Edge of the Enforcer

Chapter Three

DeVries woke, lying still as he assessed his surroundings. Kitchen appliances hummed. Someone in the condo above had heavy feet. The woman tucked against his side breathed softly.

Normal sounds. Normal scents. Nothing burning. No stink of ordnance or gunpowder. No stench of fear or blood or sweat. Only the faint fragrance of a cinnamon candle. Laundered linens.

But the citrusy shower soap on Lindsey’s body and the scent of sex affected him like a female in heat must a wolf. He hardened. Jesus, again?

In the middle of the night, he’d realized she’d rolled away from him. He rarely slept with a woman and never fucking cuddled, but…for some reason, he’d tugged her back. When his arm had grazed over her small breasts, her nipples contracted to press into his skin. Still she hadn’t woken.

His cock damn well had. Swearing under his breath, he’d donned a condom, then used his hands and mouth to bring her to the brink even before she wakened. When her eyes opened, he’d held her in place and thrust in. She’d gone rigid, and damned if she hadn’t come immediately, her cunt pulsing around his cock. Fucking satisfying.

And now he wanted her again. The girl definitely cranked his engine.

He looked down at her. Curled against his side, head on his shoulder, one leg over his thighs. Her cheeks and chin were reddened from his beard stubble, her pink lips swollen. She knew how to use her soft mouth. And she’d enjoyed sucking his dick, giving as generously as she received.

Like he’d figured, she was a sweetheart. A nice woman. Submissive. Gentle. Fun. The type of woman he envied his friends for having. Simon’s Rona was smart and organized and bighearted. She adored her kids and her husband; hell, she cared for an entire hospital.

Xavier’s Abby was a genius, terrifyingly literate, and a nurturer down to her bones.

No surprise this little Texan made up the third woman in their girl-gang.

Using one finger, he stroked over his bite mark on her shoulder. Felt like he’d branded her. DeVries was here—no trespassing.

Not that he had any intention of ever scening with her again. One night had been folly; two would be insanity.

But he hadn’t left yet, and he had an urge to have her one more time. A pity she’d be too sore to take him anally again. No. Although he didn’t mind hurting her for their mutual pleasure, turning her off anal sports would be a shame. He owed it to other ass-players not to screw it up for them.

Besides, he was in the mood for a basic missionary position.

He’d fuck her and leave right after. Best to keep it light. Simple. Especially with this little sweetie who’d lured him into spending the night. Give her a chance, and she’d get her hooks into him. A woman could be more dangerous than any snake-infested jungle.

So after donning a condom, he tipped her onto her back, ignoring her murmur of protest, and used the rope from last night to secure her wrists over her head.

She blinked sleepily at him, rousing sluggishly. Heavy sleeper, wasn’t she? In his business, her habit would get her dead. The thought of anyone hurting her sent an iron jolt of protectiveness through him. He hauled in a breath and kissed her lightly.

Her lips softened immediately, giving him what he wanted.

“Morning, baby.” Hooking his leg over her left ankle, using his other foot to push her right leg out, he opened her to his hand. “Very nice. You’re already getting wet.”

She flushed a deep pink, her legs trying to close, the rope sawing on the headboard at her thwarted effort to—to cover herself. When taken by surprise, she was a modest little thing. Be fun to keep working on her reaction until it went away.

No. One more fuck and I’m done.

He propped himself up on his elbow, deliberately taking a look. Moving her folds to one side. Lifting her clit hood. Chuckling as she flared redder.

And got wetter. The girl roused to his hand as quickly as any woman he’d taken, despite her embarrassment.

Her pussy was fucking beautiful. Puffy outer labia, slick inner. Clit starting to protrude. Using his legs to keep her open, he played for a while, enjoying her responsiveness. She was silky hot inside. Tight. Her cunt muscles tried to suck in his finger. Be fun to do some dildo play with her—how wide of one could she take before begging for mercy?

Her nipples weren’t a hot spot for her, but her little knot of nerves was pleasingly sensitive. A brush would make her tremble. A light pinch made her flinch, and a protracted one sent blood rushing to her cheeks and her legs trying to close. Oh yeah. What he could do with that bundle of nerves for fun.

Hell, why not? “Look at me, little girl.”

Her gaze came to him, biggest fucking brown eyes he’d ever seen. She knew she was defenseless; she wanted to be that way.

He liked her that way. His cock turned rock hard in agreement.

As he trapped her gaze, he captured her clit between thumb and fingers, squeezed, and held. Hearing her heels scraping on the sheet, feeling the trembling of her body, he drank in the gift of her surrender.

Seconds passed. Eyes holding hers, he released her.

As the blood surged back into her mistreated flesh, as she sucked in air, he topped her and sheathed his cock in to the hilt.

Damned if she didn’t fucking come…and keep coming as he hammered into her.

LINDSEY FELT USED. Abused. Taken. And she’d climaxed so hard her heart had left bruises on the inside of her ribs.

On top of her, deVries was thrusting, hitting deep, connected to her on the most intimate of levels. With his arms braced on each side of her shoulders, he lifted his hips to watch his shaft slide in and out of her. His smoke-green eyes glinted with satisfaction. “Put your legs around my waist.”

She brought her knees up, letting him drive deeper.

With the next stroke, he ground his pelvis against her poor mistreated clit, deliberately making her hurt.

And somehow the pain danced along her nerve endings, sparking off desire again. Her vagina tightened around him.

His rare grin flashed at her. “Damn, girl, you’re a treat.”

If he thought she’d get off a second time, he was sadly mistaken. She wasn’t even close.

“Got toys in your nightstand?”

“Wh-what?” He did not ask that. No way.

“Damn straight, you do.” He reached a long arm out, yanked open the drawer, and stilled as his fingers undoubtedly found her stash. “Like a variety, do you?” Rocking his hips against her in gentle thrusts, he fumbled in her drawer, picking up one vibrator after another, finally settling on the one with the forked design.

Holy shit, of all the ones to pick. She thought of it as a sadistic mini-tuning fork. Even worse, it had the most intense vibrations, and she was already sore. “No, not that. It’s too much.”

His head dipped, and he kissed her, long and slow, before whispering against her lips, “I know.”

In a smooth movement, he released her wrists from the ropes, withdrew, and stood at the foot of the bed, leaving her quivering. A hard yank downward positioned her with her butt on the mattress edge.

As her right leg dangled off the bed, he cradled her left knee in his elbow, and he thrust back inside her. The position let him go deep, penetrating her so fully she wiggled in halfhearted protest. Making him smile.

He reached to one side, and she heard a low hum. A second later, he laid the vibrator on her mound, thankfully high, and secured it there with his palm.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, but the distant vibrations kept ramping up her arousal until she was angling her hips to press his hand firmly onto the device.

“Want more?”

“God.” She couldn’t possibly come again, and yet the erotic sensation shivered over her skin, settling like a heavy weight in her pelvis.

“Thought so,” he murmured. After moving the vibe down until the ends barely bracketed her clit, he drove into her hard. Mercilessly. Over and over.

The vibrator buzzed on her even as his cock pounded from inside. She tightened, tightened.

“Lindsey,” he growled.

She raised heavy lids, seeing his intent face.

“Come for me now.” He moved the toy so the brutal vibrations hit her clit fully on both sides. His hips rotated, mercilessly grinding into new places inside her.

Her breathing stopped as every…single…nerve in her whole body fired simultaneously. A massive outburst of sensation broke over her, twirling her in pleasure, tumbling her away.

She gasped right before another hit. And another. One tornado after another.

Little by little, the convulsions eased. When she managed to pry her eyelids open, he was staring at her, his gaze intimate. Perceptive.

“Nice.” As she shuddered under him, he set the vibrator aside, put an elbow under her other knee so her legs were lifted into the air. He drew out and plunged deep, pumping fast and long, followed by shorter shocking stabs. When he sheathed himself completely, he was so huge and hard, she could feel every pulse of his shaft as he released inside her.

Risking a reprimand, she ran her hands over his shoulders, the velvet skin stretched tight over bunched muscles, a tactile symphony of sex.

With a measured breath, he eased his cock in and out, like a sweet farewell. His lips curved as her vagina clenched around him in tiny after-tremors before he pulled out. “You’re a treat, all right,” he rasped.

She wouldn’t be calling him a treat—he was more like the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

After giving her a brief hard kiss, he headed for the bathroom, and she managed to turn her head to watch. The man was simply gorgeous. He always wore a shirt at the club; naked, his shoulders seemed even broader. The line down his spine to his ass was bounded by muscle, and his butt was world-class. He was even tanned, despite the overcast San Francisco skies.

With a frown, she realized white lines of scars marred his smooth skin. She’d felt the tiny ridges while they were making love. And he had a long, stitched-up gash. Jeez, she didn’t even know what he did in real life. Maybe a cop? Her stomach clenched at the thought.

Hearing the shower come on, she considered joining him for one more wonderful chance to watch water flow down the valleys created by his bunching muscles. To run her fingers over his tight, tanned skin. She giggled as she rolled out of bed. She sure couldn’t see him in a tanning salon. He didn’t seem to have an ounce of self-consciousness or conceit.

Not like me. She donned the cheap terrycloth robe with the fraying hem. A secondhand purchase. Not pretty. Not sexy. But hey, it was what she had.

Her mouth turned down. Before she’d married Miguel, she’d felt pretty. Before she’d married Victor, she’d felt sexy. Neither feeling had lasted very far into either marriage. Experience had taught her a guy would say anything and act any way to get what he wanted. Intellectually she knew she was pretty enough; unfortunately, her subconscious still heeded Victor’s and Miguel’s opinions.

At least deVries had honestly found her sexy to desire. Had liked her enough to want to be with her. Totally awesome. He likes me.

She tied the robe closed. Didn’t it just figure that now she had someone over who might appreciate hot lingerie, she couldn’t afford any? Her life sure had changed in the blink of an eye—from a Texas ranch, to college, to Victor’s fancy San Antonio house, to being on the run and broke.

She bit her lip. She couldn’t live like this the rest of her life. Not only for herself, but for everyone else being hurt. Victor’s brother, Travis, wouldn’t have shut down the smuggling operation. Guns, drugs, slavery. Travis had to be stopped. Somehow.

The last time she’d talked to a cop, she’d almost died.

Her cheerful mood was broken as a chill swept over her. She’d slept like an exhausted puppy with deVries in her bed. Not worrying about whether Travis Parnell might have found her and sent someone to silence her.

She glanced back at the shower and headed for the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she set the small café table in front of the bay window. Pretty convenient she’d baked quiche the day before—it made a great ready-made breakfast. He’d probably think her an idiot to feed him, but Mama had exacting notions about hospitality.

Of course, her mama would consider deVries more of a devil than a guest, and she’d be right. Be that as it may, if Lindsey fed the man, maybe he’d mellow and actually talk to her. Breakfast with the Enforcer. God.

On the way back to the kitchen, her gaze fell on the antique rolltop desk. And the newspaper clippings showing Craig’s body, his police uniform stained with blood. More articles were there about the hunt for Lindsey Rayburn Parnell who had apparently shot her husband, Victor, then murdered a cop to escape. Lies, damn them.

Footsteps reminded her of her guest. Breath catching, she shoved the rolltop down to cover everything even as deVries walked out of the bedroom. Her voice shook as she said, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” His gaze ran from the desk up to her face.

“I have some breakfast for you.” She hurried over to the kitchen island, picked up the plates, and carried them to the table. Be cool. Be cool. After a calming breath, she turned and gave him a bright smile. “I hope you like quiche.”

He hesitated, obviously surprised. “Long as eggs are cooked, I’m good.” He joined her, nodding when she lifted the coffeepot. “Thanks.”

While he ate, she burbled about the weather, the club, anything she could think of. She’d never had trouble talking with people. Psychology and social work degrees had perfected her ability to plow through the most awkward of moments.

If only he would stop looking around the room. The worry she might have left something else out made her squirm. Even worse, every time his eyes met hers, her brain emptied of thoughts like water swirling down the drain.

As he took his last bite and leaned back with coffee in hand, she finally asked, “So, what do you do for a living?” Aw heck, she sounded dumb. Nonetheless, she was dying to know where those scars came from. “Are you a cop?” Her fingers tensed on her cup.

His eyes were more green than gray in the morning light, and she could have sworn amusement lurked in the depths. “I work for Simon.”

Right. Rona’s husband owned a security and investigations firm. “Is it that dangerous?” Oh shit, she’d blurted her question out.

“What?” He paused with his cup halfway to his mouth.

Her gaze dropped to where his leathers covered the stitches on his hip.

“Happened during my time off. A buddy tripped—the clumsy bastard—and I ended up with this.”

Jeez, was his buddy playing with a knife or something? “Oh. That’s a crappy thing to happen on a holiday.”

“Guess so.” Although his eyes had somehow darkened, his lips twitched.

She eyed him suspiciously. Sometimes she got the definite impression he thought she was funny, even that he was teasing her—but surely not. Honestly, as a social worker, she had awesome instincts about people. Normally. However, the Enforcer somehow managed to wipe her mind as if she were a computer and someone hit Delete File.

“So where in Texas were you raised?” he asked.

“Um. Did I say I was from Texas?” Why had she been stupid enough to ask him questions?

“Got the accent, babe.”

“Oh.” Here she’d thought it wasn’t very noticeable. Where in Texas… Hmm, she sure wouldn’t mention her town on the Mexican border where everyone knew Lindsey Rayburn. “A-around Dallas. How about you?”

His gaze was on her fingers…and the napkin she was crumpling. “Born in Chicago.” He glanced around the room. “Guess you don’t have to do anything to make a living.”

At least she could tell the truth for this one. “Oh, but I do. I work as a receptionist.” Well, she would work for another day or so until the woman whose position she’d filled returned from maternity leave.

“Receptionist?” He straightened. “Right. Bullshit.”

WHEN THE PRETTY submissive’s gaze jerked up, deVries almost winced at his rude statement. Still—no receptionist could afford this place. The table where they sat would take a year’s salary. The rest of the furniture was of the same pricey level. Not possible.

He’d already been annoyed over her “raised around Dallas” bullshit. She was a piss-poor liar. “Did you inherit money or something?” Like this condo.

She gave him an incredulous look. “I wish.”

Curiosity drove him on. He’d never been able to release a question once his teeth were dug in. “Guess you must have married for money, huh?”

“I—” Red swept into her face, one shoulder went up, and damned if her head didn’t give an unconscious affirmative. “I—” She picked up her cup as if it could provide a shield.

Married for money. One major kick to the gut. It brought a partnering thought. “You telling me I fucked a married woman?”

“No. No, I don’t have a husband.”

That, at least, looked honest. “Divorced, huh?” Was that how she’d ended up rich? His mouth tightened.

When her cup shook, she set it down. “Why all the questions?”

Receptionist married a wealthy man only to divorce him. The guy had probably owned the condo before she took it and everything else the poor bastard had. She sure as fuck wasn’t paying the mortgage on her salary. “Bet you didn’t have a friendly divorce, did you?”

Even as she flinched, she averted her gaze, confirming his suspicions.

Goddamn women. The guy probably worked his ass off; then wifey decided she was entitled to everything he’d earned. “Sorry, Mr. deVries, your account is overdrawn.” He’d never forget the bank teller’s voice when he’d asked why his debit card hadn’t worked. A decade later, the memory still kicked him in the gut. Nothing like having a “loving” wife clean out the account while he served his country in hell. Yeah, thanks, Tamara.

He inhaled deliberately and tried to control his temper.

“Um. More coffee?” Lindsey ventured, lifting the pot.

Such big brown eyes. He felt as if he’d kicked a puppy. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she hadn’t cleaned the guy out. “I guess your ex is living in ritzy shit like this too?”

The coffeepot thumped onto the table as she paled. He saw guilt on her face, plain as hell.

He didn’t need an answer. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I got to be going.”

She rose as he did, silently watched him retrieve his toy bag and electro-case.

When he glanced at her, she took a step back, and her arms wrapped around her torso. All big eyes, innocent as a baby. Damned if she wasn’t even smoother than his ex. Lindsey’s poor bastard of a husband probably hadn’t seen the viper beneath that smooth skin until the poison flooded his veins.

He yanked open the apartment door.

“DeVries?” Even her voice sounded sweet.

Made him want to puke. Before the door closed behind him, he looked back. “Debt’s paid.”

LINDSEY FELT HER knees buckle. She dropped down into the chair, staring at nothing.

What did I do? Everything had been going fine. Last night, he’d actually smiled at her a couple of times. The sex had been rough, yet somehow gentle. He’d even kissed her as if he liked her. Not sexual kisses—friendly ones.

Yet the minute she’d told him what she did, he’d turned all cold. And his face… He looked at her as if she was a-a slut or something.

Her heart was shriveling up like a winter-blasted weed.

What had gotten his panties all in a wad? Because he didn’t like her job or didn’t approve of divorce? Seriously?

Indignation flickered to life, attempting to overcome the empty feeling inside her. What a jerk. He’d deliberately made her feel like a whore. “Debt’s paid.”

Well, he’d sure gotten everything she’d owed him. Her face heated as she remembered what all she’d let him do. How crazy he’d driven her. She’d let him face-fuck her. Take her anally. Laugh at her and call her greedy.

Now he acted as if she was a slut. Her lips trembled.

I’m not a whore.

He’d used her like a whore, hadn’t he? When would she learn?

Miguel hadn’t desired her—he’d needed to marry her so he could get a green card. Victor had wanted her ranchland that bordered Mexico, not her. She drew in a shaky breath.

She’d thought maybe here, away from everything, she could get herself back together. Dark Haven had been a refuge, a place to swim free, to rediscover who she was.

At least until now.

She drew the robe tighter, covering her legs. Maybe she had acted like a slut. After all, she’d known her time with deVries would be a one-night stand. Just sex.

She’d told herself it was okay for a girl to have fun as the men did, without obligation or guilt. Surely no one in the lifestyle would disagree.

But to find out deVries hadn’t even liked her when he…fucked…her. As with her husbands, she’d been something to be used. And once he’d finished, he’d tossed her away like garbage.

Her hand shook as she forced herself to drink the coffee. He was wrong. She was a good woman. A fine person. Not a slut.

Oh God, I’ll never be able to face him again.

At least she could avoid Dark Haven for a while since Saturday would be her time with Rona and Abby. She squeezed her eyes shut. If enough time passed, she’d find the courage to share with them what had happened. Surely they’d have some insights.

She’d known he was a weasel. She’d known.