the mattress, the cool sheets soothing his skin. As he lay back on the pillow,
he forced his mind off thoughts of the intriguing dominatrix. Avenging Jason
took precedence over everything and he needed a plan.

Now that he’d been inside the Xecutive Branch, Dalton
realized a customer would only have limited access to the place. Captain
Bennett had been smart to place a cop undercover on the club’s staff. Would
Suzi Cho agree to share her findings with him off-the-record, so to speak? She
was a good cop, not a by-the-book pain in the butt. Suzi would see the benefits
of working with him on this case without mentioning it to the captain. He’d
talk to her about it in the morning, Dalton thought, as he drifted into the
first deep sleep he’d had since Jason’s murder.

* * * * *

“Cho is a common Korean surname so it’ll be safe for you to
go by Suzi Cho on this job,” Captain Bennett explained as he leaned forward in
his chair to pass a fake driver’s license and several credit cards in that name
across the interrogation room table to Detective Soon-Hee “Suzi” Cho.

Familiar with the drill from her years with Metro PD, Suzi
took the proffered items and waited for the captain to continue.

“Besides,” he said, “since the nickname Suzi isn’t your
legal first name, no one at the club will be able to break your cover if they
check up on Suzi Cho. Your story is you’re a Korean national who married a
Marine to get your visa and then divorced him when you got to D.C.”

Suzi nodded, examining the picture on her fake license.
They’d used the photo from her legitimate driver’s license, an unattractive
shot that made her look sleepy and bored.

“You couldn’t have used my academy photo?” she joked. “The
point of this is for me to get a job at the club, right? Not to scare small
children.”

“Fishing for compliments, Cho?” Bennett ribbed her.

“You don’t have to be vain to hate your driver’s license
photo. Well, at least my cover’s pretty simple.” A first-generation
Korean-American, Suzi knew enough of her parents’ native language and culture
to be believable in the role.

“The Xecutive Branch employs quite a few female foreign
nationals,” her boss continued, “so the divorced Suzi Cho should fit their job
requirements.”

“I’m not too worried about the job interview, sir.” Her
easygoing façade faltered. “It’s my lack of experience as a masseuse that
concerns me.”

“‘Technician’, Suzi, not ‘masseuse’.” Bennett’s lips
twitched. “The club has euphemisms for everything.”

“Okay, ‘technician’, but the job description is the same.”
Suzi sat straighter in her chair. How could she communicate her misgivings
without appearing unhappy about the assignment? “The only massage I know is the
basic therapeutic massage I learned when I was in rehab last year.”

“We’ve got that handled.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “In
fact, she should be arriving any minute.”

“Who?”

Bennett grinned. It was the first real smile she’d seen on
his face since he’d gotten word of Jason’s murder.

“Your consultant.” He stood and walked to the door of the
interrogation room. “When you need to learn the tricks of a trade, it pays to
hire a professional.”

A trickle of apprehension ambled down her spine as Bennett
left the room. Suzi wasn’t looking forward to learning the tricks of
this
trade, no matter who taught her. But she’d do whatever was necessary to get
Jason’s killers.

Suzi closed her eyes against the well of tears. He’d been
her mentor and her friend. And during that riot two years ago, Jason had been
her lifesaver. Pushing back her chair, Suzi stood, feeling the stiffness in her
right leg. She didn’t like to think about the riot, about the sniper who’d
pumped a bullet into her leg, shattering the bone. Pacing, she worked the kinks
out of her creaky limb.

God, she’d been so vulnerable, lying in the street waiting
for him to finish her. Before the sniper could fire the killing shot however,
Jason had raced to her under the cover provided by Dalton’s assault rifle and
carried her back behind the barriers. While his partner had kept the sniper
busy, Jason had packed the wound and carried her through a guarded building to
a waiting ambulance. Suzi owed Jason her life.

She heard footsteps in the hall and turned to face the door.
A woman entered, followed by Captain Bennett. Suzi examined the newcomer who’d
been hired to teach her the ropes.

Tall, thin and thirty-something, the woman dressed like an
accountant in a staid navy suit and low-heeled pumps. She wore a minimum of
makeup and had twisted her hair into a conservative French braid. Her perfume
was delicate, understated. Yet there was something about her eyes that sparkled
behind wire-rim glasses…

“Lola?” Suzi immediately regretted her obvious disbelief.

“It’s Lotty now, Suzi. Lotty Landers.” The woman grinned as
she stepped forward to shake Suzi’s hand. “Lola was my working-girl handle.
Sounded more exotic.”

“Lotty acts as a consultant for the Metro PD these days.”
Bennett waved them into seats around the table.

Lotty placed her oversized and bulging briefcase on the
tabletop and settled into the chair at the end of the table. It was a position
of power in the room, the one usually chosen by a cop during interrogations.
Suzi grinned. It was no accident Lotty had picked that chair. The woman was
familiar with the room’s dynamics and sparse furnishings, having been arrested
regularly in her former profession.

“Yep, I’m reformed, transformed and incorporated.” The
ex-prostitute’s eyes twinkled. “It’s great. I get to work with my favorite cops
and charge the same hourly rate I did on the streets.”

Suzi laughed along with Lotty. The irony of the situation
was delicious.

“It’s good to know the cop shop cares enough to hire the
very best.” Suzi held up her hands for Lotty to see. “The sooner you can turn
these fumble fingers into magic fingers, the sooner I can infiltrate the
Xecutive Branch.”

Lotty took her hands, turned them over and examined them.

“What? Are you a palm reader too?” Suzi asked.

The sex consultant smiled. “No, that’s one scam I’ve never
tried. But I can tell you have strong hands, which will be a plus in this job.”

“For the massage part of the job or for the
knocking-the-creeps-senseless part?” Suzi said only half joking.

Lotty winked. “I can show you a couple of alternatives to
punching out your customers. Ready to get started?”

Suzi took a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

In a synchronized motion, both Suzi and Lotty turned their
heads and shot Captain Bennett a look. After a moment, he seemed to get the
hint.

“I’ll just leave you two to get on with things.” Bennett
rose from his seat. “Let me know if you need anything.”

When the door closed behind him, Lotty turned back to Suzi.
“Listen, I’m sure you’re antsy about doing the things these sex massagers do
but there’re ways for the johns to get their money’s worth without you having
to put out in any way. Okay?”

Suzi let out the breath she was holding and nodded.

“You’ve just got to be a little creative, is all,” Lotty
continued. “And I’ve brought you the tools you’ll need.”

The sex consultant opened her large briefcase and removed
several DVDs. She slid them across the table to Suzi.

“These will help you with the basics—Shiatsu massage,
acupressure…” Lotty explained.

“I’d rather use acupuncture, maybe with a steak knife,” Suzi
mumbled.

The consultant laughed. “Pulling a Lorena Bobbit on some
john won’t get you Employee of the Month.”

“All right, I’ll study them.” Suzi set the DVDs next to her
on the table.

Lotty pointed to one of the DVDs. “This one’s on the form of
deep-muscle massage used in Rolfing.”

“Throwing up?” Suzi was horrified.

“No.” Lotty chuckled. “Rolfing, not ralphing. It’s a type of
psychotherapy combining massage with psychoanalysis.”

“So now I’m supposed to be a shrink for these guys as well
as their masseuse?”

“No, but anything that gets them talking is a good thing,”
Lotty assured her. “You’d be surprised how many johns want to talk more than
they want sexual satisfaction. So this DVD will give you some pointers about
drawing them out.”

Suzi ran her finger over the cover of the DVD and then met
Lotty’s eyes. “What if the customers want, you know, more than a straight
massage and a chat?”

“The lingo in the biz is a massage with a ‘happy ending’ or
a ‘happy release’. That’s when the guy wants to get off at the end of the
session.”

Suzi shuddered. Although in her mid-twenties, she’d had only
one serious relationship in her life—a college affair that had ended miserably.
She wasn’t jaded or even particularly adept when it came to sex. In fact, she
jokingly referred to herself as a born-again virgin since she was abstaining
from recreational intercourse. Despite what her friends were up to, Suzi
planned to hold out for love this time around.