Willing Sacrifice

Page 13

 

  “Excuse me. Sir, ma’am?”

  Max shifted the hand he had on her nape to her jaw, her cheek, keeping her face pressed to his chest, averted from the man who’d approached them. His hand came out from beneath her skirt, smoothly working the zipper down in the same motion so she was covered.

  “No disrespect, but the club doesn’t allow sexual play in the parking lot. You can take it offsite or back inside. ”

  “Understood. My apologies. I got a little carried away. ”

  “No worries. ” The security guard’s stern tone eased, the man recognizing he wasn’t going to be dealing with a belligerent guest. “Can’t blame you a bit. The two of you were hot enough to make me think about waking the wife up when I get home tonight. ”

  Max chuckled, pressing a kiss on the top of Janet’s head, an idle caress as the man moved away. She straightened, pushing away from his grip, though her fingers stayed latched on his T-shirt. He put his hands on her elbows, keeping her in his grasp as well.

  “I think we need to slow this down. Time for me to call it a night. ” She met his gaze squarely, though saying the words, removing her hands from his body, was like pulling frozen hands away from a warm fire. “Will you walk me to my car?”

  He shook his head. Giving his T-shirt a casual tug downward so it covered his rock-hard abs but leaving his shirt open—no choice, given that she expected several of the buttons were under the cars around them—he fished his keys out of his pocket and shifted to unlock his vehicle. Pulling open the door, he picked up her bag, put it in the back and then extended a hand. “Get in the truck. ”

  “The mating call of the Southern male,” she said lightly, but her pulse had leaped at the command. His gaze had fastened on it, making her think of his mouth there once more. “Where are we going?”

  “To a place where you can look up at the stars while I put my mouth between your legs. ”

  They held gazes for a long moment, then Janet lifted a shoulder. “More sure of the terrain now? No land mines?”

  “The reward balances the risk. ”

  She sidled back up to him, pressing thigh to thigh deliberately. When she reached up, stroked through his hair, he obligingly brought his head down, put his lips on her shoulder, held them there while a single, hard shudder ran through her. He wasn’t a Dominant. He was simply…overwhelming. Different. Unclassifiable. She should go home. It was time to evaluate where she was going with this. Where he was taking her.

  He rubbed his lips along that bare stretch of skin between blouse collar and throat, making her fingers curl deeper into his scalp. “Janet. Truck. Now. ”

  “All right, Tarzan,” she whispered, a smile flirting in her heart, on her lips. He put his hands on her waist, lifted her into the truck. He’d made it an order but waited for her consent before proceeding. He was the oddest mix of things.

  He’d lifted her into the driver’s side. The seat was a long cushion, no console, the gear shift on the hump between the floorboards. It reminded her of an old farm truck, and when she scooted over so he could get in, turn over the ignition, the powerful roar of the engine enhanced the impression. She hadn’t moved any farther than necessary to get her legs over the gears, and he pleased her immensely when, once he put the truck in gear, he settled one arm over her so she could lean against him. It helped with talking over that engine noise as well. She propped her chin on his shoulder to speak into his ear as they pulled out into traffic.

  “You’re Texan, aren’t you, Southern male?”

  He glanced at her, amused, and when he lifted his hand from the wheel to shift, she was already on it, smoothly changing gears as he worked the clutch. Her Mustang was a straight drive as well, a dying breed. The light in his eyes said he appreciated her ability to coordinate with him. And she appreciated that he didn’t indulge in any adolescent comments about her ability to handle a stick. “Yes ma’am. I thought you knew everything about everyone at K&A. ”

  “Contrary to rumor, I don’t routinely scour personnel records. I rely on intel from office gossip. ”

  “You should have gone with the personnel records. You would have known I left my last job because they objected to my side hobby. Taking women out into the swamps to cut up their bodies for the gators. ”

  “Are we going to do the watching the stars thing before the murder thing?”

  His arm tightened around her, fingers sliding under her buttock to take a firm grip. “Count on it. ”

  “Well then. That will give me time to think about my escape plan. ”

  “I doubt you’ll be thinking much. ”

  She laughed then, a throaty, sultry sound that drew his gray eyes to her in a way that sobered her. She traced his mouth with her nails as he turned his attention back to the road. “How did you know something was going to go wrong? That day with Savannah?”

  “It was a gut feeling. You develop it in the field. A tickling sense that something’s not quite right. ” He shrugged but then gave her an intent look. “That’s not what I want to think about right now. ”

  “What do you want…right now?” She felt the give of the light layer of hair beneath his T-shirt as she trailed her fingertips down his sternum. His chest hair was dark blond, like what was on his head. She wanted to see all of it, not just what was visible from the scoop-necked collar.

  Keeping one hand on the wheel and his eyes on the road, he nevertheless lifted his arm from around her shoulders and reached across her to the zipper of the skirt. He pulled it up a few inches from the slit, but he needed a second hand or her help to get it higher. She put her hand over his.

  “Tell me what you want, Max. ”

  He gave her that glance again, then he made a turn on to a service road. “I want you to put your fingers inside yourself. I want to taste you while I’m driving. ” His gaze went to her face, then higher. “And I wish you didn’t have that stuff on your hair. I think about your hair all the time. What it would feel like, all soft on my chest, my stomach. ”

  She could follow that track in her mind, see herself going down on him, opening up her mouth and sucking on his cock. She fantasized about tying him up while she did it, watching every muscle fighting his bonds. No, she never tied up her subs like that, but fantasizing was a safe indulgence. Though with Max she wondered if she’d be tempted to cross the line into reality, see if he could keep her mind out of the clutches of the past.

  Lifting her hips off the seat, she worked the zipper up so she could put her fingers beneath the pencil skirt. Nudging the thong aside was easy enough. He slowed the vehicle to turn down another road. She helped him shift to lower gear, and they bumped down a dirt road. He’d opened the window and she could smell the water, hear the nighttime wildlife. Fortunately, it was almost cold tonight, meaning the bugs wouldn’t eat them, and the stars would be bright in the sky. Such thoughts didn’t help her coordination.

  Her pussy was soaking wet, no surprise there. Her fingers went in easy and deep, with a quiet sucking noise that she wasn’t sure he’d heard, but when she glanced up and saw he’d brought the truck to a halt, those intense eyes glittering in the darkness, she suspected he had. She pulled her fingers free, brought them up between them. They’d stopped in front of a dock and what looked like someone’s private boat access. One dim light on a pole illuminated a small gravel parking area.

  Curling his fingers around her wrist, Max sucked in her two fingers, glistening with her honey. She stretched out the other fingers, stroking the five o’clock shadow, the cleft in his chin. Superman’s chin, a strong block that went with the strong face and powerful body. A man with a chin like that invariably lived up to it, a genetic indicator of character, courage. She noticed things like that, how often the physical feature appeared on police chiefs, career military men. The man who worked two jobs to support his wife and children. The lone homeless guy who dove into an ice-cold river to pull kids out of a car that had spun off th
e road.

  Max took his time, stroking each finger with his tongue, caressing her palm with his thumb, holding her in that firm grip that did all sorts of things to her lower belly. He seemed to understand the complicated mix inside a Domme—at least this particular one. How the exploration of that intimate interplay of restraint and power could tease her senses, especially if approached with the delicate precision that he’d thus far demonstrated.

  Squeezing her hand, he opened the truck door, then reached behind his seat, withdrawing a duffle bag and a thick blanket. “Stay there a minute. ”

  Moving to the back of the truck, she felt the dip as he stepped onto the wheel well and did something, probably arranging things for her comfort. For their pleasure. She slid behind the wheel, turned so she had her boots propped outside the truck on the running board, and gazed out at the dock. There was a bass boat tied up there.

  “Whose property is this?”

  “A friend’s. He’s in Afghanistan right now. I take his boat out sometimes, keep it maintained. ”

  Max jumped out of the back of the truck, came back to her. He leaned against the open door, studying her with those intent eyes that made the crisp night much warmer. “Why were you going to leave me?” he asked. “At the club?”

  “Control. I don’t like to rush. Or take a step down the wrong path. This is a little like a roller coaster. Once you go over the crest of the hill, there’s no turning back. ”

  “There’s also nothing like the thrill of that ride. ” He caught a lock of her hair between two fingers, massaged it between his knuckles. “What is that stuff?”

  “Sculpting clay. It holds the hair in place, gives me a more severe, scary look. ”

  “Like you need to be more scary. Even Matt Kensington won’t cross you. ”

  “You don’t seem all that scared. ”

  His lips quirked. “Do you want me to be? I don’t think that’s the rush for you. You just like things done right, and you don’t tolerate sloppy work. Carelessness. Or inappropriate behavior. Just like him. You look at something and know how it’s supposed to look or act, how the picture is supposed to be framed. Structure, the way you do it, is how it’s supposed to be. You know it, and you don’t have patience for those who don’t get that. ”