Take Me Deeper (16 page)

“He told me there was a way to earn some really good money, all I had to do was give this guy some packages.” She hated how fragile her voice was, how pathetic she sounded. How she couldn't seem to layer over it that veneer of “don't give a fuck” she'd cultivated. “He wouldn't tell me what was in those packages, only that I should trust him that he w-wouldn't make me do anything bad. I believed him. I
wanted
to believe him. Even when I suspected what was in those packages. And then something went wrong and I was arrested and child services came and they took her. They took Jamie…” She stopped, the words shattering and cracking as her throat drew tight with shame. Jerking her head out of his grip, she turned it on the pillow away from him, curling her body in on herself and shutting her eyes tight.

She couldn't look at him anymore. She couldn't bear his judgment. It was easier to be in the darkness where she was alone, where she was safe.

But again his strong fingers were there, gripping her chin, turning her, pushing her over and onto her back, the raw heat and power of his body sliding over her, pinning her to the sheet. She kept her eyes shut, shaking at the feel of his hot, bare skin on hers, the weight of him pressing her down.

There was a long, terrible silence, then he said quietly, “If you want to be punished for that, then I'll punish you.” There wasn't a hint of accusation or judgment in his tone, only a kind of deep sympathy that had tears pricking the backs of her eyes. “But when I've finished, it's over. Understand me? No more guilt, no more blaming yourself, and don't bother denying it, I can see that's exactly what you're doing. You take your punishment and then you leave it all behind, okay?”

A tear leaked out of one eye, sliding down over her cheek, and she didn't trust herself to speak. He saw too much. He saw everything and she didn't have a clue how to protect herself from that. But something about the idea of punishment rang true for her so she only nodded, keeping her eyes shut, unable to even look at him.

Maybe he'd make it hurt and maybe that would be good. Pain to make up for the pain she'd caused her sister. The pain she'd caused all those other people while she'd blithely delivered those drugs. It would be karma, right?

Yet there was no pain when he finally touched her. Only his hands on her face, stroking carefully, then down her neck to her throat, tracing patterns on her skin. “I know what you're thinking,” he said as his hands drifted over her. “You've gone all tense, which means you're bracing yourself.” His warm palms cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, baby, but I'm not into pain. And I think you've been hurt enough.” Pressure on her nipples as he pinched them, but not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to send an arrow of sensation straight between her thighs, making her gasp. “So this is your punishment. I want you to keep your eyes closed, stay still, and don't make a sound, no matter what I do. And you're not allowed to come until I say.” Another pinch, making her shudder like a tree in the path of an oncoming storm. “Nod if you understand.”

She wanted to deny everything, that she didn't want to be punished, that she didn't deserve it. But that, of course, was a lie and she knew it. On some level, deep inside, she knew punishment was exactly what she deserved and that he was wrong, she did need to be hurt, because how else could she make up for what she'd done?

Yet she was afraid. She already hurt and it was a splinter lodged in her heart, one that she could never get out, no matter how hard she tried. And disturbing that splinter the way he was doing only made it hurt worse.

Still, what could she do? He'd handcuffed her to the bed, so she had no choice but to take it. Bizarrely, it was that thought that eased some of the tension inside her, and she gave him the nod he wanted, keeping her eyes still tightly shut.

“Good girl.” He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, sending more jolts of electricity through her, another soft gasp escaping her throat. “But stay quiet, remember? Another sound like that and I might have to do something you won't like.”

She almost asked him what that might be, but stopped herself at the last minute. And then all questions dissipated like smoke as his hands began to move downward, trailing over the curve of her waist to the swell of her hips. He stroked her gently, softly, tracing her hipbones with his fingers and sweeping his thumbs over her stomach, making all her muscles tense and her breath come in fractured gasps.

He moved lower, his hands caressing her thighs, slowly easing them apart. Then she jerked, unable to stop the motion, the sound of the handcuffs clinking against the metal as she felt his fingers press firmly on her inner thighs, holding them wide, his thumbs easing over the hot, slick flesh of her pussy, spreading her open.

She tensed, heat washing over her skin, having to bite down on the desperate groan that threatened to escape. Her thoughts were cloudy in her head, and she couldn't quite understand why it was so important she obey him, but the fact was, she
had
to. This was a punishment and she had to take it.

“Perfect,” he murmured, and she felt him shift on the bed, his hands keeping up the pressure on her thighs. “Stay like that, baby. Don't move a muscle.”

Now it was getting to the stage where she didn't want to disobey. She wanted to do exactly what he said, to please him, hear him say more of those warm, encouraging things to her, tell her what a good girl she was. It was ridiculous how much she wanted to hear that from him, how badly her soul seemed to crave the words, and the fact that this was all in the context of a punishment seemed to make it sweeter. Cathartic even.

As weird as it was in this context, she had to do this for Jamie. For herself.

So she shivered and she shook, but she didn't move a muscle, staying silent and still, fighting not to moan as the warmth of his breath stole over the tender skin of her inner thighs. Then the burn of a kiss there, like an ember, pressed against her flesh. And again, on the other side.

“Can't wait to taste you.” His voice was a rough whisper. “But it's going to get harder for you when I do, because I'm not going to go easy on you, understand?”

She knew he wasn't looking for an answer, and besides, that would mean speaking and he'd told her to be quiet, so she didn't respond, bracing herself for what was coming next instead.

Heat. A burst of white-hot pleasure. His tongue licking right up the center of her sex, slow and easy, as if he had all day to drive her insane. And her hand pulled against the handcuff, the other curling into a fist on the pillow to stop herself from reaching for him, because he'd told her to keep that there as well. Her breathing made tearing sounds as she fought to stay silent, and all the while that shameless, wicked tongue of his concentrated on her clit, circling and teasing the way he had with his fingers.

Light exploded behind her eyes and she twisted on the bed, her back arching. More tears were leaking out from under her closed lids and she couldn't stop them. And then she didn't care, the pleasure coiling like a giant snake inside her, a hard, tight knot that only got tighter and tighter. She lifted her hips, trying to get some friction, anything to ease the tension, but he simply held her hips firmly down on the bed. “What did I say about keeping still?” His voice was hard with warning, so she forced herself to lie flat, staying as motionless as possible.

Turned out he wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't going to make it easy for her. Keeping her spread wide, he nibbled and sucked at her clit before licking her in that lazy way, like she was an ice cream melting in the sun. And she panted and bit her lip to stop from screaming, tasting blood as everything began to get more and more desperate.

He spread his hands on her thighs, applying pressure to force her legs wider apart, before covering her pussy completely with his mouth, his tongue pushing into her, deep and slow.

Pleasure pulled tight to an excruciating point and her mouth opened in a silent scream, shuddering helplessly under his hands as her thoughts cracked under the sheer weight of sensation. And as the pleasure became an agony, she was conscious of only one thing.

She would take this. She wouldn't break. She would obey him and take her punishment, make him proud. She would do this.

She was strong.

Time lost meaning. She forgot where she was. Forgot who she was with. There was only the feel of his tongue on her and the gentle tease of his fingers on her thighs, and the blaze of agonized pleasure that went on and on, never ending, all consuming. She forgot her own name. She was only this burning thing, existing only for the moment when the whole world would break and she would break along with it. But this time she wasn't scared. This time she wanted it more than she wanted her next breath.

“You're so good, baby,” he whispered against her wet, swollen flesh. “But it's time to stop now. Come for me, Iris. Scream for me.”

He flicked his tongue against her painfully hard clit and the world exploded. And she came for him, screamed for him, and fell apart for the third time in twenty-four hours, sobbing and sobbing as the endless wave of pleasure rolled over her, as if her heart had come to pieces inside her chest.

She'd never cried so hard in all her life, and she found she didn't care that he could see her like this. That he had the power to break her like this. It just didn't seem to matter.

What mattered was the strength of his arms around her, gathering her against him, turning her face into his chest and holding her as she cried.

Zane held her tight, his body aching, his own hunger like a heavy drumbeat in his head. The taste of her lingered in his mouth, and he wanted to push her back down onto the bed and take his own pleasure. But she was sobbing as if her heart were being ripped out of her chest so he didn't make a move, only held her firmly against him.

He didn't speak, there wasn't anything to say. She blamed herself for how her sister had been taken away and the hurt of that went deep. Hell, he knew how deep hurt like that went himself. It felt like failure and it colored everything you did, every word, every action. And the real shit of it was that no matter how hard you ran or how hard you denied, it caught up to you eventually.

His chest ached with sympathy for her. For the honest trust she'd placed in that arrogant asshole who'd betrayed her. Whom she'd let into her life because she'd assumed he was trying to help her, and yet who in the end had ended up ripping her life apart.

Not that it sounded like much of a life to start with, left all alone in a scummy trailer park with a little sister to look after. What had happened to her mother? Her father? Why the
fuck
had she been left alone?

The ache in his chest deepened a bit more and he stroked her hair, feeling the soft warmth of her ragged breathing against his skin.

No wonder she'd been so prickly with him. No wonder she'd been so reluctant to trust. She'd been badly hurt by people she should have been able to trust.

A murderous rage swirled inside Zane. He wanted to go and find this Dylan guy and teach the asshole a few home truths about loyalty. With his fists. But of course that would be pointless and wouldn't help Iris any. Only staying here and protecting her was going to do that.

Well, if he hadn't been clear on his path before, he certainly was now. Nothing would stop him from keeping her safe. Nothing.

Fixing her won't fix you. Won't fix what happened with Charlie. And it won't fix your damn family. You know that, don't you?

Zane nearly growled at the thought. Yeah, so this situation was a little like what had happened with Charlie, but only in terms of a woman who needed protection. Charlie hadn't had a cartel after her and Iris wasn't his first love. And as for his family…Well, his parents were dead and his brothers were at each other's throats. Nothing could fix that except maybe a time machine.

So why be a hero now? What's the goddamn point?

He could answer that easy. Because Iris didn't have anyone else. Because someone had to help her and he'd decided that someone was him.

Keeping his grip on her, Zane reached for the key to the handcuffs and unlocked them, chafing her wrist to get the blood flowing. She made a soft sound, tucking herself closer to him, burrowing against his chest, the movement sending another lightning strike of sensation to his already-rock-hard cock. Christ, he wanted her. But now wasn't the time, not with the salty marks of tears staining her cheeks.

She quieted after a time, lying peacefully against his chest, and he had the odd feeling that he wouldn't mind lying here with her for the next few hours. They didn't have to talk or even do anything, it was enough to hold her and have the warmth of her next to him. Strange thing to want, especially when he had other, more important things that needed his attention.

He stroked her hair idly, liking the feel of it on his skin. “So what happened to your parents? How come you ended up looking after your sister?”

She sighed. “I never knew my dad. Mom never talked about him. In fact, she never talked about much at all except how much she hated being in a trailer park and having to look after two kids. I mostly took care of Jamie because she was always off drinking in bars or hanging out with her friends. Basically the day I turned eighteen, she told me she was going to L.A. to live with some guy and not to worry, I was old enough to look after Jamie on my own.”

The rage he'd felt about the stupid Dylan prick returned, hotter and more vicious. “Jesus Christ, seriously? She left you alone? With a baby sister to look after?”

Iris gave a funny little shrug. “She didn't want to stay and I couldn't make her. I just…decided I'd be a better mother to Jamie than Mom ever was.”

The look on her face changed at that and he knew what she was thinking.

“Hey.” He tapped her chin gently. “Remember what I said? No more beating yourself up. Sounds to me like you pretty much raised your sister on your own. And the fact that both of you are alive and well, given that, is pretty goddamn amazing, okay?”

The tightness in her mouth eased, the corner curling in a way that reached way down inside him and pulled. Hard.

Luckily, before he could examine that pulling sensation too closely, his phone chimed with a new text message and, shifting his hold on Iris, he reached out to grab the annoying piece of technology, scowling when he saw who the text was from. Quinn, being his usual autocratic self and asking Zane where the hell he was and saying that he was needed for a meeting with Duchess.

Zane was very tempted to tell his brother what he could do with his damn meeting, but he had a suspicion it was going to be about Iris, and that meant he couldn't. Ignoring the very real reluctance that clenched inside him, Zane carefully released Iris and began the process of untangling their limbs.

“Where are you going?” There was a plaintive note in her voice, and he couldn't stop the small burst of satisfaction that rolled through him at the sound of it.

“I have to go meet Quinn.”

“Really?” She pushed back the inky fall of hair that had flopped over her eyes. “Now?”

Her face was flushed, her mouth full and red, tearstains on her cheeks, and she looked fragile and vulnerable and so damn sexy that for a second he debated telling Quinn to go screw himself. But no, of course he couldn't do that. Not when her life was at stake.

“Yes, now,” he replied, getting out of bed and reaching for his boxers. “It'll be something to do with your outstanding warrant.”

“Oh.” Her gaze drifted down to his groin. “You don't look like you want to go.”

“I don't.” He tugged up his boxers. “There are other things I'd much rather be doing.”

Iris slipped from the bed and came over to him, sliding her hand down over the cotton of his underwear, the feel of her fingers on him making his breath catch. “Yeah, and I know which things.” She leaned against him, all naked softness and feminine heat, her palm resting over his cock. A smile turned her mouth. “You sure you have to leave? I'm thinking I have a favor I need to return.”

Oh, he'd love her to return that particular favor. Just not quite yet.

Reaching down, he slid his fingers around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away. “I need to see what's happening with your warrant first, okay?”

She pouted. “Fine. Your loss.”

Her obvious disappointment made him smile and he tugged her against him. “Hold that thought, okay? I'm planning on coming back here right after the meeting.” He gave the inside of her wrist a stroke with his thumb. “And believe me, I'll be wanting you to return that favor. In fact”—he bent his head and brushed his mouth over hers—“I'm going to insist on it.”

She gave a delicate shiver. “Maybe I'll have changed my mind.”

“Better not.” He nipped her lower lip in warning. “Or I'll have to punish you again.”

A snort escaped her. “Or maybe this time I'll punish you.” She blinked up at him, her eyes searching and sharp. “I bet I could get some secrets out of you.”

Yeah, like that was going to happen. His secrets weren't for public consumption, no matter how hard she might try to get them out of him.

But you have no problem with stealing hers.

Well, no, he didn't. She'd obviously needed to tell someone about her sister, needed to trust someone, and he was the perfect person. He'd never betray her. But it wasn't going to be reciprocal. He didn't want to talk about the people he'd failed with anyone, not even Iris.

“You can certainly try,” he said and kissed her again before she could reply.

After a moment, Iris gave a sigh, then shoved at him. “Go on then. Leave. See if I care.” Turning back to the bed, she grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around her, sitting on the mattress and watching as he reached for the rest of his clothes.

“So, you're a soldier then,” she commented as he pulled on his pants, then reached into the bag he'd brought along the night before, extracting a dark blue business shirt.

Zane shrugged on the shirt, doing up the buttons. “Special Forces.”

“That's pretty…fancy, isn't it?”

He grinned at that. “I guess that's one way to describe it.”

She eyed him as he tucked his shirt in, did up the cuffs, then reached for his jacket. “Why aren't you wearing your actual uniform?”

The question made him uneasy for some reason. In fact, the whole way she was looking at him, as if she was seeing something in him he couldn't see himself, made him uneasy. “Because I'm not technically a soldier at the moment. But not for too much longer. I'm going to be reenlisting as soon as I'm finished here.”

An expression crossed her face, too fast for him to recognize. “Oh, right.” The words were curiously flat. “Nothing beats the army, huh?”

Was that disappointment in her voice?

Zane, in the process of adjusting the lapels of his jacket, paused, glancing at her. She stared back, the look in her eyes impossible to interpret.

“I can't stay,” he said, not really sure why he felt the need to say it, only that it had to be out there, that she had to know. “The army is where I belong.”

She gave a sudden scowl. “Hey, I don't give a shit what you do. We only slept together, Zane. Doesn't mean marriage or anything.” Turning away, she wrapped herself more securely in the sheet, flopping back down on the bed. “I guess I'll just wait here until you get back.”

He stared at her, uncomfortably aware that he'd hurt her in some way. Why? Because he was leaving? Had she wanted him to stay?

Why are you surprised? She's not a woman who trusts easily and yet she gave her trust to you.

Last night she certainly had. Then again, she couldn't expect for there to be anything more than sex between them. They'd only known each other a few days for one, and then there was the fact that she had a drug cartel on her back, and a sister in foster care. Getting involved with someone like him would be the last thing she'd want, surely? Anyway, even if she did, it wasn't going to happen. He didn't want a relationship and he never would. The army was his future and he was happy with that.

You shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have gotten her to trust you.

No, he shouldn't have, and even after he'd left the hotel room and was on his way to meet Quinn, he couldn't stop thinking about that. Or the look on Iris's face, the ferocious scowl and the flickering of something he couldn't quite read in the depths of her eyes. It lingered like the heat in a burn, making him ache in a way that had nothing to do with the unfulfilled physical desire that still gripped him.

Yeah, it was a good thing he'd be leaving soon. Good for both of them.

Fifteen minutes later, following the directions that Quinn had given him, he found himself standing outside a tall, clean-looking building in the center of downtown Austin that surely couldn't be the offices of a bail bond company. They were usually scummy, dingy, run-down, and full of criminals, and they definitely did
not
look like the headquarters of a particularly affluent accounting company.

Apparently Duchess Bail Bonds was not your usual bail bond company.

Stepping out of the elevator on the seventh floor into a neutral-toned, light, clean reception area, Zane was soon clear that
nothing
about Duchess was your usual bail bond company. There were flowers on the reception desk. Fucking flowers. And they actually
had
a reception desk with an honest-to-God receptionist, a blonde with bouncing curls and perfect makeup, who gave him a friendly smile as he approached. “You're Mr. Redmond?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing past the blonde at the glass-walled offices behind her. Jesus. Glass-walled offices. “I'm here to meet—”

“Ms. Hammond,” the blonde finished. “She's expecting you. Please go through.”

Holy shit. This place was nice. Professional even. Certainly nicer than the hotel that housed Lone Star Bounty. In fact, it was the kind of office he'd always wished Lone Star had, not a grotty, fading hotel that smelled of cigars and spilled liquor.

Zane went past the reception desk to the office the blonde had indicated and pushed open the door.

Inside was a large, airy space with big floor-to-ceiling windows that gave impressive views over downtown Austin. The neutral decor was here as well, except there were no flowers on the big desk, only a slim computer screen and a neat stack of papers to one side. And a woman who was leaning back against it, her elegant fingers resting lightly on the edge on either side of her.

At the other end of the room were a meeting table and several chairs, currently filled by a number of people he didn't recognize and one he did.

“Mr. Redmond,” the woman leaning against the desk said in a cool voice. “So glad you could join us.”

It was the woman he'd seen at Lone Star a couple of days earlier, tall and slender and perfectly put together in a cream-colored pencil skirt and a sheer white blouse, a lacy camisole underneath. Her platinum-blond hair was swept up into an elegant bun, emphasizing delicate, narrow features with a sweet little rosebud of a mouth. Her eyes, though, were the light, icy blue of a winter's day and just as cool.

Lily Hammond aka Duchess. And she looked like one.

“Finally,” came Quinn's voice. “Where the fuck were you?”