Edge of the Enforcer by Cherise Sinclair
Hours passed, years, eons, before he lifted the blade away. “Ready for another mark?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered. Pressed down by her weight, her hands clenched. And despite the fear—maybe because of it—she had a desperate need for him to touch her. The heat of his hard thighs pressing on her and the scrape of his clothes made her head swim. The plug he’d inserted somehow seemed connected to her pussy.
He drew the knife down between her breasts, the scraping bite at the edge of pain, leaving a lingering burn in its wake. Gradually, he made more marks, cross-hatching her stomach, going lower and lower, until he left one right above her mound—and the biting sensation gripped her clit with a pressure all its own. Her hips attempted to lift, but he had her so securely pinned she couldn’t budge.
“Getting antsy, are you?” His rasping voice matched the rawness of her need.
“Yes, Sir,” she tried to say. Only a grunt escaped her dry throat.
“Good to know.” The scrape went back up her body and slowly circled her breast.
Pain burst in her nipple. He cut me!
She screamed, struggled to wrench away, and realized he hadn’t used a knife. He’d applied a nipple clamp; she felt the points digging into her sensitive flesh. “Oh my effing God. You bastard.”
“That’s me.” His voice was deep and satisfied.
Her left breast flowered with the thick heat of a clamp as well. The pain was so much easier to endure when she knew a blade hadn’t been the cause.
She heard the zip of something, the sound of a condom wrapper. And his mouth came down on her. His tongue worked her clit until her leg muscles trembled, and her every breath held a low moan.
The tangle of welts added to the hot arousal pooling in her belly and the pressure building low in her pelvis.
God, she was going to come. I mustn’t. If he picked up the knife again, she’d lose it. His tongue flickered over her, teasing. Everything inside her was boiling; the tiny button of nerves was consuming her whole lower half.
When he lifted his head, she groaned. Her pussy felt swollen to ten times normal size. She was a second away from coming.
He moved between her legs. She was no longer pinned by her clothing. “Put your legs around my waist.”
The loose jeans weighted down her left calf as she locked her ankles behind his back.
The dish towel covering her eyes was suddenly gone, and she blinked up at him.
Holding her gaze, he picked up the butcher knife, turned it so the light glinted off the shiny sharp metal, smiled at her low moan, and laid it aside.
“Up you come.” She stared into his sage-gray eyes as he gripped her waist and lifted her up, face-to-face with him. He handled her so easily, as if she were a fragile doll. “Hang on, babe.”
She felt his cock seeking entrance through her swollen folds. When he entered her slightly, she gasped at the feeling—even the tip was stretching her.
“Eyes on me,” he said. He held her gaze as he ruthlessly lowered her. Penetrated her. Filled her completely.
She shuddered. The relentless need was too much, burning inside her with a dark hunger. “Oh please.”
“Beg more,” he whispered. He moved his hands to grip her ass, lifted her, and little by little let her sink down onto him. Far too slowly.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “DeVries…Sir…please. Faster. Do something. Please.” She tried to wiggle on his cock.
“Do something? Anything?” He secured her with one hand under her butt. His other hand smacked her ass so hard the sound echoed in the kitchen.
The brutal, scorching pain burst inward, sizzling every nerve tip in its way to her core. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders. “Aaah!”
Hands gripping her hips, he lifted her up and down, hard and fast, pulling her in until her clit ground against his groin with each downward movement.
Another and another.
Her neck arched as the coiling pressure grew and grew and burst outward—a violent flash flood battering her senses and filling the rivers of her body with pleasure.
Gasping for air, she braced her head against his shoulder and heard him murmur, “You really are gorgeous, babe.”
The words soaked into the hollows in her heart, making her glow from the inside out.
“Hang on, now,” he muttered.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. As he lifted and lowered her, her vagina pulsed with pleasure. He took his time, enjoying himself with powerful, driving strokes.
He buried his face in her hair with a harsh, almost silent exhale and pressed her down onto his thick, iron-hard shaft, holding her in place, and she felt him pulsing inside her as he came.
After a minute or two or three, she lifted his face. Kissed him—which, of course, he turned into something long and wet and deep. And then glared into his eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll cook you some damn chicken.”
The sound of his laughter filled her so brightly she probably lit the kitchen with her happiness.
He rubbed his cheek against hers and looked at her with a serious expression. “Should have had this discussion before.”
She wet her lips. “What discussion?” As anxiety quivered awake, her grip on his shoulders tightened.
“You’re the only one I’m seeing, babe. You feel the same way?”
As her breath sighed out with relief, she nodded. “No one else.”
“I know Dark Haven has test results, but we get tested again and lose the condoms. You good with that too?”
So deVries. An order, and yet giving her a chance to object. The thought of really feeling him, all of him, made her clench.
His dimple appeared. “Yeah, you like that.”
“Uh-huh.” Burying her face in his neck, she inhaled his clean scent. A thought struck her, and she started giggling so hard she couldn’t stop.
He slapped her butt to get her attention. “What the hell is so funny?”
“You.” She gasped for breath, her insides hurting as she fought to hold back her giggles. “I-I can’t believe the Enforcer wants to go steady.”
His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed. “Now I do have to hurt you.”
Chapter Twelve
Thanksgiving Day was cold, with a small glittering sun in the gray sky. Lindsey carefully carried her pies up to the Mediterranean-style mansion, shivering in the moist chill air. Brrr. Unhappily her black secondhand jacket didn’t look sophisticated enough to wear today. Shoot, Xavier’s Tiburon home would make Armani feel underdressed—let alone a Texas ranch girl.
But Abby had said the attire of the day was nice, not fancy, so Lindsey’d donned her favorite black jeans, heeled black boots, and a wide silver-encrusted belt. It wasn’t as if she’d accumulated much of a wardrobe. She sighed, thinking of all her clothes back in Texas. So many of them had been gifts—like the Texas-themed T-shirts from Mandy. Or the western shirts from Daddy, which she’d worn until the material was almost threadbare. She never had nightmares when she wore one of Daddy’s flannel shirts.
At least on a trip to the secondhand store, she’d found a nicely festive red, satin shirt. The neckline even dipped far enough to flash a bit of cleavage. Only a bit.
Mama had once lectured her sister, Melissa, saying holiday meals were intended to show off turkey breasts, not women’s breasts.
Don’t think of home, dummy. Missing what she couldn’t have never helped anything. But…dammit, it was supposed to be her turn to have Thanksgiving dinner at her house this year. Instead they’d all be at Melissa’s.
Melissa and Gary with little Emily, Amanda, and Mama. Lindsey smiled slightly. Mama was flighty as a hummingbird, but she had a ranch-size heart. Lindsey bit her lip, remembering lullabies sung to drive away night terrors, big squishy hugs for lost pets, huge productions for each girl’s birthday, and special-made chocolate-chip cookies for when a best friend was mean.
There was something wonderful about being loved so completely. I want to go home. Now.
“My liege—I mean, Xavier—I’m fine. Maybe a tad homesick.” She curled her lips upward.
His frown indicated her attempt had failed to reassure him. “Abby said you had sisters. In Texas?” He motioned her into the house.
“Uh. Right.” Lordy, what had she babbled to her friends? How much had they shared, not knowing better? “Who all is coming today?”
“Eight total. No children this year. Rona’s sons are at their father’s. Simon’s son is with his ex.” He smiled slightly. “Abby’s parents are sailing in the Caribbean, and her good sister is skiing with a friend’s family.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re having a dinner for all us strays,” Lindsey said, her voice shakier than she liked.
“It’s our pleasure. Now go drop the pies off and come out and talk.” Xavier stepped back, releasing her, although the concerned expression on his face said he’d be keeping an eye on her.
In the kitchen, Abby gave her a hug and sent her off with a bottle of wine to join the others.
In the living room, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Bay, framing a view of fog-shrouded Angel Island. The fireplace held a cheerfully crackling fire. A Dom from Dark Haven occupied one of the white leather chairs. In tight jeans and a stretchy Henley shirt, Dixon sat on the chair arm, talking with Rona on the adjacent sofa.
Standing off to one side, Simon, in his usual white long-sleeved shirt and black slacks, broke off his conversation with Xavier. “Lindsey.”
When Lindsey stopped beside him, he touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “All healed up. Good.”
She felt her homesickness recede. Her family was in Texas, but her friends were here. “Happy Thanksgiving, Simon.”
“And to you, pet.” He held out his glass, and she topped off his drink. “Thank you.”
As he returned to Xavier, Lindsey walked across the room to the others.
Dixon bounced up to give her a hug. “Hey, girlfriend! Love the hair!” He tugged at her new red-and-green highlights.
“I’m getting ready for Christmas.”
“Awesomesauce! Let’s dress up for Dark Haven as Santa’s elves.”
“Oh sure.” Lindsey grinned. “I’ll consider it only if you talk Xavier into a Santa costume. With a big belly and a white beard and—”
Dixon doubled up at the idea.
“Lindsey.” Her grin faded at the sound of Xavier’s voice.
She turned to see his black unreadable gaze on her. Surely he hadn’t heard her.
“No.”
Oh God, she was dead meat.
As the men returned to their talk, Simon backhanded Xavier—in his awesomely flat belly.
Snickering, Dixon shoulder-bumped her. “Maybe you should avoid the club until after New Year’s.”
“No shit.”
“Well, on to other topics,” Dixon said and turned to the Dom next to him. “Have you met Tad?”
Brown-haired. Fairly muscular. Full lips. Was this the so-called Dom who only wanted sex?
“In passing.” Hands occupied, Lindsey nodded at Tad. “Nice to meet you.”
The man didn’t stand—Lindsey’s father would have frowned at his lapse in manners—and held his glass out to be filled. “A pleasure, Lindsey.”
Rona’s expressionless face showed she wasn’t impressed with the man. It just went to prove Dixon really did have crummy taste in boyfriends.
And this guy looked like he was all hat and no cattle. She’d definitely have to keep an eye on Dix. Quiz him a bit. Nudge him along to a better selection of man. Meanwhile, Lindsey poured wine and dropped down beside Rona on the sofa.
Carrying a platter of porcini mushroom tartlets, Abby came in. “Here’s something to munch on, but don’t ruin your appetites.” As she set the plate on the coffee table, the doorbell chime sounded. “I’ve got this one,” she told Xavier.
Sitting back, Lindsey glanced around, feeling like when her high school hosted a father-daughter night and she’d had no one to take. It sucked deVries’s assignment to Seattle had run over, and he hadn’t been able to return in time.
Yet, perhaps his absence was best. In her world, taking someone to a Thanksgiving dinner meant serious. What had she been thinking, agreeing to go steady with deVries? Sure, exclusiveness was logical to prevent disease and everything, but…what they had was far too much like a…a real relationship.
And she knew better.
It wasn’t safe for him. And it wasn’t safe for her because if—when—she had to run and leave him behind, her heart was going to bust into a million pieces.
Even worse, what would her leaving do to him?
Since she’d had the meltdown at Dark Haven two weeks ago, they’d been together each night—and she’d loved every minute.
She’d believed she wanted someone intellectual, refined, and aristocratic, into opera and fancy restaurants. But deVries enjoyed home cooking—which was what she actually preferred to cook. He was definitely super intelligent, but…also super blunt. He liked fun movies and grilling and going on long hikes. And so did she.
She’d begun to realize her dreams were something left over from childhood—and not about finding a person who would match her likes. Who she could live with. When deVries wasn’t in Dom mode and deliberately making her uneasy, she was comfortable with him, whether arguing over which television show to watch or trading him cookies for gardening work. He was surprisingly fun to be around.
And the sex was off the scales. Especially without a condom. The feel of his bare cock inside her… She shivered.
Okay, no more thinking like that. He’d probably come over tonight, so she’d save her carnal thoughts for the appropriate time.
And tell her heart to stay out of the game entirely.
When Xavier left the room, Simon walked over to the couch. “How are you doing with the new job, Lindsey?”
“I love it.”
“That’s excellent, although you’re going to disappoint Mrs. Martinez. She hoped you’d return.”
Warmth flooded Lindsey’s heart. “Can you give her a hug from me?” However, a squeeze didn’t seem nearly enough to pay the sweet woman back for all her help. Perhaps, since she had a good paycheck coming in, she could do something more tangible. Her Rayburn family was famous for their Christmas tins filled with homemade candy. This year, she wasn’t known as a Rayburn, but her San Francisco friends deserved some treats, didn’t they?
A guttural voice from beside Lindsey said, “What kind of a hug you want delivered? I’ll see it done, Tex.”
To her surprise, she looked up into deVries’s face.
The corners of his mouth rose as he tugged her up and into a long embrace.
Resting her face against his wide chest, she inhaled the fragrance of his woodsy masculine soap. When his cheek rubbed her hair, the feeling of being treasured shook her. Even knowing she was heartsore and vulnerable, she melted right into his embrace.
With reluctance, she lifted her head. “DeVries. What are you doing here?”
“I finished early and caught a ride down with a friend.” He brushed his mouth over hers in a light, affectionate greeting and whispered, “Each time you call me deVries from now on will be rewarded with something nasty. Got that, little girl?”
The threat in his voice sent goose bumps down her arms. “I—right.” Her gaze dropped. He’d asked her to call him Zander more than once. But darn it, she didn’t want to be sucked into caring for him. She mustn’t.
“Good.” As if they were a long-standing couple, he tucked her against his side as he walked over to greet Simon and Xavier.
As Simon glanced from her to de—Zander, his brows drew together. “Zander. Good to see you.”
When Lindsey looked up, Zander only smiled slightly and squeezed her closer. Unlike a few previous boyfriends who’d tri
She shouldn’t be his date. Shouldn’t encourage him.
“Have you been shooting this week?” he asked Simon. “Got a new GLOCK you might like.”
As the men talked, Lindsey stood stiffly and…the hell with it. She didn’t want to think about the future or having to leave or dying or hurting her friends. Not now. Today, there was nothing more she wanted than to be right where she was. With a sigh, she slipped her arm around his waist and snuggled against his side.
He stopped midsentence, bent to kiss the top of her head, and continued with his conversation.
She’d surprised him, she realized, and pleased him. The knowledge set up a sweet glow inside her.
After a few minutes, she noticed Rona had disappeared—probably to help Abby. She pulled away slightly.
He looked down. “Babe?”
“I need to help in the kitchen.”
He nodded. “Those pies yours?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Any chance you saved one at your place?”
Criminy, did he know her so well? She had. Despite her attempt to smother her smile, she saw the knowledge in his eyes.
“Good girl.”
When he let her go, she hesitated, wanting only to snuggle back up against him; however, both Xavier and Simon were watching her. Studying her.
Jeez.
In the kitchen, Abby was putting a pot of potatoes on the stove and talking with Rona.
“Hey, y’all. Need help?” Lindsey leaned on the creamy-colored granite-topped island. With ample windows and golden-oak cupboards, the high-ceilinged kitchen seemed filled with light despite the gray sky outside. She moved a bouquet of dark red roses off to one side and noticed they matched the hand-painted backsplash tiles.
“You can dish something up—and I’m talking information.” Setting rolls on a baking sheet, Rona raised her brows at Lindsey. “Last I heard, you thought Zander was an asshole. Now Abby says I missed part of the story. I’d say a lot of the story. Like when did he get elevated to teddy bear status?”