"I didn't think you'd come." Demon nodded at Tribal, Bacchanal's bouncer, as he and Devil took the stairs two at a time. "You haven't been here in forever."
Nine months, sixteen days, and some eleven-odd hours.
Devil knew to the second when the lure of the private, upscale BDSM club had begun to pale: the night he'd danced with Jessica Blaine--the maid of honor--at Sinner's wedding. He shrugged. "It's the Halloween auction. And I had dick-all to do."
"Wanna bid on a threesome?" Demon shouldered his way through the throngs packed into the club's interior. "If you're up to it?"
His fellow Hades Squad team members had been ribbing him without mercy about his recent reluctance to cluster fuck. Why not? Maybe a night of bonging till he dropped would jump-start his stalled cock.
"Yeah, go for it." Devil eyed the pool behind the bar in the middle of the room. Translucent walls enclosed water tinted blue by the lights at the bottom of the kidney-shaped structure. The top of the pool was situated two floors above on the club's roof level.
A score or so of naked bodies cavorted in the water. The hard plastic magnified body parts and a slew of ginormous pricks, pussies, and bobbing breasts crisscrossed the colored rays intersecting the undulating liquid like a slow-mo laser display.
"Pussy hair back in style?"
"Yeah, it's the new sexy." Demon slanted him his trademark three-dimpled grin. "Retains the pussy perfume better."
Ten to one, Jess had delicate pubic curls covering her mons--a shade darker than the golden hair on her head; his mouth watered. Would her pussy taste sweet and spicy? Tangy? Devil ground his teeth. Lately Jess popped into his mind way too often and at the worst times. Like now when he was fuck hunting.
A quick scan of the voyeurs glued to the pool's activities revealed a few familiar faces, asses, collars, leathers, and signature accessories. In one corner, a throng of men and women adored a wrestler-built giant of a man wearing unbuttoned indigo jeans painted onto his bronzed flesh.
"Who's the pretty boy in the corner?"
The stud tongued a breast held up for his attention while his hands plucked and twisted two nipples, the cruel force of his fingers eliciting shouts of appreciation from the onlookers.
"Goes by the name Tron."
Devil rolled his eyes. "Creative he's not."
"Attained platinum in three months."
You had to spend a ton of money and win executive approval to reach Bacchanal's platinum status in three months. He and Demon had achieved the exalted rank because their company had designed the club's security system at cost.
"We did his background?" Some nuance about Tron he couldn't pin down had Devil's senses ricocheting like a bullet trapped in a tank.
"No. Bacchanal's doing their own checks now."
The lull in the music ended with an echoing drumroll. Devil winced. Why the hell had he come? The air system went on overdrive. The temperature dropped five degrees, and the familiar lemon and linen aroma designed to neutralize the blossoming odors as sex play escalated tickled his nose. He sneezed.
The club scene had once fascinated him, and he and Demon had spent every spare minute here tasting and testing, fucking like stallions let loose in a herd of mares in heat. Together they'd tried everything Bacchanal had to offer: orgies, baby oil parties, whips, flogging, but their favorite play had been shared threesomes. Females of all shapes, sizes, and ages had vied to be picked by either one of them for a night or a weekend.
Demon elbowed him. "Wanna check out the viewing room?"
Why not? Anything to relieve the tedious rhythm of his life. Devil nodded. Not that he expected to be shaken out of the miasma trapping him in limbo.
Located directly behind the curtain-draped stage, a twisted nylon rope divided the viewing room in two. On one half stood those waiting to be auctioned. On the other, the club's platinum members mingled, their gazes straying to assess the offered bounty.
Bacchanal enforced strict dress codes for all auctions.
All participants--the auctioneer, the bidders, the escorts, and those volunteering for auction--wore elaborate black masks designed to conceal identities. The silver-streaked Mardi Gras mask revealed eyes, lips, and chin. Those being auctioned wore long-sleeved, flowing white robes with high necklines, escorts were clothed in black from head to toe, and sweeping sapphire cloaks garbed all bidders. Only audience members had their choice of attire.
He'd been undercover for eighteen months before leaping into the business world, so Devil needed only one sweeping glance to tabulate sex counts and determine eagerness levels. Twenty-seven in total being auctioned: fifteen men, a dozen women, maybe half went both ways, all submissives or...
His narrowed gaze tracked the lone figure not radiating a single docile electron. Her graceful glide, the unique tilt to her head. Devil's cock went rocket hard before recognition slammed his hide, sucking the oxygen from his lungs and tightening a noose around his intestines. He grabbed the rope with both hands and had one leg thrown over before Demon's arms locked around him like a cobra.
"What the frick's wrong with you?"
"Jess." Enough blood flowed to Devil's brain to allow his vocal cords to reorganize into functionality. "Jessica Blaine. Seven down, three from the wall."
Demon hauled him back onto the buyer's side of the divider and stiffened the neck-locking, rib-cracking clench that prevented Devil from inhaling, far less moving a millimeter. "You can't be certain."
Devil exploded into action, chopping his arms and hands up, ramming his booted foot into Demon's shin.
Demon didn't flinch, his hold didn't lessen, and he jerked a knee between Devil's legs.
A shrill lance of pain sliced Devil's balls. He froze.
"We are out of here now. Got that?"
"Over your dead body." No way was Devil letting Jess out of his sight. "Who's the auctioneer?"
"New guy. Ram. We're attracting attention."
"Get your fucking knee off my stones."
"Don't make me pound you into next week." Demon's arms dropped. He took a side step so he faced Devil, and his lips curled into a sneer. "You are so done for. Jess Blaine's not for you, Dominix. It can't be Jess. She's not into the life."
And didn't he fucking know that? It was the only reason Devil, aka Dominix Zubiri, hadn't jumped her yet. Hadn't taken her to a remote cottage and bound her to him.
"Then why's she here? And don't tell me that isn't Jess. It is. And she's mine." Devil went through a series of breathing exercises designed to slow the heartbeat and fire rational synapses. "Find that bouncer, Tribal. Bring him here. Once he's in place, we'll hunt down Ram and fix the bid."
Demon grunted and shook his head. "You got it bad. Jess is Destiny's best friend. You can't screw with her. Sinner'll stake you in the desert next to an anthill."
Their fellow Hades team member, Sinner, had married the love of his life, bestselling author Destiny Driven, nine months earlier. Jess had been Destiny's maid of honor.
"Fuck off. Find Tribal." Devil locked on to Jess. "Get him here in three minutes, or I snatch her."
He didn't even notice when Demon left.
What are you into, Jess? Pain? Anal? Threesomes?
Damp sweat coated his flesh. No way could he share her with anyone. Fuck, please don't let it be scenes. Her pussy belonged to him and him only. So much for his sweet, barely touched Jessica. So much for his fantasies of introducing her gently to sex his way. He loved the irony of that phrase, the word gentle, the most explicit oxymoron in that context.
Fury merged amoeba-like into his blood cells. Jess had tormented him for nine months. Nine months he'd been watching Jessica Blaine, and not once had she given the slightest clue she was into the life. Months of fucking females he barely wanted, months of never having more than a moment's satisfaction, months of starving for Jess.
Scheming, Machiavellian witch, acting the missionary-position female, playing him the way the Inquisition torture masters had played their victims. He squinted at her, theories breaking the sound barrier and roaring in his ears until he heard nothing but his thoughts.
Devil seethed, his fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw wired tight, nostrils flaring hard snorts. He considered and tossed aside one tortuous punishment after another. He pictured her spread-eagled, hands raised, bound to a fixed, freestanding St. Andrew's cross, giving him access to front and back. Blindfolded, no mouth gag, so he could hear every moan, every whimper.
He'd imprint his tongue, his touch, his smell on her. Train her to respond to him and only him. He'd tie her down and bring her to the brink of climax again and again until she begged, pleaded for release. Paddle her backside, finger fuck her, tongue lash her clit remorselessly, tease her G-spot, and when he finally allowed her to come, then and only then would he taunt her by removing the blindfold.
Let her see that he, Dominix Alexander Zubiri, the man she'd looked down her nose at for the last nine months, the man she'd rebuffed three times, the Devil she'd so sneered at, had given her the best fuck of her life.
By the time Demon returned with Tribal in tow, Devil had fixed on a strategic action plan framed by a white-hot rage that had him shaking and his vision blurring.
"Auction's in fifteen. You got it together yet?"
Devil knew Demon's gravel and chocolate tone held an implied threat. "We don't need a UFC round, if that's what you're hinting at."
"I can see the smoke pouring out of your ears." Demon machine-gunned Devil's chest with a jabbing forefinger punctuation. "Tribal says she's been coming weekends the last three weeks. That means she's not a regular, Dominix. Is anything making it into your thick spaghetti-for-brains head?"
Three weeks? Devil blinked. His momentarily receding wrath reared and spiked as he scanned the room and identified three known sadists, any one of whom could win Jess tonight. "She's up for auction. So she's not a regular here. How many sex clubs are there in Manhattan? The fucking city?"
"Don't. Jump. To. Conclusions. And don't take your anger out on her. I guarantee you'll regret it."
"I'm not jumping to conclusions. There's only one conclusion. She's into the life. Little Miss Don't Touch Me is into the fucking life." Devil folded his arms and stared Demon down.
"You're not going to listen. And I'm going to so fricking enjoy saying I told you so." Demon glanced at his watch. "Twelve and counting."
"Tribal, get over here." Devil waved the hulk-built bouncer into a huddle. "This is the way it's going down."
Demon argued against Devil's plan to no avail. "I'm on record as being against this. This is so coming back to bite you in the ass."
"You have five minutes left. Management always starts right on time. We on or what?" Tribal's glance bounced from Demon to Devil.
"It's on and we're outta here. Isn't that so?"
Demon sighed but nodded. The two Hades Squad team members left to speak with the auctioneer.
Bacchanal held all auctions on a mirrored stage.
The slight reflection on the hard plastic surface displayed tantalizing glimpses of genitalia when the escort guided the first person up for bid to the center of the platform. A halo of gold-hued light bathed the voluptuous female. The translucent robe she wore bared all to the audience. A rising collective murmur of appreciation drowned the strains of Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On."
Satisfied he had everything under control, Devil inclined his head at Demon and stalked back to the viewing room. He'd changed and now wore the garb of an escort. The two bouncers guarding the entrance to the room motioned him in.
Devil counted seven escorts in all.
Tribal, who also functioned as Bacchanal's event coordinator, angled his chin to a far corner veiled in shadows. Back hugging the cool wall, Devil propped a booted foot on a nearby stool and studied Jess.
The chestnut wig she'd chosen to conceal hair the color of liquid sunshine complimented a peaches and cream complexion Jess never polluted with makeup. He'd sat next to her in meetings and hadn't been able to take his eyes off her dew-perfect skin, the hollows below her ridged cheekbones, the thick brown lashes framing eyes a blue shade identified as robin's egg on his hardware store's paint palette.
She didn't converse with the other auctionees, but slid into a niche formed by the drapes screening the stage and the audience. Tilting her head against the wall, Jess stared at a spot on the ceiling. Devil saw no evidence of nerves: her chest rose and fell evenly; her fingers didn't drum or flicker; her feet, framed by CFM three-inch taupe stilettos, remained in one spot.
Jess had a habit of touching her tongue to the left side of her mouth when stymied by an unexpected question, and she did that now. The sight of the tip of her pink tongue drove him insane. Kicked his balls blue and burning. Sent his prick into a battle against the zipper's teeth and sucked a steady stream of precum from the slit. Devil choked back a slew of Greek curses.
Tribal cleared his throat, the sound a cannon bang over the low babble. Devil jerked his head around, and their gazes locked. Tribal gave a thumbs-up.
Devil uncoiled and strode around the edge of the room until he stood behind Jess.
She didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't react in any way.
He filled his nose with the just-mowed-grass smell of her, the mingling zing of some wildflower fashioning the aroma into spring blossoms at their zenith. Her scent sank into his pores, flooded his veins, pooled heavy and throbbing in his groin.
"Cheetah, you're up." Tribal's bellow silenced all conversation. When Jess straightened and turned in Tribal's direction, he waved at Devil. "He's your escort."
Cheetah? A half sneer formed right at the moment when their gazes met. Jess flinched, stumbled, pressed a palm into the wall, and steadied herself, and only then did Devil notice she had brown eyes.
What the fuck? It's not Jess. Shit, shit.
He'd screwed up big-time. Damn Demon for being right about him jumping to conclusions. Devil let his lids fall as he considered how to right his wrong.
When he opened his eyes, Devil found Jess staring at him, her jaw dropped, one hand pressed over her mouth, the gleam of recognition clear and obvious.
Her eyes widened, she backpedaled, and an overhead light highlighted the contact lenses she wore. "Dominix."
If he hadn't been attuned to her every nuance, Devil wouldn't have heard the horror in her hissed whisper.
Colored contacts. Deceitful, conniving woman.
His resolve hardened. Her recognition pulsed a burst of acrid bile over his tongue. The need to make her uncertain, keep her off balance, had him mimicking a thick Texan drawl. "Do I know you, sweet thang?"
She frowned, licked the corner of her mouth, and her scent became musky with fear. "No."
"Hustle it, Cheetah." Tribal's shouted order broke their locked stare.
Devil offered his arm.
Jess rested her palm on the back of his hand, the barest contact, yet it struck lightning to his knotted balls. He gritted his teeth and urged her forward. The audience went quiet when they strode through the curtain, and then a wall of sound erupted. The disharmonious din of shouted lewd suggestions, catcalls, and whistles faded and dimmed before Devil left Jess standing in the center of the platform.
He took up a position directly behind Jess. His glance raked her rigid stance, her squared shoulders, and his teeth snapped together when she linked trembling fingers at the base of her spine. His gut cramped.
What the fuck's going down?
The bidding gong echoed and bounced around the club.
"This is a limited auction." Ram lifted an envelope high. "The limit is one blowjob in a private room."
A blowjob? Devil snorted. In a BDSM club, Jess offered a blowjob? Fuck, those happened in full view every ten minutes on a normal night.
"Five hundred." The bid came from a cloaked man jammed into one corner of the bar.
A muscle jumped and burned under Devil's eye. No one paid five hundred for a suck-off in a club. He searched for Demon.
"Five fifty."
Devil shot Demon a furious glare. He wanted this over and done. Why hadn't Demon doubled the bid?
"Fifteen hundred." The fucker in the cloak had a sinister Hannibal Lector, cultured British accent.
Devil slammed a clenched fist into his palm. Escorts weren't allowed to bid. He'd outsmarted himself with his elaborate plan.
"Fifteen hundred and fifty." The grin Demon flashed Devil underscored the reasoning behind his nickname. Demon loved nothing better than mental fucking with Devil's head.
Devil's knuckles itched, and he ground his teeth together, the urge to fly across the room and pulverize Demon so overwhelming he bit his tongue till he tasted blood and still took a reflexive step forward.
"Two thousand."
Who the fuck was this a-hole bidding on his Jess? And why in hell did he want her?
Beyond protocol, not giving a flying crap escorts had to be neutral, couldn't bid on a sub, he mimicked a storm-challenged windshield-wiper motion, captured Demon's attention, and slashed a finger to his throat.
"Five thousand."
"Limit reached. Sold to number thirty-one for five thousand dollars." Ram slammed the gong into the brass plate.
Demon and Devil had prearranged the limit and conclusion, never expecting the bidding to go above the club's usual five- to seven-hundred range.
When Devil led Jess to Demon not seven minutes later, the pulse at her throat throbbed in uneven fits and starts. A thin patina of sweat coated the skin above her upper lip.
Jess had never met Demon. He'd been on assignment when Sinner married Destiny, and then on loan to Coronado until six weeks ago. Demon hadn't a handsome bone in his body. Weighing in at over two hundred and fifty pounds, standing three inches over six feet, the man had less than three percent body fat. California's governor in his prime looked like a chest-caved nerd next to Demon.
Add in a nose broken three times in recent history, the perpetual glare that had carved three deep lines between shaggy brows, one lip twisted into a sneer by a shoddy stitching job on a knife wound, and you had a mug that parted throngs. The man scared seasoned SEALs.
Devil kept his peripheral gaze fixed on Jess, saw her lower lip quiver, and heard her audible gulp when he transferred her hand to Demon's thick, sinewy forearm. Half of him wallowed in her fear; the other half yearned to haul her onto his lap and pet away her terror.
"I believe you owe me a blowjob, Cheetah."
Demon's words shot a spinning spike into his head. Devil's reflexes kicked in, and he whirled around, ready to deck his best friend. Demon trapped and held Devil's gaze, and mouthed, Get your shit together.
Right, she'd intended to suck some other a-hole's dick. He owed Demon big-time for the reminder.
Devil paced the now empty viewing area for exactly nine minutes and thirty-five seconds before his patience snapped. Close enough to the time he and Demon had agreed upon. His long strides consumed the distance to the private playroom. He punched in the security code and slithered into the darkened chamber.
The night-light inserted into a low-lying outlet barely illuminated the three feet closest to the door. Using hand signals, the two men communicated quietly, Demon left, and Devil secured the room. The soundproof interior stifled even the air conditioner's humming, and in the eerie quiet, the sound of Jess's rasped breathing thundered.
He stood still and looked his fill.
As instructed, Demon had her kneeling on the soft carpet, blindfolded, arms stretched wide, and the silk bonds on her wrists connected to rings attached via a long arm to the walls. She had her head cocked to one side. Even in the dim lighting, the robe hid none of her charms, and the outline of her curves, the shadow between her thighs had his pulse doing erratic leapfrogs.
Adjusting the dimmer of the overhead lights so he could feast on Jess's responses and fine-tune his strategy, Devil circled her kneeling form. The fury he'd managed to dam detonated and erupted. Molten lava replaced his blood. He stood there inhaling liquid fire, repeating SEAL breathing exercises until he regained control, and assumed his dom mode.
"I didn't agree to this." Her voice wavered, but she lifted her chin in defiance. "I agreed to a blowjob."
Devil pulled the auction card from the envelope and read, "One blowjob in a private room. Condom mandatory. Touching only on my part."
She exhaled, her uneven breathing a sonata to his ears.
"That's right. Exactly right."
He pulled out his switchblade, slit her robe down the middle, and stifled a hiss as the material parted to reveal creamy skin, the swells of her breasts, a flat belly he dreamed of, pale golden curls framing the treasure between slender thighs.
Squatting so their faces were level, he drank in the sight of her: the long, elegant neck, the delicate line of her jaw, the cock-stiffening perfume peculiar only to this woman. A finger's width separated their noses. Devil knew she felt his closeness, waited for him to respond, and he let the silence stretch, relishing the short puffs of minty breath escaping her pouting mouth.
"What are you doing?" She tugged furiously at the silk bonds holding her arms wide. "I demand a witness. I'm allowed that. Those are the rules."
"This is what you didn't specify. Clothing, position, restraints." Devil checked his watch. "Forty-five seconds have elapsed. I can keep you here as long as I want until I come in your mouth, latex covered as specified."
She'd lost all color, and those porn-fantasy lips he lusted after quivered. When she opened her mouth, he said, "Listen carefully because there are two ways this can go down."
Cutting the sleeves of the robe, he continued, "I can hold you to the literal translation of the card. You can invite a witness to make me adhere to the rules."
What remained of the robe floated to the floor. Jess shivered; her nipples were a shade darker than her rose lips, and they pearled and puckered.
A shudder racked through him. He sat back on his heels, and the leather pants squeezed his cock and testicles harder than any vise he'd ever tried. Devil closed his eyes, went through the SEAL breathing sequence yet again until blood flow restored baseline brain functions.
Stick to the plan.
"I can and will keep you here for the rest of the night. I don't have to let you out of this room until I get what I paid five thousand dollars for. A blowjob. I can go for hours without coming."
Her sinful mouth tightened into a pucker. She snorted. "And the other way?"
"One fifteen-minute session in this position. My mouth and tongue only."
She shook her head so hard he heard her neck crick. "No."
"Your choice." He reached for one of the foil packets strategically stored in an alcove in the wall. When he tore the wrapping, she said, her voice two pitches higher than normal, "I'll take the fifteen minutes if you agree to above the waist."
Devil's watering mouth protested with a surge of bitter saliva. "Don't jump to conclusions." Demon's words sledgehammered in his brain, battering the wall of icy rage he needed to execute his plan.
"Pleas--" A half sob choked off the whispered entreaty.
Fuck, he couldn't do this. War had taught him the nauseous musk of fear, and it washed off her in droves. Her vulnerability eroded the tattered remnants of his wrath; he bowed his head.
"Above the waist only."
A hissed sigh escaped her lips. He glanced up, and his ribs felt like they did after a UFC round with Demon--bruised, aching. Her shoulders had slumped as far as the silk restraints allowed. One orgasm and he'd let her go. The leather bit into his groin. He unbuttoned the pants and lowered the zipper, freeing his rampant erection, and adjusted his stones out of the hide.
Her quadriceps contracted, and he admired the sweet curve leading to the ridge of her rump where tanned golden flesh met white, before getting on his knees. Unable to resist a second longer the call of her swan's neck, he locked his arms behind his back and nuzzled the crook. She smelled like heaven, hell, and purgatory all rolled into one. He suckled his way up her neck, and when she arched to one side, his balls cramped high and tight. Never had he encountered such soft, supple flesh, the texture smooth to the rough surface of his tongue, the contact exquisite, delicious torment.
The blindfold hid her ears, not even the plump lobe available for teasing, tasting, so he trailed hot, wet kisses along the ridge of her jaw. His nose was in paradise, brushing the silk of her skin, savoring the deepening spice of her woman's perfume. He flicked the corner of her mouth, outlined her top lip, ran a wet caress over the seam, and his dick jerked and twitched when her breathing hitched. A whiff of air from her parted mouth speared flames across the tip of his tongue.
Devil needed no other invitation.
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