When he released her, she glanced at Galen and saw, beneath the impassive look, a hint of longing. He didn’t offer affection as readily, but she was slowly learning he needed her touch…as much as she needed his. With a small smile, she walked across the room, pulled him to his feet, and wrapped her arms around him.
His hug was long and grateful. Yes, he’d needed her care. Both Feds were driven, but Galen didn’t put the job aside as well as Vance did. She could almost feel the cuts in Galen’s soul.
His arms loosened, but before he let her go, he murmured against her hair, “Thank you, pet.”
As she stepped back, he glanced down. His shirtsleeves were wet where they’d contacted her wet clothing. “You’re soaked. Go shower and get into dry clothing.”
“I’m fi—”
He jerked his head, back in his nonhuggable Dom mode. “Go.”
Sheesh. A few nasty words nearly escaped her…until she met his darker-than-night gaze, and the words turned to smoke and dissipated as she walked away, managing—barely—not to stomp her feet. Bossy. Why sometimes she adored a bossy Dom and sometimes she hated one wasn’t exactly clear. Why Galen could give her a rush of lust and still make her feel like kicking him wasn’t clear either.
She picked up her backpack and glanced at Vance. He was laughing.
Bastards, the both of them.
She trotted up the curving stairs and detoured to the end of the hall. To Galen’s bedroom. He liked antiques and dark wood. The cream-colored walls held paintings of lighthouses on the New England coastline.
His bed was covered with a burgundy-colored satin quilt and felt like clouds, she knew. The time she’d brought him up a gooey chocolate-chip cookie just out of the oven, he’d eaten the treat, tossed her on the bed, and thanked her in a very…carnal…fashion.
She pulled in a breath. What that man could do with his mouth…
Focus, girl.
Galen kept his toy bag in a carved chest at the foot of his bed. The anal plugs were there, she knew, since they still occasionally “prepped” her beforehand.
Soooo… Her own backpack held colored markers. On the slimmest purple anal plug, she used her silver marker to draw a smiling face. Yeah, just like Happy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
For the ridged black anal plug, Sleepy seemed like a good pick. Her silver marker drew a slack face with half-closed eyes. The clear blue plug got Doc’s big nose and tiny glasses. The oversize flesh-tone and cock-shaped one soon boasted a scowly face for the dwarf named Grumpy.
“Wonder how long it’ll take him to notice?”
Would he recognize the dwarfs? She grinned. Considering how he’d teased her about her collection of Disney films, he very well might.
Mood lightened, she took a hot shower, scrubbing energetically and washing her hair to try to erase the prickling feeling that seeing violence left on her skin.
Once out, she donned old jeans and a soft pale blue top—no red colors today, thank you—and skipped the bra as well. Want comfort. The Doms wouldn’t mind. They liked seeing her comfortable…and they’d never had a problem making her change.
She smiled. She liked knowing they wouldn’t hold back when they wanted something. Somehow it reduced all sorts of anxiety. But they didn’t play the Dom card all the time—not like Frank. They made sure she knew she had boundaries, but not so much that she felt as if she were on a choke chain.
Actually, despite the stress from the Assholyation case, they’d been very careful with her. Sweet and thoughtful. She stood in her pretty pale blue and ivory bedroom, which they’d filled with her belongings brought from her apartment. Her colorful pillows brightened the room…and drove the men crazy because they had to toss them off the bed.
They kept buying her things. Like the rich blue fuzzy robe Vance had bought her after finding her old bloodstained one in the trash. On the bedside tables were stained-glass lamps from Galen because she’d mentioned she liked to read in bed.
Thinking of the anal plugs, Sally bit her lip. She really was an ungrateful bitch, wasn’t she?
Needing a way to show her gratitude, she pulled her laptop out. After booting it up, she checked her e-mail, going through the Scum Sucker folder slowly.
She sat back and pursed her lips. Well. G and V were right. Over the past few weeks, she’d managed to infect only three managers. All three had been contacted by someone even higher. The High Muckety-muck had ordered them to shut down and wipe their files. The Harvest Association was going on hiatus.
She glared at the screen. Well, didn’t that suck?
Now what? The infected managers had replied to the High Muckety-muck, and, unless the boss’s fire wall and antivirus program was brilliant, his e-mail system was the proud possessor of her virus. She’d reached the top and hadn’t a clue what to do about it. Tracing him back to who he really was might be more than she’d planned. But her Feds were unhappy.
And an ex-student like her who was no longer inundated with homework had an awful lot of spare time, right?
She grinned. And, just for the hell of it, sent the three managers’ e-mail addresses to the New York police station.
Their little subbie was in a better mood, Vance saw, as she entered the kitchen. Dressed in one of the soft tops he and Galen had picked up, she looked incredibly cuddly. The slight tilt of her nose made her seem younger than her real age, and her wavy hair rippled across her shoulders. Glock lay in her arms, furry chin resting in the curve of her elbow.
“You look as if you’re about five with a teddy bear,” he said. Except for the way other parts of her bounced as well. Fuck, he loved her breasts.
Dimple flashing, she sniffed in a derogatory way. He was pleased to see her eyes clear and free of shadows. “Whatcha making? It smells good.”
Vance glanced at the long windows running over the sink and dishwasher. The solar lights around the covered porch, down the sidewalk to the dock, were dimmed by the heavy rain. Lightning flashes illuminated the whitecaps on the small black lake. “Seemed like a good night for tomato soup and grilled cheese.” He started to set the fixings out on the island.
After putting Glock down and washing her hands, Sally perched on a leather-topped stool. “What can I do?”
Vance smiled, enjoying her. There wasn’t a lazy bone in her curvy body, and he was experienced enough to appreciate that. Aside from some defensive responses ingrained in childhood, the little sub didn’t back away from anything—not work, not arguments, not sex, not laughter. “If you put together the sandwiches, I’ll grill them.”
“Got it.” She started cutting cheese. “What will you and Galen do if you can’t find the Association jerks?”
He put a shred of cheese between Glock’s paws. After a sniff displaying his opinion of the inadequate offering, the cat took a delicate bite. Fussy feline. “We’ll try awhile longer, but soon we’ll have to put it on the back burner and start working a caseload here in Tampa.”
“Is that good?”
Now that was a tough question. He took the sandwich from her and put it in the skillet. The butter sizzled, sending up a savory fragrance to join that of the soup. “Probably. Galen might take time off and have knee surgery.” Before too long, they both might need to look at where their careers should go.
“Definitely surgery.” Galen limped through the kitchen door and sat down beside Sally with a huffed groan. “I’m ready.”
Vance shook his head, turning back to the stove. Odd to come to love the idiot like the brother he never had. It drove him nuts not to be able to fix his pain, to take the tightness from Galen’s voice.
As if she’d followed his thoughts, Sally glanced between them. Her dimples showed again. “You know, I thought you guys were gay at first.”
“We get that a lot.” Galen gave her a sour look, then grinned at Vance.
Yeah, the rumor had come as a surprise. Years past, on one drunken night, they’d even discussed the gossip. They’d both been in the lifestyle for years and had friends in polyamorous relationships. But their boundaries turned out to be same. Male-male action didn’t appeal. Fucking a woman with a brother was more than fun. Actually fucking the brother? Nope.
“How did you two come to be…whatever you call yourselves? Co-Doms?”
Vance smiled. Sally’s curiosity was one of her most annoying—and appealing—traits. “We met in Quantico during training. Galen for the FBI; me for the DEA. Didn’t see him again for years until coming face-to-face at a drug buy. Hell of a shock since we were both undercover—and on opposite sides.”
Galen snorted. “I was part of the gang doing the buy.”
“And I was with the seller as one of his enforcers.” Vance shook his head. “The local cops got wind of the meet, and the whole thing turned into a clusterfuck.”
Her eyes widened, and Vance realized his tone had turned grim.
Galen gave him a wry half smile.
The inside of the deserted warehouse had turned into a nightmare. Indiscriminate shooting, blood everywhere, bodies, men yelling…screaming. Vance had tackled a cop to keep him from getting shot and caught the bullet instead. The impact of the slug hadn’t hurt…at the time…but the sound and the crack of his humerus breaking had twisted his guts. The perp’s next shot had killed the cop he thought he’d saved. Blown his head to—