Anna Leigh Keaton & Madison Layle - Incognito 04 - Healing Heather

  Anna Leigh Keaton & Madison Layle - Incognito 04 - Healing Heather

  Incognito: Healing Heather

  Copyright© 2006 Madison Layle & Anna Leigh Keaton

  ISBN: 978-1-60088-097-1

  Cover Artist: Sable Grey

  Editor: Tracy Seybold

  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 inreviews.

  Cobblestone Press, LLC

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Message from the Authors

  The stories of INCOGNITO contain varying levels of bondage and other D/s activities, including sadomasochism. With all of our stories, the characters and events are fictitious, but the BDSM community is a very real subculture of our society. As writers, we try to depict the lifestyle in a responsible way that offers the best entertainment value to our readers. The stories are not instructional guides, however. Nor do we advocate abuse, rape, or sexual violence of any kind. Whether you practice BDSM in a relationship is up to you, but please remember: Safe, Sane, and Consensual.

  This story is dedicated to the unsung heroes who have come to the aid of those suffering from domestic abuse or victimized by rape.

  http://www.domesticviolence.org/

  http://www.rainn.org/counseling-centers/index.html

  Chapter One

  Heather Gilpatrick cringed and stifled a moan as she swung her legs over the side of the hospital bed. Pain radiated outward from her ribs, and the left side of her face throbbed in time with each heavy beat of her heart. Thank God the bastard hadn’t broken any bones.

  Slowly, carefully, she slipped to the floor and reached for the mint green scrubs the nurse had brought her. As if it wasn’t bad enough she’d been beaten to a bloody pulp, the clothes she’d been wearing made her look like a five dollar whore under the bright lights of the hospital ward.

  Even though Harold had gotten his just desserts, she’d still like to have at him. With him bound to a stake. No one treated her that way.

  A pain, completely different from that which made movement a challenge, speared her heart and forced tears to her eyes for the first time that night. She touched the pendant hanging around her neck and closed her eyes, envisioning her late husband.

  “Davie, me love,” she whispered. “I give up. I’ll never have another relationship like ours. I’m done trying to find it.” She raised her arms to remove the symbol of the life she’d once cherished with her husband.

  The door opened. “Ms. Heather Gilpatrick?”

  Glancing up at the two men who strode into her room, she slipped a hand behind her back, hoping her ass wasn’t hanging out of the gown for the world to see. “Aye, I’m Heather.” She kept her voice flat, except for the soft Irish lilt she could never fully mask. She was furious and embarrassed that she’d let this happen, but she wouldn’t let on to anyone how upset she was. “Do you have my discharge papers?” she asked, even though these men obviously weren’t doctors.

  The younger one, wearing wrinkled gray slacks, white shirt, and a bland tie, couldn’t be much over twenty-eight. He looked nervous, glancing around the room, focusing on everything but her. The other, at least forty and unquestionably handsome in snug faded jeans and well-worn black cowboy boots, didn’t show such compulsion. He sent her an endearing grin and shook his head.

  “No, ma’am. I’m Detective Paul Baxter, and this...” He pointed toward the younger guy. “...is Detective Mike Morris.”

  The doctors called the goddamn cops. Bloody hell. She clamped her mouth closed and glared as well as she could with one eye nearly swollen shut.

  Baxter, the good-looking one, stepped to within a few feet of her. His eyes were a rich mink brown, almost the exact shade of his collar-length hair. “Ms. Gilpatrick, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your injuries.” He poised a pen over a notebook, but watched her with those gorgeous eyes.

  “I’ve got nothing to say, Detective.” Her bravado would probably go over much better if she didn’t know that her face looked like hamburger.

  “Ma’am...” he said in a cajoling voice that made her want to grind her teeth. Right now such action would hurt too much. “We need to find the man who did this to you so he doesn’t do it again. Was it your husband?”

  She swallowed back the cry of protest and shook her head. “I’m a widow.” Davie would have never, ever, so much as bruised her, let alone make her bleed.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “I told the doctors this already. It was in an alley. It was dark. I didn’t see his face.” She fiddled with the chain that hung around her neck. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

  Baxter’s gaze flickered to her fingers and zeroed in on the pendant. She laid her hand over it, covering it. Not that anyone outside a very discrete world would know what it meant, but still, his gaze was so...intense.

  He turned toward his partner. “Morris, why don’t you run down to the cafeteria and grab us some coffee?”

  “Sure, Tex. Ma’am?”

  “I don’t want anything, thank you.”

  “Go on. I’ll finish up here,” Detective Baxter said. Morris left as if his butt were on fire.

  Heather picked up the scrubs. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed so I can get out of here.”

  “Did your master do this to you?”

  His words sent a chill racing down her spine. She dropped the clothes and stumbled back against the bed.

  Baxter rushed forward and caught her before she fell. “Whoa, there, Ms. Gilpatrick.”

  How did he know? Unless...he was one of them.

  Out of habit from years of living as a submissive, she dropped her gaze from his face. The signs were subtle, but if he was one, they were there. Keys hooked on a belt loop on his left side. His tie tack was a tiny pair of handcuffs. Those things alone weren’t uncommon for a cop, but if he knew about the BDSM symbol she wore as a pendant, then he was probably a Dom.

  “You all right?” His voice was low, his hands strong and gentle as he gripped her upper arms to steady her.

  She nodded, but that shot pain through her skull, and she groaned.

  He lifted her onto the bed as if she weighed no more than a feather, and she had no choice but to lie back when he pressed her shoulders.

  “Do you need me to get the doctor?”

  “No, sir.” She bit her tongue. He was just a cop, not her Dom. They weren’t in a club or anywhere else where he could command her. And after tonight...lesson learned. She was out of that life. No more. These American men didn’t know how to treat a woman. They thought they could get away with anything. She met his gaze defiantly, which seemed to amuse him.

  He had a nice smile, she thought idly. Straight white teeth, one side of his lips tipped up higher than the other. Laugh lines bracketed his mouth, and the squint lines that fanned out from his eyes showed signs of years in the sun. And maturity.

  “Heather,” he said, his voice gentle, the soft southern accent making her name sound like an endearment. “If your master did this to you, I know you’re not going to give me his name. But I need to know that when you walk out of here, you’re not going to go back and let him do this to you again.”

  “Not bloody likely,” she said through clenched teeth, then turned her head away. Hell, she’d said too much. She had to protect the club. It wasn’t Katriona’s fault a bastard of a Dom had lied on the application form. And Katriona had made sure she got a ride to the hospital and tha
t her medical bills would be covered.

  “Not likely or no, you definitely won’t go back to him?”

  Staring at the darkness beyond the window, she evened out her breathing and steadied her voice. “It happened in an alley. It was dark. I saw nothing.”

  Baxter sighed. When a gentle finger traced her uninjured jaw, she snapped her gaze to his.

  “A Dom’s main priority is to protect and care for his sub, not bring harm.”

  I know!

  He reached into his shirt pocket, drew out a card, and handed it to her. “That’s my cell phone number. If you ever need help, you call me. Day or night.” He stepped back from the bed and pocketed his notepad. “I’ll write this off as an attempted mugging. Do you have enough money to get home?”

  She almost missed the switch in topic. “Y-yes,” she stammered. “Thank you.”

  “You be careful, all right?”

  She nodded slowly to keep her head from exploding.

  “Call if you need anything, or if you decide to reveal who did this. I’ll see that justice is met.”

  She dropped her gaze from his. “Don’t worry. It has been.”

  * * * * *

  “Master Paul, so nice to see you again at Incognito.” Katriona, the club’s head mistress and owner, gave him a predatory grin. “Have you come for business...or pleasure?”

  Paul smiled before planting a quick peck on her cheek and whispering a husky, “A little of both.”

  “Mmm. I’ve got just the thing.” She moved to swat his ass with her ever-present riding crop, but he caught it two inches short of its target.

  “Now, Kat. You know better.”

  Her hiss was pure aroused protest.

  He took her hand and cradled it in the crook of his arm as he walked out of the foyer and into the main room of Incognito. Music and the murmur of conversations engulfed him, as did the scent of sex and citrus-scented cleansers. “Business before pleasure.”

  She laughed and traced a blood-red fingernail along his jaw. “But pleasure is my business.”

  “I need information.”

  “And I need a Dom for a stray who requires some attention.”

  Paul gritted his teeth. Many members shared the club experience with their partners but, as a solo Dom, he was free to stroll the club at his leisure. Whether he engaged in activities with a stray sub on any given visit was his choice. As a cop in need of a snitch, however, being a solo Dom posed a problem. He didn’t like trading sex for information.

  “I would command her myself,” Kat said as she casually steered him toward a hallway of private rooms, “but she has a preference for male Doms. Certainly understandable after having served the Masters of Sin.”

  Kat had coined the name for the dominate pair of brothers, Jack and Jon Sinclair. They’d been a common fixture at Incognito for several years, until they’d found and married a submissive a short while back. Since then, he hadn’t seen them performing in the main room, although they still stopped by with their wife for drinks on occasion. Paul had befriended Jon years ago. As one of the area’s top psychiatrists, Jon often helped victims of the sexual assault cases Paul handled.

  “And of course,” Kat continued, “I can’t leave her to my slave alone. He could use a little hard sex tonight as well, but he’s no Dom. And I have other obligations, what with all my guests here tonight.” She stopped in front of a door, pulled out a key, and unlocked it.

  “Kat...” he warned.

  “I’m leaving my Carl in your capable hands. So if you do not wish to participate...physically...that’s your decision. Do only what you feel she needs.” Her sly smile vanished, and her eyes took on a depth that held a world of meaning he was almost afraid to ponder. “We’ll talk after you help her, if you don’t find what you seek in there. You’re a master, Paul, and one of a select few I trust.”

  Restoring her facial expression with a mask of erotic domination, Katriona opened the door and announced, “Master Paul is here. Obey him. And, slave, remember my instructions.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” Carl said as the door closed behind Paul.

  He recognized both subs in the room instantly.

  The man was Katriona’s constant companion and boy-toy. He knelt against the far wall, his collar attached by a short chain to an eyebolt behind him, his eyes downcast. Carl’s hands were cuffed to a belt at his waist, and his flaccid cock and balls hung exposed through an opening in the spandex shorts he wore.

  The woman was a regular stray named Constance, who Paul had seen around the club before. Young, with a curvaceous body, she had little trouble finding sexual gratification through different masters by club hopping.

  He’d caught part of her submissive performance with the Sinclair’s once in the main room, which was why he’d never selected her as his own sub in the past. She had a fetish for pain, which he wasn’t certain he could deliver. At least not enough to help her reach orgasm.

  What the hell was Kat thinking? She must be desperate to pair them together.

  Connie stood naked in the middle of the room with an ankle bar holding her legs apart. She was bent ninety-degrees at the waist, with her arms pulled straight up behind her and bound to a chain hanging from the ceiling.

  With a sigh, Paul slipped into his Dom role and approached the woman first. Grabbing her by the hair, he pulled her head back enough to make eye contact. “What have we here?”

  “Master...” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so bad.”

  So that’s how she wants the scene played.

  “If that’s the case, Connie, you realize you must be punished.”

  She whimpered, and he released her hair to walk around her. He saw a table in one corner with an assortment of fetish tools, sex toys, and condoms. He left them there for now and stopped in front of the man.

  “Carl.”

  “Greetings, Master Paul.”

  “What exactly were your instructions?”

  There was a telling pause before the slave answered. “I’m to service the sub, Connie, at your command.”

  “And is that what you want?”

  Carl looked at the woman’s ass, which was only a few feet away. “My desire is to obey my Mistress in whatever way she commands.”

  Paul frowned. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for, but it would have to do. “What is your safe word?”

  “Red light.”

  He nodded, turned to Connie, and swatted her on the butt to gain her attention. “Connie, what is your safe word?”

  “I-I don’t have one, Master Paul.”

  He scowled at the stupid girl. She went club hopping without any contingencies for letting her masters know when they had gone too far? He popped her on the butt again, thinking she needed a good spanking for doing something so dangerous.

  Her breaths quickened excitedly. Maybe a spanking wasn’t such a good idea. Not when she liked it.

  “You don’t want to anger me, Connie. Tell me your safe word.”

  “I can’t, Master Paul. I don’t have one.”

  He crossed his arms. “Then for tonight, you’ll use the same safe word as Carl. I don’t approve of subs not having such protective guidelines.”

  “Yes, Master Paul.”

  “Say it.” When she didn’t, he swatted her again.

  “Red light.”

  He bent down and detached Carl from the wall. Ordering him to stand, he then unhooked the sub’s wrist cuffs.

  “Stick your cock in her mouth,” he told the slave. “You’re of no use to her until you’re hard.” When Carl did as ordered, Connie attacked him with her mouth. After only a few thrusts, Paul asked, somewhat amused by the look on the slave’s face, “Hard, yet?”

  “Yes, Master Paul,” Carl hissed.

  Paul smacked her on the ass. “Release him.”

  Carl stepped back, panting. His cock was wet, red, and hard as a rock.

  “Put on a condom from over there, and choose a punishment tool for Connie. One you know how to wie
ld.” Carl’s gaze shot to his then lowered quickly. “Have you ever flogged someone, Carl?”

  He shook his head, and Paul bit back a curse.

  “Paddled someone?”

  “Yes, Master Paul.”

  “Good. Then select one from the collection on the table.”

  Connie squirmed a bit, making him eye her bindings. That position couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

  “Bring an anal vibrator and some lubrication, too.”

  When Carl returned, Paul said, “Hand me the remote control and put the vibrator in her. Use the lube.”

  He watched as Carl followed instructions, taking so much care to not hurt her that Paul smiled. Carl had the large vibrator only halfway in when Connie pushed back to seat it with force. She bit her lip and groaned. Carl looked at him, and Paul shrugged. Some people just didn’t like tenderness, a fact he found unfathomable. He spanked her again, harder than he had before, and she jerked.

  “That wasn’t smart, Connie. You’re not here to satisfy yourself,” he said, even though he knew it was a lie. “You’re here to please me. If I want slow and easy, you must submit.”

  Her head drooped, her blonde mane blocking his view of her face. “Yes, Master Paul.”

  He could tell by her tone that the idea of slow and easy was anathema to her. She’d never reach orgasm without fast, hard sex.

  Resolved to give her what she needed, if he could do so safely, he ordered Carl to, “Paddle her buttocks and thighs, until I tell you to stop.”

  He waited until her ass was red and he could stand the sight no longer, then said to Carl, “Fuck her.”

  The slave dropped the paddle, grabbed her hips, and slammed his hard cock in to the hilt. Connie moaned. After watching several vicious thrusts, Paul turned on the vibrator in her ass and worked the dial to control the speed.

  Carl’s grunts turned to groans as he felt the effects and powered into her with faster strokes.

  “P-please, Master Paul,” she said. She tossed her head about. Carl grabbed her hair and pulled back as he pummeled her pussy. “I need...”

  “What do you need, Connie?” Paul asked, expecting to hear her yell come. Her answer surprised him.