Edge of the Enforcer

Chapter Nine

On Saturday night, the dance floor at Dark Haven was butt-to-butt crowded, but Lindsey didn’t care. She’d needed to dance and work off frustrations.

She’d firmly decided to avoid deVries…and spent her entire desk shift hoping he’d come in. Every time the door to the club had opened, her pulse had sent up fireworks. Sheesh.

Scowling, she spun around, trying to dislodge her foolish thoughts. “Go, sweet cheeks!” Dancing beside her, Dixon waggled his ass and gave her a hip-bump. “Shake them boobies.”

Her handmade leather halter-top matched her butter-soft leather skirt—and made the most of her small breasts. “As you command.” She tossed her hair back and shimmied.

Around her came whistles from men—and a couple of women.

Copying her moves, Dixon urged her on, getting himself a nice accumulation of cheers as well.

By the time the music died, she was panting and laughing and thoroughly warmed up.

Dixon laced his fingers with hers. “After our nice show, we should have Doms lined up, begging to scene.”

She snorted. “You might, Mr. Prettier-than-a-girl. Not me. But hey, aren’t you dating someone?”

“Not seriously. He only wants to fuck.”

“Huh, I know the type.”

Dixon pursed his lips. “Not that I mind the sex, but I want a Dom. He’s not—was putting on a show to get laid.”

“Oh.” Not like deVries, who wore his authority in every cell of his muscled…gorgeous…snoopy body. She squeezed Dixon’s fingers. “You know, honeybunches, you’re going to find someone who is perfect for you. Don’t give up.” Why did Dixon attract guys like that? “Hmmm.”

“What?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so cute.” She frowned. “My mama would say when you flirt too much, you attract men who only want what you’re…silently promising.”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “Are you giving me advice from your mother?”

“Hey, she had some pretty good advice.” As long as it wasn’t about actual sex. Then it was like getting guidance from a nun. How had the woman ever managed to conceive?

“Uh-huh.” Shaking his head, Dixon led the way across the room to a table filled with Doms and subs. On one side of the table was the blond masochist named HurtMe. Jacqueline, a newer submissive, sat beside him. She was older than Lindsey, maybe in her late thirties, and tended to safeword out of anything intense. Abby was near one end; Sir Ethan at the other.

“Hey, y’all.” Lindsey dropped into an empty chair.

Dixon detoured to sit beside a gorgeous gay Dom. After giving the guy a completely flirtatious look and getting one back, Dixon winked at Lindsey.

So much for Mama’s advice. Lindsey smothered a smile.

The conversation wandered from subject to subject as people watched a depersonalization scene on the raised left stage where a collared slave was being treated like a disobedient dog.

Lindsey heard the scrape of a chair, and she glanced to her right.

Clad in his usual worn leather pants and black T-shirt, deVries set his toy bag under the chair beside her and sat down.

She sighed. There were lots of other empty chairs, dammit. And she sure didn’t need him setting her hormones to doing a Texas two-step.

His eyes, the color of a winter sea, swept over her. “Evening, girl.”

Without even nodding, she turned away. Maybe Mr. Pushy-Pants would get the hint.

The rasp of his deep voice as he spoke to the other Doms sent goose bumps up her arms. Should she leave? What if he followed her? One on one. That would be worse. Because, if he really did push, she’d cave.

Why couldn’t she have met him…before? Before marrying Victor. Before all the blood and death and horror? I can’t do this, deVries. Can’t.

Tucking her head down, she studied her bottle of water, turning it between her palms. If he’d only see reason. Or get bored and give up.

As the conversation turned to depersonalization and degradation scenes, she stayed unnaturally silent.

Rather than leaving, deVries put his arm along the back of her chair. She stiffened.

Near one end of the table, HurtMe gave her a narrow-eyed look. What was up with that?

Uneasy, she checked her friends. Abby’s face held no expression. Dixon, of course, was grinning.

Lindsey could feel the heat of deVries’s arm behind her shoulders. Just the brush of his skin sent tingles through her. Wanting to cuddle into him, instead, Lindsey leaned forward.

“I don’t understand how some submissives like such ugly stuff,” Jacqueline was saying. “Getting put down. Humiliated.”

Rather than answering, the Doms around the table left the submissives to try to explain.

Not surprisingly, Abby spoke. The professor loved to teach. “Part of the appeal is showing your surrender,” Abby said. “It’s akin to taking more pain than you like, because it will please your Dom—which is giving up physical control. Humiliation play is giving up emotional control.”

“Doms like to work on areas you’re most uptight about.” Dixon wrinkled his nose. “That said, I’m not so much into the ucky things like piss or serious depersonalization.”

Abby nodded. “There can be a kind of humiliation play that’s beneficial and even erotic, when other types seem closer to emotional masochism.” She smiled at Lindsey, and, professor-like, called on her. “What do you think, Lindsey?”

So much for staying silent. Put on the spot, Lindsey frowned. Honestly, her vote went with Jacqueline. “I don’t think I understand the difference. It all looks creepy to me.”

“Degradation stomps on a sub’s feelings of self-worth. Not my thing. But humiliation play—like erotic embarrassment—works pretty well.” DeVries’s gaze lingered on Lindsey as his long lean fingers curved around his glass.

As she remembered how those fingers had curved around her breast, her nipples contracted—which everyone could probably see. Feeling her cheeks redden, she made a pfffing noise. “Bless your heart, how can a sadist like you understand anything about emotions?”

Indrawn breaths around the table told her what she already knew. She’d crossed the line.

DeVries’s eyebrows lifted, and he pushed his chair back. “Good thing you’re a receptionist. You can demonstrate what I meant by embarrassment.”

Excuse me? Receptionists were expected to help with demos, but no way. Not with deVries. She shoved her chair back. An inch.

His knee barred her escape.

She blew out a slow breath, trying to think. “Listen, I’m not up to your speed. Sir. Getting beaten raw is a hard limit for me.” And Xavier was death on people ignoring those limits.

“Guess that means I shouldn’t beat on you.” He took her chin, his hand tightening to the point of pain, letting her know she couldn’t escape. No kindness or amusement or anger showed in his level eyes. Lordy, she’d just discovered exactly why submissives called him the Enforcer. “Every time you speak—unless it’s your safeword—this show-and-tell will continue a minute longer.” He removed a small bullet vibrator from the toy bag under his chair.

“No, waaaait!” Her words ended in a shriek when deVries plucked her up and onto his leather-clad thighs.

He clamped an arm around her, pinning her elbows to her sides. With his other hand, he flicked the vibrator on and slid it under her leather skirt. It rested against her mound. Almost on her clit.

With relief, she realized she was too uptight to react to anything right now. She relaxed slightly. Okay, this is embarrassing…but bearable.

His cheek rubbed against hers as his husky voice whispered, “I remember the feel of you, little girl.” He repositioned his grip on the vibe, and his warm, hard fingers slid over her folds and traced around her entrance, reminding her how he’d brought her to orgasm over and over.

“I remember your taste.” His tongue ran over the curve of her ear. Hot and wet. He always knew exactly how to use his mouth, damn him.

Her body shot from no interest to a simmering desire.

He chuckled, his voice still low, only loud enough for her to hear. “I’d like to set you on my cock and make you ride me, feel that cunt of yours pulling me in. A shame that’s not what we’re here for.”

She stiffened.

He moved the vibe closer to where she was throbbing. “I know how much you like toys, though.”

As if she needed the reminder of that morning in bed. His grip on her clit. The way he’d forced her to endure the vibrator. Had hurt her. And had made her come so hard she’d almost died. “Don’t,” she whispered. “I don’t want this.”

“Ask me if I care,” he murmured. “You got a safeword if you can’t take it.”

The vibrations seemed to suddenly take effect, and heat swept over her followed by hunger. Holy shit, she needed to come. She wiggled, trying to get the vibrator closer to her clit. If he stopped…

And he did. After dropping the vibe into its plastic bag, he half smiled at their audience around the table. “Lindsey doesn’t like showing her genitals.”

Goddamn, how had he known that?

He flipped her skirt up and tucked the hem into the waistband, baring her.

“Don’t—don’t do—”

“Lindsey, don’t make me tie you up and put you on the stage.” The threat sliced through her struggles. One arm still around her waist, he spread her legs to dangle outside his, exposing her to everyone.

“No,” she whispered as embarrassed heat blanketed her like the air in a sauna. She remembered Victor’s disinterested stares, as if she were a mannequin rather than a woman.

She closed her eyes as deVries’s hand separated her labia.

“I enjoyed looking at her pussy, once I finally got her to open her legs,” deVries said to the others. “See how plump her lips are? And slick, fuck, she gets slick. Major turn-on when a sub gets drenched for you, isn’t it?”

His words stunned her, and she froze. He liked her…down there? Seeing her? The chorus of agreement was even more astounding.

“Nice clit too,” deVries continued, running his finger up and down, making the nub of nerves harden. “Sits right out where I can play with it.”

Could she get any more humiliated? Yet the thrill of pleasure swept over her. He liked her pussy. Really?

He used her own wetness to slicken her. “To be honest, though, have you ever seen a clit you didn’t like?”

More murmurs of agreement.

Maybe a woman’s pussy was like her breasts—men went blind and dumb at the sight of breasts, right? Victor hadn’t, but still… Yet Lindsey couldn’t face them. Eyes closed, she felt their gazes on her intimate parts of her like scratches from jagged fingernails.

“More than the taste and sight, I got off on this…” His finger rubbed along her clit, building a fire inside her, sending her excitement spiraling upward. His arm immobilized her. She was almost there…

God, she didn’t want to come now. No, no, no.

He took her hand, placing her fingers as he had before in bed, making her hold her folds apart. “Show yourself to them. If you don’t, I’ll dig out clamps to keep you open, and this will last a lot longer.”

Need and anger and humiliation warred inside her. Damn him.

Her fingers stayed in place, and she heard his satisfied grunt.

She managed to glance at the table, at the fascinated audience. No one was making horrid comments about her being ugly down there. The interested gazes were…hot. Not scathing.

Admiring. Aroused.

Her fingers trembled.

She heard him say, “Jacqueline, embarrassment can not only be erotic but also bust apart defenses keeping a sub from fully living.” He kissed Lindsey’s cheek. “You’re such a good girl. Now, stay like that.”

The vibrator come down directly on her clit, held there by his determined hand, and she shot straight to climax, with not even a chance to say a word. Her body jerked inside the prison of his arm, and through the roaring in her head, she heard her own breathless cries.

Her heart hammered; she gasped for oxygen. As she sagged against him, sliding into a mindless satisfaction, a cracking noise from the demonstration behind them split the air. On the stage, the submissive shrieked. Screamed again and again. More cracks.

Lindsey’s world blurred. The pistol in her hands jerked, and the blast made her ears ring. Blood flowed between her fingers, sticky and hot and horrible as Victor convulsed. His eyes went blank and empty. Her screams went on and on, yet nothing escaped her frozen throat.

Inch by inch, she sank into the quicksand of horror, finding no footing, no escape. The darkness closed over her.

WHAT THE FUCK. DeVries stared at the little submissive in surprise. She’d gone from a warm, squirming armful to a frozen, blank-faced puppet. Horror filled her face as she looked at…nothing.

Trigger. He’d hit a trigger, one he hadn’t been prepared for because—because he was an idiot. “Lindsey,” he said, his voice dropping into command mode. “Look at me, girl.”

She didn’t move.

He took her chin and turned her. “Look. At. Me.” He added a snap to the last word.

One blink. Two. She shuddered, her haunted eyes meeting his. Jesus, he’d fucked this up. Holding her gaze with his, he yanked her skirt down, covering her and turning her so he could cradle her in his arms. He’d mindfucked her right into something he wasn’t prepared for.

Sure, back before they’d first screwed, he’d checked through the records kept at the desk: her limit list, medical information, preferences. There had been nothing about past trauma or triggers. Nonetheless he should have gone over everything again with her. He’d gotten complacent.

Cuddling her against him, he glanced at the audience, seeing the appalled submissives. The more experienced Doms, including Ethan, wore frowns. They knew he’d stepped in it. He rose. “If you’ll excuse us, I’m going to find somewhere quiet and deal with this.”

“I think you better give her to someone who has a heart.” Slender, short, defiant Dixon stood directly in deVries’s path, showing that, no matter the popular opinion, male submissives weren’t pushovers. “Another Dom can—”

“No.” DeVries shouldered past.

“Fucking asshole,” Dixon muttered and hurried away.

Hell. A few steps away from the group, deVries stopped and considered. Where could he take her? Maybe downstairs. The dungeon had quiet aftercare rooms. “Hang in there, babe,” he said, rubbing his chin in the soft hair.

She didn’t respond.

Carefully, he moved around the tables and chairs, past the clusters of members, working his way toward the back of the room.

“Hold up.” Xavier’s deep voice halted him at the top of the stairs. Obviously the mouthy Dixon had found him.

Great. If the owner of Dark Haven thought deVries had overstepped with a submissive, their friendship would stand for nothing, which was the way it should be. “I fucked up. She did fine with a bit of erotic humiliation, but right after she came, she went into a meltdown. Damned if I know why.”

Xavier gently tilted Lindsey’s head. “Talk to me, pet. What’s your name?”

“L-Lindsey.” Despite being in deVries’s arms, she struggled to sit up. “I’m sorry, my liege, I didn’t—”

“You did nothing wrong,” deVries muttered. No, he was the one who should apologize—once he figured out what he’d done.

Xavier’s hand stayed on the little brunette’s cheek, undoubtedly feeling the shivers coursing her body. “Use my office. Get her back into her own head.”

“Thanks.” The office had a couch. Was quiet. “I’m taking her home after.”

Xavier considered him out of black eyes before nodding. “I know you’ll take care of her.”

The trust in his statement was one of the finest gifts deVries had ever received.

***

Lindsey roused, hearing an even thudding sound and a low rumble. Blinking, she brought her mind into focus. Warmth surrounded her, and comforting…arms…were around her. Arms? Yes, she was on a lap, her cheek against a hard chest.

The rumbling was a man’s voice talking to her. “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe.”

She tipped her head back and…met deVries’s concerned eyes.

“There she is,” he murmured. “You know where you are?”

“On your lap.”

“Right.” The corners of his mouth tilted up. “How about the general location?”

“Um.” Why was he holding her? Oh, she was in Xavier’s office. “Dark Haven.” She’d been talking with people. DeVries had grabbed her. She’d gotten off and… A tremor ran through her. There had been gunfire and—no, that couldn’t have happened.

Lordy, the top on the stage had been using a whip, and his bottom had screamed. And Lindsey had fallen right into a funk. Good going, girl. “I had kind of a panic attack, I guess, huh?”

“Something like that. Why?”

Oh, this was not good. Her brains weren’t moving fast enough to deal with questions. “A-a childhood trauma.” She swallowed at the disbelief in his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Uh-huh.” He picked her up and stood her on her feet. “I’ll let you get away with that—for now.” He tugged a man’s T-shirt over her head—from the size, she’d guess it was Xavier’s. He put his leather jacket on her as well. “Let’s go.”

She was ushered into deVries’s car without any chance of arguing. Why did this routine seem familiar? Lindsey frowned as he fastened her seat belt for her. “I’m perfectly capable of getting home.”

“Maybe. Now you don’t have to.”

As he drove, she drifted. A few minutes later, she sat up straight. “Wait, this isn’t Mill Valley.”

“You’re coming back to my place.”

Wonderful, now he was being bossy again. He’d been so sweet in Xavier’s office, holding her and murmuring to her. It was hard to believe he’d totally humiliated her minutes before.

Even worse, she’d gone all mental on him. How could she ever show her face there again? “You’re such a jerk,” she muttered.

“Yeah, I know.” With the surprising agreement, he drove down a tree-lined street and into a parking garage under a small apartment building. Once parked, he helped her out of his SUV. If he’d only stop jumping between mean Dom and sweet guy, she wouldn’t be so dizzy.

His apartment was on the second floor, and he kept a light grip on her arm as he escorted her inside, through a dimly lit kitchen, and into the living room. When he flicked on the lights, she saw walls colored a beautiful blue-green with white trim around French doors. The steeply angled ceiling beams were also white and matched the mantel over the dark granite fireplace. He led her across a sisal rug and sat her down on the L-shaped sectional.

“Settle in, babe.” After tugging his coat off her, he took off her high-heeled pumps.

With a sigh, she curled into a corner of the couch, sinking into the warm suede fabric. “You have a pretty apartment,” she said. The austere lines of the wooden coffee and end tables, and the wrought iron hanging lights kept it masculine. And, of course, being a guy, he had a huge wide-screen TV over the fireplace.

“Thanks.”

He laid a fluffy quilt over her lap. “You want a hot drink or an alcoholic one?”

Something warm sounded wonderful. So did— “Both?”

With a snort of amusement, he circled to flip on the gas fire. Outside the bay windows, trees rustled in the light breeze.

The noise he made in the kitchen—cupboard doors opening and closing, the microwave running—was reassuring.

Normal.

Not normal enough. She felt the shakes starting anew. After pulling her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees and hung on.

Something thudded on the table beside her. DeVries cupped her chin, his hand warm and hard. “Damn.” He picked her up and settled back down on the couch with her in his lap. She couldn’t quite let go of her legs, and he patiently rearranged her until she leaned against him.

“Haven’t we done this before?” she muttered through gritted teeth, remembering after the gang fight. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t get to this headspace by yourself, babe.”

After a minute of silence, she squirmed. He couldn’t sit here all night, doing nothing. That wasn’t right. “This is boring—you can’t—”

“Yeah, I can.” He ran a finger down her nose. “It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Little Miss Busy. Bet you never sit still for long.”

Well, sometimes. If she was doing paperwork. She tried to think of other times…

His chest rumbled with his low laugh. Picking up the remote, he flipped through the channels and settled on Casablanca. “This should be girly enough for you and give you something to focus on.”

At the sound of Bogie, she gradually relaxed. Her eyelids drooped, and she rubbed her cheek on the solid chest beneath her face. “Thanks.”

“Mmmm.” The amusement in his voice made her insides melt. “Now drink.” He held a mug to her lips, and she took a sip.

Warm liquid, sweet and buttery. She got a taste of cinnamon before the expanding rush of alcohol. “What is that?”

“Hot buttered rum. Never had it before?” He lifted the mug and drank some before returning it to her. The casual sharing was…nice.

“Uh-uh.” It was yummy. She took another sip before curling her fingers around the mug. “I’ve got it.”

“So you do.”

As he held her against him, occasionally lifting her hand so he could sip, she felt as if all her fantasies were being granted. She was enjoying a cozy evening at home on a Dom’s lap, sharing a show, a couch, a drink. But a sadist? One who didn’t want a relationship with anyone?

Pushing away the bittersweet knowledge, she reminded herself she couldn’t afford a relationship either. Live in the moment, girl. As she laid her cheek on his soft T-shirt, she inhaled the piney scent of his soap. Soap and man—with deVries, you didn’t get any additives.

As her muscles relaxed, she felt as if she were sinking into him.

“Babe.” He took the mug and kissed the top of her head. “Bedtime for little Texans,” he murmured.

Before she could find the energy to move, he stood, still holding her in his arms.

Her eyes opened. “Wait. No.”

“Shut up, subbie,” he said, and somehow, the bottomless growl was affectionate.

He carried her up the stairs. OMG, up the stairs. She clutched at his shoulders, just waiting for him to trip, sending them plunging to their deaths.

A chuckle rumbled against her ear. “You’re hyperventilating, Lindsey. Slow it down.”

Easy for him to say.

Inside a bathroom, he bent and set her on her feet.

She muttered her gratitude for survival, not to him, though. “Thank you, little baby Jesus.”

He burst out laughing and ruffled her hair. “Wash up and get into bed. There are spare toothbrushes, combs, and towels in the right cabinet.”

“But—”

The door closed behind him. Well. Obviously she was staying the night. The empty quiver beneath her ribs said she didn’t want to be alone. Fear wasn’t far away.

So much for brave independence, huh?

She turned toward the sink, saw herself in the mirror, and almost screamed like a ten-year-old facing Freddie Kruger. Her un-runnable mascara had run in black streaks down her cheeks. Her hair was tangled on one side, limp on the other. Any thought of not cleaning up went right out the window.

By the time she finished scrubbing, brushing, and combing, she was exhausted but felt almost human.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled the lap blanket around her shoulders and opened the door. The light of a bedside lamp showed chocolate-colored walls with white wainscoting and window trim. The king-size bed had a wood-and-wrought-iron frame as beautiful as it was probably functional for a Dom. It left her breathless.

DeVries came into the room a second later and stopped to give her a focused survey and nod of approval. “You can wear the T-shirt. Lose the skirt.” He tossed back the quilt of browns and tans. “In.”

Without waiting for her response, he took her place in the bathroom.

She glanced at the door, unsure about sleeping with him again. And she really didn’t want any sex—not when her emotions had been through a log chipper. Sure, she and deVries had already done the deed once, but it was all so much more complicated now.

Even worse, she knew the feel of his skin, drawn so tightly over the underlying rock-hard muscles. She knew his murmur when he was pleased with her. She knew—

“Do I need to repeat myself?” came from inside the bathroom.

Right. She remembered too, how he sounded when he was impatient with her slowness.

She wrinkled her nose at the door—the most defiant act she could dredge up—laid the blanket over the chair, and removed her leather skirt.

The sheets were soft and cool. His scent was on one pillow; she chose that one on which to lay her head.

Would he expect to have sex? She shivered. Being with him was like barely managing to halt halfway down a steep, rutted road, all jostled and scared. Should she keep going and hope for the best? Or back up to try to pick a safer path?

He came out of the bathroom, saw her staring at him, and a corner of his mouth edged up.

Why did he have to have a dimple?

After turning off the bedside lamp, he stripped and crawled under the covers. His weight tipped her toward him. Her body braced, waiting for him to come down on top.

Instead, he rolled her onto her side and spooned behind her. His chest rubbed her back. When his erection nestled against her bottom, she tensed.

“Go to sleep, babe.”

Huh? “But—”

“Not going to fuck you now.”

“But you’re…” She wiggled against his erection.

“Teenage boys get a chubby half a dozen times a day. Doesn’t take long to learn a hard-on won’t kill you.” He curled his hand over her breast, settled in more comfortably. “You’d make a nice teddy bear if you’d shut up and go to sleep.”

Despite the hot drink, she had still felt chilled inside, as if her bones were carved out of ice. Now, with his living heat wrapped around her, the cold melted, leaving her limp. Warm.