Hot for His Hostage (11 page)

He battled not to take her up on the offer. Fuck, it would be nice to see how the
impact of his palm affected her glorious backside. But he let the silence stretch
once more, still steadily stroking her. After a few minutes, he set the cloth aside
but continued the strokes. During the downward sweeps, he glided his knuckles along
her skin. On the upward, he used the tips of his fingers.

“So tell me about the asshat,” he finally said.

Her shoulders tightened. He expected the reaction but didn’t let up his touch.

“Which one?”

She giggled. Shay didn’t.

“You’re a smart woman. Why don’t you answer that one?.” For good measure, he infused
it with a growl of command. Didn’t do a shred of good. Though Zoe raised her gaze
to meet his, she had guard rails up on her eyes. High ones.

“Isn’t this the time when you ask me what there is to do in Vegas besides gambling
and shows? Then I ask if you’re in LA for business a lot, and where you originally
come from.” When he didn’t respond, she fumbled on. “Then we talk about the holidays,
and I get to tell you how great my tamales are, and—”

“What was his name?”

She snorted. He tried not to let on how much it enchanted him. They didn’t have time
for enchantment. Or small talk. He craved to get deeper inside her—delving into her
spirit this time. And perhaps help to heal it just a little more.

You know, no matter what, it’ll still be a task half-finished, right? Her issues on
this shit have long roots, man—far beyond what a single fuckwit did to her.

Halfway was better than
no
way. Maybe he’d at least give her some food for thought, a direction to go after
this that included some good, solid sense for the next time she ran into a wannabe
Dom. He owed her that much.

No. It was about more than that. So much more.

It was about giving her what she needed.

Her submissiveness…he’d never experienced anything like it. He felt like he’d stumbled
onto a rare flower in the middle of the jungle, ready to burst open for some lucky
man. Instead, she’d damn near been yanked out like a weed. It was time for her to
see the sun. To grow again.

“You really don’t want to know about my tamales?”

He stretched out beside her, propping his head on his hand. “Unless ‘tamale’ is the
clown Dom’s name, then no.”

She sighed. In her eyes, he watched her inner debate. The woman was really something,
actually considering whether to give him some more sarcastic lip. Shay made sure she
watched as he propelled a stare down at her ass.
Go ahead. Give me a reason to spank it, baby girl.

He admitted a slight twinge of dismay when she huffed in surrender.

“Bryce.” She rolled to mirror his position. “His name is Bryce. Happy now?”

His chest tightened. “Is? Or
was
?”

Her lips curled in a knowing female grin. He didn’t relent his glower. Fine. He was
jealous. A little. At least for another hour, he was well within his rights, anyway.
The nation’s toughest judge would agree, considering all the places he’d been inside
her body—and the rare piece of himself that had been peeled back in return.

“He’s not dead,” she countered, “if that’s what you mean. At least I don’t think so.”

He scowled deeper. “And that means…what?”

“He’s a cop. Well,
was
one. I guess he still is. I haven’t heard otherwise. We haven’t talked in a while.”

“Good.”

Her eyes flared. Shay stared back, still unapologetic. She dipped her head and sidled
a little closer, likely guided by pure instinct, a kittenish bid to regain his approval.
Though she’d never lost it, the action moved him. He had a feeling she didn’t get
to play kitten very often.

He tunneled a hand into her hair, tugged her face up, and kissed her soundly. Warmth
suffused her features—and all of his senses. “So tell me more about Clown Dom Bryce.”

She tossed a quick but disparaging glare. “We met after a show one night. There was
a big convention in town, and the hotel requested police support to make sure all
the dancers had protection getting to our cars.”

“And he was your dashing escort.”

“Something like that.” She tucked a strand of hair out of her eyes. “We dated casually
at first, and the sex was that way, too, but open-mindedness is practically a prerequisite
for a Vegas cop…so I had some wine one night and got up the nerve to tell him about
my kinkier needs. I confessed that I’d always had some interest in Power Exchange,
and he jumped on board pretty fast.”

“No shit,” Shay drawled.

She hitched a little shrug. “It was the beginning of the end, as they say.”

“Sure,” he murmured. “As they say.”

She narrowed her eyes again. “
Now
what are you thinking?”

He narrowed his back. “How do you know I’m ‘thinking’ anything?”

“Seriously?” It was a good thing her little eye rolls were so cute. That, combined
with the snarky tone, would earn most subbies in his presence a good swat or two.
“Because you hide your ‘thoughts’ so damn well, is that it?”

Shay gazed intently at her. Actually, that usually
was
it. He wasn’t called “Ironman” just because he was hung well, ran like a rocket,
and was able to hump it out of hot zones with a couple of injured guys on his shoulders.
The name stemmed from his ability to hide the effort beneath it all, too. He was the
guy with the steel poker face—

At least until he’d met her. 

Whose uncanny insight into him was rivalled only by his brother’s.

Which terrified him worse than a hill full of hostiles with loaded RPGs.

Time to steer this conversation in the right fucking direction.

“I was thinking that most people don’t just decide they’re kinky one day, even to
please a boyfriend.” He ran his hand up her back, beneath her hair, to embrace her
nape. “You’ve known about your tastes for a while, haven’t you?”

The sarcasm dissolved from her smile. It left behind a softness so captivating, he
forgot to blink. “My mom died when I was eleven. Needless to say, life sucked for
a while—but in those first few years, I learned I was pretty good at taking care of
my dad and sister. I enjoyed it, too. When the teenage hormones flooded, I transferred
that pleasure into my dating life. It started out with stuff like baking cookies for
my boyfriends, helping them with homework, giving them back rubs.” A subtle blush
flowed over her cheeks. “Once I had my first steady guy, when we were juniors in high
school, I’m afraid the libido took over.”

Shay drifted his hand to her cheek. “I’m sure he was grateful.”

She giggled. “There certainly were no complaints—until the night of our senior prom.”

“What happened then?”

She snuck her bottom lip beneath her teeth. “It was a special night. I told him I
wanted to celebrate by giving myself to him in a new way.”

He couldn’t help smirking. “Let me guess. Ropes or cuffs?”

“Both.”

A laugh tumbled out. “That’s my girl.”

Nix the laugh. Cue the internal barrage of what-the-hell.

That’s my girl
?

Had his sanity left his body with the load of that orgasm? Maybe it had, judging by
the way those words flowed out like he was simply asking about her tamale recipe.

He coughed in an attempt to make recovery easier for them both. Fat fucking chance.
“So I take it the prom night plans didn’t go well?”

She winced. “None of my attempts at kink really have.”

“Including your time with Bryce,” he supplied.

Zoe twisted, gazing at the ceiling while her body still faced him. The position didn’t
look very comfortable but was sexy as hell, so he zipped it. “It wasn’t like we didn’t
try. We
definitely
tried.” She grimaced then shrugged again. “Perhaps it was the blind leading the blind.”

“You think?” Shay snorted.

She batted his shoulder. “Things went from comfortable to weird in a few weeks, so
we decided to break up.” She’d left her hand where it was, and now used a finger to
trace a line from his shoulder to his pec. Her finger followed the scar he’d gotten
from falling on a couple of swords, damn near literally, during a night mission in
Paktika. Had to love those insurgents and their creativity with the booby traps. “How’d
you get this nasty thing?” she murmured.

“How’d you get so good at changing the subject?” He lifted her finger and nibbled
the end. “You and Bryce?” he prompted. “Broken up?”

“We separated for about three months.” Her gaze took on a resigned sadness. “I basically
gave up on the kink dream at that point. Figured my independent streak was embedded
too deep and I’d never get the hang of it, even in Las Vegas.”

“You want me to call major bullshit on you now or later for that?”

Her exotic mouth lifted at the corners. “Maybe you should just spank me.”

“Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead on that.”
Because if you don’t, I’m going to make sure you
hobble
out of here tomorrow, girl.
“So, three months?” he forced himself to echo. “The two of you reunited after that?”
After she nodded, he asked, “Why?”

“The blame for that rests thoroughly on my little sister’s shoulders.”

He scowled. “You dissin’ on your baby sib?”

She clubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “Oh, no. Are you one of
those
?”

“We’re cute, aren’t we?” he countered. “And so misunderstood.”

The three words were possibly the truest thing he’d ever spoken. Even if there’d been
a free chance to contact Tait in the last six months, his older brother would’ve refused
the call. Like the rest of the world, Tait was convinced Shay had gone rogue on his
duty and his team, turning to “the good life” as one of Cameron Stock’s hired guns.
Last he heard, Tait had even requested transfer to JSOC’s new group of boy-toys based
out of Hawaii, the Special Hostilities Readiness Command, aka the “Sharks.” The acronym
wasn’t the only perfect fit for the nickname. Every man on the team was selected for
their tenacious dedication to missions. One of the top targets on their list? Stock’s
ass, of course.

What the SHRCs didn’t know was that thanks to him, the CIA and FBI knew exactly where
Stock’s slime tracks were. But the spooks’ secrecy was because of him, too. If word
got out that Shane Burnett was actually Shay Bommer, the intel would eventually make
its way around to Cameron. Shay’s eye sockets would get an instant renovation—with
bullet lead.

“While I was figuring out how to solve the issue of the kink itch, my sister got officially
engaged to her Dom.” She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “He’d proposed already,
but when the rock came a few months later and they were official—that was when she
told me he was her Dom, too.” Her stare, still directed at the ceiling, tightened
a little more. “Seeing Ava that happy…it gave me hope.”

“So you called Bryce again.” His tone was tight. It was difficult to watch her relive
a hope that had clearly not been satisfied.

“Fine,” she confirmed, picking at the pillow’s edge, “I called Bryce again.”

He resettled his head, confirming his deeper focus to her. “And?”

His chest clenched when new tears sprouted in her eyes. “You know how disaster stories
are sometimes bloodier the second time around?”

Before he could stop it, the pain beneath his ribs was intensified by a sharp breath.
Shay hitched up onto an elbow, barely refraining from shaking her shoulder with his
free hand. “What happened? Did the bastard physically hurt you?”

He wouldn’t be romping in Stock’s circles forever. Once he found Mom and rescued her,
he’d practically be in Vegas, anyhow. How many Bryces could there be in the city’s
police department—especially ones who could, with a little digging, be traced to dalliances
in the lifestyle there?

“No,” Zoe spurted. Her answer came almost too fast for Shay’s liking, but he detected
nervousness more than deceit in her voice. “Perhaps that was the problem,” she added,
looking down.

“Huh?” Shay retorted.

“Let’s just say…I wasn’t his flavor of naughty.”

“Still in the dark here.” He wasn’t lying. The woman’s willingness to please a Dom
was clear as the gorgeous nose on her face. How could she not be a man’s most favorite
flavor of
anything
?

“I was a little more vocal about things when we went back to the dungeon,” she explained.
“Listening to Ava talk about what she has with her Sir…it made me bold about asking
for what I wanted.”

“Which is…?” He sensed he could pre-write her answer already but still wanted to hear
it. There were few things more exhilarating than watching a submissive start to articulate
her hopes, fantasies, deepest desires. And with
this
submissive, he wouldn’t forget the magic for a very long time. Perhaps not ever.

“The connection,” she supplied, the ends of her lips turning up. “The
exchange
part of it, you know?”