Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

God, she loved him.

Her gasp drew coffee into the wrong pipe, and she burst out coughing.

No. Absolutely not. Bad, stupid, insane. Texas girls on the run do NOT fall for snoopy, controlling Doms. Especially sadist Doms. “I need my head examined. And to be fitted for a straitjacket. And to be put on some psychotropic medications.”

Reality check, please.

Talking sternly to crazy people rarely worked—and it didn’t this time with her. She wasn’t listening to herself speaking reasonably. Nooo, all her insides were doing a squishy happy dance. Love him, love him, love him.

She was pretty darned sure he didn’t feel the same.

On Thanksgiving, he’d left soon after their talk on the patio. He said he’d been called away. Yet if he worked for Simon, how could he be called away? And Xavier had told Zander, “Be careful.”

Be careful of what? Where had Zander gone? Well, whatever he was up to apparently wasn’t safe.

Her life wasn’t safe either. So falling in love with him was doubly stupid.

Dump him. Dump him now.

No.

The mission had taken over a week, but the hostage was safely home with his family, and that felt damned good. The kid had shown more guts than many grown men.

Not a bad job either. One merc with a busted forearm, couple with knife wounds. Everyone—except the kidnappers—had returned. And deVries was now done with jobs for hire. Felt fucking good.

Anticipation rising, he walked onto the porch of Lindsey’s duplex, carrying his toy bag and overnight bag. Only around midnight on a Friday. Maybe she’d still be awake.

He knocked on the door.

Her footsteps approached quickly, so she hadn’t been upstairs in bed. The tiny light from the peephole darkened as she checked who was on her porch. Good habit.

But when the door opened, her cheeks were pale, her breathing shallow. “Zander,” she half whispered.

Hell. “So late. I scared you?” Fuck, he should have called first.

“I—well, yes.” As color seeped back into her face, she moved aside to let him in. When he stepped into the well-lit room, her eyes rounded. “Oh my God, are you all right?” Her hands closed over his forearms.

Crap, where were his brains this evening? He stank of sweat, blood, gunpowder, and oil. His face was scratched from branches, his jeans torn from hitting the ground and rolling. The kid’s blood had stained his shirt. He should have swung home and showered.

He hadn’t been able to wait. “Good enough once I shower. You mind?”

“Of course not.” And, even as filthy as he was, she hugged him, pressing her clean little body against his. Jesus, she could break a man. “Zander, where have you been?”

An evasion rose to his lips. No. Truth now. “I took a job with a mercenary unit. Rescuing a kidnapping victim. A boy.”

“Oh God.” And, with her soft heart, she asked the right question. The only right question. “Did you get him back? Is he okay?”

“Affirmative. He’ll probably have nightmares, but he’s home. His big sister was making him a cheeseburger before we left.”

Her smile could light up a room. It damned well lit up his heart. “Thank God.” Her brows drew together. “How about you? Have you had anything to eat?”

“Later.” The need was on him. On the plane as he’d catnapped, his dreams had been full of violence. Of pain…inflicting pain. Only…could she take it?

“Lindsey, I…need…” His fist bunched in the front of her shirt—and sweetness filled him when he realized she was wearing one of his old flannel shirts.

“Oh. Of course.” She started to unbutton the shirt. “I want you too.”

“Lindsey.” He had to make her understand. “I’m looking for more than sex.”

Her gaze fell to the toy bag on the floor beside him. “Right.” She swallowed audibly. “Sure.”

“I can go to the club, babe.” Normally, that’s what he’d do, but he and Lindsey had agreed to be exclusive.

“No.” She lifted her chin. “You’ll use me, not someone else.”

So fucking stubborn. Dammit, as a submissive, she might try too hard to give him what he needed. Nonetheless they were a couple now; he wouldn’t seek surcease elsewhere. He handed her the bag. “Strip completely. Put on the ankle and wrist cuffs. Kneel beside your bed and wait for me.”

DeVries scrubbed off the physical stench of battle, wishing it were as easy to wash away the emotional residue. He considered jerking off, but his need wasn’t for sex. He needed to mete out pain. He needed a willing masochist.

Instead, he had himself a willing submissive. Fuck. He’d have to be damned careful.

There were still ropes looped on the tall wooden posts of Lindsey’s bed from his other visits. Kneeling as ordered, she was a beautiful sight with her pale golden skin, pink-brown nipples, hair a dark cascade over her shoulders.

Mine.

Tightening his control, he dragged the bed away from the wall and angled the headboard into the center of the room. “Up. Face the headboard.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Even standing, she was short enough her chest could rest against the heavy wood of the frame. Perfect. He clipped her wrist cuffs to the ropes on the carved posts. Felt the scars running up her forearms. He still needed to know what had caused them—but this wasn’t the time.

After pulling her feet apart, he tied her ankle cuffs to the legs of the bed frame. Opening her. The musky fragrance of her arousal invited him to run his fingers over her pussy. Push inside to feel her squirm.

Not yet. He was hard already, but he needed more than a fuck tonight. “I’m going to hurt you, Lindsey.” His voice almost guttural. “Red is your safeword. Yellow if you need it.”

“Yes, Sir.” She was breathy with an erotic mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

After dropping the toy bag beside her, he set out the impact toys he’d use. Warm up first.

After wakening her skin with a light flogging, gentle slaps, and massage, he upped the ante with a heavier flogger.

Her back and ass turned pink, and at length, a pleasing red. The occasional gasp from her was like liquid gold sliding into his gut. More.

Needing to remind her of who was the top, he leaned against her from behind and rubbed his cock between her buttocks. Her shiver made him grin. Made him enjoy not having dressed for the scene.

Pulling her back from the wood of the headboard, he cupped her breasts. Kneaded them cruelly. Pinched the nipples until her breathing hitched and he could hear a protest deep in her throat.

With his other hand, he curved his palm over her mound, pressed down on her clit, and shoved a finger—two fingers—into her cunt. Slickly wet. She was enjoying everything he’d done so far.

He’d barely gotten started.

OH MY EFFING God. Lindsey bowed her head as blows rained down on her back. He was using a flogger with a multitude of thick, heavy falls. Each impact drove deep into her bones and set her skin on fire.

He’d put clamps on her nipples, tightening them until she couldn’t keep from pulling away.

Every strike of the flogger shoved her forward to hit the nipple clamps against the headboard. And hurt. All of her hurt, and it wasn’t fun anymore. But she could feel his need as if her own—and her own need was to give him everything.

Her face was wet with tears. With sweat. Owwww. She gritted her teeth to keep from using her safeword, from screaming, from crying. Instead, she braced her forehead against the wood so he wouldn’t see how she felt. She’d take it—she’d endure anything if he got what he needed.

It took her a second to realize he’d stopped. A hand on her cheek turned her face to the heat of his gaze.

Dismay filled her as she realized his tight face held none of the peace he displayed when he flogged masochists at the club.

“You’re done, babe,” he muttered.

“No.” Her voice wavered past the sobs stuck in her throat. “I didn’t use my safeword.”

His thumb stroked her wet cheek. “Think I’m blind? Scene’s over.”

“But you—”You aren’t done. Not even close.

“Shhh. Let me get you free.” He opened each Velcro cuff with a quick, frustrated yank.

More tears spilled over her lids as she realized she couldn’t give him what he needed.

“Turn around.” He steadied her, his palms warm on her upper arms. “Hold still now.” With unnaturally controlled movements, he removed the clamp from her left nipple and, without waiting, did the right.

Like a one-two step, blood rushed back into the abused tissues, burning and engorging each nipple. She groaned, moved to cover her breasts.

“No.” He held her wrists at her sides as he drank in her pain. Pleasure glinted in his eyes. “Nice.”

Her gaze clung to his, as if he were reeling her in like a fish on a line. Everything in her pleaded to ease the strain in his face. “Take what you need, Sir. Please.”

When his lean fingers touched her cheek, she saw the answer in his expression—she couldn’t give him what he required.

“You’re what I need, pet.” Hand around her nape, he guided her to the side of the bed and bent her over the mattress. Under his firm touch and the suggestive position, her pain coalesced into something entirely different—into a raging need. She might hate really hurting, but rough sex lit her up like a fireworks display. And God, he knew that. Used it.

Running his hands over her back and butt, he fingered the slight welts, making her squirm. “Such a pretty ass. I’m going to admire my work while I fuck you.” When he squeezed the tender, reddened buttocks, she sucked air through her teeth.

A small pleading sound escaped her.

“Oh yeah, you’ll get what you need, Tex.” As his callused hands spread her open, he dragged his cock against her entrance and pressed slightly inside.

Her clit throbbed in anticipation. Her pussy felt sensitive and needy—and very wet.

His laugh was harsh. His hard palm smacked her right buttock. Ow, ow, ow. As the burn seared through her, he gripped her hips and ruthlessly sheathed himself to the hilt.

Too big. Too fast. Her insides spasmed in protest, and lights burst in front of her eyes. “Aaaaa!” Mindlessly, she pushed up, trying to escape.

A hand fastened on her nape, holding her down on the bed. “Take it, babe.”

His merciless grip turned her core molten. As her pussy pulsed around him in protest—and pleasure—he kicked her legs farther open, rendering her more helpless, and hammered into her. Each hard, inescapable thrust stretched her insides, pushed her deeper into the mattress, rubbed her hurting nipples and her clit on the coarse cotton spread.

Trapped. Her mind went blank as he forced her to take it, to feel it, to enjoy his use. A slap on her bottom sent more fire arcing through her. Her back arched—and he kept her pinned to the bed.

Abruptly, he withdrew and instead swirled his fingers in her wetness. Even as his cock drove in, he centered a slick finger against her asshole.

Instinctively, she fought to escape.

His grip tightened on her nape. His thick shaft pushed in deeply, pinioning her. “Don’t. Move.”

At the sound of the growling baritone, her insides clenched around him.

His hand moved from her neck to her hip, restraining her as he forced his finger past the rim of muscles, using only her own wetness as lubrication. The abrasion burned. Yet, like the thumping sound of massive lights coming on in a sports stadium, every nerve in her pelvis ignited.

He didn’t move, his weight on her increasing, deliberately pointing out that she was pinned. That both her anus and vagina were penetrated. That she had no control

The sound she made was an animal’s—a needy animal.

“Yeah, there we go,” he muttered. His shaft slammed into her; his finger shoved into her anus. Cock withdrew. Then the finger. And again.

The ball of need inside her tightened, clamping down around him. Her legs trembled, her hands clenched on the bedspread. Her world narrowed to his finger. His cock, over and over.

More. Needed more. She wiggled, pushed up—

He slapped her bottom so hard the sound echoed in the room. Pain burst and burned into her like a wildfire of sensation sweeping everything before it. Uncontrollable pleasure ripped apart her senses, shaking her like branches in a wind, electrifying every nerve. Oh God—too much. She twisted under him, needing more, needing less, spasming, crying. Falling into a whirlpool of sensation.