Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

A fine line appeared. Good, her skin was his favorite kind. Not so thin as to tear; delicate enough to mark easily. She’d have a pretty red line there in a few hours. “Oh yeah, that’s nice, Tex.”

She swallowed. “DeVries, I—”

“Uh-uh.” He took the butcher knife up and laid it between her breasts, so she could feel the weight of it. Recognize it. When he saw the tiny quiver of her muscles, he picked the knife up and rested the back of the blade against the side of her neck.

Her muscles all went tight. With no experience, she’d only note the coldness of the edge, not that it wasn’t the sharp side.

“What’d I ask you to call me, Lindsey?”

“Sir.” The cords in her throat stood out with her tension. “I’m sorry. Sir. Master.”

“Very good.”

HE WOULDN’T HURT her, she told herself that. Again. And Again. Every cell in her body seemed located in her neck where the cold steel lay over her carotid artery. Her breathing was so shallow, she could feel the tiny lift of her ribs with each fast breath.

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.”

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.