Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(12)

The tat decorating Sax’s bulging bicep was a WWII bomber girl, a Rosie the Riveter type cartoon gal with a twist. She was bound so tightly by a sort of kinbaku rope binding that her tits jutted forth between the bindings, the nipples large and protuberant. She looked happy to be bound like this in her nurse’s uniform. Her skirt was hiked to her hips, revealing her perfect V of a bush. I wondered, as the juice trickled between my thighs, if Sax was into uniforms.

“That’s nice,” I breathed. Now that was the understatement of the century. A throbbing vein ran right between the bomber girl’s legs, a vein the color of the sky before a storm. “So you’re into the lifestyle too? What a strange coincidence. But you travel all the time.”

He shrugged. What a shame he was sliding his hoodie sleeve back down, but he left his forearm bared for my pleasure. “Doesn’t stop me. There are clubs in every town, and I’m familiar with most of them.”

“But you don’t look—”

“Like a Dom? Hey. I don’t need to wear leather gauntlets or latex caps to know what I am. I don’t even wear that crap in the clubs. I’m secure with who I am inside. I don’t need accessories to prove to the world I like to dominate women. But I like a woman who’s a bit of a switch, to push back on me. A woman with a mind of her own.”

Now that hit home in a hundred ways with me. “My Sir won’t tolerate any of that bullshit. I tried to push back a couple of times. No f*cking way. He’s strictly by the book. High protocol, he calls it.”

He raised one eyebrow. “He makes you kiss his boot, stuff like that?”

“Exactly. Makes me crawl around on all fours.” I couldn’t f*cking believe I was talking to someone else about this. I could talk to Cassie about it in vague, roundabout terms, but I’d never gotten into specifics with anyone like this. It was comforting, again, to know that Sax was also in the lifestyle. I thought maybe that’s why I’d felt so comfortable with him from the start.

He seemed skeptical of this, as though he would never make a woman do that. I knew there were many, many different kinds of Doms in the world. It seemed nearly impossible to meet your match, the one who would balance out your requirements to be dominated, but not too dominating. It did irritate me sometimes, Roscoe’s high protocol. Kissing his damned boot pissed me off sometimes, but I thought that was the intention. If being submissive didn’t irritate you, what was the point? It was meant to push all your buttons.

“You’re into that? Well, safe, sane, consensual.” He shrugged. “Whatever works for you. Does he make you unzip his trousers with your teeth?”

I actually became a little bit proud of my D/s relationship now. “No, but he makes me cook meals wearing nothing but an apron and high heels.”

Now Sax seemed interested, sitting forward on his chair. “Oh, yeah?” He looked me boldly up and down. I wasn’t the most voluptuous woman on the planet, not the shapeliest, with sort of an up and down board figure. I knew my face was pretty in a dark Irish way, but I was never confident of my body. And suddenly I wanted to turn Sax on. The fact that he was twenty years older than me was flipping all my sensual switches, too. His brazen machismo, the way he assessed me boldly with his eyes, the sex he oozed—I was alive in every one of my senses. It had been a secret desire of mine for years to play out some Daddy Dom issues. “Now there’s a sight I’d pay good money to see.”

When I dropped my eyes out of modesty, I was face to face with the enormous bulge in the crotch of his jeans. The jeans were so worn, so threadbare, the shape of his cock was blatantly displayed. The fabric had actually worn around what appeared to be his frequent erection. It was whitewashed in the shape of a long, thick penis, nestled up against the threadbare pocket. I quickly shifted my gaze to a lit beer sign behind the bar.

“Speaking of paying,” Sax continued in that warm, syrupy voice. “I’ll take your Tormenta job. But I don’t want the sweetbutt money. I’ve got enough money of my own. I’ll do it for personal reasons, because I hate that motherf*cker Tormenta, because it’s good to keep my hand in the game, to keep my skills up, to stay a member ‘in good’ with The Bare Bones. I’ll do it to protect future sweetbutts and to spare my brothers from the backstabbing human trafficking business Tormenta deals in.”

I was so happy I actually did cover both his hands with mine. “You will? Oh, I’m so f*cking glad! Listen, I’m going to Madison’s tonight in P and E. Will you follow my cage and talk to Cassie and Maddy? It’s on the way to Prescott anyway.”

He removed one of his hands from under mine and placed it on top, a tiny show of dominance. “Sure. I wanted to go visit The Citadel again anyway, talk to Ford, see where he lands on this issue. Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secret. I’m not convinced Tormenta is in Prescott—that’d be too obvious—but leave all that up to me.”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” You’d think we were embarking on a trip to a wild animal park, not setting out to off some cartel kingpin.

He squeezed my hand. “Just one thing I want, Bee.”

“What? Anything!”

“You.”

What? Had I just heard correctly? He couldn’t mean what he seemed to mean. “Me doing…what? What do I need to do?”

“I said I’d pay money to see you cooking, wearing nothing but an apron and high heels. I meant it.”