I Belong to You (18 page)

After we return our badges at the guard post, Jacob leads us down the hallway beyond. Opening the door to the parking lot, he stops us with a hand as he scans for trouble. After he waves us forward, he opens the back door of the Escalade for us. I help Crystal into the vehicle, and as I prepare to join her I hear, “Mr. Compton.”

The familiar voice to my right grinds my nerve endings, and Jacob and I both jerk in its direction. Detective Grant steps out of the shadows. “Detective,” I say to him shortly, giving his tan trench coat a once-over. “You’re looking very Inspector Gadget.”

“Compliments will get you nowhere, Mr. Compton,” he chides.

“Nevertheless, I find it hard to resist a well-deserved one when it’s due,” I reply dryly. “How exactly did you find me here?”

“Process of elimination. It’s how I operate, picking away at people, things, and problems, bit by bit.”

“Which would be effective, if you chose your targets effectively.”

“I was right about Ava killing Rebecca, and right about her using her young employee to finish her dirty work.”

“But she got away. Didn’t she?”

“Yes. She got away, and there lies the problem. It’s a huge one, to you especially, I’m sure. One that could, say, make you want to take matters in your own hands.”

“What I want is justice, and the security of knowing my family is safe.”

“I hear you might hunger for a side of vengeance with your justice.”

I manage not to stiffen. Did Blake tell him that? “I’m not sure anyone who’s lost someone they loved doesn’t have that emotion.”

“Now you loved Rebecca? I thought she was just your sex slave.”

The insult is a jab in my heart, but I manage not to react. “What is it you want?”

“I thought I’d give you a heads-up about tomorrow’s meeting with the Long Island PD for your attorney. Per Corey, he and Ava were blindfolded and beaten. She escaped and rescued him, dropping him off at the hospital. But before she left him, he says she bid him a tearful good-bye and apologized for underestimating the violence you were capable of, implying that you were their captor.”

Another setup by Ava? “If you study people as you say, then you must be smart enough to know I wouldn’t bring trouble home with my mother fighting for her life.”

“Ah, but you’d have to bring it here,
because
you have a mother fighting for her life.”

The nerve he hits is deep and angry, and I actually find myself swaying toward him, even taking a step.

Crystal is suddenly by my side, her hand gripping my arm. “Let your attorney handle this, Mark.”

“Or you could just go all vigilante on me,” the detective taunts.

Every part of me wants to throttle him, but I clamp down on the emotion. “Let’s go,” I tell Crystal, giving him my back as I help her into the Escalade. I join her without another look at the detective.

As Jacob joins us I already have my cell phone out, dialing Tiger. The instant he answers, I say, “Detective Grant paid me a visit.”

“When? Where?”

“Just now, at my father’s sports facility.” I relay the conversation.

“But he didn’t say Corey saw you, correct?” Tiger asks.

“Correct.”

“Then it’s hearsay and they can’t do shit to you. And he knows it. That’s why he showed up. He knows this all has to be wearing on you, and he was trying to set you off and get you to do something erratic. I’ll handle it. You stay away from it. This is my show.”

“Right.” I end the call and I hear Jacob on his phone, relaying the details of the incident to someone. Ava and Jimenez may be trying to destroy me, but they aren’t the masterminds. It has to be either Ricco or Ryan.

I look down to find Crystal’s hand on my leg and I can feel her willing me to look at her, but I don’t. I’m thinking about the letter she received, and how easily she could be in the line of fire, if she isn’t already. And my parents, as well.

Removing the disposable phone from my pocket, uncaring if Crystal or Jacob hears what I have to say, I punch the auto-dial. At three rings, I hear, “I got nothing, man. Ava and Jimenez are ghosts.”

“Don’t tell me you ‘got nothing.’ She’s here in New York. Find her. And there’s a hundred thousand dollars in it for you if you get me conclusive evidence of who’s behind Jimenez’s involvement.” I punch the End button.

“Care to tell me who that was, and who Jimenez is?” Jacob asks, eyeing me from the rearview mirror.

“Not yet.” My hand covers Crystal’s, and I’m not letting go.

Eighteen

Mark . . .

The ride to Crystal’s is dark and tremulous. I am not where I need to be mentally; I’m inside my own head, guilt driving me nearly insane. The emotions I’ve spent ten years denying are shredding me into pieces I can’t hold together. I’m on the edge of the present and the past, weaving between control and no control at all.

When Jacob stops at the front door we exit into the bitter cold, me still holding on to Crystal’s hand. After he makes sure we enter safely, we continue across the lobby to the elevators. Crystal doesn’t push me to speak and I don’t look at her, willing myself to get right in my head before we’re alone.

Inside the elevator I lean on the wall and enclose Crystal in my arms, feeling one dominant need: to control everything around her, including her, to ensure that nothing hurts her. Though this is the same flawed thinking I’ve used for ten years, it’s what I know, and who I am.

“Mark,” Crystal whispers softly, and I meet her gaze, mine unguarded. I let her see the dark need in me, the possessiveness. I want her to know what’s coming. I want her to see this is a part of me that won’t go away. It’s how I steady myself when my world is spinning.

Our floor number dings and I cup her head, kissing her fast and hard, then release her to close my hand around hers and lead her out of the car, down the hall, and to her apartment.
Our
apartment right now, and it’s remarkably easy for me to think about spending every day with this woman. I won’t lose her. I won’t.

She digs her keys from her coat pocket and her hand shakes. I grab the keys. “I’m making you nervous.” Her lashes lower and I curse. “Of course I am. I’m making
me
nervous.”

Her gaze lifts. “You aren’t making me nervous. It’s the unknown. You’re on edge, and you need things I don’t know how to give you. Simple fucking is all I know.”

“Do you want to know more?”

Her hand goes to my arm. “I want to know you.”

It’s everything I wouldn’t have wanted in the past. Now, the part of me that wants to chain her to a bed, spank her, and make her submit shrinks into the shadows—but it’s not gone. I slip my hand to her hip and pull her close. “Then the answer is yes.”

“Yes,” she repeats.

“Then I’ll take care of the rest.” I unlock the door and push it open.

She inhales, a sign I’m coming to know as her means of calming herself and gaining control. She holds the air in for a moment, and on the exhaled breath she walks inside.

I pursue her, reaching for that comfortable part of me that’s more primal beast than man; a place where I can reclaim control by showing Crystal the pleasure of letting it go. Safety is letting me have control. Tabitha ran off. Rebecca left. I didn’t have control then, and I don’t now. I didn’t intentionally bring Crystal into this. She was already inside my family and my work, and I can’t simply send her away to keep her safe. So I need control. I have to have it.

Crystal hesitates in the hallway, and there’s a spike of unease around her that with anyone else, I wouldn’t pause for. I’d order them forward, intentionally making them walk in front of me. But this is Crystal. The nervousness radiating off her rushes into me, and I’m instantly snapped back to man, not beast. That easily, I’m reminded that she is like no other woman I’ve ever known. And apparently, no matter how on edge, I am no version of myself that I was before her.

My hand settles on her back, gently urging her forward, and I’m a tightly paced step behind her. The curtains are open, the moon and stars illuminating the room and making artificial light unnecessary. We stop in the bedroom beside the bed. She faces me and I her, her back to the mattress. Again I find myself acting outside my Master instincts. Instead of ordering her to do something intensely erotic, I cave to the urge to caress the shadows sculpting her high cheeks, her luminous skin, and I hope the touch offers her a sense of security as I take her into a new world. My world, where I’m done denying that I want her.

I cup her face and rest my forehead on hers. Damn it to hell. Control is the answer.
It’s the answer. Focus. One. Two. Three. Four. Five and fucking six.
“Reach into my right coat pocket,” I tell her, my voice remarkably calm considering the chaos in my head.

She does. “The bag,” she whispers, holding it between us.

I laugh at the way she says it. Though it’s tight and unfamiliar, it’s still a laugh, something I’ve never done during any Master/submissive game.

She glances up at me and I say, “It’s not a bomb, sweetheart.”

“That’s up for debate after I see what’s inside.”

I cover the bag and her hand with mine. “You can always say no to this, now or later.”

She studies me closely. “Who’s more on edge? You or me?”

“Me.” I shrug out of my coat and then my jacket, tossing them on the bed.

“I know you didn’t have Corey beaten.”

“If I thought you believed I did, I wouldn’t be here.” I take the bag from her and set it on the bed, returning to caress her coat over her shoulders. She slips it down her arms, and I catch it before it falls, tossing it on top of mine.

We stand face-to-face, staring at each other. Her trying to read me, me trying to stop thinking about her trying to read me, and just get to the craft of fucking. “I’ve been thinking about getting you naked all day long.” I tug her front zipper down to her waist, granting me a delicious slice of skin.

“I generally think you have on too many clothes,” she replies, her voice a soft rasp of desire.

My gaze lifts to hers at the uncensored comment.
Always honest.
She is who she is. And that, to me, is even sexier than the sexy-as-hell red lace bra now exposed, the material barely covering her nipples.

“You’re going to get plenty of me naked tonight, I promise you.” My gaze lowers to the swell of her breasts and I trace the line of lace, letting the material and my fingers tease her nipple covers.

Her breathing deepens in response, a subtle sign of hyperarousal that tells me I affect her as deeply and intensely as she does me.
Honest.
The word rolls through my mind again, followed by another.
Trust.
Suddenly, I know
that’s
what I need tonight. That is what is driving me. I need to know that, after everything I’ve told her about how I behaved with Rebecca, she knows I won’t hurt her, and I won’t let anyone else hurt her. And I need to know she can still see the man I want to be, not just the one I let myself become.

Gently, I settle my hand on the side of her neck. “Trust me,” I murmur softly. “Give yourself to me, Crystal, and I won’t make you regret it.”

She tilts her head and studies me a long moment, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her decision. I’ve used seduction to gain control many times, and played erotic games that ensured it. And though the chemistry between us is strong enough for me to do that now, it isn’t what I want. Her freely offering it is the only option for either of us.

Understanding and acceptance fill her face. “I trust you, Mark Compton. And I want
you
to trust you again.”

I inhale sharply at the depth of her ability to see inside my battle, which has become our battle, as well. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. There’s a price for hesitation.”

“What kind of price?”

“Nothing I won’t announce in advance, and even that, you can decline. It’s always your choice. But don’t take the power of saying ‘no’ or ‘stop’ lightly. I don’t. If you speak those words, I
will
stop. So make sure that’s what you really want. Understand?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I understand.”

Desire rips through me and I move backward, leaning on the wall to the bathroom.

“Undress,” I say softly.

Her hands slip beneath the shoulders of her dress and she pulls the sleeves down her arms. She shimmies the dress down her hips, leaving herself in tights and her bra. Without hesitation, she reaches for her bra.

“The tights first,” I tell her, saving the bra, and the nipple suction cups beneath it, for the moment when I have total control.

She does as I command, sitting on the edge of the bed to roll them away, taking her panties with them. I watch the silky expanse of pale skin appear, the triangle of blond hair in the V of her body, heat stirring in my own, cock thickening, but I don’t move. I wait. Watch. Anticipate the way she’ll taste, smell, and feel.

Task complete, she starts to stand, but I stop her. “Stay right there.” She sits back on the bed, unhooking her bra. Arching her shoulders, she drags the lacy material forward, freeing her breasts, and gasping as the nipple covers tug with the release of the pressure the bra created.

I push off the wall and walk to her, going down on one knee in front of her. I reach for the bag and set it on her knees. “Open it.”

She inhales, and on her exhale she reaches for the string tying the velvet closed. She tugs and the bag opens, revealing a pair of three-inch-wide red leather cuffs with silver clips. She stares down at them, unmoving, unspeaking. Several moments pass and she doesn’t look up.

“Crystal,” I say, but she doesn’t respond. I’m not sure she’s even breathing.

Crystal . . .

The room closes in on me, the past a wicked gloved hand wrapped around my throat, making breathing and thinking nearly impossible.

“Crystal,” Mark says again and I tell myself to look at him, telling myself I’m strong enough not to show my panic.

“Ms. Smith.”

My gaze snaps up at the sharp command in his voice. “Crystal,” I correct.

“Who owns you, Crystal?” he surprises me by asking.

I blink. “What?”

“Who owns you?”

“I do.”

“Not tonight. Tonight, I own you.”

Unbelievably, with the outrageous declaration that should have me fighting mad, that gloved hand slides away from my throat. I trust Mark, even if he doesn’t. And if he owns me, the past doesn’t. I almost sag with relief. “For the night,” I concede. “You own me for only this night.”

He agrees, tossing aside the velvet bag and picking up the cuffs. “Set your hands on your knees.”

I glance at them and back at him. “I think I’m more of a silk tie kind of girl.”

“Silk ties require knots, and if you want to get free I can’t do it quickly.” He shows me the silver clips on the side of the cuff, using his finger to flip one back and forth like a light switch. “You say you want to be free, and you’re free.”

“You promise?”

“You have my word.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“If I were to tell you, it would destroy both the anticipation and the freedom that full trust gives you, and us. Rest your hands on your knees.”

He wants trust. He needs trust to heal. I need to get over my fear of being trapped, to heal. I flatten my palms on my knees.

“Turn them over, wrists up.”

I do as he says and I expect him to attach the cuffs, but instead he leans down and kisses one of my wrists. His tongue flicks the sensitive skin, sending shivers up my arm and tightening the suctions on my nipples. Lingering there, he drives me wild with erotic sensations as he drags his lips up and down my arm, inhaling deeply as he returns to my wrist, his brow furrowing as he glances at me. “Why do you smell like jasmine and rum?”

“Jasmine and rum?” I laugh, a ball of tension in my belly dissolving at the unexpected comment. “I have no idea about the rum. My shampoo and bubble bath are jasmine scented. The perfume roller I keep in my purse is vanilla.”

He brings my wrist to his nose again. “Rum.”

“Vanilla,” I say.

He flattens my hands back on my knees. “Whatever it is, you smell good enough to eat.” I squeeze my thighs together a little tighter at the erotic words that have me thinking about all the places his tongue could soon be; I’m distracted enough that I’m shocked when the first cuff closes around my wrist. The second cuff follows, and my laughter fades while my heart does this crazy fluttering thing that can’t be good for me. I inhale to calm myself, a technique a therapist I saw in my teens taught me.

Mark snaps the clasps into place on the cuffs, his gaze lifting sharply to mine. “Why is your leg trembling?”

“Adrenaline,” I say, pretty certain that’s what has my heart jumping around as well.

He laces the fingers of one hand into my hair. “Are you scared?”

“No. Yes. No. Damn it—I keep sounding indecisive with you, and I’m never indecisive.” I try to be clear. “I’m not scared of you. The lack of control thing is an issue for me.”

His expression tightens. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” I say quickly, aware that he’s reading my reaction as a lack of trust. I laugh nervously. “Unless you’d rather skip the cuffs and look for the rum? Preferably with your tongue?”

He releases my hair and reaches for the clasp of one cuff to free me. I grab his hand. “No, I was joking. I’m okay.”

“You don’t seem okay.”

“We both have some things to work through.” Seconds tick by, and I am certain he’s waiting for more—but like him, I’m not ready.

“I’ve said this before, but I want to be
very
clear. You are freedom to me, Crystal. A place I can be the man beneath the Master. Where my pain isn’t my weakness. I want to be that with you, but to do that, you have to be willing to be vulnerable.”

“I really do that for you?”

“Yes. That’s why I say this is honest. We’re honest and real, and those are things I’ve missed in my life. Let me show you how experiencing an intense, erotic scene ensures there’s no room for anything else.”

“You never leave room for anything else. But does ‘intense’ mean pain?”

“It doesn’t have to, but it can.”

“Pain to you is what?” I ask, the cotton in my throat making my voice gravelly.

“It depends on the person and the scene. A spanking can come in many erotic forms. You can add flogging or clamping or both. Caning is the most intense, reserved for people who are on the more extreme end.”

“I don’t even want to know what that is.”

“You don’t have to know. I wouldn’t do anything I didn’t give you a chance to decline. And once our mutual perimeters are set, a Master is supposed to know when, and what, is too much. That doesn’t come without nurturing the bond and taking things slowly.”