Wicked Release (17 page)

27

E
ven with Dane's unexpected visit, Jess was still dressed and ready by 4:50.
Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself.
She was armed in another one of her sister's dresses, a midlength deep purple gown adorned with a black pashmina, when the doorbell rang. After slipping her toes into her heels, she took the stairs quickly but carefully, and opened the door.

“Elliot,” she said, shocked to see him.

“I'm only two minutes early . . . you shouldn't be so bewildered.” Without waiting for her to invite him in, he brushed by her and into the foyer, rolling two enormous suitcases behind him.

“Well, yeah, but I-I just expected Lyle.” She looked at the bags he was wheeling behind him. “Are you moving in?”

“Are you offering?”

She frowned at him.

“I'll take that as a no,” he answered for her. “These are for the pills. We're going to move them.”

“Now? Tonight?”

“Yes. We'll act as though I want you to bring some of your things to my place after dinner, which is pretty standard for BDSM tutelage, and we'll throw a few of your clothes on top just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case we get stopped.” He didn't pause for her to soak it all in and instead made his way up the stairs. “And you should plan to spend the night at my house. To keep up appearances.”

“I work for the police department. I cannot get caught carting around illegal prescription drugs.”

“Yes, well, you also cannot get caught holding them in your home either, now, can you?”

“But ultimately,” Elliot continued, “it's your choice. I won't force you one way or another.”

Jess took a deep breath, grabbed one of the empty suitcases from him, and carried it up the stairs. “Okay, fine. Only because I can't think of any other way to make this happen.”

It took them a little less than thirty minutes to load up the luggage with almost all the drugs while also tucking in some of her clothes.

“Perfect,” Elliot said, sizing up the now almost empty room. He snapped his glove higher on his wrist and grabbed the last of the drugs. “We should be able to squeeze the rest of these into a smaller bag and be done with it. Jess grunted as she hoisted the suitcase onto its wheels, pulling it behind her down the stairs. Before she even got two steps down, Elliot took the handle from her, lifting it along with his bag as though it weighed nothing. “Ready for tonight?” he asked, and despite the ease on his face, his voice sounded a little strained.

“How can I be ready when I have no idea what you're up to?”

“I told you. There's a small dinner party planned with a few other couples in the community.”

“And you want to throw me in the ring? See if I float or sink?”

“Better to find out tonight than on tomorrow at the masquerade, wouldn't you say?” They made it down the first flight of stairs and Jess popped into her room, grabbing her camera as well as her sister's paperwork that she had taken from her office at Holtz Health Sciences and Pharmaceuticals. If she would be staying the night out on a quiet island, the least she could do is get a little more research done. Maybe there was something in the paperwork that would lead her to the right people.

She turned to find Elliot standing in the doorway, staring at her. Stuffing the paperwork and her camera into a duffel bag, she avoided his glare. “I have some work to do later.”

“I see.” He took the bag from her, placing it on top of the suitcases, and waited for her to lead the way.

When they got to the bottom of the steps, Jess grabbed her keys and purse. “So what are they going to be looking for me to do tonight?”

“They know that you're new and in training. It won't be as big of a deal if you do something outside of what a typical sub would do. Yet, something tells me this will all come rather naturally to you.”

“Oh, really? Another one of your instincts?”

His lips tilted into a smile and, almost as though he had timed it, a lock of his dark hair fell onto his forehead. “Mock if you like, but I think you know I'm right. I was right when I knew your sister was a natural dominant. And it was the reason I was so reluctant to fall for her. Two dominants do not usually fit well together. In life or in the bedroom.”

“So why the change of heart?”

He paused, his gaze tipping beyond her shoulder and up toward the ceiling. “It wasn't my heart that needed convincing. And eventually my mind lost the battle. As hard as I tried to fight it, my love for your sister far outweighed any desire I had to be dominant.”

“But isn't your dominance one of the things she loved about you?”

He nodded. “Perhaps. And likewise, one of the aspects I loved about her. I believe your sister was more of a switch dom—one who can go back and forth. And though I started as a submissive, dominance was always more natural for me. It wouldn't have been easy, us together, but I was willing to try.”

Questions swirled in Jess's head like water whirling down a drain. She longed to know more about her sister. About this life. About how Cass first entered the scene. But as she opened her mouth to ask more, she chickened out and instead asked, “What do I need to do tonight? Will I be bound to a pole or something during dinner? Be on my hands and knees as your human chair?”

“All you need to do is obey me. Don't sit until I sit. Don't drink or eat unless I give you permission.”

Jess snorted. “Can I speak? Will I get a cookie if I do well?”

“If by cookie, you mean orgasm, then typically speaking . . . yes.”

Jess choked in indignation. “You will
not
touch me—”

“Calm down.” His voice was quieter than normal and there was a glint of humor in his eyes. “You won't be rewarded like my typical submissives. Even if you wanted to . . . I couldn't. Not with Cass's sister.”

Her throat was suddenly parched, her tongue like sandpaper gliding across the edge of her teeth. Before she could say another word, Elliot opened the door for her. “Shall we?”

Jess walked out first, dragging one of the suitcases behind her as Elliot lagged behind. Her heart stammered in her chest, fluttering with her quickening pulse. For there, walking up her front steps, was Sam. He took in her gown from head to toe and his smile was enough to melt any doubt or lack of self-confidence she had about wearing her sister's clothes.

“Let's hurry it up. My type of people are not the kind who appreciate the sentiment of ‘fashionably late'—Oh.” Elliot stiffened beside her and Jess watched as the pink flush in Sam's cheeks drained. Elliot cleared his throat and placed his hand on her hip. Though meant to be a comforting gesture, it felt like five blades slicing through her skin.

“Sam—” she tried, only it came out as a croak.

“Jessica,” Elliot cut her off, glancing at her through the corners of his eyes.

Shock, then pain, marred Sam's gorgeous face. Moonlight cloaked him in a silvery blue sheen, the light from the front porch casting deep shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and beneath his eyes. All the noise from the street and the sidewalk faded behind them. Elliot's presence, as invasive as it was, seemed to melt away. All that was there was Jess and Sam, eyes locked.

After freezing for a second, he shook his head, breaking their bond, and backed down the steps. “Sorry,” he spat. “I shouldn't have come.” And with that, he got into his car and drove off so quickly that he left tire tracks in her driveway. Jess rushed down the steps to chase after him, but movement from across the street caught her attention. A hooded man was in the shadows, facing her, a camera obscuring his face.

Adrenaline swirled in her belly and soon spread like a massive wildfire throughout her limbs. Whoever that was—he was the guy. She could feel it. He was the man who killed her sister. Who'd been threatening her life, photographing her. The man who'd attacked Sam.

And as quickly as she saw him, the figure turned, running in the opposite direction.

Without thinking, she dropped the suitcase and, heels and all, sprinted after the man with the camera.

Before Jess got even ten feet down the driveway in her heels, she felt two massive arms grab her around the waist, pulling her back toward the house. “No,” she moaned, kicking her feet out.

“You have to let him go,” Elliot grunted in her ear.

“I'm not running after
Sam!
There was a man with a camera, photographing us from across the street!”

“What? Why didn't you say anything?! Where?” he said, rushing to the edge of the driveway.

Jess followed, looking around. “Goddammit! He's gone. He was right over there. He had a camera.” They both ran in the direction she pointed, looking around them. “Shit. He was here. He was
right here.
We could have had him,” said Jess.

This time, Elliot's touch on her hip was comforting as he pulled her back toward the house. “Come on. We shouldn't leave those bags unattended.”

Reluctantly, she followed him. The man was gone. And Sam was gone, too.

She wanted to scream out. Shout that this wasn't what it looked like and run after Sam. Tell him that she had no intention of ever being with Elliot. That there were no feelings there other than a small respect for the man her sister had loved. But she couldn't do that. Not without explaining their plan, explaining the mountain of drugs in her sister's closet, admitting that she was now the
liar
and the fact that she was still determined to find the man responsible.

Elliot opened the passenger door to his BMW. “Get inside, Jessica. It's chilly out here.” She hesitated, eyes still scanning the sidewalk. “
Jessica,
” he barked. “Inside. Now. I'll take care of the bags.”

Only a few minutes into their evening and Elliot was already barking orders at her. It was going to be a long night.

28

S
am sped away, leaving Jess in Elliot's arms on the steps to her pink house. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly, he thought he may wake up with blisters the following morning. How could she do this? How could she fuck him the night before and then go off on some date with Elliot Warner? The alleged master and organizer of Portland's largest BDSM party to date? Her needing time to forgive him, that he could understand. But sleeping with him and then turning around to date someone new . . . that was low. And if her goal was to break his heart—
well, mission fucking completed.

He remembered back to when he and Jess had made love last week—how reluctant she had been to dabble in the BDSM world. His world.
And now?
Now it appeared that she was off with Warner as a submissive in training.

“Fuck!” He slammed the heel of his hand down on the steering wheel, something crackling behind his eyes and in the back of his sinuses. The light turned red, but he flipped a button on his dashboard, putting his police lights and siren on so he could blow through the light.

He grabbed his cell phone and dialed the one person who might know where Elliot might be taking Jess. The one person who might be able to get him in. It rang twice before her husky voice purred on the other end.

“Sam? As I live and breathe—”

“Mary.” He cut her off before she could waste any time flirting with him. He and Mary, one of the few local female dominants in Portland and the owner of the best chowder house in town, had known each other for quite some time. Though they had never been together sexually, they shared a mutual respect. A mutual attraction that had always proven helpful. “Elliot Warner—he's going somewhere tonight. I need to know where.”

“Warner?” she repeated in mock confusion.

“Do not fuck with me tonight, Mary. I know you know. You know everything in this town when it comes to BDSM parties. Tell me where they are going.”

“I don't know what you mean, Detective.” Sam hung up the phone as he pulled into a parking space outside Mary's restaurant. He slammed his car door shut and took the steps two at a time up to Mary's apartment above the restaurant. He pounded on the door.

Mary answered the door and if she was at all surprised by his presence at her home, she didn't show it. But that was Mary for you. Seemingly in control, even when she clearly wasn't. Her jet black, cropped hair was spiked up in back and smooth over her forehead in the front. Though she always wore heavy makeup, her eyeliner narrowed out at the edges in a thick line and her lips were painted a dark shade of red. Something Sam normally wouldn't have really noticed except for a lipstick stain on a coffee cup. He placed each of his hands against either side of the doorframe. “Wanna try that again?” he said, taking in her sleek evening gown, highlighting her svelte curves.

She clicked her tongue and sighed. “Oh, yes. I do recall a small dinner party of sorts for a few local dominants. Unfortunately, you weren't invited, it seems.”

“Fuck.”

“Unless you were willing to go as my sub tonight, I'm afraid I can't help you—”

“I'll do it,” Sam blurted out before he could stop himself.

And for the first time since he'd ever met Mary, she looked surprised. “You'll what?”

“I'll be your sub tonight.”

“You'll let me order you around? Force you on your knees?” She gripped his lapel, pulling his face nearly flush against hers. Her breath was minty and her lipstick glistened in the soft light streaming around her from inside the house.

“I won't fuck you,” Sam said. “But yes, you'll have control over my actions throughout the dinner.”

Her smile sent a chill tumbling down Sam's spine. He didn't like that look. Not one bit. But if he wanted to keep an eye on Jess tonight, this was the only way.

“Well, then, Private Dick . . . let's get you suited up.”

 

The leather seats in Elliot's BMW were lush beneath Jess. More comfortable than her bed back in Brooklyn. Pulling the mirror open, she inspected her makeup to see that it was still in place.

“So, where are we going?” she asked him when he slid into the driver's seat after loading the suitcases into the trunk.

“It's a dinner party at Hugo's. We've rented the wine cellar for our private dinner party.”

“They allow that?”

“With enough money fanned out in front of them.”

It wasn't a long drive and after about ten minutes, Elliot pulled up to the front of Hugo's, where a young man in a suit was waiting out front. Elliot got out, came around to Jess's door, and opened it for her.

As Elliot held open her door, she asked, “Are we just gonna leave my luggage in there? Unattended?”

He lifted a brow, but it wasn't a judgmental or condescending look. “What do you propose we do? Bring the bags inside with us?”

She gulped. “No. Hell, if they were taken off our hands, maybe it would even be a blessing in disguise.”

Elliot chuckled, handing his keys to the valet before placing a hand at the small of her back and guiding her through the door of the restaurant. Jess watched, fascinated, as he showed identification to the hostess. It seemed that they took this whole private-party thing very seriously. The hostess nodded and led them down to the wine cellar.

Downstairs, the floors were a cool stone that also lined the walls. Bottles of wine adorned cubbies in the stone walls and the room was encased by warm lighting and decorated with copper pots, hanging fruit, and garlic. The room was rustic and beautiful, with candles lit in old copper candleholders—the exact kind that Jess imagined Dickens had written his books next to. It was a wonder that the restaurant didn't rent the room out more often.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Jess gushed to no one in particular.

She felt Elliot's hand land on top of hers and he curved it around his elbow, offering her a smile. “Isn't it? Wait until you try the food.”

“Well, well, well,” a baritone voice boomed beside her. “If it isn't Mademoiselle Pas Sûr.”

A large man from Jess's first masquerade party stood in front her, dressed in a tuxedo. His submissive, Lulu, was standing just slightly behind him, staring at the ground, her mousy brown hair falling in front of her face. As Jess opened her mouth to say hello, Elliot cut her off.

“Phantom, it's great to see you again.” Elliot used the man's code name for the BDSM parties.

“Master X,” Phantom said, and nodded in return. “You haven't been around the last couple of weeks. We thought we had lost you.”

“Not exactly.” Elliot turned, addressing Jess. “We may have to reconsider that title of yours now that you're becoming surer of your role in this world,” he said, referencing the French meaning of her alias Dane had entitled her with.

Phantom's face lit up at that and his gaze sliced down Jess's body. If he had X-ray vision, Jess had no doubt he would be peeking behind her dress right then. “Are you, now? That's quite interesting. You seemed so uncertain at the party just a few days ago.”

Elliot brushed an errant curl off her neck and tucked it into her French twist. His touch, though light, caused her pulse to kick up a notch and she couldn't help but flinch. “She just hadn't been introduced to the right dom, yet.”

She took a deep breath, trying to relax into his touch.
We are supposed to be sleeping together, for God's sake.
His fingers on her neck should not have sent her into full panic mode. Her nerve endings zinged and she clenched her eyes shut, dropping her face into Elliot's shoulder for a moment. She'd been here two minutes and already she was overwhelmed. Peeking out from behind his suit jacket, she was met with Phantom's leering gaze. A shudder jolted down her body. She hated the way he looked at her. How he looked at Lulu, his submissive. And she hated how he treated Lulu like a pet, not a person. She wouldn't even look anyone in the eye.

“Lulu,” Jess said, “It's nice to see you again.”

The girl's pale face became an even more ghostly white and her eyes darted from Jess to Elliot, then back to Phantom before returning to that same spot on the floor.

“Excuse me, Phantom . . . it seems my girl has forgotten her role.” Elliot's grip on her hand was tight—too tight—and Jess winced as he yanked her into the stairwell from which they had arrived. “What are you doing?” he said, fury dancing in the steely depths of his eyes.

“I was saying hi to Lulu. We met at the party—”

“You do not speak to other submissives. Not at a function like this. You may speak to another dominant if they address you first. That is all.”

“Do you need me to massage your feet while I'm at it, too? Perhaps fix your drinks? Blow you beneath the table?”

“Don't get cute. And if you were my real submissive? Then, maybe yes. Maybe I'd have you suck me off right here, right now, in front of everyone.”

Jess gasped, seeing the truth in his eyes. It was no exaggeration. This was his life. What he did on a normal occasion. Maybe even what her sister had done. She gulped, her throat dry. “You would not—”

“I would. And you as my submissive would fucking love it.” The hard line of his scowl softened as he noted the look of horror on her face. “That's not likely to happen to any of the subs here tonight, though. This is a dignified dinner. We abide by rules of decorum—they tend to come first, above all else.”

Jess nodded, but her throat felt tight. Elliot glanced back at the room where Phantom and a couple of the other local dominants were staring at them. Putting his hands on Jess's hips, Elliot turned her away from them against the stone wall. “They're all watching,” he whispered. “If I don't punish you for committing such an offense, they will be curious as to why.”

“What?” Jess hissed, her forehead pressed to the roughly textured wall. “I thought you said—”

“I
said
there would be no oral sex with dinner. I didn't say there wouldn't be power play.”

“Wh-what are you going to do?”

“I'm going to spank you.” He answered so simply, as though it's an everyday practice.
And hell, with him, it probably is,
thought Jess.

She clamped her eyes shut. This was nothing new. She'd been spanked before—but in the privacy of her own bedroom with a man she loved. And certainly not with an audience.

Elliot slid his jacket off and hung it on a rack beside them. Slowly, he rolled his sleeves to the elbows. “It will be three strikes. On top of your clothes,” he said. “You will count them out loud—loud enough for everyone to hear, okay?”

She couldn't answer. How could she respond to that? She was a grown woman and she was about to get flogged publicly. And for what? For speaking out of turn? What decade was she living in? Hot tears sprang in her eyes and she looked up to the candle burning in a sconce above her. “Okay,” she managed to squeak.

“Hands on the wall. Spread your legs and stick out your ass. It hurts less if you don't clench.” He paused as she did as he asked. “And pull your forehead off the wall. I don't want you to hit your head.”

Anxiety and pure mortification percolated low in her belly, her knees trembling with nerves or anger—she wasn't sure which. Maybe a strong elixir of both. She took a deep breath and, with closed eyes, gave a nod. “Okay.”

His hand came down hard against her ass and she was thankful that her dress had ruffled layers. And yet it still hurt. It hurt like a bitch and she yelped, throwing her head back.

“Count, goddammit,” Elliot muttered in her ear.

“One.” The number was a strangled cry, and her sinuses burned with imminent tears.

She'd barely gotten the word out when his hand came down a second time.

“Two.”

The third was the worst, landing hard in the center of her backside. “Three.” She took a shaky breath, composing herself as his hand rested gently on her hip.

“Are you all right?”

She sniffled, hands still pressed against the stone, only now it felt heated beneath her palms. And rough, like her heart. “Humiliated,” she mumbled.

“I need you to pull it together and turn around.”

She did as he asked, slowly opening her eyes. The low-lit room came back into focus as she pivoted to face Elliot. His mouth was set into a stern line, but his eyes—those eyes were soft. Concerned for her. Over his shoulder, the room watched, all eyes on them. Phantom particularly seemed a little too interested and even Lulu seemed to pull her gaze away from the floor to stare at her dully.

Someone cleared her throat on the staircase to Jess's left. She turned to find Sam staring at her, his mouth agape, with a stunning woman leading him by his necktie down the steps.