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  “How’d you get this nasty thing?” she murmured.

  “How’d you get so good at changing the subject?” He lifted her finger and nibbled the end. “You and Bryce?” he prompted. “Broken up?”

  “We separated for about three months.” Her gaze took on a resigned sadness. “I basically gave up on the kink dream at that point. Figured my independent streak was embedded too deep and I’d never get the hang of it, even in Las Vegas.”

  “You want me to call major bullshit on you now or later for that?”

  Her exotic mouth lifted at the corners. “Maybe you should just spank me.”

  “Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead on that.” Because if you don’t, I’m going to make sure you hobble out of here tomorrow, girl. “So, three months?” he forced himself to echo. “The two of you reunited after that?” After she nodded, he asked, “Why?”

  “The blame for that rests thoroughly on my little sister’s shoulders.”

  He scowled. “You dissin’ on your baby sib?”

  She clubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “Oh, no. Are you one of those?”

  “We’re cute, aren’t we?” he countered. “And so misunderstood.”

  The three words were possibly the truest thing he’d ever spoken. Even if there’d been a free chance to contact Tait in the last six months, his older brother would’ve refused the call. Like the rest of the world, Tait was convinced Shay had gone rogue on his duty and his team, turning to “the good life” as one of Cameron Stock’s hired guns. Last he heard, Tait had even requested transfer to JSOC’s new group of boy-toys based out of Hawaii, the Special Hostilities Readiness Command, aka the “Sharks.” The acronym wasn’t the only perfect fit for the nickname. Every man on the team was selected for their tenacious dedication to missions. One of the top targets on their list? Stock’s ass, of course.

  What the SHRCs didn’t know was that thanks to him, the CIA and FBI knew exactly where Stock’s slime tracks were. But the spooks’ secrecy was because of him too. If word got out that Shane Burnett was actually Shay Bommer, the intel would eventually make its way around to Cameron. Shay’s eye sockets would get an instant renovation—with bullet lead.

  “While I was figuring out how to solve the issue of the kink itch, my sister got officially engaged to her Dom.” She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “He’d proposed already, but when the rock came a few months later and they were official—that was when she told me he was her Dom too.” Her stare, still directed at the ceiling, tightened a little more. “Seeing Ava that happy… It gave me hope.”

  “So you called Bryce again.” His tone was tight. It was difficult to watch her relive a hope that had clearly not been satisfied.

  “Fine,” she confirmed, picking at the pillow’s edge, “I called Bryce again.”

  He resettled his head, confirming his deeper focus to her. “And?”

  His chest clenched when new tears sprouted in her eyes. “You know how disaster stories are sometimes bloodier the second time around?”

  Before he could stop it, the pain beneath his ribs was intensified by a sharp breath. Shay hitched up onto an elbow, barely refraining from shaking her shoulder with his free hand. “What happened? Did the bastard physically hurt you?”

  He wouldn’t be romping in Stock’s circles forever. Once he found Mom and rescued her, he’d practically be in Vegas anyhow. How many Bryces could there be in the city’s police department—especially ones who could, with a little digging, be traced to dalliances in the lifestyle there?

  “No,” Zoe spurted. Her answer came almost too fast for Shay’s liking, but he detected nervousness more than deceit in her voice. “Perhaps that was the problem,” she added, looking down.

  “Huh?” Shay retorted.

  “Let’s just say…I wasn’t his flavor of naughty.”

  “Still in the dark here.” He wasn’t lying. The woman’s willingness to please a Dom was clear as the gorgeous nose on her face. How could she not be a man’s most favorite flavor of anything?

  “I was a little more vocal about things when we went back to the dungeon,” she explained. “Listening to Ava talk about what she has with her Sir… It made me bold about asking for what I wanted.”

  “Which is…?” He sensed he could prewrite her answer already but still wanted to hear it. There were few things more exhilarating than watching a submissive start to articulate her hopes, fantasies, deepest desires. And with this submissive, he wouldn’t forget the magic for a very long time. Perhaps not ever.

  “The connection,” she supplied, the ends of her lips turning up. “The exchange part of it, you know?”

  “Yeah.” He rendered his reply with soft understanding. “I do.”

  “I want that tangle of souls. That awareness of every breath my Dom makes…and knowing he’s aware of all mine.” She shook her head. “That sounds so stupid.”

  “The fuck it does,” Shay snapped.

  “Really?” When her inky lashes turned up and revealed the hope in her eyes, his chest didn’t hurt anymore. For a long moment, he wasn’t sure he felt anything anymore. His attention narrowed to nothing but her breaths.

  “Yeah,” Shay murmured. “Really.” All too fast, ire bashed at his senses again. “I’m going to regret asking this, but what is his favorite ‘naughty flavor’?”

  She exhaled hard. “Not exactly sure, but it’s definitely someone who has a better knowledge of blowjob techniques than me, as well as a deeper working knowledge of using the F-word in colorful sentences.”

  Shay released a disgusted hiss through his teeth. Her talents in the verbal turn-on department had been exceptional in his book, but that wasn’t the issue here. Bryce’s asshat-in-Dom’s-clothing act was. “So he played the flog her then fuck her card,” he muttered. “Should I even ask if he bothered with aftercare?”

  He almost regretted the outburst. Zoe squirmed a little before murmuring, “He took me out afterward. It wasn’t bad. We snuggled a little before the game started.”

  “The game?”

  “Yeah. The Angels were playing the Yankees, and Trout was on a hot streak that week. The bar had the game on, so—”

  “Whoa.” He sat all the way up. “Let me get this straight…”

  Her “Dom” took her to a dungeon, stripped her and used her, and then took her to a bar afterward—so they could catch the damn ball game?

  He barely bit himself back from spewing it. Clearly, the woman had no idea that a trip to “Wings ‘n’ Wins” was a shitty excuse for aftercare. “Never mind,” he said instead before pressing himself over her again.

  Without pausing momentum, he sank all the way, taking her mouth under his once more. She tasted so perfect, like spice and cream and sex, and it occurred to him in a daunting rush that their time together was dwindling by the minute.

  He only gave her a moment to catch her breath before taking another long, deep sample of her lips. He only drew back when he’d coaxed out a moan that matched his own.

  “I take it you’re not into the Angels and the Yankees?” she murmured.

  Shay ran a thumb across her cheekbone. “I have an angel right here in my arms.”

  Her face lit up with the smile he’d hoped to inspire. “Hallelujah,” she drawled.

  Their laughs mingled before their mouths fused. Shay inhaled hard, breathed her in, reveling in her willingness to part her legs when he skimmed his hand down, blatantly seeking the heat at the center of her body.

  “Ohhhh,” she cried as he found her pouting flesh, pressing his finger to her most sensitive button. “Shane. Yes.”

  He bit her upper lip with demanding pressure. “No. Use my other name, baby girl.”

  “S-Sir.” Her compliance was immediate and raspy. “Ohhhhh…Sir…that’s…mmmm…really nice.”

  “Yes.” He ran the edges of his teeth over her bottom lip too. “Very nice.”

  After a few seconds of letting him kiss her like that, she whispered, “Do…do you
have another condom?”

  “Not a relevant question,” he countered.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Didn’t ask you to. This moment is all about you. Your surrender. Your pleasure. Give it to me, Zoe. I want it all…one more time.”

  She pulled in a breath as if preparing to protest, but when Shay shifted his hand, slipping two fingers into her warm little cunt while keeping pressure on her clit with his thumb, he won her over. After a stunning moan ripped up her throat, she lifted her hips off the mattress. A wanton sigh tumbled off her lips. “Sí…sí…”

  “Good girl,” he encouraged. “Arch up for me, beautiful. That’s it, Zoe. You’re so perfect. So goddamn sexy.”

  “Ay Dios mio! It’s so good…”

  “Yeah,” he growled. “You’re right. Your cunt feels so good around my fingers. So sweet for me. So ready to come for me. And that’s what you’re going to do, Zoe. You’re going to let me fuck you with my fingers until you come for me again.”

  Just a few minutes later, she climaxed with breathtaking passion, rocking her mound against his touch in a shuddering mix of laughter and tears. Shay closed his eyes for a long moment as her body constricted around his fingers, reliving how good it felt when his dick was in the same position.

  After her body went limp and she melted back to the mattress, she gazed up at him with bottomless-lagoon eyes. “That was…amazing.”

  Shay kissed her forehead. “That, sweet lady, was proper aftercare.”

  He began a sarcastic laugh, expecting hers to ensue, but should’ve known the woman would take him by surprise without even trying. The press of her fingers on his jaw tugged his stare down to her face, cast in angles of solemn softness. “I think I’ve become a new fan of aftercare.”

  “It’s not one of my favorite parts for nothing.”

  That did inspire a giggle in her, filling the time it took Shay to pull the blankets over both of them. He pulled her close, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder and draping her arm over his chest.

  “I do have one objection,” she murmured into their comfortable silence.

  “Oh?”

  “I think you’ve ruined me for sleep.”

  “Sorry.” He brushed her shoulder with the tips of his fingers. “But not really.”

  She batted his chest. “Evil.” After a glance at the clock, she moaned. “Mierda. Five thirty is going to hit like a hammer. But we all have to be on that flight. The mayor is bringing a group of bigwigs to the show tomorrow night. If we’re not on Sunset flight number four-oh-three, there will be hell to pay.”

  Shay barely refrained from freezing his fingers on her skin. They sure as hell felt like ice now—a horrific contrast with the fire clawing through his gut—and the words of Wyst’s text, scorching back into his mind’s eye. The messages were still saved on his phone, in his jacket, not more than a dozen feet away.

  New hatch time. 8 AM tomorrow. Sunset Airlines #403 to Sin City.

  Papa Fox wants hens as insurance now.

  Fuck.

  Zoe and her friends were going to end up being the “insurance” of Cameron’s new plan.

  Unless Cameron could be stopped.

  But if Shay did that, his cover would be severely compromised. He’d blow the sole chance he had to rescue Mom. If Cameron didn’t kill him first, he’d be standing with Dan Colton in an office somewhere, staring at files representing years’ worth of investigative work by a dozen different agencies in twice as many countries—all blown to hell. And Stock would likely be a ghost once more, disappeared to God knew where, as invisible as a terrorist general in the caves of Afghanistan. And once again, just as dangerous.

  Fuck.

  His rule about life was getting a giant shot of justification—fueled by the fact that he’d just violated it in shit-righteous glory.

  Caring was a luxury for those who wouldn’t jeopardize lives when they indulged it.

  That included every speck of feeling he’d basked in for Zoe Margarita Madonna Chestain.

  Which meant he had to get out of here. Now.

  Chapter Six

  Zoe sat up, pulled the sheet against her chest, and peered at Shane. Make that gawked.

  What the hell had just happened?

  She rewound her brain, trying to click on the thing she’d said or done to flip the man’s spigot from hot to cold in seconds.

  “Shane?” She hastened to correct herself. “Uhhh, Sir?” Was she even supposed to call him that anymore? He’d changed so fast and now bolted from the bed so urgently, she was seriously lost about decorum. “What’s wrong? What did I—”

  “Everything’s fine.” But his tone, now forcing the cordiality, blared otherwise. “Everything’s just fine.”

  He tossed an equally feigned smile while yanking on his pants. His hair tumbled into his eyes. He scraped it back with one hand, unwittingly taunting her with the perfect flex of his bicep. Less than an hour ago, he’d been braced on those arms while meshing his body with hers, gazing at her like he never wanted to leave. Now he couldn’t get dressed fast enough.

  She tucked the sheet closer while battling an idiotic wave of ire. He doesn’t owe you anything. If anything, he gave you something. Two brain-bashing orgasms and one renewed hope of finding your submissive side.

  Either conclusion should’ve silenced her terse mutter but didn’t. “I guess your idea of fine is much different than mine.”

  The man had the grace to grimace. He paused with an arm jabbed into his shirt, leaning down to kiss her on the mouth. “It’s late, baby girl. You said that yourself. You’re dancing for the mayor tomorrow night. You need your sleep.”

  At the risk of looking pathetic, she grabbed his collar and tugged. “And you’re the Energizer Bunny, so you don’t?”

  His eyes darkened in a mock glare. “Did you really just compare me to a rabbit?”

  “Hmmm. A bunny, actually. A pink one that likes to beat on a big drum.”

  “Well, I’m tempted to beat something.” He slipped a hand down to tug on one of her nipples. “Or someone.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Despite the seductive sigh she gave, Shane slipped out of her reach. His posture retightened as he turned and fastened his shirt. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  She had a feeling he didn’t say those words often. They ground out of him as if he were heading to the gas chamber. Zoe leaned against the headboard and studied him carefully. The man moved with such athletic grace, every action fluid but practical. She’d bet the breast he just tweaked that he was a gifted dancer too.

  They weren’t the moves of a man who sat at a desk all day. Or even traveled the country with his ass on planes, sipping martinis and making “business deals.”

  What the hell was he really all about?

  Nothing about his posture or his face, both newly stiff, gave her a clue. And Zoe was watching. More intently than she should. Watching Shane put his clothes back on had turned her stomach back into quicksand. He was like some CG creature from a fantasy film, a half god dipped in bronze and then sent to earth for the sole purpose of seducing mortal women into his lair of sin…

  Single ticket to the lair of sin, please. One way? Perfect.

  She yanked the sheet tighter around herself. No. Craving him again would only postpone the inevitable. She had to accept that the dream-come-true of this night had come to an end.

  “Sí,” she finally answered him, forcing strength to the tone and a matching tilt to her jaw. “Perhaps it is best that you go.”

  There. Done. That had to make it easier for him to shove out of here and get to the fire he clearly had to put out.

  So why the hell did his face contort as if she’d just jabbed his side with a lighted torch?

  “Zoe—”

  “Shane.” She sliced her gaze up at him with as much severity as her tone. Like that did her composure any good. The second her gaze hit his again, her lungs constricted all over again from the torment in his eyes.<
br />
  Torment? Seriously, chica?

  She stood by the description. Either he really was leaving here to walk into a fire, or the demons in his soul were nastier cabróns than she assumed. Since the latter was more likely, she reached for his hand again.

  “It was wonderful, okay?” She curled the tips of their fingers together. “Every minute. I mean it.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “It was. Thank you.”

  She slipped her hand free. “I really am tired.”

  “Yeah,” he repeated, lowering next to her again. He plumped the pillows and arranged the blanket around her. “I understand.”

  Zoe glanced away, swallowing against another influx of tears. When was the last time someone had tucked her in? “Gracias,” she managed, forcing herself not to focus on his hands, so big and assured and comforting.

  And gone. Soon.

  He continued for a few more seconds before raising a hand to her face, tracing the arches of both her eyebrows. His own pushed into a tight V. “Why don’t you sleep in and just take a later flight? Planes leave for Vegas every five minutes out of LAX.”

  He was right about that. And there was genuine concern beneath his murmur, but she heard something else too. The verbal version of that damn agony from his eyes. It made her long to yank him back down before somehow turning time back by an hour. It was also why she had to squeeze her eyes shut and roll free from his tingle-inducing fingers. “I’ll…I’ll be fine. I need to call Ry back, and he’ll likely keep me up the rest of the night wanting a report card on you anyway.”

  That should’ve stressed him out enough to finally leave. If he insisted on getting out of here—and for his own strange, haunted reasons, he did—then dragging this out any longer wasn’t benefiting either of them.