AtHerCommand (10 page)

For one brief moment, Dalton was six again, suffering
through a pain-and-pleasure attack of the Tickle Monster. It’d been his
mother’s favorite game, especially when she was drunk. She’d never figured out
his screaming laughter hadn’t meant he was enjoying the torment. So, the Tickle
Monster had become his personal nightmare. After his mother had abandoned him,
Dalton hadn’t revealed his extreme ticklishness to anyone.

As he watched Domino select the feather, he barely felt the
sweat dripping down his body.
She was going to tickle him.
Would he make
it through the session without using the “yellow” caution word or even the
end-everything “red” safe word? Dalton wanted to ask her to gag him so he
couldn’t break down and beg.

Dom held the quill-like feather in front of his face so he
could see the curving shape and pointed tip. He clenched his jaw and tried not
to anticipate what was coming. He remembered that dreading a tickling only made
his nerves more jumpy.

“I promised at our first meeting to show you ways to
sensitize your body.” Domino ran the tip under his chin. “Some pleasures can
become so exquisite they’re painful. Are you ticklish, slave?”

Dalton shook his head, unable to get the denial past his
gritted teeth. She couldn’t discover how ticklish he really was. But as Dom ran
the sharp tip of the feather down his chest and across his ribs, he shook from
the effort to stand still. One look at her gloating eyes told him she’d guessed
his secret.

“Oh this is going to be fun…” she murmured, “for me.”

* * * * *

Dalton stormed through the front door of Jason’s house,
ignoring his feeling of déjà vu and the cat’s familiar unblinking stare. Just
as with his first post-dominatrix-session homecoming, he headed for the master
bath, shedding clothes along the way. Maybe a cool shower would numb the
super-sensitized nerves singing under his skin.

Turning on the shower taps, he forced himself to remember
that enduring the tickling torture had been worth it. No uniformed bouncer had
materialized after the session to escort him to the club’s entrance so Dalton
had managed to do some snooping while taking the long way out. He’d overheard a
couple of lackeys talking in the loading dock area about a shipment to the
Cabazone organized crime family. If the club was involved with the Mafia, it
could mean anything from drugs to money laundering. The men had moved out of
earshot before Dalton could learn more but the information was a start. It
could be an important step toward learning what had gotten Jason killed.

Dalton tested the cold water and then stepped under the
spray.
Hell.
The chilly shower was almost soothing but he still felt
jangled up inside. Of all the things the merciless Mistress Bella could have
done, tickling was the worst. She hadn’t forced him to beg but it’d been close.

He held his head under the brisk water and let it sluice
down his overstimulated flesh. He could still feel the tip of the white feather
Domino had stroked with tortuous languor under his arms and across his ribs.
The sensations had been so intense, so close to pleasurable, he’d almost been
disappointed when she’d bypassed his package to tickle his legs. Then while
he’d hung from that hook balancing practically on tiptoe, she’d used that
feather on the soles of his feet.

Dalton shuddered and he wasn’t sure if it was the awful
memory or the icy shower. He turned up the hot water and gradually stopped
shivering. But he couldn’t suppress his thoughts as easily. Having his feet
tickled had been worse than the time he’d snapped his dislocated shoulder back
into place without anesthesia. Even the humiliation of being handcuffed paled
by comparison.

He picked up the soap and lathered his body. Boy, he’d love
to turn the tables on the smug Mistress Bella. When Domino Petracelli was
brought in for questioning, he’d ask Captain Bennett to give him five minutes
alone with her and that damn feather. He’d see how she liked to be tickled
without mercy. Dalton almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought.

As he washed the backs of his legs, he noticed his
reflection in the mirrored shower door. There on the side of his butt was Dom’s
parting gift—a heart drawn by her own hand to commemorate his Valentine’s Day
session. An arrow pierced the center of the heart where she’d written “M.B.”
for Mistress Bella. He scrubbed the soap over the penned tattoo but the
indelible black ink proved stubborn. Until the damn thing faded away, he wasn’t
using the cop shop or gym showers.

Dalton rinsed the soap off his skin, his mind wandering to
the one part of the session he’d enjoyed. For several minutes, he’d stroked
Dom’s feet and legs, touching and kissing as he’d pleased. He remembered the
warmth of her body and the earthy scents of leather and musk. For those few
moments, he’d wrested some of the control away from her and she’d been dazed by
the chemistry between them. He was sure of it. When he’d pressed his mouth to
her skin, he’d felt her pulse racing under her flesh…pounding in an echo of his
own.

Dalton reached for his cock to relieve the sexual pressure
just thinking of Domino produced.
No.
As crazy as it sounded, getting
off after a session with Mistress Bella was just too much like surrendering. He
could visualize her grinning, pleased that she’d pushed him to masturbate.
Not
tonight.
He dropped his hand, refusing to let her win.

Angry with his own mind games, Dalton shut off the water and
stepped out of the shower. It was late, he was tired and tomorrow was sure to
be another killer day. As he toweled off, he decided to call Suzi’s cell phone
in the morning to tell her about the Cabazone family lead. She could pass the
information along to Captain Bennett without revealing the source.

He dried off his hair and threw the towel over the shower
stall. Not bothering with a bathrobe, he walked into his moonlit room and fell
into bed. The flannel sheets, soft against his bare skin, warmed quickly from
his body heat. Dalton stared at the ceiling, wondering how his life had become
so surrealistic and wishing he could turn back the days to save his best
friend. But there were no do overs in life, just revenge against the murdering
bastards. So he willed sleep to come and resisted thinking about a sexy-as-hell
woman who was driving him crazy—a woman who just might be up to her pretty neck
in the mess that had gotten Jason killed.

Chapter Ten

Her throaty laugh scraped his senses like her feather had
rasped his flesh. Dalton struggled to shake off sleep. This was a dream. He was
in bed, not in Mistress Bella’s sexual lair. But the spicy scent of her perfume
surrounded him and his body was alive with his need for this woman.

He was back at the club or was it an illusion? Domino stood
near the mirrored corner of the S&M room, her luscious figure and cascade
of dark hair reflected to infinity in the silvered glass. Beside her was the
futon bed, open and inviting. If this were a nightmare, he didn’t want to wake.
Dalton moved forward, drawn by the challenge in her eyes. She still wore the
stiletto shoes, red leather dress and mask of Mistress Bella, but he sensed the
rules had changed.

He stopped in front of Domino, just a little too close,
forcing her to tilt her head to meet his eyes. But she didn’t step back. Dalton
wasn’t surprised to find her undaunted by his size or his nearness. The top of
her head barely reached his chin but this woman was no shrinking violet. And
her spirit made him want her more than his next breath.

Without a word, he cupped the nape of her neck with his hand
and took her mouth hard and deep. It wasn’t a seduction, a soft teasing of lips
and sliding tongues. This was hunger finally unleashed. Dalton held her firm,
the kiss almost bruising, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, with a soft sound
in her throat, Domino pressed against him as wild for his taste as he was for
hers.

His heart bucked and raced as a thick haze of lust, the
color of her crimson mask, clouded his mind.
Now.
He had to have her
now
.
Dalton broke the kiss, found the Velcro fastenings on her leather outfit and
tore the dress from her body. Dom’s incredible breasts were bare, and her black
stockings stopped high on her thighs, clinging without garters. Only a scrap of
black lace stood between him and his goal.

Dalton claimed her mouth again, steeping himself in her
exotic flavor. He wanted to savor her, kiss her for hours, but his need for
Domino was overwhelming. Ending the kiss, he swept her up and placed her on the
futon. She ran her tongue over her lips, the gesture making his fingers shake
as he fumbled with his zipper. Freeing his straining erection, he shoved down
his jeans and briefs together and kicked them off.
Now.
Hurry.
The urgent impulses drove any semblance of romance from his mind as he climbed
onto the futon toward her welcoming arms.

Seizing her panties, he simply tore them off. She gasped but
opened for him. His control shot, all thoughts of foreplay and finesse a
memory, Dalton surged into her wet heat.
Damn, she was so tight…so good.
Domino moaned, wrapping her legs around him and meeting his thrusts with
abandon.

He kissed her, sliding his tongue in counterpoint to his
plunging cock.
His. She was his.
The mantra swirled through his
lust-filled consciousness. He drove her up toward a mind-shattering release,
her beating pulse and sexy moans signaling her approaching peak.

Dalton grasped her hips and pushed deep and high, rubbing
against her sensitive center. With a cry, Dom climaxed. He pressed into her, trembling
with the effort to give her as much pleasure as he could.

Her shudders lessened and she opened her eyes to stare dazed
into his. Dalton kissed her and started thrusting again, slow and deliberate.
He was on the edge, but he wanted one thing before he followed her over. He
wanted to see her face.

Without stopping his sexual stroking, Dalton reached for her
mask. Dom pulled away but then nodded her assent. She was willing to show him
the real Dominique Petracelli, the private person she shielded from others. And
he found the thought incredibly erotic. With shaking hands, she untied the mask
and slipped it off.

God, she was beautiful.
Dalton forgot to move and
just gazed down into those incredible eyes, that striking Mediterranean face.
And when those full, wet lips curved into a smile, the last vestige of his
control snapped.

He surged into her, the orgasm hitting him with the force of
a sledgehammer.

Dalton jack-knifed into a sitting position, his body quaking
with the aftershocks of the staggering lovemaking.
What the hell?
He was
in bed at Jason’s house. The sheets were twisted around his sweating body and
he’d just had his first wet dream since high school.

He groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his gritty
eyes. So much for trying to control his desire for Domino. Apparently his
subconscious mind hadn’t been satisfied with the post-session cold shower and
his refusal to seek manual release for his pent-up lust. Dalton could just
imagine how amused Mistress Bella would be if she ever learned about this
little lapse in his control.

He stopped rubbing his tired eyes and stared at the rumpled
bed. Maybe once the club investigation was over, he’d see if Domino were
willing to explore the chemistry between them.

“Yeah,” he grumbled aloud, “I’m sure she’ll want to date a
cop who shutdown the club and lost her a job.”

Hell, he could end up proving she was involved in the whole
mess and sending her to jail. Wasn’t
that
a great way to win a woman’s
undying devotion? Besides, he might have imagined Dom’s interest in him—the
desire in her eyes, the almost kiss. What if the whole thing were an act,
something to hook her clients into a sexual addiction?

Dalton glanced at the bedside clock. Three in the morning.
Groaning, he untangled the sheets, stood and headed for the shower. In a couple
hours, he’d call Suzi on her cell phone in case her home phone was tapped. He
had the Cabazone family news to share with her and maybe she had some leads as
well. The sooner he solved this case, the sooner he could get some answers
about Domino. And the sooner, hopefully, she’d get out of his mind and his
dreams.

* * * * *

Using a metal nail file, Suzi roughed up the edges of the
rubber washer and reinstalled it in the faucet. She turned on the water in her
massage room’s sink and let it run for several seconds. When she turned the
water off, the faucet dripped with a steady, irritating ping, ping, ping.
Perfect.

Suzi slipped the file into the pocket of her Xecutive Branch
uniform. Now that she’d sabotaged the faucet, she could get on with the rest of
her plan. She needed to get aggressive in her investigation of the club.

Thanks to Dalton’s call that morning, she knew about the
possible Cabazone family connection. In turn, Suzi had informed Captain Bennett
of the lead, implying she’d overheard the crime family conversation herself to
protect Dalton’s involvement. Then she’d devised a plan to do some snooping on
her own. Suzi was psyched, ready to break this case and avenge Jason. And with
a good half hour before her next client, she had time for some undercover work.

Closing the door behind her, Suzi exited the massage room
and headed down the hall away from the club’s reception area. Strolling along
as if on a coffee break, she glanced into open rooms as she passed. Late afternoon
was a slow time for the club so she wasn’t surprised the hot tub rooms were
empty. One of the mattress rooms was being prepared however and she stopped to
chat with the two male assistants. Like many of the club’s staff, they’d become
somewhat friendly acquaintances after her first week as a masseuse.

“Hi. Got a hot one scheduled tonight?” Suzi asked.

The thin, red-haired man named Brian grinned, his pale skin
almost indistinguishable from the white uniform the assistants wore. “Yeah, a
mattress party for some bigwig,” he said. “They’re expecting over thirty
people.”

“Gonna be one helluva fuckfest,” the second assistant, a
leering, ruddy-faced guy named Chad, announced with relish. “Want to take a
break later and watch some of the action through the two-way mirror? If you
pick up a few pointers, you can practice them on me.”

Suzi hid a shudder of distaste and smiled at the stocky man.
“Gee, I hate to miss the live sex-ed class, but I’m pretty booked this evening.
Besides, I don’t think Killer, my biker boyfriend, would approve.”

“You don’t have a biker boyfriend named Killer,” Chad
scoffed, but not looking entirely convinced she was kidding.

“You’re right, that’s not his real name,” Suzi said. “That’s
just what the other bikers call him since he took care of that narc last
September. Have fun, boys.”

Smiling at the stunned assistants, she turned and continued
down the hall. Maybe that little bit of misinformation would get around and she
wouldn’t have to deal with any other unwelcome come-ons. Suzi had already
turned down several sleazy requests from male staffers for free full-body
massages. In this place, apparently the female employees were considered fair
game—always in season, no hunting license required—and she had no intention of
being stuffed and mounted, so to speak.

Suzi waved to Ellen, the dominatrix-slash-dental student who
was hurrying toward the women’s locker room. The girl waved back and pointed to
her watch before disappearing into the changing area. Obviously Ellen was late
again, a common occurrence according to the club grapevine. Suzi hesitated
outside the locker room door then reconsidered and continued down the hall.

The employee lunchroom was deserted so Suzi ambled on. She
passed the elevator to the private customer parking and greeted Ramon, the
unsmiling assistant whose job description appeared to be checking customer
parking keycards and scowling. The aloof Latino nodded in return but didn’t
engage her in any small talk. She kept walking.

Ahead of her, the door to the employee parking lot opened
and Benny, one of the muscle-bound bouncers, stepped in from the cold. Based on
the cloud of smoke that accompanied him, Suzi guessed he’d taken a cigarette
break.

“Hey, Benny, is it snowing yet?” she asked.

Suzi knew he’d been hired for his brawn not his brains, but
the guy was a gentle giant. If any of the customers got rowdy, the female staff
always called Benny to help them out.

“Hi there, Suzi-Q.” A grin split Benny’s homely face.
“There’s lots of clouds but no snow yet. Sure hope we get some though.”

Suzi stopped next to Benny and smiled up at him. Despite his
receding hairline and boxer’s nose, the man acted like some overgrown,
jug-eared kid most the time. According to a coworker, during the last big D.C.
snowstorm, Benny had built a snowwoman near the club’s front entrance. The icy,
well-endowed figure had sported foil condom packs for eyes and a vibrator for a
nose. Contrary to the Xecutive Branch’s policy of maintaining a low profile in
the upscale Washington neighborhood, the snowwoman had caused quite a stir in
the ritzy locale. Benny’s creation had been quickly disassembled, to the
staff’s sorrow.

“I like the snow too,” Suzi agreed before changing the
subject. “How’s it going? Staying busy?”

“Nah. Hasn’t been any action since that jerk took a swing at
Ramon.”

Suzi nodded. She’d heard about the incident. An esteemed
congressman from Montana had misplaced his parking keycard while in one of the
role-playing rooms and had objected to Ramon’s refusal to allow him access to
the private elevator. Grabbing the self-important customer by the back of his
coat, Benny had shaken the politician like a rat. Eventually the keycard had
been located among the delicate lingerie in his briefcase, to the
cross-dressing congressman’s mortification.

“What do you do when you’re not rescuing your coworkers?”
Suzi asked.

Benny blushed, a charming sight given the barrel-chested
man’s hulking presence.

“I help out on the loading dock,” he answered. “We have
boxes coming in all the time.”

“Like from New York?” Suzi asked.

“Yeah, New York, L.A., even Hong Kong.”

Suzi could imagine what were in the boxes from Hong Kong.
The Xecutive Branch probably bought sex toys by the ton. Were the New York
boxes from the Cabazones?

“Sometimes we send boxes to New York too,” Benny continued.
“Some days I feel like a mailman.”

“Break’s over, Benny.”

The bouncer flinched and Suzi turned to see Clyde Salvi, the
club’s major-domo, standing several feet away. Benny mumbled a quick goodbye
and headed toward the loading area. The epitome of a Mafia hitman, Clyde stood
regarding her coldly.

“Hi, Mr. Salvi,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “I was
hoping to find you. I’ve got a problem.”

“A problem?”

The man’s emotionless voice and penetrating eyes made Suzi
very uncomfortable. Clyde wielded significant power and his menacing demeanor
was intimidating. She suspected he’d not only known about Jason’s murder but
had probably ordered it. It was time to launch into her cover.

“I need my massage room sink fixed,” she explained. “The
dripping faucet’s like Chinese water torture. Too bad it’s not dripping in one
of the S&M rooms.” Suzi could see her little joke hadn’t amused the man.
“Several customers have complained.”

“When’s your next appointment?” Clyde checked the expensive
watch on his arm, the only jewelry he wore.

“In ten minutes or so,” she answered.

He slipped a cell phone out of his pocket and flipped open
the lid. “I’ll have the receptionist send your next customer to one of the
other girls,” he stated. “Go back to your room and someone will meet you there
to check the problem.”

“Thanks.”

Suzi smiled at Clyde but he’d already dismissed her and was
punching his speed-dial for the receptionist. She walked briskly back to her
massage room, hoping he hadn’t overheard her quizzing Benny on the club’s
shipments. With a little luck, she’d soon get another chance to talk to the
bouncer about loading dock activities. Until then, she’d watch her back. It
never paid to underestimate a man like Clyde Salvi.