Rogue (8 page)

“Tell me what set you off.”  Derek’s command was gentle, but it was a command nonetheless.

My teeth sank into my lower lip as I considered my answer, and I didn’t miss how Derek’s
eyes darkened, riveted on my mouth.

“I…  I don’t understand what that was.  I don’t know why I reacted like that when
I…  When I was on my knees,” I finally admitted truthfully.

“And that scared you.”  He finished the words I wouldn’t have spoken aloud.

My lips pursed in annoyance.  I didn’t like the accusation that I was afraid.  Only,
on Derek’s tongue, it didn’t sound like an accusation.  It sounded like a rational
statement of fact, perhaps bordering on a reassurance.

“This is new to you, Sharon.  And your reactions aren’t what you expected.  It’s totally
understandable that would scare you.”

My brows drew together.  “What do you mean, my reactions aren’t what I expected? 
Is what I did…  Is that not normal?”

There it was again: the fear that I had done something wrong, that I had failed in
some way.  Derek traced the line of my jaw, his forefinger stopping beneath my chin
to lift my face to his.

“It is absolutely normal,” he assured me.  “In fact, your reaction was more intense
than most of the new subs I’ve met.  I got caught up in it, too.  I’m sorry if I pushed
you too far at the end there.”

It took a few moments for the horror of his words to smash through my admiration of
his calm honesty.  I jerked my hand from beneath his.

“I am not a sub,” I declared coldly.

“You react like one.”  Derek remained calm.  “There’s no shame in it.”  His face hardened. 
“And if you think there is, then I definitely won’t work with you.  I won’t allow
you to top subs in my club if you think they’re somehow less than you.”

God, it seemed every Dom knew just how to make me feel like an asshole.  My anger
deflated in the wake of chagrin.

“Of course I don’t think that.  I just…  This isn’t what I want.  I want to be a Domme.” 
My insistence was blatantly strained, even in my own ears.

I couldn’t handle what it would mean if I was submissive.  I didn’t want to face the
mounting realization.  And I didn’t want to lose my op.  If Kennedy found out that
I couldn’t keep my head around Carter, I would be replaced by Smith in an instant.

Derek seemed to sense I was nearing some sort of breaking point.  His hand found mine
again, and his fingers wrapped around it in a reassuring but firm grip.

“Okay,” he allowed in an even tone.  “I won’t force you to be something you don’t
want to be, Sharon.  Anyone who does shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near you.  If you
don’t want to continue training with me because this makes you uncomfortable, I’ll
understand.”

“No.  I want to keep going.”  I clutched at the excuse to stay close to him.  With
one rash word – that cowardly little “red” – I had almost blown my mission.  “I won’t
use a safe word next time.  I can handle it.”

His earnestness was instantly swallowed by righteous anger.  He gripped my chin, somewhat
roughly.

“You
will
use your safe words, Sharon.”  His voice was dark, forbidding.  “I can’t take care
of you if you don’t communicate your needs.  I can’t work with you if I can’t trust
you.”

He
couldn’t trust
me? 
I was the one putting myself at his mercy.  He was the one who held all the power.

But no.  That wasn’t right.  That wasn’t what BDSM was about, and the concept that
I would deceive Derek in any way seemed to cause him the gravest offense.

Trust.  Communication.

The guys had told me again and again how essential they were in a D/s relationship. 
Staring up into Derek’s blazing gold eyes, I began to truly understand the importance
of that.

I tried to ignore the stirring of unease in my gut at the realization that all of
my interactions with him were a deception.  Everything I did, everything I said, was
about my mission.

“Okay, Derek,” I agreed sweetly.  “I promise I’ll use my safe words.”

I told myself that didn’t give a damn about BDSM, and I didn’t give a damn about Derek
Carter.

Chapter 6

I left Carter on good terms, and I managed to deflect Miller’s prying questions about
what we had gotten up to in the back room.  All in all, it had been a successful evening. 
I had managed to convince Carter that he could trust me.

I should have been glowing with triumph, but instead I felt nothing but frustration. 
Erotic frustration.  I had showered when I got back to my little Lower East Side studio
apartment, but my thighs were still wet with something other than water.

My thin cotton camisole teased across my peaked nipples with every breath, and my
modest white panties tortured my clit every time I tossed and turned.  I was doing
a lot of that; tossing and turning.  My thrashing was frustrated, almost angry.

This was all his fault.  Fucking Derek Carter and his fucking gorgeous body and his
fucking hypnotic eyes.

I punched my pillow, wishing it were his stomach.  Although I suspected I would bruise
my knuckles on his washboard abs in real life.  Everything about Derek’s physique,
his bearing, radiated a sense of power.  Despite my training, I wouldn’t be able to
take him down easily.

The thought made my inner walls clench.

He’s a mark.  He’s probably a criminal.  I hate him for how he makes me feel.  I hate
him…

I hated him in my mind, but my hand glided over my stomach as though of its own accord. 
It snaked under the elastic band at the top of my panties, and I shuddered when my
fingers brushed against my bare skin.  I usually kept things neat and trimmed, but
for some reason I had decided to shave everything before going to Decadence.

Now, I didn’t know why I hadn’t done so before.  Every light touch on my smooth flesh
was magnified, and when my forefinger found my clit, I sucked in a sharp breath. 
A merciful shot of bliss penetrated my core.  I rubbed more firmly, finding a steady,
circular rhythm.

I closed my eyes and sighed heavily.  Derek’s cocky grin instantly filled the darkness
behind my shuttered lids.  He towered over me, standing while I knelt at his feet.

I increased my pace.

“I hate him.”  My hiss into the darkness ended on a moan.

My fantasy took on a will of its own.

My scalp lit up when Derek’s hand fisted in my hair, tugging my head back.  He seemed
to grow impossibly taller.

“Touch yourself.  Slide your fingers into your tight, wet pussy.” 
His command was imagined, but memories of his dirty talk fueled my fantasy.

I groaned and obeyed.  Two fingers easily penetrated my soft folds.  I was wetter
than I could ever recall, and my core convulsed at my touch.  My free hand found my
breast.  I kneaded the soft flesh, reveling in the spike of pleasure as my palm rubbed
against my nipple.

Derek’s smile was twisted, arrogant, pleased.

I came with a sharp cry.  My orgasm rolled through me with almost vicious force, starting
deep within me and radiating out to send pleasure crashing through my entire being. 
As the last little tremors racked my system, I settled back into reality.

I knew I should be angry that I had just experienced one of the most intense orgasms
of my life while thinking about Derek.  But I just couldn’t muster up my ire.

This op was getting more dangerous by the minute.  Only, Carter wasn’t the source
of the danger.  I was.  My body was betraying me, and my mind was beginning to turn
against me as well.

I didn’t hate Derek Carter at all.

“So.  You asked me why I want to be a Dominatrix.  What made you want to be a Dominant?”

I had prepared the question hours ago, deciding it was the best way to wheedle more
information out of Carter.  I needed to know more about what he did with his time,
who he spent that time with, and what secrets his past held.

Derek’s small frown in response to my question wasn’t promising.  Neither was his
casual shrug.

“I’ve just always been this way.  I’ve always had Dominant instincts when it comes
to sex.”  The answer was cagey, at best.

“Why?”  I prompted.

“Because I want control.”

Well, aren’t you Mr. Fucking Chatty. 
I fought the urge to grind my teeth in frustration.  I thought I had earned Carter’s
trust.  Apparently not.

I gestured to the space around us, taking in the private room with a wide sweep of
my arm.

“So you opened a BDSM club because you like control?  There has to be more to this
story.”  I gave him a flirty little smile.

His answering smile was amused, but no more forthcoming.  “That’s pretty much the
gist of it.  I like the lifestyle.  Running a kinky club sounded like more fun than
carpentry.”

“Carpentry?  Was that career choice number two?”

Carter’s smile remained fixed in place, but the playful light left his eyes.

“That was the family business.  I never much cared for it.”  He gave a small shake
of his head, as though to rid himself of an annoying thought.  Then his gaze roved
over my body, and the heat returned to his eyes.  “Making a living ogling gorgeous
women is far more fun,” he said with a wink.

Carpentry. 
Something played at the edges of my mind upon learning that piece of information. 
I couldn’t break my focus now to dwell on it, but I tucked it away for later examination. 
Besides, it was a bit difficult to form coherent thoughts when Derek was looking at
me like that, melting me with his scorching gaze.  I managed to maintain the presence
of mind to playfully slap his arm.

“Pervert,” I accused, keeping up my flirtatious act.

Derek grabbed my wrist, squeezing it in reprimand for my slap.  His grin was sharp,
predatory.  “You don’t know the half of it.”

Unconsciously, I squeezed my legs together, as though that would dull the sudden throbbing
between my thighs.  The pressure against my clit only made my arousal intensify. 
Derek’s smile widened.  The bastard knew exactly what he was doing to me.  And damn
it if that knowledge didn’t get me even hotter for him.

Dangerous,
some little corner of my mind reminded me.

I tugged weakly against his hold on my wrist.  “Let go of me, please.”  I struggled
to make my voice firm and even.

Confusion flashed over his features, but his fingers unfurled slowly, reluctantly.

“Tell me what’s bothering you.”  He didn’t ask like a normal man would.  He demanded
my honest response.

“I don’t like it when you touch me like that.”

His expression darkened.  “What have I told you about lying to me, Sharon?”

“I mean…”  I searched for the right words.  “I don’t
want
you to touch me like that.  I want to learn to be a Domme, not…”  I trailed off.

I don’t want to be a natural submissive.  I don’t want to crave your touch.  I don’t
want to lose my head when I’m around you.

He reached out as though to comfort me, but he stopped himself short with a frown.

“Okay, Sharon.  I understand.  If you don’t want me to touch you, we can work on impact
play.”

Oh, shit.

He was going to hit me.  This wasn’t something I had really allowed myself to contemplate
too closely until that moment.

“I won’t hurt you.  I promise.  We’ll start slow.”  His reassuring gaze turned harder. 
“And you have your safe words.  You’ll use them if it’s too much for you.”

Swallowing hard, I nodded my agreement.  I had taken enough pain while training at
Quantico.  I had learned how to deal with it.  That didn’t mean I liked it, but I
could take it if that’s what my mission called for.  I wasn’t about to fail because
I wussed out at the prospect of a little pain.

Trade the pain for his trust.

I could do that.  I had to do that.

Derek pushed himself to his feet from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. 
We were in the same private room as the night before, but I hadn’t really allowed
myself to contemplate its kinkier contents.  Now, I became acutely aware of the St.
Andrew’s Cross against the red-painted wall and the innocent-looking ochre chest of
drawers that likely held all sorts of instruments for torture.

“Come.”  Derek held a hand out to me, giving me the choice of taking it.

My fingers closed around his palm automatically, and I pulled against his strength
to find my own feet.  Even though I had traded my ridiculous boots for sensible black
flats, I still needed a bit of his support to steady myself.  To my embarrassment,
my knees had gone weak at the prospect of facing his torment.  I had watched subs
being beaten in Decadence.  Not all of their screams were ones of pleasure. 

Derek never took his eyes off me as he gently led me across the room.  His thumb traced
a soothing pattern over the backs of my fingers, and I realized they were trembling.

Taking bursts of pain when I didn’t dodge a punch or kick in time was one thing, but
standing still while someone swung a whip at me was a different story entirely.

My heart skipped a beat when we stopped in front of the St. Andrew’s Cross.  Derek’s
hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out and comfort me again, but he held himself
back.  I had asked him not to touch me, and he respected my wishes.

“I’m going to restrain you, Sharon,” he told me calmly.  “Not to trap you so that
I can hurt you, but for your own safety.  If you instinctively try to move away from
me, my hit might land somewhere I don’t want it to.  If you want me to release you,
you have your safe words.”

The reminder helped calm me.  I wouldn’t have to worry about instinct driving me to
defend myself.  I had a feeling Derek wouldn’t want to work with me anymore if I managed
to give him a black eye.  That was a big
if,
but I would rather not find out if I could best Carter in a fight right now.  I was
supposed to be building trust, not popping him across the jaw.

“This will work better if you take off your top,” he informed me.

I gaped at him.  Did he really expect me to get naked for him?  No fucking way.

He sighed, gesturing at my breasts.  “You’re wearing a bra,” he pointed out.  “I’m
going to flog your back, and I can’t do that properly if you don’t take off your shirt.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, but he just raised an imperious eyebrow.  “Or you
could take off your skirt if you prefer.  I’d love to get a proper look at your ass.” 
He rolled his eyes when I didn’t drop my aggressive stance.  “I’ll turn around, if
that makes you feel better.  If you take off your shirt and face the cross, I won’t
see anything but your back.”

His expression told me that he considered this a rather large – and ridiculous – concession. 
My other outfits I had worn to Decadence had revealed far more cleavage than my modest
white bra would.  I had gone with a “sexy schoolteacher” look tonight.  Well, I had
gone with a “I don’t have time to change after work, so I’ll just undo a few buttons
and let my pinstriped pencil skirt do the rest” look.  It was positively modest compared
to my corset and PVC skirt.

It was my turn to sigh.  “Fine.”

I stared him directly in the eye as I reached for the top button of my long-sleeved
white shirt.  No way was I going to ask him to turn his back.  That was the coward’s
way out.  This was my op, and I was going to do what I had to in order to succeed,
damn it.  I would win Derek Carter’s trust, and if that meant baring my midsection
to him, that would be fine.  Hell, I wasn’t shy about Clayton and Smith seeing me
in a sports bra.  I would barely be showing Carter more skin than that.

As soon as Derek’s nostrils flared and his eyes flashed, I realized just how different
this was.  Before I could stop myself, my gaze slid away from his, finding a spot
on the floor just beside the toe of his boot.

My fingers resumed their fine trembling as I continued to work on my buttons.  By
the time the shirt parted and I slid it back over my shoulders, the tremor raced over
the rest of my skin.  I knew it wasn’t the result of the cool air on my flesh, because
my body felt almost uncomfortably hot.  I could feel Derek’s stare burning into me.

When the shirt dropped to the floor, a low growl escaped him.  It was a sound of savage,
primal sexual interest.  I shuddered.  I wasn’t even half-naked, but I felt stripped
completely bare before him.  The knowledge that he liked what he saw stoked the heat
within me.

“Face the cross.”  Derek’s voice was somehow richer, deeper than it had been before. 
I peeked up at him through my lashes to find his molten gold eyes sliding over me.

My body moved to obey his command, my mind going oddly blank for once.  There were
no thoughts of resistance, annoyance, or resentment.  The heat of his gaze seemed
to have scorched all thoughts from my brain.  My entire focus narrowed to him.  Nothing
else existed.  Not my pride or my uncertainty.  Not even my op.

In that moment, I wasn’t an FBI agent, and he wasn’t my mark.  I was a woman responding
to the alpha male, overcome by the ancient imperative for submission that burned within
me.  When I turned, the heat of him at my back awoke a delicious ping of fear at the
perceived threat behind me.  The fact that I didn’t dare move to challenge him made
my core pulse.  I didn’t fear his violence; I simply knew that resistance would do
no good.  I had willingly surrendered to him, and there was no escape now.