THE FIRST SIN (12 page)

Still, I was happy when she drew away. Women just didn’t do it for me and I didn’t really have any desire to repeat the experience, though, honestly, it looked like the night was young yet, and who knew what would be required of me while I was tested.

But then I thought about the girls I was trying to save and knew that this was nothing. I would do what I needed to do to save them.

Danica smiled at me, thinking my stunned reaction was due to her prowess and not my shock. Well, whatever did it for her.

“Here the sub chooses her Dom. if the Dom reciprocates,” she said. She ran her finger down the side of my throat and rested her hand on my breast. “I’d enjoy having you for a sub.”

She kissed me with her soft lips again before she nodded to the other two slaves. Then she turned and strode out the door. The imprint of Danica’s mouth seemed to remain on mine, and my lips tingled. The sound of a zipper and air caressing my spine brought me to the present in a hurry.

Kathy slipped my clutch out of my hands, which left Samuel as the one stripping me. His grip on my waist was firm and the corset was already falling away. It landed in a pile on the floor with a soft brushing sound.

Samuel unzipped my leather skirt and let it drop around my heels. “Nice.” He was behind me so I couldn’t see his expression. “But I prefer dick over pussy.”

Oh, good. Then his pulling my thong down around my ankles wasn’t arousing him.

Sometimes this job was insane. Beating my head against the wall felt like a real idea right now. I was insane for coming up with the infiltration idea.

But really, what choice did we have?

I stepped out of the thong and skirt, and Kathy grinned up at me as she knelt and gathered my stuff. She folded everything neatly, arranged my clutch on top, and pushed the pile into one of the shorter lockers.

The smells of almonds and vanilla grew stronger as Kathy and Samuel had me lie facedown on one of the massage tables and my preparations began. By the time they were done with me, I had been massaged, oiled, and trussed up in mere strips of leather. I hadn’t been crazy about it, but at least I’d had the complete wax job done earlier, or they would have done it. I could smell the melted wax they used for that purpose.

I was so getting extra pay for this. No idea how I’d turn it in, but I’d figure something out. Hazard pay? The look on Oxford’s face would almost be worth the current embarrassment. Good thing I wasn’t a regular Fed. The newspapers would have too much fun with an expose” on something like this.

Agent gets Brazilian wax on the clock. Your tax dollars at work...

Thank God my lower part was covered with the strips of leather, even though the bottom half was just a thong so my butt was completely bare. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be wearing any skirt to cover myself.

Samuel and Kathy raised more strips and crossed my nipples with about one inch of leather, and fastened the straps over my shoulders.

“Perfect,” Kathy said as she looked at me. My entire backside and belly were bare, and only thin leather strips covered my nipples. That was it. I absolutely did not want to go strutting through a room of people dressed in the equivalent of three leather tongue depressors.

Samuel put his hand on his chin and twirled his fingers in a way that told me he wanted me to turn around. I did as he said, sure that certain leather parts would fall away from all of my important parts, but it stayed put. Good sign.

When I met Samuel’s gaze again his expression was almost serious, appraising. “Excellent. Stunning.” “And with your backside bare like that, it’ll be perfect for your test,” Kathy said.

“I haven’t been told yet.” I cleared my throat. “What’s the test?”

“You’re going to love it.” She smiled. “A good flogging in front of the whole club.”

March 30

Saturday night

I had broken out into a sweat and it and the oil was slick on my skin as my arras brushed ray sides while I walked, with Karen and Samuel on either side of me, toward . . . toward what? The scent of almond was so strong, it blocked out any other kind of smell. Must have gotten some of the oil up my nose.

How strange my mound had felt all day, waxed and bare, and even more so now that I was oiled. The roiling sensation in my belly accompanied the pain in my chest that could have been from the pounding of my heart. Christ, Steele. When you worked narcotics, you were in knife fights with drug-dealing gangs—and managed to escape with a few slashes before taking the assholes down with other RED agents. A lot you’ve taken down yourself.

You’ve had to smoke pot, snort coke, all in the name of playing an undercover part.

And you’ve killed, Steele. Many times. Many, many times, You can do this.

My tits were going to fall out of those straps, I just knew it. If I moved the wrong way I’d flash anyone who passed us while we made our way through a maze of high-ceilinged arched hallways.

The ankle cuff was a constant reminder that I needed to find a way to download info off Tarantino’s computer. Not that I needed a reminder, because thinking of saving those girls from being auctioned was what kept me going. It was almost painful to swallow as I managed to walk with what looked like confidence down a long hallway. Whenever we passed a Dom, I lowered my gaze.

Faking illness didn’t sound like too bad an idea right now. Of course that would ruin my chances of getting “in” with this BDSM crowd.

Where was Donovan?

Kathy and Samuel hadn’t spoken, but Kathy took my hand and squeezed it briefly before she let go. I looked at her smile. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

No doubt she felt the tremors in my hand. I nodded.

“Master Tarantino believes only in pleasure for the sub.” She gave one more squeeze before releasing me. “You can always use your safe word.” She frowned. “But then you’d fail the test and we wouldn’t see you around anymore.” I blinked. Were women who didn’t make the cut taken to the auctions?

I’d better make the cut. That’s all there was to it.

At the end of one long hallway was my virtual doom. Through the tall, wide-open double doors, I saw what looked like a casual party. Apparently it was a very private party considering the number of uncovered breasts of women wearing collars and the men in skimpy thongs that barely covered their packages while they walked behind their Doms. Some of the subs were being tugged along with chains or leather leashes attached to their thick leather collars. We walked closer.

And closer.

At the threshold.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me. In the crowd of onlookers, I registered Benjamin Cabot and Jason Strong, our other two major suspects. Strong really did look like a buff Vin Diesel in a sleeveless shirt, with muscles in all the right places, including the one in his tight leather pants.

Cabot was better looking in person than he had been in the photo we had on record. I’d been right about him being classically handsome, but he was much more of a snob—or looked like one—than I’d gathered from his pic. Like Tarantino and unlike all the leather and lack thereof on the people around us, Cabot wore a suit. Armani.

Cabot had a satisfied smile and as he studied me, and I knew he was taking great pleasure in what I was about to go experience. I glanced at Strong and Tarantino, and saw the same expressions of pleasure on each of their faces. I remembered the part about the three of them having the option to use my body, with or without my Dom, as part of the club package. Christ.

Samuel touched the base of my spine and gently propelled me forward, guiding me to the center of the room. The plush evergreen-shaded carpeting muffled the sound of my three-inch heels.

When we reached the center of the room, I knew the drill. I immediately took a sub’s stance. My feet shoulder-width apart, my breasts thrust out, my hands clasped behind my back. I wouldn’t raise my eyes unless I was told to.

I’d been beaten in the Cuban and Mexican jails, whipped, punched, knocked out. This was nothing. At least that’s what I told myself.

Samuel and Kathy moved away. With my eyes downcast, it was hard to make a sweep of the room with my gaze to analyze it and look for Donovan, but I did my best. The scent of sandalwood met my senses just before Lucca Tarantino stood before me, still dressed in the suit that was obviously tailored and made just for him. Was he going to do what he’d said? Fuck me before anyone else could? I have to admit I’d take him over anyone else I’d seen.

Except Donovan.

Where’d that come from? Maybe because I’d fantasized about him too many times to count since meeting him.

“Very good, Mistress Danica,” Tarantino said in his smooth Italian accent. He reached up—and pushed aside one of the straps, completely baring my breast. I barely held back a gasp. He stroked my breast, my skin still moist from the almond oil. “You had your slaves prepare her well.” He pushed aside the other strap and that breast felt the coolness of the room.

Now everyone could see my breasts and my nipples, which hardened and stood out.

I deserved a bonus for this.

Tarantino hooked his finger under my chin and tilted my head back, forcing me to look at him. With a sensual smile, he brought his lips to mine.

His kiss was slow, inviting. But it was a kiss of ownership. I felt it in every cell of my body. He’d decided he owned me, no matter what Dom I chose.

But nobody owned me.

When Tarantino drew away from the kiss he smiled, his expression filled with sex and passion. Those green eyes of his were somehow mesmerizing.

“Cuffs,” he said in a voice that sounded distant as he spoke to someone else, but he kept his gaze on me. “Hands in front of you, little slave.” I obeyed, and the skin around his beautiful green eyes crinkled with pleasure. It took me a moment to realize he was buckling a pair of leather handcuffs to my wrists.

“Raise your arms.” He guided my arms over my head. My gaze drifted up as he raised my arms and I saw that I was beneath a very large silver hook hanging from a long silver chain. Tarantino took me by the waist, raised me slightly so that I was on the tips of my toes, and someone else hooked the chain linking the cuffs over the hook. I was cuffed. Hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Most of my body bared.

Tarantino turned his head to the crowd of onlookers.

“Mistress Danica. Have one of your subs strip this slave. Leave the cuff.”

Oh, shit.

He returned his gaze to mine. “Any time you want to stop, say the safe word you will give your Dom. It will all be over and you’ll have failed the test.”

Fail? Yeah, right. Bring it on.

Kathy and Samuel moved toward me and removed the bits of leather and took off my heels.

Even though I’d half expected this, when they finished everyone had to see how red my entire body must be from embarrassment. It was like I was on fire, the flames rising from my toes to my scalp and then never stopping.

“Beautiful” I heard through the buzzing in my ears.

“Who gets to flog her?”

“No idea who Tarantino will pick, but if it’s me. I’ll give it to her good.”

I prayed it wasn’t that last voice.

“We have a new Dom joining us tonight.” Tarantino gestured with a nod to my right. “Known elsewhere as Sire Dunning. This slave will be his test to see if he earns that title here.”

My gaze followed Tarantinos and my stomach gave a lurch.

Donovan. Carrying a very long bullwhip. I didn’t know if the twisting in my belly was from relief at seeing him, from the desire to be on the other end of that whip, or from embarrassment. It was bad enough having a roomful of people seeing me naked while I was whipped, much less my new partner.

But damn did he fill out a tight pair of leather pants extraordinarily well.

They molded to his muscular legs and I could imagine just how butter-soft that leather would be beneath my hands. His hips were trim, and I bet his backside was just as nice.

And dear God, his chest was bared. All those muscles that had been hidden by shirts before were now slick with oil. Donovan was so different from Gary, and not nearly as packed with muscle.

But Donovan was so much more powerful-looking and in his presence, in every well-defined cut of his muscles, his potent sexuality radiated from him.

His shoulders were broader than I realized. His arms and chest bunched with raw power. Not only did his biceps look more cut, his thick forearms and strong wrists seemed more so now that he was bare-chested. Not an ounce of spare flesh on his body. On those thick wrists he was wearing his cuffs, one on each wrist.

But he had a dark look on his features and when his brilliant blue eyes met mine he narrowed his, like he was pissed. “Lower your eyes, slave.” The order came out in a bark and he snapped the whip. It gave a loud crack that startled me into remembering my role, and I looked at his crotch instead of his eyes. Not a bad view.

“May I?” Donovan said, and I knew he was asking Tarantino if he could start.

My arms ached from bearing my weight. This reminded me of the time I was in the Mexican prison, before I escaped. Then the Cuban prison before I was recruited by RED.

This would be a piece of cake.

Angel food cake, which I hated.

“Make sure you don’t mark her below her ass, above her breasts, or on her arms,” Tarantino was saying. “It wouldn’t do to have signs of her test show once she’s dressed again and walking out of my club.”

Every word he said brought me closer and closer to the realization that this was real.

“Thank you, Master Tarantino.” Donovan gave a quick bow of his head that I saw from beneath my lashes. “Every Dom should be highly skilled with a bullwhip,” Tarantino said. “You might be considered a Sire elsewhere, but we require that you show us your abilities before you earn your title here.”

Donovan said, “Of course, Master Tarantino.” The beating of my heart grew harder and faster as Tarantino took his seat on a couch and observed Donovan and me as if he were watching a television show. Donovan moved so close that his chest nearly brushed my breasts. His familiar scent was masked by the musky scent his torso was oiled with.