A Very Demon Christmas [Demon Hunters 1] (3 page)

One step at a time, she told herself as she tucked a wayward strand behind her ear, and then left the apartment. She could always do a drive-by and keep going—an idea with a great deal to recommend it. Then no one would see what was hidden by her sensible camel-hair coat, which was exactly the problem.

She sighed. How was she going to negotiate an affair with a sexy Dom if she wasn't brave enough to enter the club or take off her coat? A few jitters weren't worth tossing away the chance for an erotic adventure.

Colin's heady, intensely male scent lingered in her car. What a pity he wasn't interested in teaching her about dominant men and perhaps even bondage. She would love to be his sex slave. She shook off the useless longing and let his fragrance fuel her determination to explore this strange and exciting world of domination and submission.

Too soon, her modest compact joined a stream of expensive cars lined up at the entrance to the club's private parking garage. A stern-faced attendant waved her forward, motioned for her to roll down her window, and held up an open palm for the next car to wait. “May I see your invitation, ma'am?"

His tone was flawlessly polite. Aside from the ma'am, which rankled, she had no complaint with his manner. Still, heat flared on her cheeks in the seconds it took to produce the invitation.

He examined the small square of paper closely, then handed it back. “Go straight ahead, turn right, and follow the arrows. There are spaces open on the second level."

"Thank you.” She left the window down, hoping to cool her face. If her courage failed, she could leave.

After parking, she hesitated for a few rapid heartbeats before she crossed to an elevator and rode up to street level. The doors opened to a festive foyer. A doorman accepted a coat and purse from a spectacular brunette in front of her. The other woman wore stilettos to match her black leather harness—kinky but not exactly Christmassy. Then she moved, and the tinkle of a dozen or more silver bells chimed with Christmas spirit. To make things worse, the narrow leather straps enhanced a slim, toned body with high, pert breasts and a perfect allover tan.

Holly wanted to back out of the club before she'd gotten past the doorman. The beautiful woman wearing the provocative leather costume triggered all her old insecurities. Although she had done her best to accept her round ugly-duckling shape in a world that worshipped swans, there were still times when she was slammed right back to middle school and her life as the chubby girl who never quite measured up when compared to the slender, popular cheerleaders.

In comparison with the other submissive's sleek curves, Holly's daring red lingerie suddenly seemed way overdressed and her figure way too full. Just when she most needed a little color, her cool cheeks told her the last of her blush had fled, turning her complexion back to its usual ghost white.

Mariah Carey's “All I Want for Christmas” played over an invisible sound system. The song gave Holly an infusion of optimism. She managed a smile for the doorman, and her fingers barely trembled as she handed him the invitation.

The open doorway beyond him gave her a view into a busy main room and a waiting area where half a dozen mostly naked women and two men, just as undressed, either sat or stood.

A tall man in a tuxedo entered the room and barked at a gorgeous redhead wearing a very short skirt and vest. Both of her garments were made from some kind of skin-molding material in a becoming shade of shiny gold. “Assume the position."

Holly stared like a kid at her first circus as the submissive gracefully fell to her knees, then spread her thighs—she wasn't wearing panties. When she clasped her hands behind her head, the vest parted, exposing the inner curves of her breasts.

Her prompt obedience seemed to mollify her Master. He brushed her top aside, tweaked first one nipple and then the other until they were both a darker red and stiff. Apparently satisfied with his efforts, he attached what looked like tiny vises connected with a chain to the hardened tips. “Very nice."

"Identification, ma'am?” From the doorkeeper's overly patient tone, Holly feared he'd already repeated the request.

Flustered and aroused by the scene she'd just witnessed, she reopened her clutch and peered inside for her license.

Before she'd retrieved her ID, a calloused palm cupped her neck, gripping her firmly. “I know her, Harry."

That was wrong, because she didn't know anyone at La Ceinture Noire, although there was something about his speech that tugged her memory. Perhaps she just wanted the deep voice to be familiar. The gravelly tones washed over her frazzled nerves, soothing her edginess while exciting a new layer of erotic sensations. He sounded like her handsome neighbor. But that couldn't be right, because he barely spoke to her. Wanting to see her captor, she tried to turn. She might as well have tried to move a small mountain. His hold was gentle, protective, and impossible to break.

"Don't move. I've got you."

He is certainly right about having me. But does he really want me?

The doorman protested on her behalf. “If she's not in the system, she has to sign a release."

"Not a problem. Give it to me."

From under her lashes, Holly watched as the doorman placed a folder on the counter. All she saw was her captor's broad shoulders bunching and straining an expensive evening jacket while he bent his head and flipped to the last page of the document. With a click of the pen, he scrawled an illegible signature and then beckoned Harry closer. They spoke, but their voices were pitched too low for her to catch any of the conversation.

"You're covered.” He pushed the pen and folder closer to the doorman, then handed over her coat and sparkly clutch.

When had he unbuttoned and removed her coat? Had she given him the purse? She didn't remember doing any such thing. Holly drew in a deep breath to clear her muzzy head or perhaps to protest his presumption, but his intoxicating masculine scent filled her lungs and raced through her bloodstream, diverting every thought except how wonderful he smelled.

A terrific example of needing to be careful what she wished for. She'd wanted to know if she really was sexually submissive. Confirmation was looking more definite with every breath.

She was fairly certain the club safeguards that Tamara had told her about—a standard practice at well-run fetish clubs, which were designed to guarantee her safety—had just been dispensed with by the Dom holding her neck. Why hadn't she stopped to consider how hard it would be for a submissive to deny a real Dom anything he wanted?

She should have been frightened. Instead her nipples grew more rigid, begging for his attention, and her core bloomed for him, soaking the small piece of lace between her legs. Her response was so far from normal that she had to swallow before she spoke to his back. “Are you taking me to the slave auction?"

"Absolutely not.” He chuckled without turning. “But if you're very good, I might let you watch a little of the bidding."

Without her having seen him move, he was behind her. He steered her into a secluded corner, pinned her against the wall, and slipped a silky blindfold in place. “I don't want you distracted."

Intending to protest his highhanded treatment and the blindfold, her lips parted. He whirled her around and covered her mouth with his. The kiss started slow as he brushed his lips against hers over and over until she burned for more. She strained closer, but he'd transferred his grip to her shoulders and easily held her where he wanted her. Tiny licks tasted the inner edge of her lips. She was lost in his flavor—a dark chocolate with a hint of her favorite green tea and something more—something sinfully erotic. She'd been kissed before, but never like this—like she was delicious and necessary. Seduced by his taste, she forgot to breathe.

He lifted his head, placed her palm over his heart, and whispered, “Breathe with me, baby."

With her first ragged breath, heat raced up her neck.

A rough finger traced her blush from her cheeks to the tops of her breasts. “So beautiful."

In that moment, the power beneath his words made her believe him.

With the blindfold on, her other senses were heightened. Some change in the air told her they weren't alone.

"May I serve you, Master?” The voice was sweet and low and came from somewhere below Holly's waist.

A woman was kneeling in front of Holly's Dom. She prickled with resentment, but she didn't own him, didn't even know him, no matter what he'd told the doorman. She forced her tense mouth into a polite smile and reached to untie the blindfold.

Strong fingers caught her wrists. He growled. “Don't move.” Then his voice aimed away from her. “Thanks for the ribbon, Diane. Better get lined up. The auction will start soon."

"Of course, Master, if you want—"

His voice changed, grew colder. “Call me sir. I'm not your Master, and I won't want."

Holly thought the other woman had left, but she really wished she could see so she knew for certain whether or not they were alone, or as alone as possible in the crowded club.

"But you are a Master, aren't you?” The question slipped off her tongue without her consciously deciding to speak.

"If you have to ask, then I'm not doing it right.” He caught Holly's mouth in another toe-curling kiss that left no doubt about who was in charge. Him.

When he lifted his lips from hers, she couldn't even form thoughts, let alone questions. With every breath she fell deeper under his spell. He definitely did Master right.

Colin tied the ribbon Diane had given him around Holly's slender throat. The thin line of color marked her as taken—his. He loved how her lips were wet and swollen from his kiss. He loved the way she responded to him with total, helpless, surprised, submission. He loved how her abundant curves felt against his raw needs. And he hated not being able to read her. Touching hadn't made even a crack in her impenetrable thought shield. He also hated being wrong.

In addition to not being able to read a single idea in her beautiful head, he had new problems. Her mouth was an oasis of pleasure in his barren life. Her silken tongue carried a seductive flavor of hot cocoa with a touch of cool mint. He should never have tasted her sweetness. Now it would be twice as hard to maintain his distance. But he had to; there was too much at stake, including her life.

Absently, he stroked the soft, soft skin over her delicate collarbone just below his mark of ownership. Then he watched her pulse at the base of her throat, entranced by the way it fluttered in response to his touch. What he should do was untie the ribbon, then escort her to the holding pen until the slave auction.

Yeah, sure. Not happening. He couldn't stop touching her. Forget about putting her on the auction block for some other Dom to claim. She was completely untrained. Someone else might be impatient, too harsh, or... Not happening, no way, no how. The whole argument was moot. For now she belonged to him, and he wasn't strong enough to forgo this chance to play. He was keeping her for tonight.

He'd agreed to do a teaching scene before the auction. Originally, he'd intended to work with hot wax or maybe a bullwhip—always a crowd favorite. But the idea of marring Holly's perfect skin, even temporarily, sickened him. Learning her limits and how she responded to pain was part of being her Master, but he sure as hell wasn't tossing her into an extreme scene with no idea how she'd react.

He let his thumb drift lower, grazing the top curve of her deep cleavage. And lower still, until he skimmed the edge of the lace cups. Through the stretched lace, he watched her nipples darken and pucker even tighter. He teased her swollen tips with a brush of his thumbs, and the thin material peaked over the stiffened points. “Tell me what you want, baby."

Her breath caught with a little hitch. “A kiss, Sir."

Damn, she got to him. His cock lengthened and hardened further until it was a pleasurable heavy ache pinned by his slacks against his thigh. He unbuttoned his jacket and leaned closer, crowding her—letting her softness cradle his raw hunger.

"Where?” The single-word question grated out like he'd swallowed a load of gravel.

Another ragged breath bumped her lush breasts against the starched front of his dress shirt, adding fresh heat to his fever.

"Everywhere."

Only the fact that they were in a public place, and he was fairly certain he wouldn't stop at kissing, kept him from stripping off the bits of lace and taking her up on that offer. But he couldn't resist probing her mind for lascivious images. There weren't any. More accurately, there weren't any he could access. He concentrated and tried again and came up just as empty. Apparently, he couldn't read her thoughts even when he was touching her. He'd been so focused on her physical responses and that tempting body he'd forgotten the disturbing absence of his usual mental connection.

A muffled
thunk
sounded close to his feet.

"There's your toy bag. Added some red hemp. Showtime, Master Colin."

"Thanks.” Colin stayed riveted on Holly.

Duec laughed. “Nice slave."

Colin whirled, but Duec's broad back was already halfway across the room and moving fast through the crowd. No way was he going to chase down his boss and leave Holly unprotected. Then what Duec had said sank into Colin's head. Leave it to Duec to provide the ideal Christmas present. Red hemp—absolutely perfect.

He cupped Holly's nape. “Come on. I'm going to put your beautiful body on display."

A muffled squeak that might have been a protest came from her lips.

"Do we need to talk about your limits?” Colin rubbed his thumb along the side of her neck and deepened his voice with enough compulsion to ensure her compliance. “Or are you going to trust me absolutely?"

"I trust you, Sir."

"From you, I prefer Master."

"Yes, M-M-Master."

Her stammered response, especially the cock-throbbing “Master,” made him want to purr. Duec had a point. She was a damn fine slave. One he'd love to train. “That's my brave baby."

He picked up his heavy toy bag, steered her to the largest of the empty glass rooms, and closed the door behind them. Since he couldn't pick up her thoughts, he'd have to keep a close eye on her. He silently snorted, like that was going to be tough. She responded to his orders, which was much more critical.