the cop- anna leigh keaton
TRANSCRIPT
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The Pleasure Club: The Cop by Anna Leigh Keaton
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The
Pleasure
Club:
THE COP
By
Anna Leigh Keaton
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
products
of
the
author’s
imagination
or
are
used
fictitiously
and
are
not
to
be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Cop
Copyright© 2008 Anna Leigh Keaton
ISBN: 978‐1‐60088‐279‐1
Cover Artist: Dan Skinner
Editor: Melanie Noto
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced
electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of
brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Cobblestone Press, LLC
www.cobblestone‐press.com
http://www.cobblestone-press.com/http://www.cobblestone-press.com/http://www.cobblestone-press.com/http://www.cobblestone-press.com/http://www.cobblestone-press.com/
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Dedication
This one’s for Deanna Lee and Sable Grey.
My publishers, my employers, my friends.
Thanks, ladies, for everything.
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Welcome
to
The
Pleasure
Club
Dear
Ms.
Casey,
We’re pleased to welcome you to The Pleasure Club.
As you have already signed and returned the contract and filled out all the
necessary
forms
to
ensure
you
receive
your
every
wish,
we
will
be
in
touch
with
you shortly with the details of your first Pleasure Night. Your Wish List and
Pleasure Forms have been turned over to our staff of highly trained Pleasure
Guardians, and they are hard at work finding your perfect match.
We
will
endeavor
to
meet
your
personal
fantasy.
When you are contacted again, you will be given a location where your
Pleasure
Night
will
begin,
and
you
will
also
be
given
a
safe
word
to
use
should
you at any time become uncomfortable. There is no shame in changing your mind.
We’re here for your pleasure, and should your safe word be used, your match for
the
evening
will
cease
all
activity,
and
the
game
will
be
put
on
hold
until
a
mutual
agreement
between
you
and
your
Pleasure
Master
can
be
reached.
Once again, welcome to The Pleasure Club.
Please feel free to contact the office at any time should you have any
questions.
Yours
truly,
The
Pleasure
Club
Management
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* * * * *
Ms. Casey,
Your Pleasure Night will begin Friday the 21st, 9:00 PM at the Balantine
Club.
Your safe word is Indictment.
Sincerely,
The Pleasure Guardians
* * * * *
What have I done? What have I done?
Victoria Casey sat at the end of the bar in the Balentine Club,
sipping a glass of diet cola, waiting for her evening of pleasure to begin.
She’d been there for over a half an hour so far, after arriving right
at nine, as instructed. Her cop still hadn’t shown up.
She scanned the club, searching for someone in uniform. Her
request to The Pleasure Club had been a policeman fantasy. Handcuffs
and all.
Licking
her
lips,
she
let
her
gaze
wander
over
the
club
patrons.
They were all so young compared to her thirty‐seven‐year‐old self.
With a quick glance at her watch, she sighed. She’d always had cop
fantasies, ever since she was a teenager when she’d watched a tall,
muscular officer take down a car thief. Her fantasy had never died, even
through ten years of marriage to a boring, very un‐dominant accountant.
Yet, now that she was here, she wasn’t sure what to expect. It
frightened her a bit.
She wanted to be—
“Victoria Casey?”
The deep
voice
in
her
ear
caused
her
to
tighten
her
muscles.
Cola
splashed from her glass onto the back of her hand. She nodded.
“If you don’t want a scene, I suggest you come with me without
making a fuss.”
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No one called her Victoria—to her friends she was simply Vick or
Vicky.
This
had
to
be
her
Pleasure
Master
for
the
evening.
But
just
to
be
sure...
“And why would I do that?” she asked, turning her head just
enough to see the man’s face as he leaned over her. Damn, he was tall. His
scruffy two‐day growth of dark whiskers made her shiver with excitement
at the prospects of feeling them against her breasts...between her thighs.
“Detective James Drake.” He flipped a gold badge in front of her
face before shoving it back into his pocket. His suit was a little mussed.
His tie crooked, and his jet black hair was mussed and sexy as hell. He
was perhaps in his early to mid thirties, and he had the most stunning
green eyes
she’d
ever
seen.
She grinned. Even better than a uniformed cop, they’d sent her a
scruffy, tired detective.
“You find this amusing Ms. Casey? You’re under arrest for stealing
over one million dollars worth of diamonds from First Federal.” He
propped a fist on his hip, which shoved his jacket back a bit to reveal a
pair of handcuffs. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” He
made a point of glancing around the club. “I suggest we get outside before
I take you into custody.”
His voice
was
like
gravel.
So
deep
and
rough.
It
skittered
over
her
nerves, making goose bumps pop out on her arms and her nipples hard.
He might look scruffy, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his six‐foot‐
three frame. His face was rugged, not only from the scruffy whiskers, but
he had a strong jaw and a scar just under his right eye. He might be an
actor—hell she didn’t know where The Pleasure Club found their Pleasure
Masters, but he looked like a bad‐ boy detective right out of a gritty crime
novel.
Thank
you,
Pleasure
Club!
She slipped into her role as a high‐priced diamond thief. “I guess
we should
take
this
discussion
outside,
then,
shouldn’t
we,
Detective
Drake?”
He gave a curt nod and slipped his hand around her upper arm.
His fingers were slightly callused, and she shivered. His grip was firm,
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but not painful as he helped her off the stool and guided her through the
throng
of
dancing
Balentine
patrons.
He
didn’t
lead
her
out
the
front
door
though, instead going down the hall toward the restrooms.
Vicky stumbled as the first bit of worry flashed over her. She might
have signed a contract with The Pleasure Club to spend the night with a
psycho axe murderer.
His hand tightened on her arm. “Everything will be fine as long as
you remember who and what I am.”
His low voice soothed her nerves, and she kept walking. His words
could have been ominous, but she realized what he meant. The Pleasure
Club was exclusive, and they wouldn’t have a Pleasure Master who was a
murderer. He
might
even
be
a real
cop,
for
all
she
knew.
He led her down the darkened hall and out the Emergency Exit
door to the back alley of the club where a black sedan sat waiting.
He slipped the strap of her tiny handbag from her shoulder and
dropped the purse onto the top of the car. “Hands on the roof,” he
commanded, his voice brisk and businesslike. “I have to check you for
weapons.”
She almost laughed at the ludicrous statement. She was wearing a
tight black cocktail dress that couldn’t hide a tube of lipstick, let alone a
weapon. When
she
didn’t
move
fast
enough,
he
grabbed
her
wrists,
planted her hands on the roof of the sedan, and pressed his big, hard body
against her back.
Her eyelids drooped, and she sucked in a quick breath of surprise.
God, he smelled good. Like leather and musky cologne.
“Don’t move.”
He patted down her sides, around to her stomach, which made her
muscles tense in excitement, and then down over her hips. But he didn’t
stop there. Even though her skirt ended at mid‐thigh, he continued lower,
to the bare skin of her legs.
Those rough
palms
skimmed
down
to
her
knees,
then—oh,
good
Lord—up between her legs.
“You have the right to remain silent,” he said as he touched her
with what could have been professional distance. “Anything you say can
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and will be used against you in a court of law.”
His
fingertips
slipped
up
and
glided
over
the
crotch
of
her
panties.
Her cunt clenched. She dropped her head forward and spread her legs a
bit farther, hoping he’d do it again, a little harder.
He didn’t, though. He stood up and grabbed her right wrist,
bringing it down and behind her. “Do you understand your rights?”
She nodded.
Cold, hard metal clicked over her wrist. She gasped. She’d never
worn handcuffs before.
He took her other hand from the top of the car and brought it down
behind her, also. Click. She was locked in. Totally at this man’s mercy. She
should be
terrified,
even
though
she
knew
it
was
all
a game,
but
instead
a
thrill shot through her the likes of which she’d never before experienced.
Detective Drake spun her around and pressed her against the side
of the car, his body big and imposing but not quite touching her. His heat
soaked into her cool skin, though, and his warm scent tantalized her
senses.
“We’re looking for your partner. We know you didn’t pull off the
heist alone. If you give me his name, we might be able to work out a deal.”
She shook her head. “I’ll never tell you anything, cop.” She almost
grinned at
her
acting
ability.
She
could
play
the
game.
He loomed over her, trying to intimidate her. “That’s detective , lady,
and don’t you forget it.”
“One badge is the same as another. Just a better pay scale.”
His narrowed eyes glittered in the dim light of the streetlamps, and
his jaw ticked with annoyance. Wow, he was good.
“You’ve got a smart mouth on you, Ms. Casey. Someone should
have taught you a lesson about mouthing off to a man carrying a badge.”
“Or what?” she scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You’ll shoot me?”
He gripped her chin, his fingers big against her cheek, and turned
her head
to
the
side.
“Oh,
Ms.
Casey,
I have
much
better
ways
of
getting
what I want.”
His mouth closed over a sensitive tendon in her neck, his teeth
scraping, his tongue hot and damp and so smooth.
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She moaned, and her knees went weak. Her nipples tightened to
tiny
points
of
pain,
and
her
cunt
dampened
and
throbbed.
He suckled his way up to her ear. “Tell me who your partner is.”
“No,” she groaned as he nipped her earlobe.
“Then you leave me no choice.” He backed up, dropped his hand
from her face, and jerked open the back door of the sedan. “Get in.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t move. The car held her up, since
his mouth had sucked all strength from her legs.
He gripped her arm and maneuvered her into the car, carefully
holding the top of her head so she didn’t bump it on the doorframe. She
all but collapsed onto the soft leather seat. This sure wasn’t a cop car. With
a grin,
she
settled
as
comfortably
as
she
could
with
her
hands
bound
behind her back. She wondered where he’d take her, since a real police
station was a bit out of the question.
He slid into the driver’s seat, dropped her purse on the passenger
seat, and started the engine.
“You’ve got one more chance, Ms. Casey, to tell me who your
partner is.”
“Go to hell.”
“Tisk, tisk, Ms. Casey.”
Within a couple
minutes,
they
pulled
up
in
front
of
her
house.
Her
mouth fell open in surprise as he turned off the engine and climbed out of
the car. She had expected a hotel room maybe, or...hell, anything but her
house.
The door next to her opened.
“Come on,” he said, wiggling his fingers at her.
She supposed the safety of her home was for her own benefit. She
scooted her legs out the door, and his big, warm, rough hand closed
around her arm again, lending her assistance. He held her purse in his
other hand, the tiny black thing looking silly dangling from his thick, long
fingers.
He guided her up the walkway to the front door, then opened her
purse and pulled out her keys.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked.
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As he shoved the key into the lock, he turned toward her, raised
one
dark
eyebrow
in
a
condescending
manner,
and
said,
“Interrogation.”
That one word sent a shiver down her spine and a tingle into her
pussy. She glanced around at the other houses on her quiet block, praying
Mrs. Rogers wasn’t peeking out her window. Vicky never brought men to
her house. Hell, since her divorce three years ago, only a couple of them
had visited her, and those had been co‐workers.
Detective Drake flung the door open and, with his hand back on
her arm, guided her through it. He shut and locked the door, then flipped
on a nearby light switch. He led her through the living room and into the
kitchen, where he turned on more lights.
“Sit,” he
said,
pulling
out
a bent
oak
chair
from
beneath
the
kitchen
table.
“Why?”
He sighed and pressed his hand down on her shoulder until she
sat. The strength he exhibited was beautiful. She really, really wanted to
know what he looked like out of that wrinkled jacket and shirt. And pants.
He went to the small window over the sink and pulled the curtains
shut. As he leaned over the counter, the jacket pulled up in back, revealing
a gorgeous ass. Her mouth watered. Oh, yeah. He definitely needed to
lose the
dress
pants.
He turned back toward her, slipped off the jacket, and— yum. His
chest was chiseled beneath his shirt. She wondered if it was hairy or
smooth. He tossed his jacket over the chair across from her.
“Now, Ms. Casey. Are you ready to cooperate with me? Or do I
need to get rough?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging
against the fine cotton of his plain blue dress shirt.
“I’m not telling you anything. You’ve got no proof. If you did, you
would’ve locked me up.”
The tiniest of grins tipped the left side of his lips. It looked almost
sinister. “I’ve
got
your
fingerprints
at
the
crime
scene.
That’s
all
I need.”
“Bullshit.” She could really get into this. She hadn’t done any
acting since high school drama class, but she loved it. “If you had
anything, you’d have already charged me. You’re just guessing, hoping.
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this thick, long cock slamming into her. Needed it. It had been so long—so
very,
very
long—since
she’d
been
satisfied
in
bed.
Since
she’d
been
pounded into submission. Since she’d had an orgasm that made her
scream and turned her mind to mush.
The hands in her hair jerked her back, and she released the tip of
his cock with a soft popping sound. She looked up into his face and was
more than pleased to see him looking so close to the edge. A few more
sucks, and she was sure she could make him come.
If her hands had been free, she would have grabbed his ass and
pulled him toward her. As it was, she couldn’t move. He held her with his
arms straight, his fingers tangled in her hair. If she moved, she’d only
cause herself
pain.
She tried anyway, leaning into him.
His grip tightened, and she stopped.
“Talk, damn you. Tell me the name of your partner.”
“No.” She looked back at his cock, which stood proud and solid.
“You’ll never get the name out of me, no matter what you do to me.” She
prayed he would do it all.
He pulled her head back toward him, and she latched on to his
cock with a hard suck.
Detective Drake
moaned
and
pumped
his
hips,
shoving
himself
deeper into her mouth. His slacks slipped off his hips and pooled around
his ankles. She wanted to get a look at his legs, but she was too busy
concentrating on sucking the cum right out of him. She wanted to taste all
of him. She wanted to be nasty and dirty and naughty tonight. This was
her night, damn it. Sex for the sake of sex. Raunchy, with no morning‐after
awkwardness. She could drink Detective Drake’s cum all night long, and
no one would care. No one would be here to think she was weird.
Her nipples rubbed against the silk of her dress, abrading them,
making them ache. She rolled her hips, pressing her cunt against the hard
wood of
the
chair
seat
to
relieve
the
pressure
building
inside
her.
He pulled her mouth from him and tipped her head back to meet
his eyes. She licked her lips. She was going to be really pissed if he denied
her.
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“Name. Now.” His breathing was even more ragged than her own.
His
cheeks,
above
his
whiskers,
were
slashed
with
color.
His
eyes
were
icy
emeralds.
“You don’t really want the name, do you, copper? You want me to
suck your dick.” Her voice sounded strangely deep and throaty.
Seductive. She gave him a sweet smile, which made him narrow his eyes
at her.
She wondered if her compliance to suck cock surprised him, since it
was meant as punishment. Little did he know that it was one of her
greatest pleasures. She loved the taste, the texture, of a man’s penis.
He shoved her head back to his crotch, and she happily wrapped
her lips
around
him
and
sucked
him
so
deep
his
balls
pressed
against
her
chin. She hummed in delight as she flicked her tongue against him. Then
she swallowed around the tip of his cock at the back of her throat.
“Fuck,” he grunted.
“Mmm hmm,” she agreed as she bobbed her head, using her teeth
to score him.
More pre‐cum dripped onto her tongue, and she reveled in the
tangy delight. She wished her hands weren’t bound behind her. She
wanted to touch him, get her hands on that ass, dig her nails into his hard
muscles. He pumped his hips and held her head still, his fingers tightening
against her scalp with each bit of movement. She sucked him hard,
repeatedly flexing her throat around him.
His body tensed, stopped moving. She rubbed the underside of the
soft head with the tip of her tongue. Detective Drake groaned, and a spurt
of hot cum filled her mouth. She swallowed it down, along with another
and another as he came hard. Then she licked him, cleaning him,
wondering how long until she could do it again. How fast she could get
him hard a second time.
Before she
could
figure
out
what
he
was
doing,
he
released
her
head and dragged her out of the chair by her arms, spun her to the side,
and bent her forward over the edge of the small, round table. She grunted
as the edge of the tabletop bit into her pelvis. His big palm pressed
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between her shoulder blades, and with his other hand tugged her skirt up
around
her
waist.
“What a little slut,” he said, his breathing ragged and loud in the
silent room.
She laughed. “If I’m a slut, what does that make you? A dirty cop?”
He slid two fingers beneath the crotch of her lace panties and
flicked them over her swollen pussy lips.
“You’re the dirty one,” he said as he teased her pubic hair, tugging
it lightly, sending the ache deeper, harder through her. “You suck your
partner’s cock that way? You won’t give me his name because you like to
watch him get off?”
“All men
are
the
same,”
she
said,
trying
desperately
to
concentrate
on his words and not the tugging, teasing between her legs. “I make them
come, and they’re putty in my hands.”
A stinging slap on her ass caught her off guard, making her yelp.
As the pain eased, the pleasure was almost unbearable.
“I’ll not be putty to you, lady. I’m going to make you give me his
name, even if I have to beat it out of you.”
His rough voice, combined with his words of promised retribution,
made her moan. She laid her cheek against the cool, smooth oak table.
“Give it
your
best
shot.”
He gave her another open‐handed slap on her ass.
Her cunt creamed and clenched, begging to be filled. She let out a
slow breath, controlling her external reaction to the pleasurable pain.
Another slap, but this time she couldn’t help the whimper of need
that slipped out of her. She squirmed, and the hand between her shoulder
blades added more pressure, pressing her breasts into the hard,
unforgiving tabletop.
“I can take everything you have to dish out,” she said between
clenched teeth.
As punishment,
her
panties
were
ripped
from
her
body,
leaving
her
ass bare. The cooler air brushed her cunt, and she sucked in a quick
breath.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” he growled an instant before he delved
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two long fingers into her pussy and aimed straight at her G‐spot.
She
clenched
her
hands
into
fists,
wishing
she
had
something
to
grab onto to ground her as she fought off her impending climax. She
wasn’t ready yet. She wanted the torment to last longer.
As the detective’s fingers pumped into her, unerringly rubbing
over her bundle of nerves, she broke and came with a sharp cry. Cream
slicked her inner thighs as his fingers continued their assault on her body,
dragging out her climax until she saw stars behind her eyelids and could
barely catch her breath.
Both of his hands left her body at the same time, and she
whimpered. Her legs shaking, she slumped all her weight on the table.
Good thing
it
was
sturdy.
“Name, damn you. Give me the name.”
“Fuck...you,” she said on ragged puffs of breath.
“You’d no doubt like that.”
Slap.
That one really stung.
Slap.
“Ouch!” She kicked out with one foot and connected with his shin.
He grunted. If he wanted her to put up a fight, she could.
“Fucking heels
are
killers.”
He
jerked
her
stiletto
off
her
right
foot,
then her left. They hit the tile floor with a soft whack.
“Is that it? Did you kill your partner to keep all the diamonds for
yourself?”
“Looking for a bribe?”
Slap.
“Not with your dirty money.”
Slap.
She kicked out again but caught only air and nearly tumbled
herself right off the table. He caught her in a motion so quick it made her
head spin,
bent
his
knees,
and
lifted
her
up,
tossing
her
over
his
shoulder
like a sack of potatoes.
“Oomph.” His hard shoulder dug into her stomach. This was a lot
sexier in movies than in real life.
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Then again, his whiskers tickled her bared hip. She liked that.
“Bedroom,”
he
growled
as
he
stopped
walking
just
outside
the
kitchen.
“Down the hall. Door at the end.” She decided that fighting right
now might not be a good idea, or he’d drop her on her head. She might be
into role playing, but brain damage wasn’t something she wanted to
experience.
He kicked open the door—not that it’d been shut tight—and
dumped her on the bed without ceremony. She bounced on her side, her
hair falling over her face so she could barely see him. At one point, when
she’d been face‐down over the table, he’d pulled up his pants, but now he
shoved them
down
again,
along
with
those
sexy
briefs.
Tossing her head to the side, she cleared most of the hair from her
eyes so she could get the full benefit of him stripping for her.
Oh, yeah... His legs were thick, muscular, and long. He jerked the
knot of his tie loose, unbuttoned his shirt, and kicked off his shoes at the
same time. His open shirt revealed well‐formed pecs covered in just the
right amount of pitch‐colored hair, which whorled around his nipples and
formed a straight line bisecting his body between eight‐pack abs that
made her mouth water. His cock was hard again.
He bent
and
pulled
his
thin,
leather
belt
from
the
loops
of
his
pants.
Vicky’s heart thudded. She’d never been whipped. Hell, she’d
barely gotten the men in her past to spank her hard enough. Her body
revved up, ready for another orgasm.
Yessss.
He folded the belt in half and snapped the leather.
Her cunt clenched. He was going to do it. Yes, yes, yes!
He bent over again and pulled something from the pants and
tossed it on the nightstand. Rubbers? When he approached the bed, he
had something between his fingers. Keys to her handcuffs, she realized as
he rolled
her
onto
her
stomach,
dropped
the
belt
to
the
bed
next
to
her,
and fiddled with the cuffs.
Before she could pull away, the second he released her right hand,
he flipped her onto her back and clasped the cuff back in place. Now her
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hands were bound in front of her. Her shoulders protested the change in
position,
but
it
didn’t
stop
her
excitement
from
growing.
The man was gorgeous, and when he trained those startling
emerald eyes on her, he sucked her into his world of make believe.
“Last chance.”
“For what?” she asked, raising her eyebrow in challenge.
“Give me your partner’s name, or I’m going to beat it out of you.”
“There’s nothing you can do to me that will make me give him up.”
The detective raised her hands up over her head and slowly
opened the zipper that ran down the side of her dress. “You love him?”
“What’s it to you?”
He tugged
on
the
dress,
and
the
silk
easily
slipped
off
her
body,
leaving her completely naked.
“The way you suck cock doesn’t make me think you’re in a
committed relationship.”
A throaty laugh slipped out of her. “Maybe his cock isn’t as pretty
as yours.”
One corner of his lips twitched into an almost‐smile. “That so?”
“Don’t get a big head now, officer.”
He flipped her over again and snapped the belt against her ass. She
cried out
in
surprise
at
his
speed.
“Detective Drake,” he said. “I worked for this gold shield.”
“Fucking your suspects? Does this normally work for you?”
The belt bit into the flesh of her ass, and she buried her face in the
down comforter to muffle her cry of bliss. The pain was exquisite.
Something she’d always longed to experience.
“I do whatever’s necessary to get my conviction.”
Slap, slap, slap. Three burning lashes in a row.
She screamed into the blanket and fisted her hands in the soft
down. It hurt so good. Her pussy was hot and wet. She pressed her pelvis
into the
bed,
but
there
was
no
relief
to
be
found
there.
Then those big, rough hands closed over her upper thighs, shoved
her legs wide, and dragged her to the edge of the bed.
“On your knees, you little slut.”
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Shaking, she pushed herself onto her knees, with her feet dangling
over
the
edge
of
the
bed.
“Your ass is flame red, yet you refuse to give me a name. What’s it
going to take to get it out of you?”
“You’ll never get that name from me!” She tensed, waiting for
another lash.
Tension built within her when it didn’t fall. When a full minute
passed and he still hadn’t touched her, she slowly released her breath and
rested her cheek against the bed. Let her muscles relax a bit.
Then those big, wonderful hands bit into her hips, and his hot
mouth attacked her cunt.
She screamed
and
tried
to
wriggle
away,
the
sensations
almost
more than she could bear, but he held her steady as he ate her, shoving his
tongue deep into her then flicking her clit with its tip. His whiskers
abraded her over‐sensitized flesh.
“No!” she cried, even as she shoved herself back against his face,
needing more.
He slurped her cream and lapped it up as she had his cum. Her
body tightened, her muscles pulled taut. She whimpered and rode his
face, bucking against him. The man was good—fantastic—he knew just
where to
suck,
lick,
and
press
with
that
talented
tongue
of
his.
Her climax grew inside her, building and building. Her toes
tingled. Her fingers ached where she dug them into the comforter. She
was about to—
He stopped. His hands held her firm, but his mouth was gone,
though she could still feel his hot puffs of breath against her wet flesh.
“Damn you!” she screamed, shoving back against him.
His fingers were like vice grips holding her still.
“Does your partner make you this hot and wet?” he demanded, his
voice like rough velvet.
“Yes,” she
cried.
“Hotter
and
wetter.
You’re
an
amateur
compared
to him.”
A soft chuckle from her detective made a shiver race up her spine.
Oh, that was a sinister sound. She was really going to get it now.
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He let go of her left leg and flicked a finger through her pubic hair,
just
barely
skimming
inside
her
lips.
She
tightened,
waiting,
her
cunt
throbbing with its need of release, of one or two good, hard strokes.
Then that finger pressed against her anus.
She moaned and buried her face in the blanket. God, yes.
He pressed through the tight ring of muscles and sank that
gloriously long, thick finger deep into her ass.
“Does he fuck your asshole, Ms. Casey?”
“No,” she moaned. No one did. But she loved it.
“Does he make you tremble with need?”
She rolled her forehead against the bed. “No.”
He pumped
his
finger
slowly
in
and
out
of
her
ass,
released
her
thigh, and stroked a finger from his other hand deep into her pussy.
“Ahhh...”
A second and third finger joined the first in her cunt, stretching her.
Pain...pleasure...pressure...ecstasy...
He slipped a second finger into her anus.
She whimpered and slowly rocked against his hands. She’d never
experienced this kind of sex play with a man. She’d tormented herself
with a butt plug and her array of vibrators on occasion, but this was so
much...more. “Kinky little thing, aren’t you?” he said, humor lacing his sexy
voice.
“God, yes,” she admitted. “More.” Her darker side was something
her husband had loathed about her. Not that she was into anything heavy,
but he’d never been willing to do anything.
Her detective kept stroking her with his fingers as he moved
around behind her, repositioning himself.
She assumed the game had been forgotten. She didn’t need to play,
she just needed to come. Again. Hard.
The fingers
in
her
pussy
picked
up
speed
with
their
stroking,
and
his pinky flicked her clit. She cried into the comforter and shoved against
him with every thrust of his hand. The pain hurt so good. His knuckles
dug into her, and she reveled in it.
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His fingers left her cunt, and what should have been the next stroke
made
her
scream.
His
cock—that
big,
gorgeous
cock—rammed
into
her
so
hard her teeth clicked.
He pumped the fingers in her ass in direct opposition to the press
of his cock, making a maddening friction that stole her thoughts and made
her yelp with each hard thrust.
“Take more?” His words were barely more than strained grunts.
“Yes!” she screamed as she rocked back against him.
He pumped into her so hard his balls bounced against her clit, his
thighs slapped against hers.
She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was hold on and wait for the
impending wave
of
oblivion
to
sweep
over
her.
It
was
too
much.
Not
enough.
Detective Drake grunted with each powerful thrust, his free hand
holding her hip in a painful grip.
“More?” he growled.
“More!”
He pulled out of her, left her empty for a second or two, then
stretched her ass with his cock as he rammed it home. At the same time,
he let go of her hip, reached beneath her, and pinched her clit so hard she
went off
like
a rocket
into
outer
space.
Her own screams of pure rapture rang in her ears as her legs
slipped out from beneath her, and he came down over her, pumping into
her. His animalistic grunts in her ear, along with his hot breath on her
neck, pushed her over another edge on which she didn’t even know she’d
been standing. Every muscle in her body contracted, and she screamed
again.
And then the world went black and silent.
* * * * *
Vicky awoke to find a pair of strong arms around her, a solid, fuzzy
chest beneath her cheek, and soft breath stirring the hair on top of her
head.
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The room was dark, except for light spilling in through the door
from
the
hallway.
She didn’t know how long she’d been out, but the delicious
sensations in her well‐abused body made her purr in satisfaction.
“So, Ms. Casey,” Detective Drake said, his voice a rumble against
her ear. “Are you ready to give me that name now?”
A slow smile spread over her lips, and her eyelids drifted shut. “If
you wanted your share of the diamonds, James, all you had to do was ask.
It really helped having a cop on the inside for this job. I’ll wire your
money to the offshore account we set up last week.”
His soft chuckle bounced her head a bit. “Well played, Ms. Casey.”
“Mmm. Thank
you.
For
everything.”
As she drifted back to sleep, she felt him move away. He tugged
the comforter up around her shoulders. And although she couldn’t be
sure, since she’d drifted to somewhere between sleep and awake, she
thought he pressed his soft lips to her forehead.
* * * * *
Bright rays of sun warmed Vicky’s face. She frowned. She wasn’t
ready to
wake
up
yet,
wasn’t
ready
for
the
dream
of
the
best
fuck
of
her
life to be over. But she did have to go to the bathroom.
She rolled away from the antagonistic sun and sat up on the edge
of the bed. She was naked. It hadn’t been a dream. Her Pleasure Master,
Detective Drake, had been real. Her butt still ached from the whipping
he’d given her; her cunt and ass still throbbed from the pummeling.
On the nightstand sat a pair of handcuffs, a set of keys, and a
business card.
Until we meet again.
Detective Drake
The Pleasure Club
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She couldn’t wait for next time...
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Author
Bio
Anna Leigh has been reading and penning romance for as long as
she can remember. After she met and married her very own real‐life hero,
romance took on a whole new meaning. She now knows married life can
sizzle and romance can be erotic—even in her own home. Now her
writing has taken on a spicier flavor and, while hubby’s off at work, she
lets her imagination soar….Anna loves to hear from her readers. You can email her at [email protected] or visit her website at
www.annaleighkeaton.com for all her upcoming and previously
published works, and meet her alter ego at www.leannekarella.com.
mailto:[email protected]://www.annaleighkeaton.com/http://www.leannekarella.com/http://www.leannekarella.com/http://www.annaleighkeaton.com/mailto:[email protected]