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about her that made his gut clench in anxiety, even as his cock jumped up like a dog waiting for a treat?
He ran his hand over his face to the side of his neck and froze at the thump of his pulse in his jugular. So caught up in what she was doing to him, he hadn’t even registered until now the blood staining her neck when she left him. Jesus. He had bitten her. He’d never used his strength against a Mistress, though the throbbing bruise on his cheekbone told him she’d handled him all right. No fear in that one. A porcelain doll with a core of iron.
The thought made him smile, but it worried him for her, that she was too green to know when she should back off. But had she needed to back off from him? Or had she done exactly what she should?
Would he go tomorrow night? Of course he’d go, he was on assignment. But the question was, would he go to that room, wait for her, accept her as his Mistress for another night?
Mac picked up the photo of Jesse Rodriguez, a twenty-three year old accountant, stared into his dead eyes. Yeah. Yeah, he would go to The Zone tomorrow night, because Jesse was never going to get to enjoy the anxiety and anticipation again. He had died because he’d taken the risk with someone who killed him, and that offended Mac deeply, on a personal level he felt too raw to explore.
On the computer reports Consuela had run for him, he saw that there were no related crimes in the fifty-state area for the past two years. It looked like his murderess had just started her killing spree. They needed to find her soon. Six weeks between her two victims meant she was a fast learner. She’d found a release for the pain she nursed inside. The hunger would keep growing, and she would go after whatever would ease the craving.
Just like him. He muttered an oath and slapped the file shut. Violet was not the murderess, but she obviously had the power to destroy him. He’d go to The Zone, but not to her. There would be other, less distracting Mistresses with whom he could hook up and mingle, watch the play beneath the floor. He’d follow that strategy. See if he could start zeroing in on a killer that he was certain was already stalking her next kill.
* * * * *
Violet had a hard time sleeping, and found it even more difficult to focus on doing her job throughout the next day. Her body ached with unsatisfied desire, but the idea of relieving it with a toy after she’d left Mac had left her cold. She wanted to build her own anticipation as well as his, though she knew it was entirely possible she’d pushed too hard and he wouldn’t be there. Or worse, he’d be there and not in that room. A flat rejection.
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No. She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, pulled her hair from her face, pinned it up so the curls just brushed the nape of her neck, and tucked the black wig over it.
Not a rejection. If he shunned her, she would think of it as a retreat. She’d unsettled him, knocked a sizable dent in that arrogant attitude of his. Was he man enough to admit it and come back to her?
She certainly wanted him to do so.
The phone rang and she picked it up as she leaned forward to apply her eyeliner.
“So, did you take my advice?”
She grimaced. “You have spies everywhere, Tyler, so don’t pretend you don’t already know how last night went.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I know you picked up a prime target, but word is you engaged the privacy screen, so no one but those who won’t be bribed know how it went. I do have reports that you came out alone. Mistress Marguerite reported that he came out a quarter hour later, looking like he’d had the carpet of his world yanked out from under him. Was that a good or bad thing?”
“I won’t know until tonight, if he shows up again.”
“Your boy socialized a bit after you left.”
“Did he?”
There was a significant pause, and Violet cursed mentally.
“There was definitely a jealous note to that, maybe even a tad possessive. He got under your skin.”
“I got under his more.”
Tyler laughed, dropping all the slyness from his tone. Violet couldn’t help but smile at her own reflection in the mirror.
“Fuck you, Tyler.”
“Anytime, darling, but it would be like two tigers. We’d rip each other to shreds. So you liked this one, then. All those months playing with me, you don’t find anything more than casual playmates. Your first night out on your own, you find one you want to keep. “
“Just a virgin reaction to her first solo scene.”
“Spoken like a crude cynic, and not like the sweet Violet I know. Don’t get worried, kitten. Let it happen.”
“I have to worry, Tyler.” She put down her mascara and leaned against the counter, rubbing a finger over her forehead. “I can’t take risks. I’m already daydreaming about taking him places, for heaven’s sake.”
“Well how about something safe to ease the craving? My plantation house, this weekend. I’m inviting four lady Doms, including yourself, for an overnight of play with the sub of their choice. I’ll have Mark and Stacey from The Zone staff there to be chefs and domestic help, and to join in if we need some free agents. You can take a side trip to 34
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Lilesville, use that gift certificate your friend Sarah gave you. To decorate him, or yourself. Or expand your toy chest.”
“I wasn’t ever going to use that, Tyler. It’s for five hundred dollars. It feels like a bribe.”
“Her new husband gave it to you because, thanks to you, he gets to sleep with Sarah every night for the rest of his life. I’ve seen Sarah. He should have given you ten times that much.”
“Pig. I’ll think about it. And he’s got to want to go, anyhow. Will you bring Leila?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I think this is the perfect weekend to break her into the joys of interactive play. Maybe we’ll see how far we can push your boy.”
“You’ll need to take it easy on him, Tyler. He comes off tough as nails, but if you find the way in, he can be hurt.”
“We all can, love. We all can.”
* * * * *
She didn’t look to see if the ceiling darkening feature had been engaged or not for her room. She went to the changing room. It was nearly ten-thirty. If he had obeyed and prepared himself for her as she had told him to, he’d been on his knees for almost an hour and a half.
Shedding her overcoat, she put it in a locker. Tonight she had worn a dress she’d picked up in the Asian district. The blue satin with a touch of Lycra to cling to her curves had side slits in the form fitting skirt and a pattern of black dragons with delicate long whiskers and sharp curving talons done in black and silver embroidery thread. A stiff line of ribbon sewn at the base of the bodice lifted and underlined her breasts. Her heels were black satin with braid trim, and she wore sapphires at her ears. No underwear beneath the dress, just a pale blue satin garter belt to hook the sheer hose.
The deep vee of the neckline revealed the path of the silver nipple chain across her sternum, strung with sapphire and black beads to weight the pink tips, keeping them stiff and pushing against the snug fit of the bodice.
It was her most sensual dress, and she was uncomfortably aware of how deliberately she’d chosen it from the closet. If he was here, but spurned her attentions, she was going to make damn sure he regretted the choice.
Closing the locker, she took a deep breath. Let it happen.
She took the stairs down to the lower level, comfortable in the high heels, and moved into the carpeted entry hallway, lit with candelabras.
The hallways of the playrooms felt like her own private world. A calm settled over her shoulders, and she soaked it in. Painted with an ornate tapestry of images, the vaulted ceilings offered equal visions of pleasure and pain, silhouettes of bodies, the 35
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gleaming curves of exposed skin, a ready hand or brushing of lips. Nearly two hundred scenes painted along the arched hallway interlocked into a mural, a masterpiece created exclusively for The Zone by a famous artist patron who chose to remain anonymous.
She went to the door of the room she had reserved, keyed in the access code, then hesitated, hand on the latch. It was cowardly, but she needed another moment before she faced the potential of an empty room, the slap in the face it represented. In that moment, she knew that more than pride was involved. With that thought came the realization that, if he was in the room, she was risking her heart, a far more dangerous sacrifice than her pride.
“Two nights in a row. He must be worth it.”
Masters at taking arousal to the cutting edge of pain and then pushing their sub a little bit past that, Tamara and Kiera were twins, Mistresses who chose to work exclusively as a team. A unique commodity, even in the fetish world.
When Tyler had first introduced Violet to T&K, he had told her, albeit under his breath: “Most subs don’t know whether to beg for more or run screaming after spending ten minutes with them.”
Tonight they were dressed in white latex mini dresses. Tamara’s had a high neck and long sleeves, whereas Kiera’s had a neckline plunging almost to her waist in an imitation of the Marilyn Monroe classic. Tall, elegant black women with dark hair streaked with deep red highlights, their lips and fingertips were painted in the liquid red they favored, perhaps to remind subs of the blood they were willing to draw in the name of pleasure.