AtHerCommand (15 page)

* * * * *

Unlocking his front door, Calvin dragged himself into his
darkened condo. He flipped on the lights as he went but the brightness couldn’t
disperse the sterile chill of the place. Walking into the kitchen, he opened
the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. The lone six-pack shared the cavernous
fridge with a couple of ancient takeout boxes and a brown banana. It didn’t
matter. He wasn’t hungry.

After several swigs of beer, he carried the bottle into his
bedroom and set it on the dresser. The furniture here and throughout the
two-bedroom condo was adequate for his needs but not exactly
House Beautiful
.
That was okay since he spent little time within the walls.

Three years before, after Pam had passed away, he’d sold
their Maryland house and bought this D.C. condo. The excuse he’d given was the
need to be closer to his Pennsylvania Avenue office. But that hadn’t explained
why he’d sold all his furniture as well…modern, sunny pieces he’d picked out
with his wife. The truth was, being in that house with those furnishings had
been too painful a reminder of happier days.

Kicking off his loafers and carrying the beer with him,
Calvin sat on his king-sized bed and lay back against the pillows. As he did
every night, he turned to look at the framed photo of Pam on the nightstand.
She’d been so gentle and sweet, just the opposite of his often grumpy
personality. Their strengths had complemented each other and he missed like
hell coming home to her after a long, tough day.

His friends and family—even Pam’s parents—had urged him to
move on, to remarry and have children. But in his mind, his wife’s passing
hadn’t released him from his wedding vows. And after Pam, anyone else would be
a poor substitute.

Setting his beer on the nightstand, Calvin reached into his
hip pocket for his wallet. Opening an inner flap, he extracted his wedding
ring, which he’d removed for his session with Ilona. He knew the Russian
masseuse wouldn’t let a little thing like a marriage get in the way of her
come-ons but Calvin had felt strange wearing Pam’s ring into the club. He
easily slipped the gold band back on his ring finger, but once in place, the ring
seemed oddly constricting.

Calvin took another sip of his beer. It’d been a draining
day and his body craved sleep. But his mind kept returning to the hurt in
Suzi’s eyes.
Hell.
It was ridiculous to feel as if he were cheating on
Suzi by going to another masseuse. Suzi was just a suspect in his case.

Okay, so she’d made him laugh and there’d been some
chemistry between them. Calvin thought about the sexual awareness that
scrambled through his body whenever she was near. Sure, he’d almost kissed her.
He remembered the feel of her athletic body pressed against his and the way her
pupils had grown large and dark before he’d let her go. Even now his body was
hardening at the memory of her nipples pushing against the soft fabric of her
top.

Damn.
Calvin looked at his reflection in the dresser
mirror and saw the frustration and despair on his face. He’d never expected to
experience again the things he was feeling about Suzi. And it seemed like a
betrayal of Pam.

Suzi’s words from their last session came back to him.
Pam
would want the best for you. Don’t you think she’d want you to let go of the
guilt and be happy again?

He didn’t know what to think. Hell, he was so tired he
didn’t even
want
to think. Calvin placed the beer bottle on the
nightstand and slid down until he lay flat on the bed. Closing his eyes, he
tried to conjure an image of his wife’s shy smile and soft laugh. But the last
impression he had as he drifted into sleep was of sexy Asian eyes.

Chapter Fifteen

“Heard you had a session with our New York super freak,”
Ellen said, strutting into the Xecutive Branch employee lounge and greeting
Domino with a conspiratorial smile. The full-figured dominatrix was encased in
black rubber, an outfit that required chutzpah and a liberal application of
baby powder to wear. “Did he enjoy the spirited horseplay?” she asked deadpan.

Dom laughed, thinking of how surreal but strangely
entertaining her session with the crime boss had been. And, despite her detour
from his script, Cubby Cabazone had raved about the session. Some days the good
guy came out on top and the bad guy even thanked her afterward.

“The joker’s not exactly Seabiscuit but he’s frisky for his
age,” Dom joked.

Ellen giggled and rolled her eyes in a shared recognition of
the absurdity of their jobs. Then she walked over to join Dom at the employee
mail slots along the lounge’s back wall. Reaching into her open-ended
cubbyhole, Ellen pulled out the client schedule for her S&M room that
evening.

Domino turned and retrieved her own printed schedule for
S&M Room Five. Her first appointment was a regular, Timid Tim, the
milquetoast CPA who only wanted her to verbally berate him for being such a
wimp. Her second client was…
Dalton C.
Dom’s sharp, indrawn breath drew
Ellen’s attention.

“Killer schedule?” the girl asked.

“Ah, no,” Domino said, a curious jumble of anticipation and
nerves building at the sight of Dalton’s name. “I just have a client who’s a
real puzzle. He doesn’t fit the submissive type and I don’t know what he’s
looking for in our sessions.”

Ellen shrugged, her short black hair feathering around her
ears. “Not every submissive is a ninety-pound weakling. I’ve topped a couple of
Redskins linebackers.”

Dom nodded, not sure how to articulate her feelings.
“There’s just something about this guy…”

“Oh geez, girl, whatever you do, don’t fall for a client.”
Ellen’s joking tone was gone and concern clouded her face.

Dom forced a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. My ideal Mr.
Right won’t be into bondage and discipline. And his idea of a good time won’t
include nipple clamps and riding crops.”

Ellen grinned but there was a trace of worry in her eyes.
“Okay. I better head to my room and turn down the heat before my first client
arrives.” She waved her printed schedule like a fan. “You wouldn’t believe how
hot these rubber suits get.”

“Then why are you wearing one?”

“Visual impact.” Ellen let the words hang as she strutted
out of the lounge. Dom had to admit the X-rated scuba suit showcased every one
of Ellen’s ample curves. When worn by the lively dental student-dominatrix, the
sexy outfit should include an “Inflammable—Contents Under Pressure” warning.

Shaking her head, Dom looked at the schedule in her hand.
Dalton
C.
Okay, so she’d lied to Ellen. She was definitely attracted to this
client. And thanks to her plans to slip a tracking device into the drug-filled
carton—something that could wrap up this case—Domino realized tonight might be
her final session with Dalton. Tonight might be the last time she would see
him, have a chance to touch him or…

Damn.
Why couldn’t she find a man who looked like
Dalton and made her blood race as he did, but someone who was, well, normal? A
guy who thought a fun night was dinner and a movie, not handcuffs and tickling
feather? Someone who wanted to be an equal partner with her, not the M in an
S&M relationship?

She’d put her career before everything else for so long and
Domino still wanted that assistant director promotion so bad she could taste
it. But sometimes she yearned for it all—the career, marriage, kids… She
thought about the class reunion notice she’d received in the mail that day. How
many of her high school classmates were married and on their way to
two-point-five children? And Sheri, her friend in the DEA research department,
was five years younger and planning her June wedding. Would Dom ever find a man
she wanted to spend her life with?

Walking over to the coffeemaker, she poured herself a cup.
As she sipped the surprisingly good brew, she thought about Dalton. He didn’t
appear to enjoy the sessions and almost seemed to be playing a role. There was
that shuttered look to his eyes as if he were protecting a secret.

Unbidden, a memory of Dalton caressing her legs during the
last session surfaced.
Holy canolli.
Dom might be unable to figure him
out but given her visceral reaction to him, she’d chosen the right
nickname—Dangerous Dalton. He was edgy, unpredictable and definitely dangerous
to her sexual wellbeing.

Domino strengthened her spine. She’d get through Dalton’s
appointment and refocus on her job. According to her schedule, she had a
half-hour break after his session. With luck, Dom could use that time to slip
into the loading bay and plant the tracking device. During a quick call to
Meyers earlier, she’d filled him in on Smokey’s find. While her four-legged
partner relaxed at home with some well-deserved doggy treats, her two-legged
partner was awaiting the signal from the tracking device.

Meyers and five other DEA agents were standing by to follow
the shipment to its destination, using several teams in separate unmarked cars.
Busting the sex club criminals would be great, but the DEA hoped in addition to
bring down the drug traffickers throughout the distribution pipeline.

Taking a final sip of her coffee, she tossed the disposable
cup into the trash. Time to step into her Mistress Bella persona. Maybe she
should be worried at how easily she got in touch with her “inner dominatrix”
these days. Then again Bella’s arrogance would come in handy on future DEA
jobs.

She could stand to be a little more aggressive in her personal
life too. Once this case was closed, she’d take a vacation and enjoy some
R&R with a man who wanted no-strings-attached sex. She deserved some carnal
pleasure after this assignment. And Dom planned to find a talented hunk who
would chase Dangerous Dalton out of her system once and for all.

* * * * *

Dalton followed the white-garbed attendant down the corridor
toward S&M Room Five. Despite his efforts, his mind strayed off his plans
to investigate the club after his session and onto Domino. His body was alive
with an anticipation that overrode any concern about the evening’s agenda and
Bella’s cabinet of toys. Damn, he had it bad for the woman.

As they approached a curve in the corridor, the door to a
mattress room opened with a whoosh. A sheet-draped man stumbled into the
hallway accompanied by a cloud of smoke and the smell of alcohol. More than a
little sloshed, the man waved down Dalton’s escort, who stopped in front of
him.

“We’re running out of champagne,” the man slurred.

Unperturbed, the attendant reassured him. “No problem,
councilman. I’ll have a case delivered immediately.”

The drunk reentered the passion pit where a mass of
partially clothed humanity enjoyed the room’s amenities and each other. Dalton
realized the party could aid his plans. If he managed to leave his session
without an escort, Dalton could crash this sexual shindig and get lost among
the swingers until he was sure he wasn’t being followed. And, if he were caught
searching the other rooms, he could pretend he was trying to locate the
mattress party. Man, this case was bizarre but he had to get the goods on Salvi
and his boss.

The attendant motioned for Dalton to follow him and they
traveled several doors down to Bella’s lair. Without waiting for his escort to
open the door, Dalton grasped the handle and turned. The door swung wide,
revealing a darkened room glittering with candles. Flickering white tapers
stood on every surface, their flames reflecting off polished leather surfaces.
And in the middle of the shimmering light stood Domino.

Dalton heard the door close behind him. When had he entered
the room? She smiled at his confusion, her shiny lips curving below a burnished
gold mask. He swept his eyes down the slim column of her neck to the gilded
gown cupping her curves like a lover’s hands. The metallic material caught the
candles’ glow, seeming opaque at one moment and heart-stoppingly transparent
the next. Domino brushed one hand up the gold zipper that bisected the dress
from the high hem to the low top. Dalton’s mouth went dry.

A sexy chuckle brought his gaze back to her face and amused
eyes. Once again, Dalton had forgotten his role in this surreal play. He
lowered his eyes to the floor and tried not to notice the golden stockings
clinging to her graceful legs or the gilt sandals cradling her feet.

“Welcome, slave.” Domino’s throaty voice caressed his ears.
“Why don’t you get undressed and make yourself comfortable?”

It wasn’t a question but a command so he stripped. Despite
their previous sessions, he still felt an initial self-consciousness at being
naked while she remained clothed. Yet the candlelight added a new intimacy and
an erotic element to the scene. Visions from his graphic dream about Domino
returned unwelcome to his mind. In his sleep, he’d explored every inch of this
woman and now his body reacted eagerly to her presence.

Dalton slipped off the last of his clothes and knelt down,
head bowed, awaiting her next move. Domino walked to a cabinet and swung open
its doors. A chill of apprehension skittered down his spine and he watched her
from the corner of his eye. She withdrew a black leather item and strode back
to him.

“These February nights can get a little nippy, don’t you
think?” she asked, all fake politeness and concern. “I wouldn’t want you to
catch a cold.” Dom tossed him the item she’d taken from the cabinet—a male
chastity belt.

Dalton caught the leather harness and glared.
Shit.
He’d seen pictures of male chastity belts during his research but he didn’t
have a clue how to put it on. And he’d rather have a root canal than wear the
damn thing. Delaying the inevitable, he stood slowly and almost smiled as
Domino’s eyes fastened on his johnson. So she wasn’t as uninterested as she
pretended.

Dalton examined the belt and undid its buckles. There
appeared to be several stages to donning the item—the first of which was
stepping into the thong-like main part. He glanced up to see Domino’s obvious
enjoyment at his reluctance. Flushing red, he pulled on the garment like a pair
of swim trunks. Once the uncomfortable leather was settled on his hips, his
package hung from the front opening looking ridiculous.
Now what?

Domino chuckled as he tried to figure out the different
fasteners on the front flap. Finally, he realized the hard cup-like layer was
meant to cover his pride and joy so he couldn’t touch himself. Not that he’d
planned to, dammit. Dalton arranged his flagging cock so he could buckle the
cup in place. The last clasp had space for a tiny padlock. He could imagine
some poor sucker getting locked in the stupid thing and having to wear it to a
hardware store to buy a wire cutter.

He looked at Domino, who’d adopted her stern Mistress Bella
façade again. She stood regally and crooked a finger at him.

“Now that you’re dressed for the occasion, let’s move on to
the fun part of our session.” Dom gestured to his chastity belt with her left
hand. “Or should I say, the fun part for me since Junior’s in detention?”

Dalton ground his teeth. She was such a smart-ass. Someday
the tables would turn and he’d enjoy teasing her mercilessly.

Dom strutted to the futon without looking back to see if he
was following. After a brief hesitation, he trailed after her, grimacing as the
leather chafed his skin. The futon was open, welcoming and surrounded by
candles. Images from his dream—lying Domino on the futon, diving into that
sensuous mouth, taking her with a passion that stunned them both—blended once
again with reality. He had to fist his hands at his sides to keep from reaching
for her.

“Lie down on your back and put your arms behind your head.”
She pointed to the futon.

Dalton obeyed, the black satin of the futon cover cool
against his skin. He folded his hands under his head and watched her from
beneath lowered lids. Sitting next to him on the futon, Domino took one of the
tapers out of its candleholder and held it in front of her.

“Candles are romantic, don’t you think?” Domino asked. “And
the paraffin can be so effective in sensitizing the skin.”

As Dalton watched, she held the candle high over his chest.
God, she was going to drip hot wax on him. Even as he tensed, she tilted the
candle and let a molten drop slide away from the burning wick. The clear liquid
seemed to fall in slow motion as he braced for the sizzle against his skin. His
eyes registered the wax’s impact, watched the clear drop flatten and harden to
white but there was no pain. Instead, a stimulating warmth radiated from the
spot. Confused, he met her gaze.

“Pleasant?” Domino traded her first taper for a second. As
he nodded, she continued, punctuating her words with small, almost tickling
brands of warm wax down his rib cage. “The amount of heat depends on the height
of the candle. The wax cools as it falls.”

She employed one candle after another to decorate his skin.
Each drop aroused more nerve endings until the cumulative effect had him
fighting not to squirm. Finally, she seemed satisfied with the wavy paraffin
pattern that traced his ribs and matted his chest hair. Domino replaced the
last taper in its holder.

“The trick is to remove the wax without pulling out any
hair,” she explained, reaching toward his chest. “You have to go slowly.”
Smiling, Domino poised her red nails above the first waxy dot. “I’m a
professional. Don’t try this at home.”

Again he tensed, not certain what to expect. But the feel of
her warm hands against his body chased all concerns from his mind. She gently
scraped her nails across one spot after another, working the wax off his skin
in a sensuous way that had his cock fighting against the confines of his
chastity belt.