Storywitch's "Book of Shadows"

Yep, had to skip a week due to other demands, but we’re back on track again. Here’s part three, and barring any problems, you should see part four next week!

* * * * *

They didn’t take him into Tampa as he expected. Before they got started, after he’d said his hellos to Daisy, Violet pulled a blindfold out of the glove compartment and then turned around in the seat, balancing on the center console with the long practice of a woman used to wiping a nose or handing out a cookie. Or to check on a suspect and threaten his life with a mere pointed look.

“Marguerite doesn’t want you to know where you’re going,” she explained. “If you start to feel car sick, though, let me know. I don’t want you to get there and throw up on her shoes.” She gave him a steady look. “But if you’d rather just close your eyes, I think I can accept your word that you won’t peek.

He had been a CIA operative, not a cop, but Violet understood that all those in law enforcement had difficulties with being rendered helpless, even in the company of trusted friends. Ironically, though, it was that sensitivity that helped.

“No, I should be fine. You’re not driving, so I feel reasonably comfortable.”

“Wise guy. Daisy, we might just stick your pacifier in his mouth before this ride is over.” But Violet was still pretty gentle as she guided the blindfold over his face, adjusting the strap behind his ears and making sure it was comfortable.

He inhaled, and a faint smile touched his lips. “Marguerite gave you this.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell me what you’re smelling. I’m sure I don’t want to know where that’s been.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing a little bit more about it,” Mac offered.

Tyler heard the grunt as she punched her husband in the arm. Giving Mac a hand, he shoved his knee against the back of her seat, hearing a satisfying thud as it moved on its track. “It’s the fragrance she puts on her wrists. Gutter-mind.”

It was something he’d bought her, one of those customized scents that cost a ridiculous amount of money but was supposed to be aligned with the woman’s body chemistry to make it uniquely hers. She’d smiled at the notion, indulging him, but they’d both been surprised by how tantalizing a touch of the oil on her pulse points had been to his nose. Not that it took much to tease his senses where Marguerite was concerned.

“Are Daisy and I going to have to separate you two?” Mac quipped, and then they were on their way.

By instinct, Tyler tried to keep track of the number of turns, the distance between them. Violet kept up an easy flow of conversation between the three of them, with the obligatory interruptions to respond to Daisy’s spontaneous gurgles, coos and various baby noises. He figured out they’d gotten onto some type of rural road, headed in a westerly direction, which would take them to the Keys if they stayed on it way longer than he assumed they would be. He found he was correct, because after about twenty minutes, Mac turned off and they were bumping up a gravel road.

Violet had opened one of the windows, and he smelled cut grass, distant marsh. Something else, musky, animal-like. Horses. They were somewhere that had horses. Confirming it, he heard a distant whinny and snort, the thud of hooves as they found some energy to play, despite the late afternoon Florida heat.

But something else was in the air as well. When Mac braked, a sudden still readiness settled over Tyler. Marguerite was nearby. He could sense her, waiting for him. Despite his banter with Violet, and the seemingly entertaining nature of what Marguerite had asked them to do, all that changed in this moment. That strong current of need and want that could rise up and take him over when he needed to let her know exactly how much she meant to him, surged forward now, making him as focused as he’d ever been before a mission.

Being with her defined everything he was, underscoring what he’d always been, as well as creating something new and stronger. Whenever they came together like this, Master against Mistress, it was as if both the predator and mate in him awoke, ready to do battle and seduce at once. Marguerite Perruquet Winterman was many things, but few of them were easy. Whatever it was she had planned, preparation for it coiled in his lower belly, making his cock harden and all his other senses go on alert.

Though she was a female Dominant, she’d surrendered to him, a unique scenario even in the unpredictable world of Domination and submission. She wasn’t just any Mistress, but a living legend at their preferred club, The Zone. Since being a Mistress was in her blood, situations like this were intended to challenge him. She needed to be a submissive with him, to find that emotional balance her very difficult childhood had almost stolen from her permanently. However, it took both a strong and delicate hand to hold the reins on her. His lips twitched, wondering if the choice of a stable had been intended or unconscious. Either way, his blood stirred, ready for both the gauntlet and the gift she’d prepared for him. It was a fair description of the woman herself.

His wife. Something he never got tired of saying, thinking, or murmuring in the shell of her ear, particularly after a hard climax, holding her shuddering body, knowing that, by some miracle, she was all his.

* * * *

Violet was the one who took him out of the van. As if sensing the change in his mood, she said little, merely guiding him along a gravel path. When he realized they’d stepped inside a building, he recognized it as a barn, the smell of hay and old wood filling his nostrils.

“I’m uncuffing your right wrist. I want you to move your hands in front of you, and then I’m going to recuff them.”

He complied without a word, and her small fingers tightened over the bracelets, binding him again. Her knuckles brushed his groin, inadvertently he was certain, because Violet didn’t play with him like that. But he was sure she couldn’t help but notice he was getting hard.

“We can’t help it, can we?” she murmured. “Like pit bulls getting ready to go into the ring. Good luck, champ. Kick her ass.” Then, in her cop voice, she added, “Stand right here.”

She left him, her shoes crunching on the stone. The haze in the air was disturbed by a fan mounted somewhere on the wall, so that the sweat that had collected on his shirt when he was gardening cooled. Despite the pleasurable tension he was feeling about what might be ahead, it was peaceful here, quiet. Earthy. Marguerite chose her settings quite deliberately, and so had known this would be a good balance for him, too.

“Lift your hands over your head.”

Had she been standing downwind from him, remaining completely still so that he couldn’t detect her? Since he was already expecting her arrival, she’d managed to cloak her presence cleverly in that anticipation.

As a Dom, he knew that sensory deprivation, anticipation and denial were the three potent ways to drive up desire and need, heighten all other sensations. So he shouldn’t have been surprised that those few syllables, said in the unconsciously sultry voice he most wanted to hear, could tighten his lower abdomen muscles as if he’d just driven himself into her. His cock responded accordingly with a hard jerk that made him wince, because he was definitely in need of adjustment. He hadn’t thought it appropriate to ask Violet for help with that, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Mac.

“Don’t make me tell you twice.” That core of authority that made so many submissive males cream themselves, slid into her tone. In his case it stimulated more than that, an urge as primal as that which drove the first male wolf to follow an elusive female scent.

Baring his teeth in a smile, he lifted his hands, felt the hook waiting there, just within reach of his wrists.

“Thread it over.”

“Whose gift is this, angel? Yours or mine?”

“You won’t have to ask that when I’m done.”

“Come here.”

Her breathy soft laugh made him want to lunge at her, but he held his position, knowing she was circling him now. Her feet were bare, because he knew the sound of her smooth, slender soles padding against the wood of their bedroom floor. “You shouldn’t be barefoot in here. You could cut those pretty feet. The ones that belong to me.”

“You still haven’t followed my instructions.”

He would do anything for her, and she knew it. Tyler guided the chain connecting the cuffs over the cool steel, and immediately heard a whirring noise. Before he could consider the idea of unhooking himself, the hook had retracted, stretching his body upward. She kept it going until he was fully extended, his muscles taut, though his heels still remained on the floor. Barely.

“Come here,” he said again. A Master’s demand, one he knew would send an electric surge through her blood that matched his own, and create a gloriously unpredictable reaction. The sense of waiting was over. He was ready to handle anything she had to offer.

Tags: Tyler Tied UP

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