Sake Bomb (23 page)

Pulling her phone from her pocket, Fay
snapped a quick photo with the caption
Nothing
. Then she
crouched beside her. “If you can’t handle smoke,” she said,
stubbing out the butt of her cigarette on the trunk of a tree, “how
will you to stop fire?”

Harajuku, Japan

L
eather and capes
and lace. Multicolored hair. School girls. Collars. The odd furry
suit. Masks.

Back against a wall near the door, Xander
filtered through the menagerie as best he could, splitting his time
between searching and staring at Kizzie’s neck. The up do kept the
hair off her cinnamon shoulders, accentuating the fine column of
muscle. She stood directly in front of him—just inches away—head
turned toward the stage, arms crossed beneath her breasts.

His gaze lingered in the valley between the
swells, came back to her bare throat. He frowned. At the same
moment, a bloodcurdling scream rushed from the front of the room
and Kizzie’s head drew back. Then she turned her surprised face up
to him.

“So…fisting’s a hard limit?”

“Have you
seen
the size of your—”
Kizzie snapped off the comment, the corners of her mouth turned up
a hair. “
You’re
a hard—” Her hand shot up, palm out, and her
eyes squeezed shut. “There’s a joke in there that I walked into.
Just let it go, m’kay?”

Xander chuckled, she joined him easily, and
damn if he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d enjoy hearing that sound
for the rest of his life.

She cracked her knuckles again. She did it
when she got antsy, he noticed, and since they’d been there a
couple hours already without a word from him about
why,
his
impatient Princess was plenty anxious.

“It’s burning you up that you don’t know the
plan isn’t it?”

“Actually, I’m more bothered you shoved me
into this getup,” Kizzie said, not looking at him. For the
hundredth time she tugged at the short tutu, inching it down a bit
more on her hips. The black briefs she wore beneath it didn’t quite
cover her ass, and her cheeks spilled out from the sides.

Another yank.

Every time she did that Xander fought the
urge to palm her sexy globes.

“This is the last time you buy me an outfit,
Duquesne.”

“Fine by me. Told you, I prefer you
naked.”

Kizzie cut her eyes at him. “I sincerely
hate you for this. Like, ‘hope you get eaten alive by fire ants’
hate you.

His lips twitched; her rant continued. “Foxy
Brown…Lara Croft—both of these were viable options, but noooo, I’m
dressed like some trashy character from the land the manga
rejects
rejected, while
you
show up in a tailored
suit. How’s that even a costume?”

Xander glanced down at his clothing and
shrugged. “Dos Equis guy?”

“And Phil?”

“Is Phil.”

She pursed her glossed lips. “Fire ants and
fleas, Xander Duquesne. Fire ants and fleas…”

A man went by in full Shao Kahn regalia:
spiked shin guards, wide shoulder plate—also spiked—from which hung
a floor-length, burgundy cape. Spiked helmet and wrist guards; no
other clothes apart from a pair of briefs and burgundy loincloth, a
huge skeleton where his belt buckle would be.

He held a leash, the other end connected to
the collar around the neck of a beautiful woman. A mask covered her
mouth and nose, leaving haunting eyes on display. Dark hair rained
down around her shoulders, a tiny crown perched in the shiny mass.
Her Dom had taken obvious pains with his costume, but had gone to
even more trouble on his sub. Thigh-high boots; a revealing bikini
top that criss-crossed her breasts leaving the creamy skin of her
belly and back exposed. Forearm guards and skimpy bottoms rounded
out the outfit. All of it metallic blue with intricate silver
detailing. All of it latex body paint. The only real prop Princess
Kitana had were the steel fans.

Compared to most of the other subs, Kizzie
could be a woman of the cloth. Conservative black tank, gobs of
purple taffeta she still fought with. Her lace-up boots—made of
real leather, he might add—and a pigtailed lavender wig completed
the assassin ballerina ensemble. She even had her knife tucked in
her thigh holster, a small concession since she’d wanted to bring
her pistol.

She eyed the latex-covered woman.

“Thank me any time you’re ready.”

“Oh, thank you
so
much for your—” a
glance down at the edgy rip in her shirt— “Prudence. And you owe me
a new tank top.”

“Forgot the ‘Sir.’”

Smirking, Kizzie snapped off a half-assed
salute.

A steampunk vampire inched along, tight
burgundy corset constricting her breathing and velvet hobble skirt
impeding her stride. Her partner trailed just behind in a corset
and tight leather pants. A top hat angled over her hair and a large
monocle secured by a leather strap covered her eye. Once her back
was to him, the cutouts over her ass cheeks came into view.

Such was CosKink—where costume play and the
debauchery of the Lifestyle collided. Xander had attended once
before and so knew what to expect. Watching Kizzie’s reaction was
an unexpected treat.

She cocked her head and circled a finger in
the air to encompass the entirety of the party. “A lot of work to
get laid.”

“That’s all you think the Lifestyle’s about?
Sex?”

“In the last hour alone we’ve seen spanking
and flogging, some crazy shit happen with clothespins, I’ve never
even
heard
of ‘bukkake
’
before, but now, thanks to
you, I can’t scrub
that
image from my retinas.”

“I bet she can’t either,” Xander joked.

Kizzie rolled her eyes, swept an arm out
toward the front of the room. “Gyno tables make fisting easier, and
every scene ends in—
oh, oh, uuuuh…
” Her eyes closed, glossed
mouth rounded in a sensual O as her hands moved over her belly and
breasts. His cock jerked like a marine at a surprise visit from the
president. The porn star moment came to an abrupt stop before he
could properly salute. “Does that about cover it?”

“Damn good place to start.”

She huffed, nostrils flared.

“This is the easy part, the fun stuff. Most
of what you’re seeing is months if not years of missteps and
miscues; experimenting; knowing when to push and sometimes being
wrong, sometimes causing pain you don’t intend. Communicating when
you don’t want to. Kneeling when you don’t want to. Being raw and
vulnerable and patient… and
trusting
when you don’t want
to.

“That’s the test—the relationship. Working
at it and dealing with the fallout from things you can’t plan for.”
He shrugged. “That’s more than just kinky sex, Kizzie.”

“Dressing up like a schoolgirl or an avatar
or whatever the hell that guy over there in the orange sequins and
nipple clamps is,” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, “doesn’t
change the fact that sex is just sex. I’m just saying, scratch the
itch and keep moving. Why waste time with the ‘yes, Sir, no, Sir,’,
or gum up the works with emotions? Just—” His brow shot up; hers
knit together. “Why the hell are we here, Duquesne?”

Xander gave a low whistle. “Whoever he was,
he did a number on you.”

Her lips pressed to a thin line. “We’re
wasting time. Let’s go so I can get out of this stupid thing.”

Kizzie backed away and he grabbed her hand.
“Could you handle letting go? ‘Cause that’s what all this,” he
indicated the party, “boils down to. It’s not just sceneing, not
just saying things. It’s knowing what you want, and knowing I’ll
give you what you need. Letting me push you to the edge, take you
over and then bring you back. Again, and again, and again…”

A gentle tug closed the gap between them,
and she didn’t fight it. “I think you enjoyed being whipped at
Sacha’s. You want that again, but you’re
sprinting
away from
it.” He searched her face for the truth. “Who hurt you,
Princess?”

In classic Kizzie fashion, she snorted.
“Blood draws sharks, Xander. A dolphin’s gotta be in the water so
it sleeps with one eye open, swims fast and doesn’t
bleed
.
But since you mentioned trust, you trust Phil?”

“Implicitly.” The response was automatic,
and would have been an irrevocable truth if not for the last couple
days. Xander spared a glance at a man in camo, his sub dressed the
same. The height was right, but both were male. His attention went
back to Kizzie.

“And me? If I were your submissive, would
you trust me the way I’m supposed to blindly trust you as my Dom?”
Xander didn’t respond and Kizzie quirked a grin, added, “I expected
that. The wife?”

Xander clenched his teeth at the reminder of
Phil’s carelessness. Naima was still a fresh enough memory in
Kizzie’s mind and no doubt a spot she’d try to exploit. His silence
gave her just the room she needed to attack.

“Not even your wife? The woman who promised
to love, honor,
obey
—and I’m positive that chewy nugget was
in there somewhere. The woman who got a polished rock and you on
one knee in exchange for clean dishes and hot meals and crumb
snatchers?”

Kizzie’s mouth curved into a shit-eating
grin at what she undoubtedly deemed a victory. He didn’t like it.
“Let’s—“

“Shoe on the other foot,” Xander said.
“Given your profession, you’d trust your husband?”

Kizzie tapped her temple with a slender
forefinger. “Smart dolphins don’t get hitched.”

“Connolly?”

“You think I’d marry
Connolly
? I
might go for you older dudes, but damn…”

“Do you trust Connolly, smart ass?”

“Not with my pet rock.” The bright smile
slipped a little, her playful demeanor changed to something
slightly charged, almost defensive now. A subtle shift, but Xander
noticed. “He’s…a shark,” she muttered, attention at the front of
the room once again.

“Is there anybody in this world you do
trust?”

“Living?” With a pasted on smirk she bowed
slightly. The move gave him the perfect view down her shirt but he
kept his focus on her eyes, the usually bright discs now dull and
detached.

“We’ll have to work on that.”

Kizzie pulled her hand from his and held it
up. “Save it for something you’ve got a chance at, like finding
Sumi. It’s not gonna happen in this crowd. Too many people, and
everyone in a costume.”

Hello again, Agent Baldwin.

His jaw clenched.

Last night Xander was sure he’d made
inroads. Even when Kizzie would have turned, would have let him
bring her to a mind-numbing climax and then done it again, he just
held her. And while his calculating brain saw it as a means to chip
away at her tough-as-nails façade, in his heart he knew he hadn’t
done it to play her; wasn’t aiming to seduce her.

He’d done it just because.

Scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

He was
supposed
to be playing her.
Kizzie was his link to Connolly, so Xander had to coax her into
talking somehow. Sex was the easiest and most enjoyable option.
Truth was he liked having her snarky, pigheaded softness snuggled
against his body; liked her unique scent in his nose. Kizzie fit
him, rough edges, sharp tongue and all. Simple as that.

True to her word, however, it seemed she had
zero qualms about letting him into her body, but her head was
strictly off limits. Even now she stared up at him, dark brow
lifted, gaze completely shuttered. In the span of a brief
conversation he’d gotten too close and the concrete barriers flew
up, reinforced with barbed wire. Was the trigger trust in general?
Trust in Connolly?

What blood had that shark scented on
Kizzie?

What was she hiding?

Tabling his one-sided conversation, Xander
swallowed a sigh and tamped down unfounded frustration. This was
the wrong time and place to try to crack Kizzie’s tough shell.
Chilly attitude aside, she was right—not a chance in hell they’d
find Sumi here. Which worked out just fine since he wasn’t looking
for her.

A woman in blue robes glided by, a man in
orange just behind. Clearly
telling
Kizzie about the finer
nuances of the Lifestyle wasn’t getting through. Maybe he’d get a
twofer out of this visit.

All around them the room was a flurry of
activity, people coming and going and shifting. A space to the far
left opened, near enough to one of the other doors and close enough
to the front for Xander’s newly-formed purposes.

“
Ooo
kay,” Kizzie drawled, starting
toward the exit, “I’ll be in the car…”

Xander grabbed her hand, keenly aware of her
resistance as he laced their fingers. He dragged her in the
opposite direction, swerved through costumed bodies until they
reached an abandoned table. Just one chair available, and he slid
onto it before Kizzie got the chance.

“Poor, dead chivalry,” she muttered. Another
Dom sat at a table nearby, his sub kneeling beside him. Kizzie
smiled tightly and then made a show of hitching up her already
short skirt to get into position. Xander snagged her elbow and
hauled her onto his lap, the move startling her.

He seated her on the crease of his thigh,
close to his torso. An arm cinched around Kizzie’s waist stopped
any further protest. Lavender hair blocked his view, and he brushed
the pigtail behind her shoulder.

Goosebumps prickled the skin where he’d
grazed her, and Xander gave in to temptation, faintly caressing her
collar bone. She shivered; he stopped at her throat, lightly
stroking the hollow.

A training collar to start...

What was he thinking? He hadn’t trained a
sub in a long time, and though he’d done some sceneing when he
could to take the edge off, there wasn’t anyone permanent
since…
her
.

A lifetime ago.

No one had made him consider revisiting that
kind of dedication—that kind of risk—until Kizzie.