Unholy Promises (12 page)

I press her face into my shoulder, her body tense and still, but she doesn’t cry out.

“Relax against me, Eva. Surrender to the pain,” I admonish, holding her tighter when she struggles against the pain, until moments later, I finally feel her first attempt to accept the pain. “Good, Evie, very nice. You please me when you do as I say.”

I stroke her face, with the second nipple clamp, teasing her with its cool metallic caress. Slowly drawing the sensation down her throat and over her shoulder, teasing more with a slow circling of her breast, before pressing it over her nipple, again I let her feel the slow change in sensation. She doesn’t take as long accepting this pain, managing it.

She pleases me so well.

Lying back into the mattress, I pull her over me, helping her find her balance as she straddles me in her trussed, groggy state. I promise myself that tomorrow, I will apologize; tonight, I allow myself to be cruelly selfish. When she leans over me to kiss me, I hold her upper arms, balancing her, allowing her to kiss me as she desires. Precious kisses that she willing plants over my face and down my neck, then realizing her intent, I try to stop her, try to hold her straddled over my jeans, even as she starts the decent of kisses down my chest.

“Unfasten your jeans, Master,” she begs prettily, her eyes closed. “I want to taste you.”

Struggling to scoot backward with her arms tightly bound behind her back, she settles for lying across my legs, kissing a path along the edge of my waistband. She rubs her cheek into the fabric of my jeans, finding me hard and crushed within the tight confines. Through the fabric, she kisses a trail, then turns the path the opposite way and licks my length. “Please help me do this, Master. I want to pleasure you.”

“Eva.” My voice wavers as I try to tell myself exactly why this is such a bad idea, knowing that once I am free of my jeans, there really will be no turning back.

She licks the length of me again and the sight of her tongue against the indigo of my jeans, dipping between the folds of fabric to run her tongue along the rough ridge of metal zipper beneath, is my undoing.

I unzip my pants and shimmy, knowing in advance how badly I am going to regret this and doing it anyway. With a final kick, I am free of the heavy weight. Eva falls over me, not even giving me time to adjust my body, to offer a better angle. Her wet tongue slides up my length, a teasing flicker along the circumcised edge. As she draws the barest tip into her mouth, I command her stop. Pushing her up and back, I have the presence of mind to release the first clamp, knowing the shooting pain that will shear through her may be enough to bring her around, ruining the moment. I release the clamp anyway, holding her shoulders as a small screamed sob catches in her throat. She always tries to remain silent, I always try to force her screams. I crush her tender nipple and pull with my fingers, but she doesn’t call out; instead sinking her teeth into my shoulder, burying a small moan. I do not give her time to fully recover from the first, popping the second clamp off with experienced speed. She shakes her head like a big, wet dog to keep from screaming. I hold her by the shoulders, keeping her from falling.

She shakes herself one more time and I don’t bother to suppress my laugh. It is a joy to be with Eva, an utter and complete joy.

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

~ Kahlil Gibran

It was just a dream, I tell myself, fighting to wake up, fighting the sheets that trap my legs. The pain of believing the dream too much to bear; and yet, his touch felt so real.

A dream.

No, a nightmare, because I had to wake to the truth.

Sitting up, I realize the truth brings with it a pounding headache. Ohmygod, how long has it been since I’ve had a hangover? But then, I’ve never consumed an entire bottle of ouzo before either … and the bottle sitting on top of the nightstand is definitely empty. Falling back into the pillow is the smartest thing I’ve done in twenty-four hours.

The sputtering candle plunges the room into darkness.

Why didn’t I go to Wales? If I’d gone to Wales, I wouldn’t be hung over. He’d promised me a time of no death. No more killing…

…until my brothers.

In Wales, I’d be at the corner pub begging the hard stuff by now.

Better, I think, to fight a hangover. Soon enough I will be glued to Liam’s side, forced to indulge his fantasies while I wait for the opportunity to free Daniel.

I fight to awaken from the dream, but my body wants to stay wrapped in its warmth.

Cool silk slides off my shoulder, baring my skin to the heat of the room. A raging fire still blazes in the fireplace, but the heat in my dream emanates solely from the man. He is a raging inferno. Scalding fingers draw swirls of pleasure over my shoulders, my breasts, and my stomach.

In the dark silence of the room, no, in the silence of my dream, I hear my own heartbeat. Wild, erratic, pulsing blood, flames pulling back the darkness, whispers of heat promising the raging holocaust to come. I seek his eyes, not wanting to see the face of the demon taunting me.

Dark brown, almost black, eyes glow amber in the firelight.

I fight to sit up, to push him away, and with equal urgency draw my demon back into my arms—for he is warm—and I—I’m so cold, so empty, so alone. My demon promises life, warmth, healing. He looms over me, the bunched muscles playing over the flat plane of his stomach, accentuated and deeply shadowed by the dancing flames in the fireplace.

On hands and knees, his cock stands out straight and sure, though curving slightly left. I reach out to close my hand around his tempting length but he twists away, keeping just out of touch. His fierce, burning look of desire, makes me drop my hand.

His eyes glow as he demands, “Lift your hands above your head, Eva.”

I am frozen by his desire, the intensity of his gaze more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt before, my dream lover even more powerful than the man. His eyes glow with a feral inner light that seem to burn into my soul, seeing need, knowing my need.

Arms unwilling or incapable of moving on their own leave me unable to obey. I admit to my dream demon, “I love you, Luka. I love you. Please don’t ever leave me…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” my demon promises in return.

In the dream I acknowledge that I am so going to regret allowing myself to dream, knowing how painful waking alone and remembering the awful truth will be. But then, my dream lover’s fingers tease my nipples to painful peaks and the molten lava of his tongue burns the cool points. His mouth molds around my aching flesh, sucking deeply, suckling with the desperation of a starving infant.

Pushed up on his arms, no weight touches me, only the teasing brush of his solid cock against my belly, as he lifts my arms one by one above my head, finally placing my hands one on top of the other, as if I were bound, but I’m not. Trapped by the fire, glowing within his eyes, the truth is that I am bound more securely by his mere look than if steel encased my wrists. Even before he growls, “Don’t move,” I would have obeyed the silent command coming from deep within his eyes.

Shifting his body, he drops kisses along the length of each arm, tickling my flesh and soothing the ultra-sensitive skin running down the insides of my arms as he works his way from palm to armpit. Lifting just enough for his eyes to offer challenge, he dares me to move before his tongue and lips descend once more on that most sensitive flesh under my arm, his tongue lathing, teeth biting. To say that it tickles would be absurd, the sensation more than being tickled, an electric jolt that shoots down my spine and deep into my empty womb, making my pussy twitch and parts deeper spasm.

A keening fills my throat as I force myself to remain still, surely I would awaken.

Still sucking and licking and biting my underarm, his long length plunges between my parted thighs, not entering me, just rubbing me, touching just enough for a sudden, explosive orgasm to rock my body and fill the night with my screams.

I awaken to searing light, and squeeze my eyes tightly closed, wishing ouzo was never invented. It registers that it must be late in the day for the sun to be streaming in the west-facing windows so brightly; however, I keep my eyelids pressed tightly together, not really caring what time it is, knowing the sun will set soon enough.

Flinging my arm over my eyes for good measure, I snuggle deeper under the covers, wanting only to return to the dream, to Luka … to Master.

Remembering just for a second his words, I grasp to hold onto the memory, not wanting to forget his promise. “You are mine. Open your eyes and see the truth. Your soul cries out in surrender; surrender to me.”

Remembering just for a second words from the past, similar promises. “Never before has there been a woman, especially one as lush as you, Sweet Eva, who has been my equal in passion. I will enjoy teaching you, molding you into perfection. You will become the perfect submissive because your soul consented long before your mind. Your soul is mine. You are mine, Eva. Always and forever. Mine.”

With a heavy sigh I force the memory to end, wanting sleep, wanting my dream lover back.

Shit, shit, shit! I’m going insane!

His voice was so real—in the dream, at the graveyard. Too damn real. I should have gone to Wales with Liam. I have to keep the illusion in place, just a little longer…

“I can’t live with your ghost, Luka! I can’t!”

The stillness of the room answers. Tossing my arm off my face and throwing back the covers, I sit up to face the day. I find myself facing not a setting sun but a raging fire in the fireplace.

I didn’t start a fire.

Fuck. He followed me here.

Whoever was watching followed me here!

My eyes fly across the room to the table with my 9mm on top. Still there, thank God.

Besides, the loft is secure, no alarms triggered. I must have started the fire. My screaming head attests I drank entirely way too much ouzo. Too much ouzo to be starting fires I don’t remember … yet, I remember the dream. Strewn sheets and blankets twisted and torn halfway from the bed are evidence of my restless sleep, his kimono thrown on the floor where he tossed it … no, where I tossed it.

I have to keep this straight in my head!

The Agency will have me in a straightjacket by dawn if I keep this up.

Shaking my head to dispel the cobwebs, I repeat the truth over and again in my head.

Master is dead. Luka Stavros Papakirk is dead!

I laugh to keep from crying, my damp hair falling in my eyes. I am so hot, so hot, remembering the slick of sweat that covered my body in the dream. No wonder my hair and the sheets are soaked. Rolling out of bed, I realize something is wrong—terribly wrong, if the puddle of wet, sticky, cum I just rolled over is for real. No matter how delicious the dream, I can’t shoot cum.

Unbelieving, I touch my fingers to the wide wet spot. Definitely cum. Shit!

Heart pounding, I fly the few feet to the table and grab my gun, dropping into a roll then crouching. I hide my nakedness behind my 9mm as I search the warehouse, finding nothing, no one. I am losing my mind, but I know that the evidence on the sheet didn’t materialize from a dream.

Catching my reflection in the long, oval mirror, I see the undeniable proof that I have not lost my mind. I walk closer to my reflection, touching my fingertips to the smooth surface, not quite believing what I’m seeing. My neck and shoulder sport a massive bruise with teeth indents, some bloody, and each nipple purple with intense bruising.

Oh God, oh God, oh God! It can’t be! It just can’t be!

Of course, it can’t possibly be. Luka is dead and the only plausible explanation makes me ill. Daniel. God damn you, Daniel!

My mind rocks. Daniel has access to the Special Ops Bunker, he knows where I live, and he’s a dead ringer for Luka … well, not dead yet, but I now have a very personal reason for wanting him dead.

Natural affections and instincts, my dear sir, are the most beautiful of the Almighty’s works…

~ Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby

Whips Underground Bondage Club, Paris

December 26

Sean Paul, my long-standing informant, sits in the farthest corner, though it is a moment before my eyes adjust to the dim, smoke-filled air and another moment before I locate him in the crowd. The day-after-Christmas crowd, unruly, angry, post-holiday-hell Leathermen here to forget the last two days. Home for the holidays rarely makes merry and by the sheer number of predominantly gay men, arrayed in various degrees of black leather, tight jeans, and biker boots, this holiday was especially distressing. A few couples were male with female or female with female; but they were fewer. The couples with female tops and male bottoms fewer still.

A mixed club, the dancing cages equally represent naked men and naked women dancers. The sheer roughness of the place makes me remember just exactly why I miss Paris.

Sean Paul sees me and lifts his chin in a barely perceptible greeting before turning to resume his voyeurism of a scene in progress in the corner behind him. A woman topping a man. Tall and elegant, I recognize her from a well-known Channel ad campaign. Her dark hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, exaggerating her naturally high cheekbones and cupid lips. I take the extra moment to admire her lithe body covered in a barely there bright red PVC halter, with cutouts to display her surgically enhanced nipples, and matching hot-pants. Matching thigh-high red boots command the attention of her leash-bound slave as she forces him to take her four-and-a-half-inch heel into his mouth while whipping him across his ass with a leather flogger.

By the time I reach Sean Paul’s table, I can hear the male bottom’s grunts over the music as he fights to control his gag reflex. The leather flogger thuds with an uneven stroke. She might be cute in her designer PVC and thousand-dollar boots, but she has no idea what she’s doing, and her man of the moment is suffering for it. At my regular hangout, Lewd Larry’s in San Francisco, where I have been hiding out for the last decade as a professional dominant, she would have already been stopped by the Security team.