AtHerCommand (9 page)

The agent nodded, satisfied. “That’s right. And speaking of
hell, tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” he said. “Your boyfriend buying in to the
hype and giving you a dozen red roses?”

Dom was used to her coworker’s fishing expeditions about her
personal life but she had no intention of letting him know she was unattached.
The agent had informed her long ago he’d like to add a little “hide the salami”
to their working relationship. The suggestion was disgusting but she hadn’t
complained about him to their boss. She wanted Sam Lowery to know she could
handle her own problems. And if she couldn’t deal with one horny coworker, she
probably wasn’t cut out for a job in law enforcement.

“Roses make me sneeze.” She gathered up her purse and coat.
“I’m more of a luxury car type of girl myself. So if you see me driving a new
Mercedes, it was a Valentine’s gift. I’m not on the take.”

Smiling at his confused expression, she stood and walked
away. Let him think she had a rich boyfriend who bought her cars. Maybe he’d
aim his breast-ogling, raunchy self at some other female. She imagined Meyers
in a session with Ellen, the club’s most accomplished dominatrix. That turned
her smile into a grin as she pushed through the front door of the restaurant.
Humming “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”, Dom headed toward her car.

* * * * *

Winter night stakeouts sucked.
Dalton rubbed his
gloved hands together. No heat, no light, no music—just bone-chilling cold and
no way to escape his thoughts. His bag of convenience store junk food held no
appeal and he’d finished his thermos of coffee long ago. If only he could risk
turning on the car’s engine for just five minutes. He’d been parked on this
Arlington residential street for over an hour and his body was turning into a
block of ice.

Where the hell was she?
Dalton tilted his wrist until
his watch caught the light of a nearby street lamp. Two a.m. The calendar
window on the watch face read “Feb. 13”. He wasn’t particularly superstitious
but thirteen had never been his favorite number. If his luck were bad, his
quarry would stay out all night, leaving him with a frost-bitten butt and
nothing to show for it.

Dominique Petracelli. Using the plate number Suzi’d
supplied, Dalton had learned the full name and address of the mysterious
Mistress Bella. Thanks to a computer problem at the Division of Motor Vehicles
however, he hadn’t been able to pull up a copy of her license complete with
photo. He still didn’t know what she looked like without her mask. Maybe
tonight he’d rectify that.

Dalton glanced at the stone and stucco bungalow where
Dominique lived. His grandmother would have called it “a cute starter home”,
loving the sturdy 1950s architecture of the houses in the neighborhood. Mature
trees lined the quiet street and embellishments, such as decorative house
numbers and stone mailbox holders, attested to the pride of the homeowners.

Some of the neighbors were using their wood-burning
fireplaces and the homey smell of the smoke drifted in the air. There were
several interior lights on up and down the street but the only noise was the
occasional barking of a dog. Clouds obscured the moon. Were they in for more
snow? It was certainly cold enough for a blizzard.

Two headlights cut the darkness as a car turned onto the
street where he’d parked. Dalton slumped lower in his seat and watched as the
small car slowed and turned into Dominique’s driveway.
It was her.
The
soft light of the street lamp shone too briefly on her profile as she pulled up
to the garage in her black-and-white spotted car. The markings looked like a
domino. Dalton grinned. Suzi had mentioned that “Domino” was her nickname.

She waited for the garage door to rise and Dalton picked up
his camera to capture the woman in his telephoto lens. Too dark. He’d have a
better shot of her once she exited her car. Domino eased the VW Bug into her
lighted, one-car garage between a bike and a lawnmower. Garden tools and other
maintenance items hung on wall pegs and there were bags of mulch stacked against
the back wall of the garage.

She turned off her ignition. Holding his breath in
anticipation, Dalton raised the camera to his eye again. Through the lens, he
could see her reaching for the car door handle with her left hand as her right
hand lifted to the visor’s garage door remote. The car door swung open and one
jeans-clad leg emerged. Then the garage door began to close.

“No, no, no!” Dalton’s words echoed in the car as he watched
the door descend, blocking Domino from sight. He thumped his gloved hands
against the dashboard in frustration. All he wanted was one good look at the
woman. Okay, so he was overreacting here but how could he investigate Domino,
trail her outside of the club, if he’d never seen her unmasked face?

It was no use leaving his car and trying to get a look
through her windows. A quick circuit of the house earlier had revealed opaque
soft blinds in all the windows—impossible to see through. As he sat grinding
his teeth, interior lights came on in the house, creating a friendly glow. He
doubted the woman inside would be so welcoming if he rang her doorbell.

Dalton turned on his ignition and waited for the car’s
heater to take the chill off the air. He might as well head home and get some
sleep. He’d try tailing her in the morning. If that proved fruitless, he’d
visit Mistress Bella again. That thought filled him with an unsettling
combination of dread and sharp anticipation—like facing a cavity-ridden trip to
a dentist, who happened to be a hot, stacked babe with a drill.

Dalton shook his head. He would
not
get hooked on
Bella the way Jason had on Tori, no matter how hot Domino was. Sure, some of
the sex club session had turned him on. But it was just the hint of danger that
appealed the adrenaline junkie in him. Yeah, that was his story and he was
sticking to it.

Frowning, he eased the car away from the curb and saw a dark
shape flash by his front bumper. Instinctively, he slammed on the brakes. The
animal made it safely across the street and disappeared into a hedge. Probably
just a squirrel. But, as he drove away, Dalton couldn’t shake the impression it
had been a black cat—the perfect bad karma event to top off his day.

Chapter Nine

God, he hated Valentine’s Day.

Dalton printed out his last report, turned off his office
computer and stretched his aching shoulders.
What a nightmare.
Thanks to
the usual February 14
^th
crazies, he hadn’t had time to tail Domino
before she started her club shift. His first V Day bust had been the guy who
went postal in a Pennsylvania Avenue florist—all over the cost of a dozen red
roses. Then an angry woman had taken hostages in a Dupont Circle card shop.
After surrendering, she’d explained she was bitter over never having received a
Valentine’s card. And Dalton didn’t even want to think about the incident at
the mall Godiva Chocolate store.

He resisted rubbing his tired eyes, stood and grabbed his
coat. Time to clock out. He’d stop by home long enough to shower and change
into the preppy clothes worn by his Xecutive Branch undercover persona. Then
he’d head over to the club to see what he could learn.

Dalton slipped on his coat and adjusted his holster. Maybe
he’d get a chance to do a little investigating after his sex club
appointment—unless he had an escort like the first time. Having a bouncer along
on the trip to and from S&M Room Five would put a crimp in his plans
tonight. But he’d keep his eyes and ears open for any opportunity to gather
information.

At least he’d thought to make an appointment with Mistress
Bella. According to the club’s receptionist, quite a few members liked to
celebrate Valentine’s Day with a little kinky sex. Good thing he’d locked in an
hour of Domino’s time.

As he headed to the cop shop’s rear parking lot, he picked
up his pace. Dalton felt energized, anticipating the evening despite his
intense first session with Mistress Bella. He grimaced at the memory as he
opened the Mustang’s door and slid behind the wheel.

Glancing in the rearview mirror as he backed the car, he
spotted the determined gleam in his eyes. Maybe he should get his head examined
for not dreading this appointment. No, he wasn’t nuts and this was not just
some risky thrill. He was drawn to Domino. She challenged him to a battle of
wills and a war of wits. And Dalton was determined to win at any cost.

* * * * *

Domino stared through the two-way mirror into S&M Room
Five. The sight was more tempting than her grandmother’s tiramisu.
Dalton
was back.
After a crazy evening that had included Baby Bob adding
Cupid-like wings to his diaper attire, Dalton’s arrival was like a Valentine’s
present from the Fates. And she planned to enjoy unwrapping the gift.

Dom watched her client pace around the room, allowing a
sharp-edged anticipation to grow for both of them. Unconsciously, she smoothed
her hands down her red leather dress, tracing the outline of strategically
placed, heart-shaped cutouts. Her red mask sported matching heart-shaped
eyeholes. She’d chosen the dress from the club’s wardrobe room in honor of
February 14
^th
. But she knew she looked good in the outfit, which hugged
her body and highlighted her complexion and dark hair.

For once Domino was pleased to accentuate her physical
attributes. Here, she didn’t have to worry about feeling diminished or
vulnerable thanks to the unwanted attentions of men. Her sexually aggressive
Mistress Bella persona gave her a sense of power. And she particularly enjoyed
turning up the sexual heat when Dalton was the customer she was teasing.

Domino removed his file from the holder by the employee
door. Flipping it open, she scanned her notes to review the toys and such she’d
used during her first session with the man she’d nicknamed “Dangerous Dalton”.
Checking the file was a stalling tactic since she recalled in vivid detail
every second of their time together. He was a hard man to forget, no pun
intended.

Closing the file, she returned it to the holder. There were
a lot of things she could do during this session but Dom found herself
reluctant to cause the man any pain. Sure, he was paying to be topped but she
just couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else going on with Dalton—a
reason he wasn’t sharing for being here. During their first session, he’d
appeared to be play-acting, just pretending to be a submissive. He’d tried to
conceal his natural arrogance along with the cold determination in his eyes.
Maybe he was at the club as some sort of penance, but she still hated to hurt
him.

Well, if she took pain out of the S&M equation, she
still had submission and humiliation to work with. Her lips widened into a
grin. Even if she wasn’t planning to beat him, she should join him. Throwing
back her shoulders, Dom assumed the cocky expression she’d perfected in front
of her bathroom mirror and opened the door to Room Five.

I’ll be damned.
Even as Dalton tried to remove his
tongue from the roof of his mouth, he knew the mental curse was true. Domino,
in her Mistress Bella, red-leathered, she-devil parody of Valentine’s attire,
had the power to make him sweat as if the fires of hell were licking at his
feet.

Forgetting his submissive role, Dalton watched as she strode
toward him, a sexy sneer tilting her mouth. Her dark eyes shone with a
predatory gleam behind her red mask. Damn, he wanted to rip off that mask and
capture her full, crimson lips. And when he’d tasted his fill, he’d explore the
rest of her ripe body, touching every sweet inch of her.

Dom stopped a foot away, an ominous amusement chasing the
sneer off her face. Raising her right hand, she pinned him with the end of her
riding crop. “I never would have taken you for a slow learner.”

Starting, Dalton remembered his cover and lowered his eyes.

She chuckled. “Too little, too late. I’ll remember this
infraction when we arrive at the punishment portion of our program.”

Domino circled him, letting her crop trail across his chest
and back. Dalton remained passive and forced himself not to imagine her plans.
When she again stood in front of him, she pointed the crop to the floor.

“Strip and present yourself, slave.”

Without meeting her eyes, Dalton undressed quickly,
embarrassed that his cock was already at attention. Then as he’d learned in his
first session, he dropped to his knees and kept his head bowed.

She moved forward and brushed his hair from his forehead
with a red-gloved hand. It was a strangely affectionate gesture and he almost
raised his head to meet her eyes. Was this a test to trick him into adding to
his errors?

Domino stepped back, turned and walked toward the throne
chair in the corner. She snapped her fingers and barked a single command,
“Follow.” And then, as if she sensed him rising, she added, “On your knees.”

He bit back a rude, anatomically impossible suggestion and
moved after her. With every complaint his knees sent to his brain, Dalton swore
someday he’d show the little tyrant paybacks were hell. And that day couldn’t
come soon enough for him.

Domino stopped at one of the room’s cabinets and he waited,
eyes downcast, for her to select a few items for their session. Then she
snapped her fingers again and he followed her to the black velvet throne. She
sprawled with an arrogant ease in its padded depths as he knelt before her,
awaiting her next command.

“Something tells me you just aren’t in the proper frame of
mind for this game,” she said. “You need something to remind you of your
status.”

Using the tip of her crop, Domino tilted up his face. She
dangled a studded leather slave collar from her left hand. It was adjustable
but Dalton knew it’d be a snug fit around his eighteen-inch neck. He was right.

Her gloved fingers brushed against his skin as she fastened
the rough leather band around his throat. He shivered although the room felt
increasingly warmer.

“In this room, you are a slave…my slave.” Her husky voice
caressed him, drawing his eyes up to hers. Their gazes locked and held. “In
this room, your body is mine.”

Dalton felt his heart kick and his pulse accelerate. Her
eyes seemed to darken and intensify as he watched.

“In this room my word is law and you will obey.”

Suddenly, her arrogant demeanor softened. For one crazy
moment, he thought she would kiss him. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and as he
held his breath, Domino leaned toward him. Then abruptly, she sat back, blinked
and donned her Mistress Bella persona like armor.

What the hell was she thinking?
Dom berated herself
for her slip even as she mourned the missed kiss. The man was a poster child
for animal magnetism. His nude body, the magnificent muscled expanse of it,
made her mouth water. He exuded common-sense-destroying pheromones but she had
to maintain the upper hand—literally. Still that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy
herself just a little.

Dom settled back in the chair and crossed her legs. She
smiled as Dalton’s eyes traveled from her open-toed, high-heel pumps up her
sheer black hose. His gaze lingered where the stockings disappeared under the
hem of her leather mini-dress. Maybe it was time to put that male interest to
work.

“Like what you see?” she asked.

Dalton dropped his eyes. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good.” She chuckled. “You may not have written foot fetish
on your club application but my toes are in the mood for a little pampering.”

She uncrossed her legs and extended her right foot toward
Dalton. He hesitated then slipped off her shoe and closed his warm hands over
her heel and ankle. For several seconds he just stroked her foot with his
fingers, causing her to clamp down on the moan that rose to her lips. After a
couple hours in arch-hammering high heels, she was putty in his hands.

He glanced up as if gauging her reaction to his touch. When
she didn’t reprimand him for his insolence, he kept his gaze on hers. Dalton
massaged her foot for a marvelous minute before slowly raising it to his mouth.
Dom held her breath. Without breaking eye contact, he brushed his lips against
the top of her foot and nibbled her ankle. She exhaled in a long sigh as shivers
of awareness traveled up her leg. This was nothing like a session with Tootsie
Tom, her foot-fetish client. This was heaven.

Dom enjoyed his sensuous ministrations, almost forgetting
her role in the game. When he lowered her foot to the ground and picked up her
left one, she allowed him to set the pace. Again, he slipped off her shoe and
treated her foot to a mix of stroking fingers and oral pleasure. She sank lower
in the chair as she relaxed for the first time that day.

With his eyes still on hers, Dalton brushed his lips over
her left calf, leaning closer to tease the stocking’s seam with his tongue. Dom
could feel the wet kiss through her hose and wished she dared to strip them off
and remove any barrier between his lips and her skin. Using his hands to
massage her calf, he ran his mouth up to her knee. It felt unbelievable.

Suddenly she realized his hands had ventured higher while
he’d distracted her with his mouth. His fingers were skimming under her dress
hem, toying with her garters and seeking the flesh above her hose. Domino
gasped and straightened, shoving his hands away. Dalton smiled then quickly
masked his triumph.

This man was a submissive?
Dom’s intuition hummed
louder. There was something suspicious about this customer. She wanted to investigate
Dalton, find out his secrets, but her role as Mistress Bella limited her
options. So she stuck with the game plan and reacted in character for a
dominatrix. She put her foot on his chest and shoved him backward onto his
butt.

“You have to earn the privilege of touching me,” Dom warned,
her tone threatening despite the shimmers of sexual awareness he’d set into
motion. “That little move is going to cost you.”

Dalton acted chastened but his jaw clenched tight. Standing,
Domino snapped her fingers and walked toward the bondage cabinet. She heard him
moving slowly after her as she opened the cabinet and retrieved a pair of
handcuffs. Though fleece-lined, the set of cuffs wasn’t a toy and couldn’t be
opened without using two hands to spring the intricate lock. The cuffs were
connected by a short length of cold steel chain.

Turning, she extended the cuffs toward Dalton. A rebellious
look flashed in his eyes before he lowered them to the floor. So, the man
didn’t like being restrained. Dom smiled.

“Hold out your hands,” she ordered.

For a moment she didn’t think he’d obey but then Dalton
raised his arms in front of him. Domino clicked the restraints shut around his
wrists and ordered him to stand. Then she grabbed the cuffs’ connecting chain
and led him to the center of the room. Using a remote control dangling from the
ceiling, she lowered a pulley system with a metal hook at the end.

Would she hang him like a side of beef while she punished
him? Dalton almost jerked away when she attached the hook to the links between
his cuffs. Then he broke out in a cold sweat as Dom raised the hook until his
arms were pulled skyward. She didn’t stop until he was standing on the balls of
his feet.

Domino circled his body as though admiring her handiwork
before heading to the second cabinet. He twisted his head to watch her,
dreading to see what she’d pull from her toy box. But instead of the whip he’d
expected, she withdrew what looked like a leather holder, rolled into a
cylinder.
What the hell?

She walked back to stand in front of him, allowing Dalton a
clear view of her actions. Turning the cylinder on its side, Dom extended three
telescoping metal legs which provided a tripod-like base. Setting the legs on
the floor, she unrolled the now free-standing cylinder to reveal a
multi-pocketed carrier. Inside was a variety of ominous-looking implements.

The first several items resembled wooden drumsticks. They
each sported a different tip made of materials from Velcro to sandpaper.
Another pocket held a tool that looked like a tiny rake and there were several
fur-covered gloves. It was the last implement however, that finally clued him
in. A large, stiff white feather completed the custom-made tickling kit.