Carte Blanche [Special Enforcers Series ] Page 8

  "I've got a choice for you, Ray. Listen carefully, now. Are you listening?"

  He took a deep breath in and the trembling of his body stopped. “I'm ... I'm listening."

  "Ten more with the paddle or fifty with my hand."

  He didn't answer right away, but she didn't mind waiting. She was tempted to ask if she was right—if he was hesitating over which he wanted most rather than which sounded less appealing. If he needed pain more, he'd go for the paddle. If it was punishment he wanted, he'd choose her hand. Unless it was contact he wanted, flesh on flesh—

  "Your hand, Mistress."

  Maybe it was the way he said that last word, soft and breathy, or the way his backside wiggled, just a little, as though he hadn't been able to stop himself, but she knew, then, which it was. He wanted to be touched.

  "Count."

  Alternating striking one ass cheek then the next, she let him go up to ten, then stopped and came closer to Ray, close enough that her body brushed against the back of his thighs and ass. As he took breaths as shaky as they were unneeded, she slowly caressed him with both hands, covering his entire back from just above his ass to the two sets of healed bite marks, one on each side of his neck.

  "Which of them are from your siring?"

  Seconds trickled by before he answered. “Left side."

  She scratched her nails lightly against the slightly raised scars on the left. He shivered.

  "And the ones on the right?"

  "A few ... a few weeks before Keller turned me."

  So it hadn't been an accident, she thought as she pulled back and set herself in position again.

  "Eleven."

  Ray had known the vampire who was to become his Sire, had allowed him to feed from him before. Had he known Owens was looking for more than a few mouthfuls of blood?

  Twenty came almost too fast. As before, she stepped closer and let her hands play over him, not just fingertips this time but her palms and the entire length of her fingers as well. For a moment, she thought Ray was moaning, then she realized it was a soft, contented hum she was hearing, almost a purr.

  "Did you ask him to turn you?"

  The muscles of his back locked beneath her touch before relaxing again when she kept stroking him. “No."

  The edge of a blade slipped into Grace's words at the sudden idea that Ray might not have wanted this. “Did he do it without your consent?"

  "No."

  Feeling strangely relieved, she touched him a little longer, then resumed the spanking, focusing exclusively on his left ass cheek. When he reached thirty, his voice was as hoarse as though he had been shouting.

  He sighed when she started touching him again, and the humming purr resumed, just a little louder now. Grace felt almost sorry for having him stop by answering another question.

  "How long have you had fangs?"

  "Eight years."

  She stilled momentarily, surprised. She would have thought it had been much longer than that, though she couldn't have explained why.

  "How old were you?"

  "Twenty-three."

  She chuckled lightly when she realized that they were the same age even though he looked—and always would—like he had just graduated from college. She could guess, by the way he shifted, that he wondered what she was laughing about, but she did not feel like sharing.

  A step back and to the side and she started again, this time concentrating on the right. By thirty-two, his voice was ragged; by forty, it was no louder than a whisper. She realized her right hand hurt too, when she started rubbing his back again, and had been hurting for some time by the feel of it. She couldn't have cared less, not when he was so beautifully responsive to her touch.

  It took her a little while before she decided to ask a last question. It felt intrusive, and much too personal. Still, she finally asked, unable to resist the need to know more about him. Ray answered before she even finished.

  "Have you ever regretted becoming a vam—"

  "Never."

  The word was still echoing through her mind as she dealt the last ten blows.

  "Very good,” she praised as she finished. “Straighten up, now."

  He did with a choked moan of pain and turned toward her. He was holding his hands up, pressed to his chest, the thin scarf still intact around them. His cock was almost as brightly red as his ass, begging for contact.

  "I'm going to touch your dick, now,” she warned. “You still don't have permission to come."

  His body went completely rigid just a second before she wrapped her fist around the base of his cock. He gave a little jerk that she assumed was involuntary.

  "Follow me,” she said, and with a little tug led him to the backless bench on the side of the room.

  Before she could make him lie down on the polished wood, he gasped. “Mistress, can I ... Can I speak?"

  The breathless quality of his voice intrigued her enough that she gave him permission. “Go ahead."

  "If you keep touching me, I will come."

  He wasn't telling her because he wanted to be granted his release, she realized. She hadn't given him permission to come, and he was warning her of his limits. She released her hold on him.

  "You did the right thing, telling me. You'll always do the right thing asking for help before breaking rules."

  With a few words and touches to his arm, she had him sit then lie down on the bench, arms extended behind his head. She noticed how he was taking some weight off his ass by arching on his heels. That wouldn't do. She threw a leg over his body and sat down on his thighs, effectively pinning him down. He groaned aloud, the sound ending on a muffled moan when he bit down on his lower lip.

  She rested her hands in the center of his chest, enjoying the feel of him trembling beneath her touch, but did nothing to cause him to lose what was left of his self-control.

  "We'll keep chatting while you get yourself under control, then."

  She watched his face and reached over to take off the blindfold. His eyes were always so expressive; she could guess a lot by looking at them. She felt like something was missing when he was like this. Nonetheless, she pulled her hand back before touching the blindfold. She could see a lot in his eyes, but she had a feeling he could read her just as well, if not better.

  "What kind of player was Dorothy MacAlair?"

  The question seemed to surprise him, and she could feel him tense beneath her.

  "What kind?” he repeated, cautious. “She was a Domme, Mistress."

  The easiness of his answers when he had been talking about himself was gone. She missed it.

  "I know that. What kind of Domme? What did she do to you when you played with her?"

  It was taking him too long to answer what should have been an easy question. She slid her right hand over to his left nipple and pinched the small nub, pulling a surprised cry from his lips.

  "Well?” she prompted.

  "She ... whipped me,” he gasped at another pinch. “Flogged me, too. I think ... she liked that she could hit me more than would be safe for a human."

  Grace nodded even though he couldn't see her. “Anything else?"

  "She ... she talked a lot."

  Her interest perked up at that. She flicked his nipple lazily with her thumb, then switched to the other one.

  "Talked about what?"

  She could see how hard he was trying to remain still beneath her almost absentminded touch, and she relented, resting her palms over the hardened nubs but without rubbing them anymore.

  "About ... I don't know. I wasn't listening all that much."

  She clucked her tongue. “Do you do the same with me? Pretend to be a good boy and not really pay attention?"

  "No, Mistress. You don't rant about vampires being your inferiors and needing to be controlled.” He paused, and a wry smile pulled at his lips. “At least, you don't do it while you play."

  A tap to his cheek reminded him to watch his tongue while Grace thought about what he was saying. If MacAlair
had held such opinions about vampires, it might explain why she had ended up the victim of a vampire. It was possible the murder had been politically motivated, and that the killer had only pretended to be a submissive to gain access to her. It was strange however that MacAlair had invited vampires inside her home. Why would she play with them if she despised them? She didn't realize she had voiced the question aloud until Ray answered it.

  "Because that's just one more way not to be afraid. Dominate vamps, take their rights away.” He passed his tongue on his upper lip before adding: “Become a S.E."

  She grasped the blindfold and pulled it off with a flick of her wrist. He blinked several times, adjusting to the light, and when his eyes found hers, she put all her conviction in her words.

  "I did not become a Special Enforcer because I was afraid of vampires."

  Their eyes remained locked for a few seconds, and finally he nodded, barely moving his head.

  "As you say, Mistress."

  He didn't sound convinced, but she let it pass. Something else he had said was intriguing.

  "What did you mean, take vamps’ rights away?"

  "She bragged about how close she was to lawmakers. Said she'd have us all branded and—"

  The word ended in a choked cry when she twisted his nipple harder than before.

  "You said you weren't listening to her. Sounds like a lie."

  "I ... I am sorry, Mistress. I didn't mean—"

  Another pinch had him fall quiet. His eyes were wide, his mouth open for gasping breaths he didn't need, and Grace realized that he hadn't said he would come if she touched his cock—he had said he would if she touched him, period. Maybe she ought to pull back a little, even if her fingers itched to slide over his skin again.

  "Who did MacAlair play with?"

  His voice shook when he answered, but she could see he was calming down. “Anyone who presented a blue card."

  "Anyone?"

  "Any man."

  "Is Owens a switch? Did she—"

  He burst out laughing at that. Angry, Grace closed her hand over his balls and squeezed until his laughter turned into a pained moan.

  "I'm sorry, Mistress,” he said with a gasp. “But if you knew him, you'd think it's funny, too. He's a Dom. Never was, never will be anything else. Just like you."

  She bit her tongue rather than following her impulse to answer that was funny as well. She had no wish to revisit a painful past, and how mistaken she had been to think that two Dominants could be happy together if one of them pretended to be a switch.

  "And if I may, Mistress...” He sounded serious now, and she gave him a nod to allow him to finish. “You said you wouldn't ask anything about him anymore."

  She grimaced at that reminder; she hadn't meant to break her promise, but caught in her questions, she hadn't realized she was coming back on her word. She supposed she owed him reparation. Thinking, she trailed a finger from the base of his cock to the wet tip. His hips bucked up before he stilled again.

  "You're right,” she admitted. “And I promised you a reward. What do you want?"

  She didn't bother setting limits on her offer, trusting him not to ask for something he knew she wouldn't give. His widening eyes revealed his surprise, but he didn't hesitate for a second.

  "Please, Mistress Red ... please make me come."

  Pure heat slid over her at his desperate plea, along with the thought that she would hear him beg again, many times, if she had anything to say about it.

  It was rather telling, she thought as she ran her finger along his cock again, that even when he could have directed her actions, he had left it up to her how she would make him come, placing himself, yet again, in her hands—both figuratively and literally this time.

  She considered her options, her eyes drifting from his cock, so hard and begging to be touched, to his chest, and the smooth skin over tense muscles, to his face finally, and the hopeful look he was giving her.

  "How close are you?” she asked, and again her finger followed the curve of his cock.

  He shook beneath her touch. “Very."

  "Could you come from just the feel of my finger?” she asked idly, repeating the movement. “Like this?"

  "Yes,” he hissed.

  Watching him bite down on his bottom lip, she lifted her hand. He groaned at the sudden lack of contact. When she touched him again, it was with two fingers scratching lightly at his left nipple before giving a little pinch.

  "How about from this?” she asked, and this time the words caught in her throat at the low, keening moan he gave.

  "Mistress, please..."

  "How about..."

  It was a bad idea, and she knew it. It went against the rules she had set for herself. It was too personal, too intimate, too much. Nonetheless, she was going to do it, her rules be damned. She wanted this—no, she wanted a lot more than this, but she wasn't that far gone yet. It took her no more than a second to stand. Loss and confusion swept over Ray's face, but not for long.

  "No fangs,” she murmured, leaning in toward his face, and covered his mouth with her own.

  He remained completely still beneath her kiss, only letting her in when she ran her tongue along the seam of his lips. She cupped his face in her hand to angle it just so, and he made a small noise in the back of his throat as her tongue stroked his, then retreated. She waited just a second to see if he would pursue her. When he didn't, she slipped in again and kissed him more deeply. She felt him tense beneath her as he had earlier when warning her he was too close. Pulling back, she nipped at his bottom lip. She thought she had bit him harder than she meant too when he moaned, but his shaking betrayed he hadn't minded. She did it again, and looked down his body just in time to see his cock pulse, releasing a long stream of ejaculate.

  "Lovely."

  He shook again at that simple word, and she looked back to his face. Her hand still cradled his jaw, and she stroked her thumb over his cheek until he blinked twice, clearing his eyes of the heavy fog of pleasure that clouded them.

  "Lovely,” she repeated, and watched his mouth curl into a shy little smile.

  "Thank you, Mistress.” A spark of hope glinted in his eyes. “May I ask for the opportunity to please you?"

  She traced his lips with her finger, then reached for his hands over his head. A few tugs on the knots freed his wrists, and she used the scarf to wipe off the come from his stomach. Then, without thinking, she massaged his wrists gently. Only his slight frown reminded her that he had no blood circulation. Regardless, she continued the useless gesture a few more seconds.

  "You pleased me. You answered my questions, without lies this time."

  She let go of his hands and took a step back.

  "I meant—"

  "I know what you meant. I'll take a rain check. We're done for tonight."

  He looked a little disappointed but answered with a perfectly obedient, “Yes, Mistress."

  She watched him get dressed. Without her needing to ask, he picked up the toys she had used and carried them to the box by the door so the staff would know what needed to be cleaned. Finally, he stood in front of her and presented her with his card in the palm of his hand. She picked it up and clipped it to the collar of his shirt, red side up. He looked down at it, and passed a hand through his hair when he raised his head again.

  "Red side?"

  She shrugged. “You said you only play sub to your Sire, didn't you?"

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “And you, now."

  She returned his smile before walking over to the door. “Good night, Ray."

  "Wait."

  She looked back, questioning him with her eyes, expecting him to ask when she would return. Instead, his question left her speechless for a few seconds.

  "Won't you ask me if I killed MacAlair?"

  She considered him thoughtfully. She had not known him for very long, but she was usually good at reading people, and she could not imagine him killing a woman, let alone a Dominant. Then again, maybe
she did not want to imagine it.

  "Did you?” she asked at last.

  He answered with a quiet yet forceful, “No.” Grace nodded and started for the door again.

  "Good night, Grace."

  She almost turned back, but thought better of it. She had given his freedom back to him; she could allow him to use her name. The way it had rolled on his tongue, soft as a caress, continued to echo in her mind as she drove back home. She couldn't remember the last time someone had said her name like this, almost reverently.

  It wasn't until her mother took a look at her when she entered her apartment that she realized she was smiling.

  "You look suspiciously happy for someone who was supposed to be out for work."

  She tried to wipe away her grin, but couldn't manage to and ended up shrugging.

  "It was work. It might have turned into pleasure somewhere halfway through it."

  Her mother looked at her closely, and brushed a strand of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear. A hint of worry was hiding beneath her smile.

  "I hope you're safe,” she said very quietly.

  Without waiting for an answer, she kissed Grace's cheek and said goodnight.

  It wasn't until Grace went to bed, later that night, after she had checked on Laura's sleep, after she had taken a long shower, after she had brought herself to a quicksilver orgasm that left her curiously unsatisfied, that she started wondering when she would go look for Ray again.

  Chapter 9

  The rain beat against the glass, relentless and maddening. Ray stood in front of the window, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and bare-chested. A cigarette dangling from his lips, he watched the cloudy skies continue to streak the town with gray.

  As a human, Ray had found the regular rhythm of the rain soothing. Ever since he had been a child, he'd never slept as well as he had to the sound of pounding rain. All that had changed when he had been turned into a vampire, however. What had once been a quiet white noise had become the most irritating of sounds. Sometimes, Ray felt like each individual drop of rain had its own, distinguishable sound. The accumulation of it could make him feel like he was losing his mind in just minutes; it had been raining without interruption for four hours.