Black Listed (6 page)

Without warning, he thrust his fingers inside her and twisted before retreating and repeating the process. “That's two. Since I just stretched you with my cock and you're nice and slippery from your orgasm, let's see how many fingers of mine you can take.”

A whimper of need tore from her throat as he added the extra finger. The delicious anticipation for more nearly pushed her into another climax, but she breathed deep, holding it off. In her position, she was tighter than when he had her lie on her back with her legs spread wide. There was no way he'd fit another one inside her.

He stayed away from her clit, but as proven earlier, she didn't require clitoral stimulation to climax. When Sawyer dominated her, it brought her to a mental and emotional state in which she and her body lived to serve him.

In the months they'd been together, he'd taught her to come on demand. She couldn't do it anymore—it was like losing any other skill without practice—but she could come close.

“Come on, girl. Take one more for me.” An additional finger poked at her entrance as the other three rubbed the walls inside.

She trembled from the pressure of it stretching her. “No, Master. There's no room.”

Giving her the pain she required to become mindless, he smacked her ass hard then yanked on her hair. “Do you get to say no to your Master? There's only one way of stopping me. Are you going to use it?”

No, she wanted him to decide when she'd had enough.

She shook her head, and he slid his finger all the way inside. He gave her only a few moments to acclimate to the girth of his digits before he began wiggling the tips of his fingers over that perfect spot that made her eyes practically roll back in her head.

All he'd have to do at this point was give her a little pain to push her over the cliff. A bite on her shoulder. A pinch of her nipple. A squeeze of her windpipe. He knew the greatest torture of all was to keep her at the cliff's edge as long as possible without letting her drop.

The pleasure grew every second, so intense it bordered on painful. “Please, Master,” she begged. “Help me.”

“That's right, girl. All you had to do was ask.” He grasped her face and turned it toward him. His jaw was rigid, and his eyes full of fire. “I want to see your face when I give you this gift. I want to hear my name on your lips. Stay like this.”

His hand left her face, and in the next moment, he pushed his finger into her ass, the stretch and burn of it careening her into climax.

“Sawyer!” She shouted his name in thanks, even while she cursed him for making her remember how good it was between them.

It wasn't just her pussy that squeezed in blissful waves of climax. Every part of her, inside and out, celebrated the release.

Even her heart.

She stayed in position for several minutes, unable to find the energy to take herself to bed. Closing her eyes, she listened as Sawyer uncapped bottles of soap, cleaning himself and then her before shutting off the water.

He wrapped a warm fluffy towel around her torso and scooped her up into his arms. She tried to tell him she could walk, but she was too tired to speak.

He lowered her gently onto the crisp cool sheets of the bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin. As she began to drift off, she felt his weight depress the mattress and his lips brush her cheek.

“See?” he said softly from above her. “All you have to do is ask for help. Trust me.”

Even half asleep she realized he wasn't talking about orgasms anymore.

He wanted answers. Why couldn't he be satisfied with what she had to give him?

A week. Nothing more.

“I'm sorry,” she managed to whisper. “I can't.”

She never would.

Not when asking him for help would be a death sentence.

T
HE LIGHTING WAS
shit for such a delicate job, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Sitting in the back of his beat-up truck with the parts he'd purchased from the Home Depot store laid out in front of him, he fisted the wires and got to work.

Amazing what you could find on the Internet these days.

He rubbed his chest as a stab of regret hit him behind his sternum. If only she hadn't left him, he wouldn't have to go to such lengths. But she'd forced his hand.

She hadn't changed. Hadn't learned her lesson yet.

The woman was unyielding.

Unbreakable.

Why hadn't she fled?

At least the desecration of her space should have raised serious doubts about Sawyer Hayes. But rather than slam the door in the man's face, she had run into his arms.

Watching their little scene from a distance in his truck, he'd used his binoculars to see the way her eyes had softened at her old lover.

It was obvious that she still loved him.

And as long as she loved Hayes, she wouldn't be his.

He lowered the wires to rub his temples as the pounding in his head increased. Every time he thought about her, the pain inside him grew, and he became more and more confused. Why was she cheating on him with another man when he'd given her everything?

She was a greedy whore, and whores had to die.

He thought he'd already killed her. But here she was, alive and well, living it up as he struggled every day with his memories, her last words still ringing in his ears.

“Love? I never loved you. I hate you.”

It didn't make sense. Once Sawyer had discovered her whereabouts, he had every reason to call the police. Yet instead, he had driven her to his hotel and allowed her to stay with him in his suite.

The fucking penthouse suite.

With no way to spy on her in there, he'd driven back to her condo and sat outside, holding her shirt up to his nose to take her scent into his lungs.

Barely an hour had passed before a cleaning crew had arrived. He watched as they came in and out of her condo, carrying bags of damaged clothes and books to the Dumpster.

Just as he'd expected, she hadn't called the cops about the break-in. But as hard as he tried, he still couldn't understand why Hayes hadn't. He had no reason to protect her.

What was his end game?

How easily she had allowed that man back into her life, a man she knew nothing about. She'd thought she was the liar in their relationship, but she wasn't the only one keeping secrets.

So many secrets.

Lights flashed behind his eyes, the pain intensifying. He banged his skull against the wall of his truck, trying to destroy the rampant voices in his head that wouldn't stop their chattering. He smashed it until a river of blood flowed down his face.

The blazing agony stopped.

The voices quieted to a dull murmur.

He resumed his work, twisting the wires according to the instructions.

He would make her love him again.

He had to.

And if she didn't, this time he'd make sure she'd never leave him again.

Even if it meant they both had to die.

L
ISA WOKE UP
with a start, the heaviness of the blanket and the softness of the pillow foreign. She blinked a few times and rolled over, checking the clock on the nightstand as she remembered she was in Sawyer's suite.

Judging by the time, she'd probably gotten about four hours of sleep—enough to run to her office and function. She stretched, wonderfully sore in places she'd repressed since she'd become a born-again virgin.

Seriously, how could she have gone so long without it?

She hadn't lied about needing to work. There were several appointments on her calendar she'd need to reschedule and at least five press releases that needed to be written for the week. Once she finished those tasks, she'd free up some more time for Sawyer. She couldn't imagine why he wanted her available twenty-four hours a day, but she also couldn't imagine anywhere she'd rather be than with him.

It was dangerous.

Thrilling.

Wrong.

Wrong had never felt so right.

Sitting up, she smiled, noticing Sawyer had left her a fresh pair of jeans, panties, and blouse on the edge of the bed. He'd probably already ordered her an entire wardrobe.

She twirled the La Perla underwear on her pinkie. Money might not buy happiness, but apparently it did manage to buy designer clothes on a Sunday before the mall even opened.

Getting dressed, she thought about all the ways she could thank him for his generosity. Of course, none of them would result in her getting any work done this afternoon. She'd have to plan something for that evening.

Maybe she could pick up a costume from the sex shop and play the clumsy maid to his stern hotel guest. She'd flash him as she bent to pick something up, and then oops—she'd knock a bottle onto the floor, so he'd have to punish her.

He'd take her over his knee and spank her hard on her bottom until she learned her lesson. Until her skin was red and burning from his punishment. And then she'd retrieve the item she'd dropped earlier—a bottle of lube—and offer to let him fuck her ass. Or her tits. He loved to slide his cock between them and come all over her face.

Now soaking between her thighs from the fantasy, she buttoned up her blouse and bounced out of the room, eager to tell Sawyer of her plans.

Typing on his laptop, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, he sat behind the desk, so deep in concentration he didn't seem to notice her presence. She took the opportunity to watch him in his element.

Her husband was a techie, computers and gadgets like food and water to him. When they'd been together, he'd told her stories about his friends from the Army, men like him who could hack into anything.

In fact, Sawyer and three of his friends had managed to use their skills to prove Logan and Rachel's innocence in the murder of a local mobster. That must have been when Sawyer saw her photo and figured out where to find her.

He'd never said the words out loud, but she'd gotten the sense that he'd resented having to take over as the CEO of his family's multi-billion-dollar corporation when his parents died. Not that he'd ever admit it. That role was his job. A responsibility. While computers were his passion. He'd rather be lost in cyberspace than at a board meeting. But never once had he complained in all the time they'd spent together.

She snuck up behind him and slid her arms down his chest, burying her nose into the side of his neck. “What are you working on?”

He slammed his laptop shut with a force that startled her. “You're up.” He pushed away from the desk and stood, leaving her feeling a bit awkward, since he didn't seem as though he was pleased to see her.

What had changed between the shower and now?

She clasped her hands together to keep from touching him. “I have too much to do to stay in bed.”

Although he faced her, he kept his gaze trained on the wall behind her. “It's Sunday. No one is waiting for you at the office.”

Her stomach churned at Sawyer's icy demeanor. Why wouldn't he look at her? Had he changed his mind about their seven nights?

“True, but that doesn't mean I don't have tasks that I need to complete. Unless you're easing up on your orders for me to take the week off?” She gave him the opening to let her off the hook, hoping he wouldn't take it.

“That may have been presumptuous of me. I can't take all of your time. If you need to work, then work.” He shrugged, his tone flat and lifeless. “Just leave the nights open for me.”

Something was wrong. He hadn't broken their agreement, but he also didn't seem eager for it. What happened to wanting to spend the days as well as the nights with her? Had he not enjoyed their scene in the shower?

She took a step closer to him. “What were you doing on the computer that you didn't want me to see?”

He still wouldn't look at her. “Work. Just work.”

And he'd given her a hard time about needing to go into her office? “Hmm. Seems like I'm not the only one who works on Sundays.” She took another step toward him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “How is Hayes Industries doing?”

“Why?” His gaze shot to her face, the anger in his expression almost palpable. “Planning on taking more of my money?”

Screw him.
She snatched her hand away as if he'd burned her and headed for the door. “Forget it. I'm leaving.”

She didn't need this. He was the one who wanted her here, and now that she was, he was treating her as if she was dirt beneath his shoe.

Before she got to the front door, he caught her by the arm. “I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.”

She twirled around. “I've given you no reason to trust me. But I thought after this morning . . . ” She'd thought their connection was real. “If we're going to spend the next week together, I at least deserve your respect.” She held her head high and squared her shoulders. “I may have been a thief and a liar, but I've spent the last few years atoning for my crimes and changing the direction of my life. I don't have much, and I live modestly. But I've earned everything I have, and I won't allow you or anyone else to shame me. The fact is I'm not the same woman you knew.”

“No,” he said quietly, turning away from her. “The fact is I never knew you at all.”

Didn't he understand he knew her better than anyone? “What is your deal?”

He flinched. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.” She got into his face and angled his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Four hours ago, your dick was lodged in my throat, and now you won't even look me in the eye. What the hell happened between then and now?”

His eyes went liquid when she mentioned the blow job but then immediately froze again. “It's nothing. Don't worry about it.”

She threw her arms up in exasperation. “I don't get it. You ask me to trust you and—”

“And you refused.”

She studied him, noting the extra tightness in his jaw, the hardness of his eyes, and the rigidness of his shoulders.

That was what this was about? Trust?

Why couldn't the trust she showed him through her submission be enough for him? She couldn't give him more. Besides, what did it matter when this whole thing between them was temporary?

“I was practically asleep,” she said as explanation. “You can't blame me for something I uttered while I was crashing from our scene.”

“You're right. I can't.” He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her until she was flush with the wall. “So I'm asking you again while you're awake. Can you trust me enough to ask for help? Because I know there's a lot you haven't told me.” He swept his thumb across her lips, and it took everything she had not to suck it into her mouth. “You loved me. I know you did. But when something or someone spooked you, you didn't love me enough to trust me.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I would've helped you. I'll still help you, but you have to trust me first.”

“It's not that easy.” He couldn't save her with all the money in the world. If they stayed together, her father would find her. He'd go after the black list and kill them both. She couldn't afford to take that risk.

“It can be. Trust me, and I'll slay all your dragons,” he said, cupping her face. “Tell me why you took that money from me and where it all went. Tell me why you're scared.”

She covered his hands with her own. “I can't.”

“You can, Annaliese. Just say the word, and I'll—”

“Black list,” she whispered. If he kept pressing her, she was afraid she would crumble under the sweetness of his words and tell him everything.

He dropped his hands and stepped away from her. “Right.” He cleared his throat, his gaze on the door. “Before I drop you at your office, I want you to make a list of people who might have done the damage to your condo. While you're at work, I'll see what I can find out about them. Maybe one of them recently flew into town.”

“I'd ask how you're going to check the airline records, but I don't think I want to know.”

He gave her a grin, but it looked forced. “It's probably better that way.”

All business now, he strode over to the desk and handed her a notepad and pen.

She took it from him, nervous about what he'd think of her when she finished. Could she do this? She worried her lip with her teeth. As long as she didn't have to give him the details of her cons, she supposed she could handle it. “It's a long list, Sawyer. I've hurt a lot of people throughout the years.” And without the list in front of her, she wouldn't be able to remember them all. Later, when she got the chance, she'd check the journal to see if she'd forgotten anyone.

He raised his brows. “How many years are we talking about? You're only twenty-five. Or did you lie to me about your age?”

“No. I didn't lie about that. But my age is irrelevant, because I've been conning people since the moment I was born.”

He waited a beat, his eyes searching her face. “What's your real name?”

“Annaliese Hunt.” She shook her head. That wasn't the name she wanted him to know her as. “Well, Annaliese Hayes. At least for a little while longer.” Until their divorce.

His hands went into his pockets as he leaned against the desk. “Why did you give me your real name when we met?”

She'd spent countless hours pondering that very question, never coming to a concrete answer. But only one thing made sense. “Because from the moment I met you, I recognized you as my Master. I needed you to know the real me.”

He frowned. “And yet I don't know the real you, because you haven't let me. Do
you
even know who you are?”

“I thought I did. Then you walked back into my life and have made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.” Paper and pen in hand, she rested her backside against the desk, her shoulder brushing against Sawyer. “These last few years were the longest I've ever gone by the same name, did you know that? I've kept my hair short and brown, worn the same colored contacts under non-prescription glasses, and dressed conservatively. I don't have a hobby. I don't watch television. I don't date. With the exception of my weekly girls' night, I work and come home.” Eighteen-hour days let her return home for a bath and a glass of wine before falling into bed exhausted.

Her friends were her lighthouse as she floated aimlessly on the endless sea. Without them, she would drown. They had no idea how their friendships had yanked her out of the deep, dark depression she'd lived with since losing Sawyer.

She waited all week for Thursday night, when they'd meet up at the bar for dinner and drinks. It was her chance to live vicariously through them as they shared stories about their adventures in kink.

Although she couldn't tell them the truth, she envied them for their ability to experience their sexuality freely. Kate, a masochist, got the pain she needed through whippings and floggings from her Dominant, Jaxon. Danielle was an exhibitionist, and she and her husband, Cole, loved to fuck in front of an audience. Logan and Rachel were into bondage. Gracie was into . . . well, everything, but she desperately sought a permanent full-time Master and loved to participate in threesomes.

Lisa longed for all of it and could have none of it. With the exception of Rachel, none of them even knew she was kinky. They thought she was uptight, conservative, no-nonsense Lisa Smith, the daughter of two teachers who had died in a car accident when she was eighteen. They didn't know she'd never gone to college. That every piece of ID she owned was fake. That even if she had wanted to go to the state and apply for a driver's license in her real name, she couldn't. According to the world, Annaliese Hunt didn't exist. She had been born at home, so there was no birth certificate. Nothing to tie her to anyone. She was a ghost, a shell of a person walking around on this earth without any real substance.

Except with Sawyer. With Sawyer, she felt real. Tethered to this world. Whole.

He was right. She had no idea who she really was. “I mean, what kind of a person doesn't have a hobby?” She shook her head. “I'll tell you. Someone who doesn't know what the hell she enjoys.”

He squeezed her hand. “Maybe it's time you find out.”

“Maybe.” She lifted a shoulder. “And what about you?”

“Me? I know what I enjoy.”

She hummed in agreement. “Computers. So why are you still the CEO of Hayes Industries?”

He eyed her warily, his hackles coming up in his defense. “You know why. It was my parents' company, and I owe it to them.”

“You owe it to yourself to be happy. Why not hire someone else to run the company, so that you can spend more time doing what you love?”

He released her hand to run his fingers through his hair. “You don't understand.”

“No, you're right. I don't.” She turned him toward her. “Because you've never explained it to me. All this talk about my inability to trust, and you're no better than me.”