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A startled stillness on the other end of the phone. Violet waited, watching bubbles run down her thigh when she placed her foot on the rim of the tub.
Tyler's voice was soft when he spoke, reminding her why she considered him one of her closest friends. "If he doesn't, he's nuts. You're doing great."
"Am I? Or am I pushing too hard? I remember all the things I've learned and seen, but when I'm in there, something else takes over. Gut, or instinct."
"You've always trusted your instincts, Violet. It makes you good in the vanilla world, and it makes you the kind of Mistress no sub can refuse in this world. It's an art form. How often have you heard a writer or painter say 'something just takes over'? Maybe there's a Domination muse."
She snorted with laughter, sending a paw of bubbles across the tub. "Idiot."
"An idiot who cares a lot about you. I think it's good you're bringing this guy. If you're falling this hard, this fast, I want to check him out."
"That may even be part of why I'm bringing him. To get an objective opinion."
"Fair enough. Get out of the tub before you fall asleep. Now, while I'm on the phone. Just remember, Vi, my objective opinion isn't going to matter two damns if it turns out you're already gone on him."
"Yeah, but you'll be able to say 'I told you so' when he stomps my heart into little pieces."
"That's what I love about you. Always looking on the positive side. Night, Vi."
"Night, Tyler."
*
Mac stared at his ceiling and listened to the clock tick. The case file for the S&M Killer, as she'd been dubbed, was scattered at the end of the bed, the crime scene photos fanned out on the floor. He'd tacked several key ones to the ceiling just below the skylight window, angling the neck of the bedside table lamp up so he could spotlight every detail.
Serial killers sometimes liked to take trophies, leave a mark. For this killer, it was how she left her victims. Both cuffed on the floor by the footboard of the bed. Arms spread and manacled to the top railings, ankles to the posts, so her victim was pulled out to an uncomfortable angle. His point of gravity was forward, hanging by the weight of his arms because his legs were spread out too wide for him to keep his balance under stimulation and there wasn't enough slack to let him be on his knees. She'd climbed up on the bed behind him, leaving her knee prints in the spread, and shot out the back of his head with a hollow point. She hadn't wanted to look in his eyes in that last moment. Why?
Maybe she didn't want him to see it coming. Maybe she didn't want him to suffer. Perhaps she was killing some part of herself, and didn't want to see him as a separate identity. Both victims had suffered a light flogging, had reached climax shortly before the kill. She'd given them pleasure before death. She wasn't interested in torture, not yet. But if she kept doing it, and everything indicated she would, that would change. She was all-powerful, had him at her whim. Why not push the boundaries, see what it felt like to push past where he was willing to go, if it was the same rush to push past his pain threshold as it was to take his life?
Mac had tracked killers long enough to know that eventually the blood lust had a dark power of its own that took over. Its only blessing was that it dulled the wits of the sharpest murderer. But he'd rather not wait until this one reached that point.
She'd already chosen her next victim, he was sure of that. She would be in the process of winning his trust, working toward this ultimate goal. The ultimate surrender.
He blinked. He'd covered this ground for an hour now. After he'd slept for six solid hours. When he'd gotten home, he'd had no choice. He had abandoned pride, fallen across the bed and let exhaustion take him where it wanted to go while his body built back up a reserve. His lips twisted.
He'd made the decision to seek out another Mistress, one less distracting. That resolve lasted for about an hour as he did some mingling, checking out a few leads he'd identified from the previous night, following up on some promising conversations. Then, right at the time she had dictated, he had turned his feet toward the downstairs area. He'd stopped at the top of the stairs, managed to fight with himself for a good solid minute before he went down, straight to the room she'd reserved, and done as she'd told him to do. And he knew without a doubt he'd be outside The Zone on Friday, waiting for her.
He'd done it for the case, because he hadn't found another Mistress that suited his purposes as well as Violet. However, he knew he had done it for a hell of a lot of other reasons besides, reasons that had nothing to do with the case at all.
She had drained him. He had almost cracked, almost begged her not to leave him that way, a performing act for the others of the club. But he had managed. Mostly. She disturbed him, deep down, the things she said, the way she was making him feel. She made him furious, but not in a way that made him want to turn his back on her. He wanted to show the little minx she might be tough, but he was tougher. That he could please her beyond her wildest dreams, if he could just figure out what the hell it was she wanted, and why he felt like he couldn't stay away from her, even though he'd never been so apprehensive under a Mistress's hand as he was with her.
He wasn't in control with her. That was it. Mac forced himself to face it, face that there might be some truth to what she'd been t
elling him about his previous Mistresses. She saw through bullshit, and she wasn't hesitating to reach right through it to curl her little fingers tight around his balls. He didn't know what she'd ask next. What if she wanted something that he couldn't handle, that would break him down completely? He could turn away now, before that happened, but everything in him strained toward her, as if she were a drug in truth. He was afraid he wouldn't refuse her anything.
*
Violet wished she'd had more time to unwind after work. She'd run over shift, and it had been a hellacious day with an overabundance of assholes. She had planned on a long bath so she could come to The Zone in the right frame of mind, but had only had time for a quick shower. She cursed herself for not deciding to go up to Tyler's on Saturday, so she would have had Friday to prepare herself. The plain and simple truth was she'd been too eager to see Mac again to wait.
But there were other ways to regroup. She pulled into the convenience store parking lot across from The Zone and sat there a moment, just gazing across the street at the front entranceway of the club from her screened position.
He was there. He stood, waiting for her, talking to Richard, the front doorman for The Zone.
Just seeing him there made her feel like a sailboat catching an evening wind. Certain parts tightening up, others loosening as the sails strained forward eagerly with the wind. The captain relaxed at the helm, knowing she could ride this tack for awhile, just enjoying the beauty of what lay before her. Leave the cares of land far behind.
The last two times she'd left him, he'd been pretty much naked. But even seeing him in clothes--the black jeans he seemed to favor and a blue dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows--made her instantly, noticeably wet. The way he stood, leaning against a column of the entranceway, arms crossed over his chest. He smiled at something Richard said, and she let out a soft gasp as her pussy vibrated in response. Maybe she should have used one of her toys this week. She'd gone from work stress mode to high arousal mode with barely a pause in between. She knew what those silky curls on his head felt like now, twining over her fingers, and she wanted to be touching them. Black, silver and white. He would smell good, as he had the past two times; soap, a touch of aftershave or cologne, and heat. That heat had its own scent. If they could extract an oil from it, they'd have an aromatherapy candle any woman would want.
The sun had not yet set, and so he wore sunglasses, which just drew attention to his mouth, the strong jaw, the smooth beard. She wanted to see his eyes.
