Mistress of Redemption (2 page)

wicked nails that might dig into

tender flesh just a little.

Taking a drag on his cigarette, he

savored the vision and waited.

A hundred yards away, she hit the

brakes. Hard. Turned the wheel

directly for him.

The car screamed its fury as a ripple

of flame shot out beneath the back

tire treads, an impressive pyrotechnic

display.

Before he could get a curse out, the

car had come to a snorting, quivering

halt, blowing hot air and dust across

his groin and thighs.

Lifting the cigarette deliberately back

to his lips, he took another drag. Held

it there a moment so he wouldn’t

betray a tremor in his fingers. Son of

a bitch, he hadn’t expected that.

He still cared about being alive.

“You trolling for prison dick,

Princess?”

One slim brow rose and then so did

she, performing a sinuous wriggle to

stand up on the cushioned seat of the

Mercedes and prop her hips against

the headrest.

His cock was going to get hard at any

hint of pussy, never mind the feast

she was displaying in front of him

now. He’d have turned around to see

if the guards were falling out of the

tower, if he gave a rat’s ass. Or if he

didn’t prefer the territory his eyes

were covering right now just fine.

Despite the heat that was making his

cotton clothes feel like impermeable

raingear, this bitch was wearing a

black corset, laced so tight his hands

would have spanned her waist easily.

What was spilling out of the top was

much harder to contain. Jayne

Mansfield tits, the kind that could

suffocate a man and make him die

happy. The latex pants were painted

on, the thigh-high boots covering

them having the effect of zeroing his

attention on her crotch, the lips of her

cunt distinct and separate under the

provocative creases.

When he raised his gaze to her face,

he found those lips were indeed red,

full and wet. Ready to suck a man’s

cock and leave him marked with her

makeup like traces of blood. Her

eyes were rimmed with black, her

lashes thick, completing the Goth

look of her attire. A triple-looped

chain of silver sunbursts and crescent

moon metal discs rode low on her

hips, calling attention to the way they

cocked against the headrest. She

wore gloves up to her elbows. The

only flesh visible below her face was

her upper arms, the rounded curves

of her shoulders, the line of her throat

and slim jaw. Plus that tempting

valley of cleavage.

7

Joey W. Hill

“The only dick I’m trolling for is

yours, Nathan.”

His gaze snapped up, focused more

intently on her face. “Dona?”

She inclined her head. “You’ve a

good memory.”

“Not as good as yours, if you’re here

on my release date.”

Not expecting to see a familiar face

today, he hadn’t bothered to look past

the display of high-grade pussy. Now

he couldn’t believe he hadn’t

recognized her right off, but then she

would have tied with a complete

stranger as the last person he’d have

anticipated showing up for him.

At The Zone, the fetish club she most

frequented, she’d had a reputation for

being a supreme bitch of a Mistress,

able to bring a man to his knees and

make him beg for anything. He’d

never been able to get this close to

her. The few times his gaze had found

her through the dim light of the club,

she’d been studying him, her dark

eyes unreadable. When he’d been in

a savage enough mood to try and fuck

with the mind of a hard-core Mistress

like her, she’d been nowhere to be

found. His curiosity had driven him

to seek out more information about

her. Strangely enough, despite her

renown, no one could identify a man

who’d served her. No one had been

able to offer a firsthand account so he

could learn her technique. Her

weaknesses.

He dropped the cigarette, ground it

out and hooked his thumbs in his belt

loops, curling his fingers loosely on

his thighs on either side of his crotch.

“So if you’re here for my dick,

spread yourself on the hood of that

Mercedes, baby.

I’ll be happy to do you right here.”

She didn’t bat an eyelash, but her

gaze coursed smoothly over him,

lingering on his groin. “You always

were blessed in that area. A nice,

thick tool to make a Mistress sigh

with pleasure. You had a good body.

But prison used those muscles, made

them real, didn’t it? It toughened you

up good. I like your hair longer, that

dangerous glint to those pretty blue

eyes. You’re looking like a fine, cool

drink of water out here in the hot

desert. I’ve a mind to take you

somewhere I can enjoy that tool and

those muscles at my own pace.”

Her tone was as sultry as the

weather. Her eyes, as they lifted back

to his, were as relentless as the sun’s

heat. He knew she wasn’t inviting

him anywhere. Her manner said that

if he knew what was good for him,

he’d get his ass in the car.

“I’m out of that now.”

“Yeah.” Those lips curved in a

mocking smile, her attention dropping

back down to his erection pressing

against his jeans, a reaction he’d

indifferently made more noticeable

by the frame of his large hands on

either side of it. “I can see that.”

“I’ve seen nothing but ugly bastards

with dicks for five years, and you’ve

driven up in an outfit that says you’re

here to give me some. So stop being

a cock-tease and offer it. Or fuck

off.” He patted his shirt for another

cigarette.

“Oh, you’re pushing it, sweet boy.

Just begging for punishment, aren’t

you?”

8

Mistress of Redemption

His fingers fumbled the pack the

moment she said it, a trigger inside

him squeezing off, making him even

harder. He clamped down on the

cigarette with his teeth. Feeling in the

narrow confines of a jeans pocket for

his lighter, he found he couldn’t get

his fingers down there, his organ had

gotten so huge.

“Come here.” She crooked a finger at

him. It sported a long black glossy

nail with a silver star appliqué that

flashed, giving the sharp point of the

nail the appearance of a scalpel in

the glaring sunlight. His lower

extremities became even tauter. He

was likely going to cream himself

just from looking at her.

He didn’t like the way she was

looking at him. All proprietary, as

though he were a dog she knew

wasn’t content unless he was at a

Mistress’s heel.

He didn’t want to play this game.

He’d planned a simple,

uncomplicated fuck with a paid

whore, followed by that shave and

shower. He just needed to get his

uncooperative cock to understand

that.

“I’m waiting for the bus.” The

fucking bus that should have been

here by now.

“Jonathan Powell, on public

transportation.” She mocked his gruff

tone. “Wouldn’t he rather be seen

with a sexy woman in a fast,

powerful car? I’ve already set up an

appointment for your haircut and

manicure. A full shave.” When her

attention lowered again, he swore he

felt the feathering of those thick

lashes stroke his cock from twenty

feet away. “Or is he running away

because there’s a woman he doesn’t

think he can handle?”

Her words taunted him inside the

way her voice was doing outside. He

perused her thoroughly, resting his

attention insolently long on those

luscious tits before he gave her a

mocking bow.

“What the hell. For a shower and a

shave, I guess I’m all yours,

Mistress.”

Picking up his bag, he strode to the

door of the car on her side and tossed

it into the backseat under her intent

regard. “Like what you see?”

“I like to study my food before I eat

it. It’s called savoring, Nathan.”

“Jonathan. I go by Jonathan. Someone

told you wrong at the club.”

“That’s not what you call yourself.”

Before he could circle around to the

passenger side, she bent forward,

giving him a view of her breasts that

made him want to howl like a

ravenous wolf. Reaching out, she slid

two fingers deep into the recesses of

the pocket of his jeans and found his

lighter.

She retracted it, making him

hyperaware of his hard cock only an

inch away from her touch. When she

got it free, she fired the lighter in a

mean line drive across the road so it

landed on the asphalt and clattered

off into the sand. Plucking his

cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, she

tossed them in the same direction.

“I’ll call you whatever I fucking

want. You won’t be smoking. You’re

my slave, so get your ass in the car.

Nathan
.”

The anger surged up in him, hot,

bloodthirsty. He made no effort to

hide it, narrowing his gaze. It was a

look other prisoners had learned to

respect. She merely waited, those

breasts at eye level, dominating his

vision. God, she smelled so…female.

9

Joey W. Hill

Perfume. Hair shampoo. Body spray.

Powdery female deodorant. He

wanted to wallow in those scents, in

a woman. He despised himself for

needing one like her far more than he

needed a vanilla fuck.

Mistresses knew a submissive man’s

needs were more complex. He

wasn’t a

complete whipped candy-ass like

other male subs. However, he

couldn’t deny fucking with a

Domme’s head had taught him

pleasure like nothing else had. Her

standing there with that “I’m-going-

to-work-you-over” smug smile on her

face was more than he could resist.

So he tried out a smile of his own,

one he hadn’t pulled out of his hat in

over five years. A smile capable of

making a woman wet just from the

implication of it.

“May I help you back down behind

the wheel?
Mistress
.”

With an amused look that made him

feel as if she was scoffing at him, she

placed her hand in his. The feel of a

woman’s fingers, delicate and

smooth, capable of being merciful or

merciless, made his hand tighten

briefly. While he absorbed his own

reaction, she stood still, apparently

waiting for his next move, a surprise

courtesy. He almost sensed…

compassion. As well as a terrible

knowledge he didn’t have and didn’t

want to know about himself. It raised

a need in him so strong he wouldn’t

give a name to it. If he hadn’t known

that jerking back might unbalance her

and make her fall on her ass,

depriving him of his ride, he would

have done it. Instead, he steadied his

mind and watched her use his weight

as a counterbalance to slide back

down into the seat.

Withdrawing her hand with a nod,

she followed him with that same

inscrutable look as he circled to the

passenger side and got into the car.

“You owe me cigarettes. And a

lighter.” He rasped it out of a dry

throat.

“No, I don’t. By the end of our time

together, Nathan, you’re going to owe

me everything.”

10

Mistress of Redemption

Chapter Two

The landscape rocketed by, a blur of

sand and sharp vegetation. The wind

was a blessing on his face, as was

the knowledge that the prison was

getting farther and farther away.

Freedom. His glance cut to the

driver. Of a sort. But at what time in

his life had he not had to play the

angles? There wasn’t any such thing

as true freedom, not in this crappy-

assed world. The dangerous fantasy

was believing there could be. A man

could give in, delude himself into

thinking he could find a substitute for

freedom by chaining himself to

someone else. He’d found something

that gave him a taste of both, a way to

be beyond everyone’s grasp when

they thought he was captured. She’d

be no different. He told himself he’d

enjoy the game, particularly with this

one. Like the taste of an ice-cold beer

after years of nothing but tepid water.

He could be called crazy for even

getting into her car. His last such

relationship was what had landed

him in prison. However, he’d had

time to think it over from every angle

and he knew what his mistake had

been in that situation. He’d let his