Lover Unleashed (43 page)

Every breath he took was a gust of wind. Every beat of his heart was a boxer’s punch. Every swallow he took was a guzzle down his throat.

Was this how his subs had felt? This too-alive tingle?

He stopped by his table. No jacket to take off. Nothing but the now-bloody hospital johnny on his back.

Behind him, Butch’s presence loomed big as a mountain.

“Can I use your phone,” V asked roughly.

“Here.”

V spun around and caught the tossed BlackBerry with his gloved hand. Calling up a blank text, he chose
Doc Jane
out of the address book.

His fingers stilled at that point. His brain was clogged with emotion, the screams he needed to let out getting in the way and turning his normal reserve into a solid-steel set of bars that bolted him inside of himself.

But then, this was why they were here.

With a soft curse, he canceled the empty text.

When he went to pass the phone back, Butch was over by the bed, taking off one of his many fancy-dancy leather jackets. No biker’s spiky bullshit for the cop’s downtime—the coat was hip-length and had been fitted perfectly to his barrel chest, the material beyond butter and into cloud-soft. Which V knew because he’d handed the thing over a number of times.

This was not something the guy fought in.

And he was taking it off for the right reasons.

No reason to get blood on the likes of that.

As V put the phone down on the bed and backed away, Butch folded the jacket with careful, precise hands, and when he laid the leather down, it was as if he were settling a young on the black duvet. Then those strong, blunt fingers of his pulled up his belted black slacks and smoothed his black silk shirt.

Silence.

And not the comfy kind.

Vishous looked to the banks of plate glass that ran around the penthouse, and stared at his best friend’s reflection.

After a moment, the cop’s head turned.

Their eyes met in the glass.

“Are you going to leave that on?” Butch asked darkly.

Vishous reached up to the tie at the back of his neck and popped the bow that held the two halves of the johnny together. And then he did the same at his waist. As the shift fell from his body, the cop watched from across the room as it hit the floor.

“I need a fucking drink,” Butch said.

Over at the bar, the guy poured himself a shot of Lagavulin. And another. And then he pushed the squat glass away, picked up the bottle, and sucked hard.

Vishous stayed where he was, his mouth open, his breath shooting in and out of him as he remained focused on the image of his best friend.

Butch put the bottle down, but held on to it, his head falling forward as if he’d closed his eyes.

“You don’t have to do this,” V said hoarsely.

“Yeah . . . I do.”

The cop’s dark head lifted and then he pivoted.

When he finally came forward, he left the booze at the bar, and he stopped when he was behind Vishous. He was close . . . close enough so that the heat from his body easily registered.

Or maybe that was V’s own blood beginning to boil.

“What are the rules,” the cop said.

“There are none.” Vishous spread his stance and braced himself. “Do whatever you want . . . but you have to break me. You’ve got to tear me apart.”

Back at the compound, Manny changed into yet another set of scrubs. Things kept going like this and he should buy stock in the goddamned garment company. Or in laundry machines.

Out in the hall, he took up res against the concrete wall and stared at his Nikes. He so did not think the soles should get excited—he had a feeling that he and Payne were not going anywhere. At least, not together.

Daughter of a deity.

Annnnnd . . . it didn’t matter to him. She could have been the offspring of an ostrich, for all he cared.

Rubbing his face, he couldn’t decide whether he was impressed with himself or terrified that he was so accepting of that news flash. Probably healthier to be shocked and disbelieving and all about the hell-no. His brain just rolled with it, though—which meant he was either getting really flexible with what he considered reality or his gray matter had fallen into a state of learned helplessness.

Probably the former. Because all in all, he felt with-it. . . . Shit, he felt better than he had in ages: In spite of the fact that he’d operated for ten hours straight, and he’d slept in a chair for part of the night—or day, or whatever time it was—the body/mind combo of his was strong and healthy and sharp as a tack. Even as he stretched, there was no stiffness . . . or creaks or pops. It was as if he’d been on vacation for a month, getting massages and doing yoga in front of the ocean.

Not that he’d ever done the Downward Dog.

Annnnnnnnnnnnd on that note, a truly fabulous, utterly filthy image of Payne came to mind. As his cock raised its hand to be called on, he thought it would no doubt be a good idea not to take her on a guided tour of, say, his bedroom. Actually, given recent events, which had involved him on his knees . . . his bathroom was probably off-limits, too. Maybe he should avoid rooms with tile? So his kitchen was a no-go. His front hall, too—

Payne all but jumped out from the office, and she had his briefcase and other things with her. “We’re free!”

With all the grace of an athlete, she ran to him, her hair flowing out behind her, her stride just as fluid as those dark waves on her head.

“We’re free! We’re free!”

As she leaped into his arms, he caught her and spun her around. “They’re letting us go?” he said.

“Indeed! We have clearance to take your automobile out from here.” As she handed him his things, she smiled so widely her fangs flashed. “I thought you might need these. And the phone works now.”

“How did you know they’re mine?”

“They carried your scent. And Wrath told me about the card thingy that my twin removed.”

Phone-schmone. The fact she recognized him by smell turned him on, reminding him of exactly how close they had gotten—

Okay, time to stop that film reel.

She put her hand up to his face. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I like the way you look at me, Manuel.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“It makes me think of when your mouth was upon me.”

Manny groaned and nearly lost it. So to keep things from getting out of hand, he put his arm around her waist. “Come on. Let’s take off before we lose the chance.”

Her laugh was so carefree that for some reason it split his chest wide and exposed the beating heart behind his ribs. And that was before she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“You are aroused.”

He glanced over at her. “And you are playing with fire.”

“I like being hot.”

Manny barked out a laugh. “Well, don’t you worry—you are just that.”

When they came up to the fire door, he put his palm on the push bar. “This really going to open?”

“Try it and find out.”

He tilted in . . . and what do you know, the latch sprang free and the heavy metal panel went wide.

As vampires with guns and machetes didn’t come streaming down on them from every direction, he shook his head. “How in the hell did you manage this.”

“The king was not happy. But I am not a prisoner here, I am of age, and there is no reason I should not be able to leave the compound.”

“And at the end of the evening . . . what then?” As her joy diminished, he thought, Uh-huh, that was how she’d pulled it off. Technically, she was escorting him home. . . . This was their good-bye.

He smoothed her hair back. “It’s okay. It’s . . . all right,
bambina
.”

She seemed to swallow hard. “I shall not think of the future, and neither should you. There are hours and hours to be had.”

Hours. Not days or weeks or months . . . or years. Hours.

God, he didn’t feel free at all.

“Come on,” he said, stepping out and taking her hand. “Let’s make this count.”

His car was parked in the shadows on the right, and when he got over to it, he found the thing unlocked. But come on, like anyone was going to get at it?

He opened the passenger-side door. “Let me help you in.”

Taking her arm like a gentleman, he settled her and then stretched the seat belt across her breasts, clicking it into place.

As her eyes bounced around the interior and her hands stroked the sides of the bucket seat, he figured this could be her first car ride. And how cool was that?

“You ever been in one of these before?” he asked.

“Verily, I have not.”

“Well, I’ll take it slow.”

She caught his hand as he straightened. “Does this go fast?”

He laughed a little. “It’s a Porsche. Fast is what it does.”

“Then you shall take us upon the wind! It shall be as my days astride were!”

Manny took a mental snapshot of the wild happiness on her face: She was glowing—and not in the ethereal sense, but in the simple joy-of-life way.

He leaned in and kissed her. “You are so beautiful.”

She captured his face. “And I thank you for it.”

Oh, but it so wasn’t him. What was lighting her up was freedom and health and optimism—and she deserved nothing less out of life.

“I have someone I want you to meet,” he blurted.

Payne smiled at him. “Then drive on, Manuel. Take us into the night.”

After a moment more of staring at her . . . he did just that.

THIRTY-SEVEN

S
tanding naked in his penthouse, Vishous waited for something . . . anything.

Instead, Butch backed off and disappeared into the kitchen. As he was left to his lonesome, V closed his eyes and cursed. This was a bad idea. You didn’t ask a good Catholic boy to play with the kind of toys V—

The hit came from behind, fast and sure.

It was a modified body slam, and executed beautifully: Two huge arms wrapped him at the chest and the hips and he was slung around and spun out into the far wall by the worktable. Which was when the “slam” part came in: Every square inch of him made impact. No bounce-back, though. No ricocheting.

He was pinned in place by the nape and the ass.

“Arms over your head.”

That growl was like a gun to the back of his skull and V struggled to comply, fighting against the pressure that trapped both his arms in front of his chest. The right side came free first—and the instant his wrist was out from under, it was grabbed and forced into a cuff. Left side happened just as fast.

Then again, cops were good with the steel.

There was a brief release where he was able to catch some air. And then the sound of metal chain links being churned through a gear announced where things were headed: up.

Gradually, his weight shifted off his feet and onto the sockets and lengths of his arms. The ascent stopped right before his toes left the floor completely . . . and then he just hung there, facing toward the windows, breath squeezing in and out of his lungs as he heard Butch moving behind him.

“Open your mouth.”

At the command, V cranked his jaw wide, the joint at his cheekbone cracking, his eyes pulling down at the corners, his facial cuts coming alive with a chorus of howls.

The gag was pulled down over his head and it fit right where it should, the ball squeezing between his fangs and forcing shit open even farther. With a quick jerk, the leather strapping tightened across the back of his skull and the buckle was fastened until it dug into his scalp.

It was a perfect setup: The suspension and the choking confinement did their job, spurring on his adrenaline, making his body strain in so many different ways.

A barbed corset was next, the contraption not going over his shoulders, but around his torso, the metal points on the inside of the leather bindings sinking into his skin. Butch started with the strap right across the sternum, and then it was a case of sequential squeeze, down, down, down . . . until from V’s rib cage to his stomach to the tops of his hips, concentric circles of bright white pain tingled into his spine, shooting north to the receptors in his brain and south into his rock-hard cock.

Oxygen whistled through his nostrils as there was a brief calm of no-touch, and then Butch was back with four lengths of rubber strapping. For an amateur, he had great instincts: Both the ball gag and the chest harness had stainless-steel rings that hung inch by every inch, and clearly the cop was going to put them to good use.

Working steadily, Butch slipped hooks through the gag’s fixtures and stretched the tubing down, attaching it on the front and the back of the corset.

Which effectively locked Vishous’s head into the forward position.

Then Butch gave him a swing and sent him on a little merry-go-round. In his frozen state, it was a mind fuck and a half, and it didn’t take long before he wasn’t sure whether he was moving or the room was on the ride: Things passed by one after the other, the bar, the door out, the worktable . . . Butch . . . the bed, the glass . . . then it was back to the bar, the door, the table . . . and Butch—

Who had walked over to the hanging whips and chains.

The cop just stood there, his eyes locked on Vishous.

Like a train pulling into a station, the rotation grew slower and slower until it stopped altogether . . . with the pair of them facing each other.

“You said no rules,” Butch gritted out. “Do you still mean that.”

With no way to nod or shake his head, V did what he could with his feet, moving them up and back on the floor.

“Are you sure.”

When he repeated the motion, Butch’s eyes glittered in the candlelight—as if there were tears in them. “Okay, then,” he said hoarsely. “If that’s the way it’s going to be.”

Butch wiped his face, turned to the wall, and then walked down the lineup of toys. As he approached the whips, V imagined the spiked fringe cutting into his back and his thighs . . . but the cop kept going. Next were the cat-o’-nines, and V could just feel them lashing his flesh . . . but Butch didn’t stop. Then it was the nipple clips and the barbed, stainless-steel cuffs that could be applied to ankles, forearms, the throat. . . .