Killing June Read online

  “I told you to grab it. Nothing more,” I said.

  I didn’t really mind that he was working himself. It was what I was going to tell him to do next. The point was that I hadn’t told him.

  A low, frustrated moan stirred in his throat and I saw him fighting back words, opening and closing his mouth. The lick of a crop is low on the pain scale; considerably lower than the cane on the bed, but it stung nonetheless.

  I rubbed my hand over the pinked flesh, soothing it. “Better?” I asked.

  “Yes, Miss June.” His voice had lost some of its lustful husk.

  “Good. Let’s try again. Grab your dick.” I continued to rub his ass cheek, massaging into the muscle.

  He gripped himself at the base, but didn’t move. Lesson learned. “Now, work it up and down.”

  I watched around his shoulder. He started slow. I let the crop bite down on the outside of his thigh, not as hard as his ass cheek. He paused but continued a moment later. I struck at him again, and he didn’t miss a beat that time.

  I relished the low gasp that escaped his lips with each flick of the crop; it made my head swim pleasantly, thinking of how it would feel. He moved his hands quicker, frantic, as the crop got harder, faster. I knew that mix of pain and pleasure well. The crop made the pleasure sweeter, brighter. You wanted more of both, and you wanted it now.

  “Don’t make yourself explode yet. We’re just getting started.”

  He slowed his pace, and froze completely when I slid the crop between his legs, letting it rest under his balls. With a small tap for encouragement he continued working at his now weeping cock.

  The licks came down with more force. He pushed his body into the bedpost, dipping his head down on one side of it. When each bite hit, he grunted deep in his throat with gritted teeth. I was jealous. I craved that release from pain and couldn’t wait for my turn.

  When the outside of both thighs, from hip to knee, were well pinked, I moved him to sit on the bed. His dick was rigid, throbbing, begging for the release I’d denied him.

  “How do your legs feel?” I asked, standing between them with my hands on his shoulders.

  “They sting, and”—he had to clear his throat to continue—“they itch a little, Miss June.”

  “How does your dick feel?”

  He hummed a low, satisfied sound. “So good, Miss June.”

  With my hands coated in baby oil I rubbed and massaged his tender thighs. He moaned in approval. Leaning in, I ran my tongue down his chest and hovered over his hardened nipple. My teeth sunk in wide, taking as much of his pec muscle as I could. He pulled a sharp breath between his clenched teeth and drew back. Once he relaxed forward into the bite, I let my tongue run in circles over his nipple. This one action was a perfect example of our night—half pain, half pleasure, all in one motion, each drawing from the other.

  “Fuck,” he groaned and his hips flexed up.

  “You want something to fuck?” I asked, detaching from his chest and straddling his lap. His cock was at full attention between us.

  “Yes, please, Miss June.”

  With a fist full of blond hair, I led him off the bed and put him back on his knees. From the cabinet I grabbed a new toy and a bottle of lube, then dropped to my knees in front of him. My head dipped down. His body tensed when he felt my lips, feather soft against the shaft of his cock. His head kicked back when I licked from the base to the tip and took him between my lips.

  His hands, still cuffed, were clenched against his stomach. He was hot in my mouth and hard. The grimace on his face suggested that it was painfully so. He sat perfectly still as I worked him from the tip of my lips to the back of my throat. When he started to rise up, pushing his hips to meet my mouth, I sat up quickly, leaving his wet dick thrusting into the cool loft air. He groaned and his body slumped.

  “I asked if you wanted something to fuck. I didn’t say you could fuck my mouth. Should have held still and let me play.” I scooted around behind him. “Work your dick in your hands. This is the part where you get to scream my name.” I grinned like a cat with a cornered mouse. Too bad he couldn’t see it.

  He worked himself with his legs folded under him, sitting back on his heels. When I could tell he was into it, I told him to rise up on his knees. “Sit back slowly,” I instructed.

  He froze, marble statue still, when the cold metal tip of a vibrator pushed against his ass. It started small at the top and got progressively larger, ending in a flat base.

  “You wanted something to fuck, right?” I asked, trying not to giggle.

  “I didn’t mean . . . Miss June,” he said, stuttering. I could see the motion in his back as he pulled heavy breaths into his lungs.

  “I know what you meant,” I spoke softly, with my lips to the back of his neck. “Keep working yourself, push down slow, and take what you want.”

  He was hesitant, scared or shocked, ashamed that he might want it? I didn’t know. The reason for his pause didn’t matter. I pulled the riding crop off the bed and rapped him solidly on the side of his thigh. It was already tender from being worked over earlier, and now coated in baby oil. A sharp whimper rose from his throat when it met the sore flesh.

  “It will be three across your ass with a whip if you don’t do as I’ve asked. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, Miss June.” His voice shook. I didn’t know if it was from fear of the whip, or fear of the vibrator. Either way, he started working his dick in his hand again, hovering over the toy.

  We got back to where we were, his dick ridged, hands frantically working it, toy now pressed firmly against him. I reached around his waist and pressed down on his thighs, encouraging him to sit back further.

  “I’m not going to let you cum until it’s in you,” I whispered into his ear.

  His breath came out ragged and uneven “Oh fuck, June,” he moaned, his head falling back toward me as he sunk down.

  “Good boy. Does it hurt?”

  “Yes, Ju—”

  “Even better.”

  He rode up and down on the tip of it, pushing down further with each motion. I kept one hand firm on his shoulder as encouragement. We continued on that way for a bit. I reached around him, helping him with his dick and massaging his balls when he slid down on the toy farther. Wasn’t long before he was raising himself up and coming back down on his heels completely, using the toy properly.

  I’m sure his colleagues at work that day never suspected the business pro in his tailored gray suit, with the ladies’ man air about him, would be on his knees chained to a bed, riding up and down on a dildo, begging for more a few hours later. Appearances, appearances.

  He arched forward, tucking his chin into his chest and groaning words that sounded something like “I want to cum.” I put the riding crop to the side of his ass cheek again, but not as punishment. I knew that particular heady, body-trembling cocktail personally. The lick of the crop was the splash of pain needed to send him over the edge. I brought it down on him twice more and he gritted out my name, June’s name, as he pumped out his orgasm.

  When he rose up one last time, I removed the toy from beneath him, and tossed it into the bedside basket. He slumped over, leaning against the side of the bed, while I retrieved the keys and my S&W from the cabinet.

  I pulled the blindfold off him. I left his hands cuffed together, but unlocked them from the chain. It fell to the floor with a sharp thud. He lazily wiped the remains of his orgasm from his thighs and hands with a towel I gave him. He was thoroughly sated and worn out, his eyelids were heavy, and I knew without asking that his body was sore from both the toy and the crop.

  “You’ll want to put baby oil on again when you get home, everywhere the crop hit. Take Advil or Tylenol. Even if you don’t think you need it, take it,” I said.

  He nodded, his imperfect mop of sweat-riddled blond hair falling forward, but he didn’t move much more than that. It could be that he was completely wrung out, or that my S&W was leveled at his head again.

  He
took the cane between his cuffed hands when I held it out for him.

  “I’m going to give you some very specific instructions for this next part. I suggest you follow them. You may be holding the cane but don’t mistake that for control.” I dipped the gun down so that it was in his line of sight.

  “I don’t know how much I have left in me, Miss June.” He looked down at his dick, now lying limp against him.

  “You won’t need that for this,” I assured him. “Just your hands and your mouth.” I didn’t want his dick, not then or when it was rock solid and throbbing. I wanted the hard sting of the cane and the soft lick of his tongue.

  I stepped back from him, keeping the S&W pointed. “So let’s go over the rules.”

  The click of the lock brought both of our heads around in time to see three men strolling through the door and into my loft. I knew I’d locked it. I knew I had the only key.

  I swung my .40 cal and aimed it at the tall dark-brown man who also had a gun drawn. His looked like an extension of his hand, like it was a no-brainer accessory for his impeccable dove gray Armani. I didn’t know if I looked as comfortable with my weapon of choice, but I didn’t doubt my grip or aim. I zeroed in on him and he locked on my client.

  From between the first two men stepped Cade, the man from the bar, holding up a long thin piece of metal. He looked at me, eyes traveling over every inch of black lace and satin between the toe of my red pumps and the stain of my red lips. He grinned wide when his eyes leveled with mine. “You should use your deadbolt, Doll.”

  Chapter Four

  He was ruining my high. The adrenaline racing in my veins crushed the heady weight of Valium and Jack, and brought the world into an unfortunate focus.

  “You’re making my job too easy for me. He’s cuffed and ready to go.” Cade spoke to me, but eyed my client, nude and handcuffed, kneeling by the bed.

  “These friends of yours, June?” My client’s tone was hopeless. He covered himself with his hands but didn’t make a move to get up.

  The third man, a low-end, corner-dwelling creep, moved toward me. His dark hair was slicked back in chunky, greasy strands against his head and a white bandana was pulled low on his forehead. Untied boots clunked heavy against the floor with each step.

  He stopped a foot away from me. He was dripping stupid. Stupid people did stupid things, and it made me more wary of him than I was of the dark man in the suit with the gun.

  I lowered my gun, pointing it at the floor, indecisive about which one I should be aiming at.

  “We ain’t friends yet,” he said, eyeing me. “But if this bitch wants to cut me a deal on some ass we might get friendly.” He smiled over his shoulder, nodding his head to the two men behind him like he’d said something genius.

  Cade’s jaw clenched and the line of his lips drew tight. The man in the suit shook his head. Both looked unimpressed with their friend.

  “Fuck off,” I replied.

  “Fuck off?” he questioned. “Pretty brave for a whore.”

  Whore. The word ricocheted around my brain and shorted out my common sense. In one furious moment I put the side of my S&W to the side of his mug. The metal connected with his face, the thud of it jarring my hand.

  He stumbled backwards a few steps but recovered quickly. Simultaneous yelling erupted. A barrage of cursing and threats echoed like a storm in the place. My feminine pitch was the lightning in the thunder of the male voices.

  The one I’d hit put me on my back with a solid backhand. It cracked across my face. My vision went black when my head met the hardwood. When it cleared, I saw Cade with his arm snaked around the neck of the man who hit me. The shorter Hispanic man struggled and both men’s voices crashed around the room. The man in the suit still had his weapon trained on my client. He yelled instructions to the trembling man on the floor. The metallic click of the slide on my S&W brought the room to abrupt silence.

  Sitting on the floor, my back braced against the tall cabinet, arms fully extended. Safety off. Finger on the trigger. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.” My weapon shook in my grip.

  “Take a breath, brave girl,” Cade said, like I was a scared cat in a corner instead of a crazy bitch with a gun. “Twitch, go wait in the car,” he said to the man he was holding by the throat.

  “No. All of you get out,” I clarified. My breaths were coming in sharp and I was trying not to pass out.

  Cade locked eyes with me and held my stare as he spoke. “Sean, why don’t you help our friend get some pants on and take him out. Twitch will be waiting for you in the car.”

  The man in the suit, Sean, moved toward my client, who cowered away, pressing against the bed. “I’ll get what I owe Rob. Please. I’m good for it. I swear. Please, man.” The pleas poured from his lips.

  I didn’t turn to watch them. Whatever his business with those guys was, was his business. My problem was towering over me. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from Cade.

  Cade released the guy he called Twitch.

  “I ain’t going nowhere,” Twitch said. “If you let this bitch shoot me and don’t take her out, I swear to God—”

  “If she shoots you,” Cade cut in, “you can go see God and swear to him in person. Now go wait in the damn car.”

  “Fuck you, Cade. Rob said—”

  Cade laced his fingers through the mat of brown hair on Twitch’s head, holding him out like a piñata. He put a right hook across Twitch’s face, sending a splatter of blood to the floor. “I don’t give a shit what Rob said. Wait in the car.”

  Twitch yelled through his cupped hands that were pressed against his mouth and nose, attempting to hold the puddle of blood. “I’m telling Rob about this shit, man.”

  “I’ll tell your boss for you.” Cade smirked, unaffected by the threat of Robert.

  Twitch stumbled toward the door, leaving droplets of blood behind like a breadcrumb trail to mark his way.

  Once Twitch was gone, Cade turned his attention to my client and Sean. My client had pants on and was standing in Sean’s grip. His face was wet and I couldn’t tell if it was tears or sweat beading down his cheeks, probably both. He was mumbling, but the other men went on talking about their plans like he wasn’t saying anything at all.

  My client’s pleading got louder as he was pulled toward the back sliding glass door. He turned from yelling at Sean to yelling at me. “Please, June, shoot him. You don’t know what they’re going to do. Please. Oh God. Please, June.”

  His soles made a squeaking noise on the wood floor as he stiffened his legs and flattened his feet. An attempt to slow Sean’s progress. It wasn’t working.

  My heart ached, reflecting the pain I saw in my client’s face. My head was throbbing in rhythm with my pounding heart. His screams got louder and it was all pushing me closer to full-on panic.

  I couldn’t do what he asked. I knew enough about men like them to know you didn’t want to be involved. I had a sick feeling about what was going to happen to him and I still couldn’t pull the trigger to help.

  Cade grabbed a backpack that I hadn’t noticed by the front door. He pulled out a bandana, duct tape, and a small burlap sack. He joined Sean by the back door, shoved the wadded up bandana into my client’s mouth and secured it with a strip of duct tape. The muffled screams coming through the fabric were breaking my heart. Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes watching my client’s head thrash. Cade pulled the small burlap sack over it. My stomach threatened to expel the Jack I’d drank earlier, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t. So help me, I did nothing.

  The two men dragged him to my balcony. Cade grabbed his squirming legs and they tossed him over the rail like he was nothing more than a bale of hay off the back of a pickup. I heard the thud when he hit the pavement below. My hand went to my mouth, stifling a shocked scream. Sean disappeared over the rail, a small sound ringing out from his shoes on the metal fire escape rungs.

  Cade came back inside, closing the glass slider. He also locked the front door and threw the deadbolt closed
, something I had failed to do. Turning, he prowled toward me. His brows pulled together, hooding his dark eyes.

  My S&W was still tight in my hand and resting on my bent knees. I’d been in that loft with many different men. Never had I been so sure that one of them was a killer.

  “Get out. You got what you wanted,” I begged. I could feel my lip tremble when I spoke. My shaking voice didn’t make it much over a whisper. Adrenaline buzzed through my body, wreaking havoc. My muscles started to tense from being pulled tight. My stomach lurched and my lungs pulled air in too rapidly. Passing out and puking both seemed plausible.

  I’d seen pictures of bloody, beaten dead hookers in downtown alleys. I didn’t want that to be me. I could imagine my mother’s shame if that showed up in the papers. Her daughter, a dead hooker in an ally. How would that make our family look in church?

  Cade ignored my pleas and stopped moving forward when he loomed over me. I craned my neck to see his face and sent up a small prayer that my fate wouldn’t be similar to the man who’d been tossed over my balcony. Cade’s presence seemed to absorb the air in the space around me, making it even harder to breathe.

  Cade extended his hand. “Come here. Let me help you up.”

  I shook my head and scrambled to my feet. Cade stepped in, taking my head between his hands, one on either side. My pulse grew frantic, ringing in my ears. My skin warmed to a burning hot. Racing thoughts of him snapping my neck assaulted my vision; my lifeless body crumbling to the floor.

  In the small space between us, I raised my gun to his abdomen. I saw in the tension of his muscles, the intensity in his deep brown eyes, and the stillness in his chest the moment he felt the metal pressed against him. He didn’t let me go. I wanted him to let go. I didn’t want to shoot him.

  “Easy, brave girl. You’re fine.” Slowly, he wiped his thumbs under my eyes, removing tears I hadn’t realized had fallen. After removing the moisture from my cheeks, he ran the back of his hand lightly over my cheek where Twitch had hit me. Then he held his hands up, backed away, and went to sit on the edge of the bed. My head spun.