Red Hots (25 page)

Her
hands and feet were numb and her stomach, a ball of knots, was queasy and made
her feel ill all over. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to come down with the flu
and she could call her second to cover for her in court. She’d fax him over her
closing statement notes. However, that line of thought was for quitters and as
much as she wanted to just walk away from everything right now, she couldn’t.
All her life her father had ingrained in her the determination of being
responsible, completing those things that had been entrusted to her.

Taking
a deep breath, she reached into the backseat and grabbed her briefcase and the
suit she’d worn to court. She’d gone from work to Emmalee’s who took her to a
bondage store after they talked and finally to The Dollhouse. She opened her
door and dragged her weary body into her home. Locking the door behind her she
didn’t get much further than the couch where she collapsed, lying down on her
side. Not caring, she allowed the suit and briefcase to fall to the floor.

The
image of Masaun’s stone gray eyes filled with anger and disappointment haunted
her. Her heart ached. She should have never decided to go to The Dollhouse. Why
couldn’t she leave well enough alone? Met him at his house or stayed home.

Today
had already been a shit-storm in the courthouse and tomorrow’s closing
arguments would be worse because it was left to her to convince the jury that
Peter Dashell belonged in jail. It was her responsibility to see justice meted
out for Kristy and all his other victims. There was no time for her to wallow
in self-pity.

Or
what could have been. Eventually whatever was between her and Masaun would have
had to come to an end. It was temporary. They had both agreed upon that. Being
at the dungeon tonight was just a flimsy attempt at trying to stretch the time
longer.
I shouldn’t have done it.

She
thought about what Jonathan Camp had seen as she and Masaun had come walking
out hand in hand. In five minutes, anyone sitting outside that place on the
more secluded end of the oceanfront would be able to figure out what kind of
club it was. A fetish dungeon. What would they think of the kind of people that
went there? What would they think of her?

I
should have never agreed from the start.

Masaun
had been better off as just a candy delivery man in her life. Why had he
offered and tempted her with the possibility of peace, release?

Her
own questions prompted her to lift her hands. Even now the supple palms, palms
that had healed over the weeks she had been submitting to Masaun were carved
with the half-moon shapes of her nails. In one drive home, she’d returned to
the self-injurious pain of before.

Rolling
to her back, she pressed her palms to her stomach and closed her eyes. She was
bigger than this affliction. If the last few weeks had taught her nothing else,
it was that one lesson. Taking a deep breath she forced herself to relax, clear
her mind.

Even
as her body settled down and the tension receded some, her mind transported her
to another time, another place—Masaun’s playroom. The desire to feel the bite
of his hand or flogger, something tangible for her to focus on, assailed her.
The need washed over her, bowing her body forward.

He
was an addiction she had to kick. Cold turkey she would have to let him go.

Take
the techniques she had learned by her submission, in his arms and in his bed,
and continue with her life. She was on course to be the CA of Virginia Beach.
Harvey was not going for re-election, but a nod from him in her favor was as
good as gold. This was her life. This was what she had strived and worked
toward.

Even
as she pushed herself up from the couch, she tried not to notice that the
normal joyous feeling she got when she thought about the advancement of her
career wasn’t there. Instead she felt empty and hollow.

Wiping
the wetness from her face, she picked up her suit and went into her room. It
was time for her to get out of her bondage garb and get back into her actual
life. Once she was in her room, she removed her trench, hung it and the suit up,
then took off the assless corset dress and folded it and put it with the black
heels into a back corner of her walk-in closet. She’d have to toss it into the
trash soon, but she couldn’t risk it tonight with the reporter creeping around.
The last thing she needed was for someone to pull that kind of evidence on her
out of her garbage.

Leaving
her hair knotted on top of her head for the moment, she pulled a shower cap
over it then got in under a hot spray of water. She stood there and let it beat
on her, scalding her skin to a deep red. In need of the pain, she didn’t try to
resist by dodging the sprays or turning the temperature down. When she’d felt a
little more like herself, she bathed and got out.

When
she was dry and lotion covered her skin, she pulled on a nightgown, one she normally
wore in winter. But tonight with the chill still cloaked around her body, even
after the flaming shower, it seemed appropriate.

Heading
back into the living room, she collected her briefcase and felt the vibration
of her cell phone. Opening it up, she pulled out the phone. Emmalee’s name was
displayed there and she had two voicemail messages.

Pushing
the talk button, she said, “I’m okay, Em.” Just as quickly, she ended the call,
cutting off her friend’s reply at the first syllable.

Squeezing
the power button, she turned her phone off and tossed it onto the coffee table.
Still carrying her briefcase she deposited it on the kitchen table and went to
the refrigerator to get a yogurt. Standing over her trashcan, she consumed the
blueberry Greek yogurt cup then dropped the empty container into the garbage
and tossed the spoon in the sink. She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want to be
disturbed later by a growling stomach.

Her
mind was set on one thing, delivering the best damn closing argument of her
career. Pulling out her legal pad with the pages of her argument she’d already
written and the two previous court reports that she wanted to review, she got
to work. This case was hers and she would be damned if anything or anyone,
including her own present reckless behavior, would cause her to lose it. For a
few weeks she had forgotten who Kindle Langston was.

She would not allow that to happen again.

CHAPTER fifteen

The
Candyman Can: Assistant CA Langston Prosecutes Sex Crimes While Engaging In Her
Own Kinky Lifestyle

Kindle
stared down at the newspaper before her feet. She stood in her doorway and viewed
her own polluted name in bold print. She didn’t get the paper delivered to her
house, because her office was filled with all the vile reports she would ever
need. However, one of her neighbors must have thought it was important for her
to see, to behold the evidence of her adulterated life.

The
urge to bend down and pick it up was strong. Read what had been said about her.
There was a picture below the caption most of it below the fold, but her and Masaun’s
lips pressed together was showing.

As
she stepped over it and locked her door, she heard people calling out her name.
She moved to her car and ignored the hordes of reporters camped out around the
fence of the condominium complex.

Voices
continued to yell out questions.

“How
long have you been into BDSM?”

“Do
you have other kinky practices?”

“Is
this why they selected you to try this case?”

“You
ever consider switching to the defense side? Sexual deviant defends sexual
deviant.”

The
last question made her skin crawl. She wanted to raise her head and find the
bastard that had said it and punch him in the face. She may have only dipped
her toe in the bondage lifestyle, but she had a best friend that loved and
lived it and she’d be damned if some ignorant asshole was going to degrade
those that practiced into the same category as Child Killer Pedophile Peter
Dashell.

Knowing
it would be futile and bring more bad press to the case that should be all
about justice for the victims, she got into her car and drove through the
crowded gates. For a brief second, she hoped someone would jump before her hood
and attempt to stop her so she could at least have the satisfaction of running
one of them over. Unfortunately they didn’t and she continued on to work, with
the full procession of news vans following her the entire way.

Unlike
her usual days, she didn’t go into the office early but only allowed herself
the time it would take for her to arrive at the courthouse at the start of the
day’s trial.

She
felt the curious glances and heard the low murmurs as she entered the
courtroom. Just like the bloodsucking reporters, she ignored them too as she
took her place in first chair behind the prosecution table. The piercing stare
of Simeon caused her to turn toward her ex-boyfriend.

His
features were drawn tight and he gazed at her as if she were a stranger,
someone he’d never seen before—there was a look of disgust shadowing his eyes.
In her peripheral vision, she could see the front page of the newspaper spread
flat on his table before him. It pissed her off to see a man who was defending
an evil, murdering scumbag have the gall to judge her consensual actions and
find them appalling.

“Kiss
my ass, Simeon,” she mouthed.

His
eyes and mouth stretched in shock.

“All
rise. The Honorable Judge A. Willard Geneon presides,” the bailiff announced.

There
was rustling through the courtroom as people got to their feet and the court
reporter began tapping at her keys.

“Good
morning all. Please be seated. Counselors, are we ready to proceed?” Judge
Geneon asked, looking from Simeon to Kindle.

Kindle
was happy to see that the judge’s face was a stone mask as he looked over his
bench toward the prosecution table. Either the Judge had not seen the morning
paper or was too professional to allow it to interfere in the proceedings;
whichever, Kindle was grateful.

“The
defense is, Your Honor,” Simeon called out.

“The
prosecution is more than ready, Your Honor.” Kindle smiled.

“Let’s
begin.”

~YH~

“Is
there any reason you chose to awaken me at the ass crack of dawn?” Sweet
mumbled in his pillow in response to Masaun banging on the nightstand close to
his brother’s bed. 

“It’s
not dawn. The sun has been up for hours now.” Masaun leaned his shoulder
against the wall and stared at the form buried deep beneath the blanket. He
rarely used his key to the loft apartment above the store since Sweet used it
as his extended temporary home, however, today was a different story.

“One
man’s morning is another man’s middle of the night.” Sweet still had not
glanced at him. His brother had a point. Sweet didn’t work late every night in
the store, but when he was processing through dark emotions he never spoke
about
,
the silence of the shop and making
candy gave Sweet peace. Normally, Sweet was exhausted the next day and needed a
lot of rest.

“Get
up. I need to talk to you.” Masaun kicked the bed frame, jarring his brother’s long
form.

“Fuck,
Masaun. What the hell?” Sweet turned and shoved himself into a sitting position
in the center of the bed.

Masaun
didn’t care that he’d pissed his brother off. Right now, he was finding it hard
to have a concerning thought about anything but Kindle. The one person he could
not get ahold of, she was refusing to answer any of his calls.

“Is
my kitchen on fire?” Sweet shot an angry look at him through the dim room.

“No.”

Shoving
his hands through his sleep-wrangled hair, Sweet stared at him. His younger
brother must have read something in his face, because Sweet tossed the blanket
back. “Make me coffee.”

Giving
him a sharp nod, Masaun turned and went down the few steps that separated Sweet’s
bed area from the rest of the loft. Walking through the spacious great room he
went to the kitchen area, too elaborate and high-tech for a small place, but
Sweet had insisted on having the upgrade contracted when he decided to move
into it. Masaun tossed the item in his hand on the table and started on
fulfilling his brother’s request for caffeine.

By
the time he had two cups of coffee on the table, Sweet came strolling in,
looking just a fraction more awake in jeans, no shirt and bare feet. Masaun had
no doubt as soon as he finished talking to his brother, Sweet would return to
bed for a couple more hours.

“I
figure it must be damn important for you to come up here.” Sweet poured liquid
creamer and too many spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee cup.

Masaun
sipped his black, lightly sweetened coffee once then returned it to the table.
“You didn’t make it into The Dollhouse last night.”

Arching
a brow, Sweet stared at him. “Really, Masaun, you’ve come here to chastise me?
I’m a little old for a keeper, even a BDSM one.” Lifting his coffee, Sweet took
two liberal gulps.

Frustrated,
Masaun sighed and ran his hand over his head. “It wasn’t a reprimand but an
observation. There’s no way you could have known about this.” He flipped the
paper flat and pointed at the front page.

“Oh,
shit!” He set the cup down, creamy brown liquid sloshing over the sides.
Disregarding the mess, Sweet grabbed the paper.

Masaun
knew what his brother saw, he’d read the article three times and practically
knew each paragraph by heart.
Masaun
had discovered from the byline that the article was written by Jonathan Camp,
the reporter who had ambushed them at The Dollhouse.

“Hey,
they’re not only talking about your connection to the BDSM dungeon but the
article mentions our store.”

Disregarding
what appeared to be a note of pride in his brother’s voice, Masaun explained,
“Last night when Kindle and I were leaving The Dollhouse, this scoop-hungry
reporter just about accosted us trying to pull an interview from Kindle.”

“In
the act apparently.” Sweet tapped the picture of the passionate kiss.

“Apparently.”
He exhaled a hard breath. “The man has been following Kindle around since the trial
began. He’s some local freelance reporter that does an occasional spot on the
news as well as sells occasional articles to the paper.”

“The
bastard must have felt like he hit the fucking jackpot last night.”

“Triple
dipped in it. There have been small bits on the television news, radio and of
course the paper. He didn’t get anything from Kindle, but in the hours that
followed, apparently he got enough to fill in some gaps with truth and
falsehoods.”

Dropping
the paper, Sweet picked up his coffee again. He leaned back in his seat, his
gaze piercing and his mouth tight as he sipped his coffee.

“Look,
Sweet, you have a right to be pissed. This is an embarrassment on the store—”

“I’m
not embarrassed. Are you?” Sweet’s voice was still strained.

“Hell,
yeah.” Masaun shot up and walked to the sink, pressing his hands down to try to
keep himself calm. His gut was reeling with emotions. “You know how I feel
about our private life.”

There
was a thump, the sound of ceramic striking wood. “Yeah, I know how you feel.
But, sometimes you can’t control everything, big bro.”

Glancing
over his shoulder, Masaun stared at Sweet.

“This
isn’t a bad thing for us. So, some prudish people may not come back to Decadent
Treats…like we’re putting damn flogger bits in the chocolate or something.
However, I guarantee it will bring more business, even if from people wanting
to gawk at the two Doms and speculate if there are subs chained up in the back
of our store. They come, taste my damn outstanding candy then come back for
more sugary crack.”

Masaun
was almost tempted to smile at his brother’s perfect description of his
chocolate creations being synonymous with drug addiction. It was just that
good. However, one thought pushed that small bubble of happiness away—Kindle.

“It
may
work in our favor, but not in hers. She’s in the middle of a high
profile trial that her career is riding on.” That was the part that ate at him.
Over the long weeks, he’d gotten to know Kindle, the lawyer. Watched her sit at
his home desk and work on her case or bounce ideas off him.

“By
her, I’m assuming you mean this pretty, brown-skinned submissive in the picture
with you, Assistant Commonwealth Attorney Kindle Langston.” Sweet read her
title from the article.

Exhaling,
Masaun returned to his seat. “Yes.”

“Can
I assume she, Kindle, is the reason behind the occasional smile that has appeared
on your face from time to time over the last few weeks?” Sweet brought a foot
up to rest on his knee.

“Yes,
Kindle or Song Sparrow—”

“Song
Sparrow?” Sweet’s brows puckered over the bridge of his nose.

“If
you heard how she sounds when she climaxes at the end of a session, you’d
understand.” His memory replayed the melodic cries that often had flooded his
playroom. It always touched a deep place in his heart and made his chest swell
with pride as the desire to protect her gripped him. However, he had failed.
The newspaper before him was proof of that.

“I’ll
pass and take your word for it.”

“It’s
been couple of months since our relationship began.” He ran a hand down his
face, feeling weary. “It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement.”

“You
want it permanent.”

Leaning
on his forearms, Masaun linked his hands together. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not
possible.”

“You
know I’m the last guy to tell someone not to give up on the affairs of the
heart. Do you know this for sure?”‘

Masaun
recalled Kindle’s expression when she pulled away from him in the bright glow
of the reporter’s camera light. There wasn’t only apprehension there, but true
fear. The woman that had minutes before submitted fully to his dominance and
seconds after that melted in his arms as they spoke of loving each other all
through the night, had sealed herself off from him—physically and emotionally.
She’d yet to return a single message he’d left on her phone. That was pissing
him off.

He’d
foolishly believed that in the last few weeks the two of them had grown close,
that Kindle viewed him as a confidante and someone she could trust with her
worries and fears. If not, then what the hell had been the point of their
relationship? In that semi-private room at The Dollhouse, he’d seen her total
submission to him. She’d called him Dom Hawk and had truly become his Song
Sparrow.

If
a sucker was born every minute then a fool such as he had been for her was born
every second. That was how long it had seemed to take for Kindle to erect the
wall between them. 

“Yes,
I’m sure. I haven’t heard from her since she flew out of the parking lot.” He’d
driven to her house an hour later after he was sure he wasn’t being followed,
just to make sure her car was in her slot and she’d made it home safely. When
he’d seen she had, he went home.

They
sat in silence for a moment, both of them contemplative.