She had small fingers, and she used them to good advantage now, sliding them down his length, finding the base where the curve of his testicles began, her fingers tangling in the soft hair on them. Then back up, caressing him, stroking him, easing her grip, tightening it.

"Violet..." he said. Her head lifted, tilting at an angle because they were so close now, her thigh pressed against his, her lips no more than a finger span apart from his just above her. He had cut himself shaving this morning, she noticed, just a tiny nick on his neck.

"Don't move," she said. "Not an inch." She rose up on her toes, placed her lips there, sucking on the closed cut gently, kissing him. Her grip on his cock tightened as she did, and his body quivered against hers, holding back, when she could tell all he wanted to do was disobey.

Violet took her lips away.

"Don't hurt yourself like that again. I'll have to shave you," she warned. "I expect you to take care of what's mine." She dug her nails into him, just a bit, and he flinched, but did not twitch under her tight grasp.

"What do you want, Mac?"

"Whatever my Mistress wants."

She tightened her grip. "Don't patronize me. Tell me what you want."

"To make you come."

"Try again." She worked her hands beneath his waistband, took the jeans and underwear down to his thighs, freeing his cock and giving her an unimpeded view of his bare, muscular ass. She ran her nails over it, scoring him lightly, then reclaimed his cock, starting a slow rub, up and down his thick, long length.

"Mackenzie," she measured her tones, matching them to her strokes. "I'm going to make you come in my hand, and it's going to be very messy and displeasing to me, if you don't stop the bullshit and tell the truth."

He shifted. She might not have caught it, except her knee was pressed against his leg and she felt it, that subtle attempt to change the effectiveness of her strokes with the angle of his body so he could sustain himself, resist her pressure.

She made the same minor adjustment, followed him, and brought her thumb into action, stroking the tight vein beneath the base of the head.

"Violet, stop."

"I'm sorry, Mac. That's not the safe word. You'd die of thirst, remember? But you don't have to die of thirst. Just ask for water."

In a movement so quick she couldn't follow it, he dipped his head and fastened his teeth on her throat. "Why waste it, sugar?" he muttered around his grip. "It could be jetting into you, or I could be attending to your pleasure, eating out your pretty cunt."

His jaw had the strength of a pit bull in truth, and Violet felt a moment of panic when she could not immediately jerk back.

Making her decision, she hoped it wouldn't bring security into the room. She swung her head and smacked it against his cheekbone. He let her go with an oath and she tried to focus, because she had hit one of the harder bits of his head with a softer one of hers. Barring that, she'd been forced to put some power behind it. She was proud that her hand did not pause in its motion, working him even more intently. Despite the pain she knew she'd caused him, his body was responding to her demand, focusing on the pleasurable goal happening below his waist.

He tried to twist away, but with his shoulders drawn up, he was limited in how fast he could move, and she stayed with him easily, sensing victory in her hand.

"You'll come for me now, Mackenzie. Spurt yourself into my fingers like a teenager unable to control his hard-on. I can feel it coming. Let go."

She pulled a kerchief from the top of her stocking, just under the lace, and hooded him with it as his body began to buck. His seed thickened the vein beneath her fingertips. As a warm trickle of blood slid down her neck where he had bitten her, her own reaction wet her thighs.

His body lunged forward, the ring bolts clanging harshly against the pull of the tethers. He snarled, his semen shooting forth into the doubled square of cloth. Some of it jetted past the cover, dampening her wrist, and the potent, erotic smell spurred her desire. Violet couldn't take her attention from his face, watching the battle of a powerful man against his own body, against the emotional vulnerability she had pressed on and forced from him through the uncontrolled physical release.

The orgasm was fast and intense, and left him shuddering, the wide chest expanding to take in air. "Whoa, there," Violet leaned her body into his to give him some support. He was double her weight in muscle, but the leaning worked, and gave her the excuse to hold him in her arms. She liked the way he felt there, and caressed the line of his back just above his waist, the firm, damp skin. She gave herself a moment, because she liked it so much, then she made herself do what she had to do.

She released him abruptly. She folded the kerchief over and dropped it on the chair seat. Moving behind him, she loosened one wrist cuff enough that he could free himself. "We're done," she said.

"What?" he straightened.

"You can get yourself loose from there."

"But, Violet, what-"

She stopped him with a level look. "You look me up when you want a Mistress, Mac. Instead of someone to jerk you off or someone you can jerk around. I'm not interested."

"What the hell game are you playing?" he said, his brows drawing over his eyes in a way she was certain would intimidate the hell out of most people. She merely arched one of her own.

"I'd ask the same of you, if I cared. You're good, Mackenzie. You're very, very good. You'd make almost any Mistress within these walls think you're playing the game the way it should be played. A little rebelliousness mixed with the charm, the subservience. If I'd wanted a trained pony, I'd have gone to the circus."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." She turned away, picked up her boots and the kerchief. One step toward the door. Two steps. Three. Brisk, no dragging, her intention obvious.

"Wait." She stopped at the door, but did not turn. She just waited.

"Don't leave. Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

She closed her eyes to compose herself, to conceal the quick surge of triumph and lust that the rough, angry confusion in his voice roused in her. There was more to him than met the eye, as she had suspected.

Rotating on her heel, she faced him, sweeping his delectable body with an expression that did not reveal a trace of how she felt looking at him standing there, the jeans and underwear shoved down to his thighs, his chest bare, the wrists still held in restraints. "That's part of what you're doing wrong. You're so worried about right and wrong. You're trying to control the situation, Mackenzie. Who controls this situation?"

"You."

She laughed. "You're saying what I want to hear, not what you believe. You, what?"

"You, Mistress."

She took a step forward.

"Let me tell you what I expect, Mackenzie. I'm not a dabbler. I'm not a casual one-night trawler. I'm looking for a solid bond, a total commitment. I don't expect to find it in every man I bring to these rooms. In fact, I don't expect to find it in most of them, but I choose men interested in finding out. Once I find it, I don't expect to take it outside this club right away, but it's what I intend when I do. I want to be some lucky man's Mistress, and you're just wasting my time if you're going to hide." She stepped up to him, until that large body was just over her again, the fury and desire in his eyes cloaking her aroused body in heat. "I want to flay off every inch of your shields, your emotional skin, so I see and know everything you are, every part you hide from the rest of the world. I'm fully capable of it."

"I don't know...if I can let you. Get that close."

A sigh broke free, and now she did soften, cupping her hand under his jaw with gentle fingers. "Bingo. That's who I'm looking for. The man who tells me what's happening in his head, what I'm doing to him. Who trusts me, or is at least willing to try. The man who can completely let go to pure sensation and feeling. That's it, Mackenzie. That's what I want. You want to run from that, you can. Just don't waste my time with your act if you're only here for the turn-on."

"I've got to think about it."

"So think." She turned away from him, though moving back toward the door felt like moving through deep sand, all the muscles of her body screaming in protest. "I'll come back here tomorrow between nine and eleven. If you want me, you'll be in this room, stripped. Nothing on. You put on one of the cock harnesses, tether yourself to that ring in the floor, the minimum amount of slack necessary between it and your cock. Your knees will be spread as wide as you can get them, your hands laced on the back of your head. You stay straight upright in that position until I decide to come down here."

She looked over her shoulder, stifled a groan of need as she saw his cock hardening again at her words. "Can you hold a position that long, Mackenzie? How badly do you want to have a Mistress worth having, rather than a playmate?"

Chapter 5.

He wanted to run, to turn his back on The Zone and pretend, at least for twenty-four hours, that it and Violet didn't exist. That the shameful moments had not existed.

But he made himself stay, made himself talk to other club members, find out more about his fiery little Dom. Everyone knew Violet. She went to many of the outside private parties, where D/s couples got together in their latest pairings. Several times a week, she played at The Zone.

She was perfect.

She also terrified him, and he didn't know why. Why was she different? He'd had Mistresses do all manner of things to him. He'd tolerated it, and most of it turned him on. She had overwhelmed him, shot him up and over a pinnacle with her clever fingers before he'd even had a chance to catch a breath. Her sultry voice teased his mind, the faint smell of lavender still on his body from where she had pressed against him.

He didn't go home. He went to the office. Nodding briefly to the dispatch officer, he went back to his desk, switching on the lamp. There were several new reports on his desk. Psych profile, forensics for the last victim, the latter not telling him more than he already knew. He knew the method of restraint, how a bullet tore through flesh. The profile was disappointing, a generic analysis.

It is possible the subject was traumatized by a sexual betrayal or rejection, and has had to pretend the betrayal or rejection does not exist, therefore leading to suppression of an enormous anger... By calling the parent, the person they perceive as responsible for their pain, they are likely punishing the authority figure.

He didn't blame the Psych department. Likely very accurate, it was a standard evaluation of motivation for crimes of sexual violence. Most serial killers weren't terribly original in that area, just in their methods of expressing that pain. It was her way of killing that would lead him to her.

His gut told him the frustrating truth; that he only had one piece of the jumbo brand 10,000 piece puzzle. There was something odd about this murderess, a secret she hadn't yet revealed with her actions. He lifted the list of regular Doms provided by The Zone in exchange for a confidentiality agreement. They hadn't forced the issue of a warrant. Connie had been visibly impressed when she relayed the manager's message to Mac: "If our people are getting hurt, we want to protect them. If that gets someone's nose out of joint, their snit isn't worth someone's life."

Because of that, he didn't regret the personal funds he'd chosen to invest in The Zone guest membership, rather than requisitioning a reimbursement. He'd even consider going for a full membership, if it weren't for Violet being there. What was it about her that made his gut clench in anxiety, even as his cock jumped up like a dog waiting for a treat?

He ran his hand over his face to the side of his neck and froze at the thump of his pulse in his jugular. So caught up in what she was doing to him, he hadn't even registered until now the blood staining her neck when she left him. Jesus. He had bitten her. He'd never used his strength against a Mistress, though the throbbing bruise on his cheekbone told him she'd handled him all right. No fear in that one. A porcelain doll with a core of iron.

The thought made him smile, but it worried him for her, that she was too green to know when she should back off. But had she needed to back off from him? Or had she done exactly what she should?

Would he go tomorrow night? Of course he'd go, he was on assignment. But the question was, would he go to that room, wait for her, accept her as his Mistress for another night?

Mac picked up the photo of Jesse Rodriguez, a twenty-three year old accountant, stared into his dead eyes. Yeah. Yeah, he would go to The Zone tomorrow night, because Jesse was never going to get to enjoy the anxiety and anticipation again. He had died because he'd taken the risk with someone who had killed him, and that offended Mac deeply, on a personal level he felt too raw to explore.

In the computer reports Consuela had run for him, he saw that there were no related crimes in all fifty-one states for the past two years. It looked like his murderess had just started her killing spree. They needed to find her soon. Six weeks between her two victims meant she was a fast learner. She'd found a release for the pain she nursed inside. The hunger would keep growing, and she would go after whatever would ease the craving.

Just like him. He muttered an oath and slapped the file shut. Violet was not the murderess, but she obviously had the power to destroy him. He'd go to The Zone, but not to her. There would be other, less distracting Mistresses with whom he could hook up and mingle, watch the play beneath the floor. He'd follow that strategy. See if he could start zeroing in on a killer that he was certain was already stalking her next kill.

Violet had a hard time sleeping, and found it even more difficult to focus on doing her job throughout the next day. Her body ached with unsatisfied desire, but the idea of relieving it with a toy after she'd left Mac had left her cold. She wanted to build her own anticipation as well as his, though she knew it was entirely possible she'd pushed too hard and he wouldn't be there. Or worse, he'd be there and not in that room. A flat rejection.

No. She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, pulled her hair from her face, pinned it up so the curls just brushed the nape of her neck, and tucked the black wig over it. Not a rejection. If he shunned her, she would think of it as a retreat. She'd unsettled him, knocked a sizable dent in that arrogant attitude of his. Was he man enough to admit it and come back to her?

She certainly wanted him to do so.

The phone rang and she picked it up as she leaned forward to apply her eyeliner.

"So, did you take my advice?"

She grimaced. "You have spies everywhere, Tyler, so don't pretend you don't already know how last night went."

He chuckled. "Oh, I know you picked up a prime target, but word is you engaged the privacy screen, so no one but those who won't be bribed know how it went. I do have reports that you came out alone. Mistress Marguerite reported that he came out a quarter of an hour later, looking like he'd had the carpet of his world yanked out from under him. Was that a good or bad thing?"

"I won't know until tonight, if he shows up again."

"Your boy socialized a bit after you left."

"Did he?"

There was a significant pause, and Violet cursed mentally.

"There was definitely a jealous note to that, maybe even a tad possessive. He got under your skin."

"I got under his more."

Tyler laughed, dropping all the slyness from his tone. Violet couldn't help but smile at her own reflection in the mirror.

"Fuck you, Tyler."

"Anytime, darling, but it would be like two tigers. We'd rip each other to shreds. So you liked this one, then. All those months playing with me, you don't find anything more than casual playmates. Your first night out on your own, you find one you want to keep. "

"Just a virgin reaction to her first solo scene."

"Spoken like a crude cynic, and not like the sweet Violet I know. Don't get worried, kitten. Let it happen."

"I have to worry, Tyler." She put down her mascara and leaned against the counter, rubbing a finger over her forehead. "I can't take risks. I'm already daydreaming about taking him places, for heaven's sake."

"Well how about something safe to ease the craving? My plantation house, this weekend. I'm inviting four lady Doms, including yourself, for an overnight of play with the sub of their choice. I'll have Mark and Stacey from The Zone staff there to be chefs and domestic help, and to join in if we need some free agents. You can take a side trip to Lilesville, use that gift certificate your friend Sarah gave you. To decorate him, or yourself. Or expand your toy chest."

"I wasn't ever going to use that, Tyler. It's for five hundred dollars. It feels like a bribe."

"Her new husband gave it to you because, thanks to you, he gets to sleep with Sarah every night for the rest of his life. I've seen Sarah. He should have given you ten times that much."

"Pig. I'll think about it. And he's got to want to go, anyhow. Will you bring Leila?"

"Absolutely. In fact, I think this is the perfect weekend to break her into the joys of interactive play. Maybe we'll see how far we can push your boy."

"You'll need to take it easy on him, Tyler. He comes off tough as nails, but if you find the way in, he can be hurt."

"We all can, love. We all can."