Wallbanger (9 page)

Keeping herself from gagging, she pulled on a
pair of nitrile gloves and wiped down anything she might have
touched with a cloth. With an enzyme-embedded pad, she wiped around
in his mouth and down his neck making sure she destroyed all traces
of her DNA. His belt came free of the loops and she slipped it
around his neck, tugging it tight enough to dig into his skin;
secured the free end to the handgrip over the rear door. Then she
pulled a page from her bag and secured the photo in his left
hand.

Next came the condom.

“Things I do for my country…” she
grumbled.

Carefully removing the rubber, she inverted
it. Then she positioned Daniel’s large right hand around his
flaccid little cock. It took some doing. With the inside-out
prophylactic over three digits, she meticulously staged the semen
over his fingers, on his leg, and a little on the bottom edge of
the steering wheel for good measure. But the cherry on this sundae
was the print out.

The image was of a scantily clad anime
character—the computer generated vixen bent over with, pixilated
pink cunt on display. She dabbed a bit of jizz just outside of the
open target and chuckled. “The one bull’s-eye ya’ sorry ass didn’t
hit.”

Leaning back to admire her handiwork, she was
pleased to find it looked believable.

Autoerotic asphyxiation. Classic.

Trading out gloves, she wiped down the
passenger side of the car while wearing the new set. It was pure
dumb luck that he’d parked them back there. Had he gotten any
closer to his home she would have had to act the impatient slut
herself. But Daniel Gilbert made the move for her. Such a courteous
fellow.

Exiting the car, she gathered her belongings,
the trash, and did one last sweep to be sure nothing remained. Then
she locked and closed the door and started walking, keeping to the
backstreets. Her vehicle was three clicks east of The Pub, so she
had a ways to go.

Four blocks away from the scene, Gale spit
into the grassy verge, unable to stomach the rancid taste in her
mouth anymore. The gum in her purse was laced with Ricin—a slow but
effective backup in case the Flexpen cocktail didn’t pan out—and
therefore not edible. She fiddled around for her roll of trusty
LifeSavers and popped a pineapple O between her lips, absently
wondering what Jack was doing and if he’d already left Virginia.
She could use a good lay.

But she wouldn’t call him.

Would. Not. Call.

Yanking her phone from her pocket, she sent a
short text message. When Connolly received the encrypted data on
his end it would read only one word.

Wettest.

6

Helsinki, Finland

“Duquesne!”

Here we go
. Xander stood staring out
the window of the hotel suite. After the long flight, he’d gotten a
shower and a couple hours of sleep, but his brain had never shut
off, constantly thinking of the ramifications if he didn’t see this
deal through. He needed Harvey, had been working toward its
acquisition for so long he could taste it. His buyer was not a man
he wanted to let down. Add to that the many other deals Xander
juggled, deals he could not let drop, and the stress seemed to
consume him.

Too wired, too close to this goal, and if he
were honest, too close to Kizzie.

She stomped into his room, bare feet slapping
against the wooden floor of the ultra-modern space. “Tell me you’re
joking.”

Turning, he found her right behind him
stretching out a piece of blue fabric. “What? It’s your size.”

She cut her eyes at him. “Well, yeah, since
it’s only big enough to cover my stomach, I’m sure it fits. Where
are my weapons s’posed to go?”

“The beauty of the cupless corset: only
weapons you need go right here.” He fingered the two dips in the
clothing where her breasts would sit. “I got you an
alternative.”

Opening her hand revealed the clumped pile of
thin chains that made up a barely-there dress. “Really?”

Xander shrugged. “Points for remembering the
cute shoes?” He cracked a grin, took both items from her and tossed
them on his bed. “Wardrobe later. Let’s go over things one more
time.”

“Tonight is just a little looksee,” Kizzie
repeated in a bored voice. “We go in, I get the layout of the
chateau, I play the compliant lamb long enough to tempt the
butcher, and then we leave.” She took a breath. “Although—”

“No ‘although’.”

“Yes,
although
,” she insisted. “I
don’t see why we can’t just get a flash drive in—upload a program
to his computer; track him digitally. It’s not like he has the bomb
at the house. Plant a couple cameras…get video and sound. Just as a
backup in case my acting job as the servile Miss doesn’t win me a
slot in Sacha’s coveted stable.” She batted her lashes
prettily.

“He’s crazy, not stupid. There’ll be guards
on the grounds and we’ll more than likely be searched on the way
in. And,” he grinned, “no pockets in the corset. About your acting
job, since you didn’t read the book you need a crash course in the
art of being a submissive.”

“We have five hours until this party,
Duquesne,” Kizzie said. “My time would be better spent learning
more about the wolf you’re going to feed me to.”

“That’s what I’m doing. Take your clothes
off.”

Brown eyes widened. “Becaaaauusssee…?”

“’Cause I said so. That’s how this Dom/sub
thing works. I tell you what to do and you do it. Clothes off,
Baldwin. Now.” He took a step closer to her. “Don’t make me tell
you again.”

With a rebellious huff, she fisted the bottom
of her shirt, lifted it over her head and tossed it aside. Then she
unbuttoned her jeans and shimmied them down her hips; kicked them
away once her feet were clear. Glowering, she stood in her panties
and bra, hands on her hips.

Xander let his eyes follow the form of her
body, lost in her curvy shape, the smooth skin, flat stomach and
long, toned legs. She had on another titillating pair of
panties—apparently the woman was serious about pretty
underclothes—and a matching lacy bra. The last time he’d seen this
much of her, it was from the back. Equally amazing view, as he
recalled. He wondered if she’d spin around and—

“Hey!” her fingers snapped, “Eyes up,
sparky.”

Sparky
? His voice lost its humor and
his eyes hardened. “For the duration of our time together, you are
my submissive, Kizzie. That means until I release you to Sacha,
you’ll act that way. No guarantee he’ll take you on, but to improve
our chances, this performance of yours has to be believable.

“Ground rules: First, snapping your fingers
at me, or any Dom, will not be tolerated. It ranks up there with
pointing a gun in my face, and we’ve already established you’re not
to do that again. And the name’s Xander —not ‘sparky’, not ‘slick’,
not ‘chief’, not any other diminutive your clever mind can think
of. I respect you; you respect me.

“Second, you’ll do as I tell you and trust
the decision I’m making is with your well being in mind.”

“But I don’t trust—”

“Third,” he held a finger to her lips, “no
talking; not unless I ask you a question. That wasn’t a question,
and it damn sure wasn’t a request. When you do respond to a
question, you’ll end it with ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’. Same goes for when
you ask me a question. Think of it as West Point…prior to your
mysterious departure, of course. You’re back to being a fourth
class cadet, Kiz, and I’m the Brigade Commander. Nod if you
understand.”

Fire blazed in her eyes but her head bobbed
slightly. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a deep
breath, the heavy exhale conveying her irritation.

“Arms down; kill the attitude.”

She dropped her arms. Whether the attitude
had been slain was yet to be determined.

“The Lifestyle may seem strange to you, but
fundamentally, it’s not much different than a vanilla one. Do you
know what I mean by ‘vanilla’?” When she nodded he asked, “So you
did read the book?”

“I might have skimmed through it.”

He cocked a brow. “Try again.”

Through clenched teeth and a tight smile she
grit out, “I might have skimmed through it…Sir.” Her fists balled
at her sides.

“
Very good
,” he mocked. “But a little
less ‘I’m gonna kill you’ and a lot more adoration. And straighten
out those hands or I’ll give you the fight you’re itchin’ for.”

They didn’t loosen. “For the record, I hated
my Brigade Commander.”

“Give me two numbers.”

“What?”

“Two numbers—any numbers, although you might
want to keep them between one and twenty.”

“Twelve and…” she frowned, lifted a shoulder,
“three.”

“Good place to start.” Xander unfastened his
belt, pulled it from the loops of his jeans. “Hands.”

She reluctantly held them out.

He walked around her and tugged one arm
behind her back, wrapping an end of the braided leather about her
elbow. The other limb came behind her, forearms aligned and
touching, and he entwined that one as well, binding them as a pair
from elbow to wrist. The position forced her shoulders back and
chest out, and she struggled in the new bindings.

“Hate me all you want, Kizzie, but do it with
a smile on your face and a Sir on those pretty lips. Go kneel on
the floor and bend over the bed.”

She didn’t move and he nudged her forward
until her lower thighs met the mattress. Seeming resigned to her
fate, she maneuvered to her knees and leaned over until her face
was on the comforter.

“Twelve,” Xander announced, standing to one
side of her, “the number of spankings you’ll get for this little
fit you’re throwing. The next time we’ll add three, and then three
after that.
And
,” he rubbed his palm over one rounded globe,
“if you keep with the attitude, we’ll add three more after that.
Count ‘em out—lose your place and we start again.”

He drew back and surged forward, palm
connecting harshly with her buttocks.

“One!
Shit
, that hurt!” Kizzie lifted
her torso. “D’ya have to hit so damn hard?”

“Language,” Xander said, pushing her down,
“It’s not becoming of my sub. You’ll watch your mouth.” He hit the
same cheek again with equal force, the strikes purposely harder
than their boat encounter. Punishment and play were to be firmly
separated.

“Ow! Two!” She tried to inch away but
couldn’t get far.

“Forgot the ‘Sir’.” He dragged his fingertips
over the one side, making light circles on her skin.

“Two. Sir.” There was no ignoring the angry
edge in her tone.

“The Dom/sub relationship is first and
foremost based on trust. There’s a power exchange; the submissive
gives up control of her behavior and body in whole or in part to
her Master. Under ordinary circumstances, the extent of that
control is defined, and
we
negotiate the terms. Since our
circumstance is far from ordinary, I set the rules, you do the
trusting.”

She giggled. “This reeks of marriage…Ow!”
Face forced into the mattress she mumbled, “Three, Sir.”

“The simple things make the relationship
successful. If I tell you to do something, do it. Ignore the voice
in your head telling you not to. When I want water, you go get it.
If I want coffee, ask about sugar and milk.”

“Want me to hold it and shake it off for you
too?” Kizzie snorted. “Ow! Fou— Shit! Ow! Four and five, Sir…. I am
sooo
gonna kick your ass for this, you son of a—Oooowwww!”
He smacked her again and she dropped her hands to cover her bottom.
“Six, Sir!”

“Move.” Her hands lifted and he continued.
“As much as your quick wit amuses me, drop the snark. It’ll only
get you in trouble and there are much better uses for my sub’s
mouth. Further, threatening me is a surefire way to get your
punishment supersized.” He looked at his handiwork, liking the way
her skin had burned a nice red. “A few things to remember—don’t
look another Dominant in the eye. It’s a signal that you’re
available, and you’re not, so keep your gaze down.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Better.” Another sharp blow to her bottom
and she squirmed.

“Seven, Sir.” Her tone leveled and she
rattled off, “Eight, nine, and ten, Sir,” when he struck her in
succession.

He knew what she was doing, doubted she even
felt the blows any longer. Her time in military school would have
conditioned her to responses of rote and not emotion. Good…for
their current situation.

“The Lifestyle is more about the mindset than
the sex—although sex is part of it. It’s about being respectful,
polite, and obedient at all times. Be graceful; walk fluidly.
Posture is key. Don’t slouch, even with your head down. If you’re
sitting, sit up straight. Same goes for kneeling unless you’re
instructed to bow. You gettin’ all this?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Repeat what I said from sitting,” he
tested.

She rattled it off easily. “ ‘If you’re
sitting, sit up straight. Same goes for kneeling unless you’re
instructed to bow. You gettin’ all this?’ Sir.”

A laugh threatened. Kizzie still found a way
to be a smart ass. He continued talking in the same quick clip. “If
you’re sitting or kneeling, legs closed unless you’re facing me,
then they should be parted slightly—means what’s between them is
mine
and available to me at any time.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What’s the count?”

“Ten, Sir.”

“Sure it’s not eight?”

“Positive, Sir.”

“Could’ve sworn it was eight.”

“It’s not, Sir.”

“Hmm. What if I want it to be eight?”

“Then it’s eight, Sir.”

Fast learner
. He smiled because she
couldn’t see him. “Good. Do that and we’ll pull this off. We’re at
ten.” Xander finished the punishment with two quick blows, to which
Kizzie responded, “Eleven and twelve, Sir.” He caressed her ass,
stroking over the warm skin until her rigid body relaxed. Then he
removed the belt and offered his hand to assist her from the
floor.