|
Let the Dark Seduce You...
SLAVE TO LOVE by Nikita
Black
|
Buy Now
Read an Excerpt
Price $16.00
Buy
at Amazon.com
Special
Investigations Section Officer Caroline Palmer is not into
whips and chains...
That is, not until Homicide Detective Michael 'Mick' McGraw—better
known as The Iceman—leads her undercover into a secret world
she never dreamed existed. He says they are tracking a sexual
predator, a sadistic killer who preys on adventurous suburban
couples. But Caroline knows Mick is looking for something
else. Something much more dangerous
ISBN: 0977426939 |
|
|
"Slave to Love is a no-holds barred, sexual masterpiece..."
— Tracey West for
The Road to Romance
"When entering the imaginative
world created by Nikita Black, one knows the read will be
filled with emotion and overflowing with passion. Ms. Black
knows precisely how to bring realism into every scene, making
the characters sincere and true-to-life. SLAVE TO LOVE is
a stimulating read about the sexual side of humanity many
dream about but dare not explore."
—
Amelia for CataRomance Reviews
|
Excerpt
"No."
Mick stared at the tangle of leather latigo
straps held together by buckles and steel O-rings and balked. He'd
look like some kind of extra for a Conan movie. Or worse. "This
is not what I had in mind."
Caroline and the cute oriental salesgirl
at the kinky clothing store they'd gone to on Hollywood Boulevard
both gave him knowing looks.
"Just what, exactly, did you
have in mind?" Caroline asked with what might have been amusement
in her voice. When she let her gaze linger on his button-down shirt
and tie with the black jeans he'd purchased the night before, he
drew himself up to his full six-foot-four and glared down at her.
"I was going to wear a T-shirt
with the jeans. A black T- shirt. I just didn't have one with me
today."
"Uh-huh," she stated in
that annoying female way she had. "What's the matter, McGraw?
Afraid to show a little skin?"
"Hardly. I just think this is
a bit extreme."
Caroline appealed to the sales girl. "Do you think it's extreme?
We're dressing up as Master and slave for a party."
"It's perfect," the other
woman answered with a smile. "Very authentic. All the real
Masters are wearing this kind of torso harness these days. The look
is very Middle Ages and domineering. And it comes with a fun attachment--"
She held up a foot-or-so long strip of matching latigo, with a buckle
on one end and a dollar-sized brass ring on the other.
Jesus. He glanced at Caroline. Judging
from the guileless expression on her face, she had no clue as to
its actual purpose.
"I don't think so," he
said firmly. It would be a cold day in hell when he wore a cock
ring in public.
Caroline picked up the harness on
its hanger. "Fine. Forget the attachment, but you're trying
it on." She gripped his arm and pulled him toward the back
dressing rooms, calling over her shoulder to the salesgirl,
"Black
leather pants. Something that goes with the harness."
"Officer Palmer," he ground
out between his teeth, "I have no intention of—"
"Look. You brought me into this
gig because of my expertise with costume, right?" She steered
him into the dressing room and shut the door behind them. It was
a roomy place with a plush easy chair, lots of mirrors and a solid
door. With a lock.
His nerves shimmered. He watched
her put the hanger on a peg and slip the leather harness off it.
"Well?"
He met her gaze. It was obvious she
was unaware she had a tiger by the tail and had locked herself in
the cage with it.
"Partly."
"So, trust me. I know what I'm
doing."
"I have no doubt of that. But
I thought we were here to buy stuff for you." He glanced at
the short skirt, tank top and fuck-me shoes she'd worn for their
shopping expedition. Not that her outfit needed all that much beefing
up. Maybe a leather slave collar...
"You be a good boy and try this
on, McGraw, and I might let you dress me up afterwards." She
winked and thrust the harness into his hands. Before he had a chance
to even think of a response to that, there was a knock and the door
opened.
"I thought you might like this
style," the salesgirl said and handed a pair of black leather
pants to Caroline, who looked them over critically.
"Nice. He'll look great in these."
She hung the pants on the peg and the both of them stood back and
watched him expectantly.
He was tempted to give them the show
they were waiting for. Mighty tempted. Caroline looked like a wet-dream
and the oriental salesgirl was pretty, and had just the right combination
of innocence and exotic mystery to inspire fantasies in any customer,
him included.
But that would be out of character.
So he scowled at them instead, until they got the idea and backed
out of the dressing room, giggling like a couple of co-conspirators.
He felt decidedly outnumbered. And more than a little horny.
He swiftly shed his shirt and tie,
and donned the latigo harness, which, with a few buckle adjustments
fit him like a second skin. Felt just like home. He rejected the
feeling soundly. It must be the habitual weight of his gun rig cinched
under his arm he was missing.
He stared somberly at his reflection
in the mirror. Looking calmly back at him was the very image of
the man he'd been running from his whole life.
"You ready yet?" Caroline
called from just outside the door, snapping him out of his grim
thoughts.
"Almost." Jaw clamped,
he slid out of his stiff jeans and pulled on the leather pants.
Image complete.
The door cracked open and her head
peeked around. "You decent?"
A number of retorts ran through his
mind, but he clipped out, "Yes. And next time knock."
He spotted her in the mirror and
almost choked. Instead of the tank top, she had on a satin, lace-up
corset that showed just the right amount of her pale, smooth body
in just the right shape to seriously turn him on.
"Jesus H. Christ," he said,
fighting for a shade of derision in his tone, rather than reveal
his true reaction. "You aren't seriously thinking of wearing
that, are you?"
Ignoring his comment, she stepped
purposefully into the room, followed by the clerk, and fussed at
the latigo straps criss-crossing his back and chest.
"Nice, McGraw. Very sexy."
He reminded himself they were supposed
to be a steady couple dressing for a theme party. He tolerated her
hands on him because the salesgirl would think it strange if he
batted them away. But he didn't like it. Her hands and the corset
were giving him ideas. Ideas best left miles alone.
He wasn't about to break his rules.
Even for the most tantalizing woman he'd met in decades.
She was a cop. And he had to work
with her. Way too risky.
He caught the two women assessing
his pants. He planted his fists on his hips and narrowed his eyes.
"Too baggy," they said
in unison and turned to file out before he could draw breath to
protest. They weren't baggy. They were ample.
And it was a fucking good thing,
too.
By the time Caroline came back with
another pair of leather pants for him to try, he had his unruly
mind and body under strict control.
Right up until he saw the new outfit
she was in. Thigh-high spike-heeled boots and the skimpiest leather
demi-bra he'd ever seen in his life. Along with her black miniskirt,
the combination made it nearly impossible to breathe.
"What do you think?" she
asked, studying herself critically in the mirror as she handed him
the pants to try on.
"Too dom," he choked out,
striving for a neutral expression. "You're supposed to be my
slave."
Jesus. The very thought
had his head spinning. And his body betraying him big-time.
"Yeah, you're right. Though...maybe
with a collar?" She turned to him, a question in her eyes.
Something in his own must have warned
her off. "No, maybe not." She hurried out and shut the
door with a smack.
He gritted his teeth and yanked off
the pants he was wearing in favor of the ones she'd given him. There
was no way he'd get them fastened. Not with those laces back and
front, and definitely not with this killer hard-on.
He was still fumbling with
the ridiculous closings when she knocked.
"I can't get these damned
things laced," he snarled.
He was not having a good time.
How he would ever survive this hellish assignment he hadn't the
slightest idea. What the devil had possessed him to choose her to
go undercover with? But he knew the answer to that before the question
had even finished forming in his mind.
She walked in wearing her shoes
again instead of the boots. She'd added a leather slave collar,
studded and sporting a leash-ring on the front of it.
"Here, let me help you,"
she murmured. She dropped to her knees behind him, and grasped the
ends of the ties that laced up the back of the pants. His stomach
dropped along with her, and his pulse went into hyperspace as he
watched her in the mirrors.
"Caroline," he warned,
but she wasn't paying attention. She was plucking at the laces over
his butt, a focused look etched on her face. She had no idea what
she was doing to him. Her hands caressed down his backside, smoothing
the wrinkles from the leather. His muscles flexed into taut bundles
under her fingers.
"Caroline."
"Hmm?"
Her breasts were practically
spilling out of the leather crescents of the bra. The black of her
slave collar contrasted erotically with the long white column of
her neck. Her tongue peeked out from between her moist lips in an
unstudied move of concentration. Her hands on his ass were fast
sending him over the edge. He endured about another ten seconds
of her ministrations before snapping.
He spun, braced his legs apart,
and drove his fingers through her hair, holding her head rigid between
his hands.
"Stop."
Her eyes widened and her hands fluttered to rest on his abdomen.
"What?" Her lush red lips parted as she peered up at him.
They were the sensual, pouting lips of a natural-born fellatrice.
Oh, God.
His erection throbbed under
the tight, slick leather binding his hips. Right then as he held
her, a tongue's length away from his bursting need, he vowed to
have her. Just like this. Exactly like this. On her knees
before him, his fingers wound in her hair. Only, there would be
no supple leather barrier to protect her from him. From his lust.
The image shook him to the
core.
"These pants don't work for
me," he ground out.
Her gaze wavered, flicked down in
sudden awareness to the blatant arousal in serious danger of breaching
the low-slung leather waist. Shock rounded those fellatrice lips
into an 'O' of surprise and she jerked her hands from his groin.
"Yes, I see what you mean,"
she said, clearing her throat, and he could see her struggle to
appear undaunted. "Maybe we should try something a bit...roomier."
Again she disappeared through
the door and he wiped the sweat that had gathered on his brow. Placing
a shaky hand on the wall, he leaned in and gathered his wits.
This was never going to work.
He had to get rid of her. If he didn't, he would jump her, sure
as his name was Michael Patrick McGraw. There was a limit to the
strength of his icy facade. And she was fast chipping through it.
Too damn fast.
She'd have to quit the task
force. He was sorry, but that was the only solution. She'd been
right yesterday. There was no way they could ever work together.
Okay, so he was a male chauvinist Neanderthal pig, but there it
was. All he could think about was tearing her clothes off.
And that was no way to catch
a killer.
He'd talk to Bobby this afternoon.
Then he'd break it to her as gently as he could.
Sorry, baby. You're history.
Top
|
|