Trusted (Club Indigo Book 2) Read online

  "Well, what? And who are you?"

  "Captain Connor," he introduced himself. "And you are?"

  "Suzie," she said and tried to hold out her hand, but he was standing very close to her.

  He looked down, engulfed it in his own and held on. "Are ye gay?"

  "No."

  "Captain," he said, stroking his callused thumb over her hand. Totally distracting.

  "What?"

  He smiled at that. "No, Captain. Or ye may address me as Sir."

  She tore her gaze from their hands and met his eyes. "You're military?"

  His smile broadened. He couldn't remember smiling this much in a very long time. She was enchanting, all right. "Aye, I was once. Retired."

  "Retired?" she said, puzzled. "You're much too young to be retired."

  He was still stroking her hand and didn't react to her exclamation. "So, let's try again. Are ye gay, Suzie?"

  Suzie tried to pull her hand out of his, to no avail. She sighed and conceded. "No, Captain."

  "Beautifully done, missy."

  He let go of her hand and she rested it in her lap. He placed his hands on either side of her on the table and brought his head level with hers, "What are you curious about, Suzie?" She looked up at him helplessly, like prey hypnotized by a wily cobra. Would she know how it warmed his dominant heart to see her looking up at him as if he had all the answers? Probably not. "Let me help you. Did you come to the club this night to watch or to experience?"

  "Probably both," Suzie whispered as she dropped her gaze to her hand in her lap. She had wanted him to let go, and now she felt bereft because he wasn't touching her.

  "Yer honesty pleases me, missy." She peeked up through her lashes, keeping her head down. His strong face showed a hint of a smile, with crinkles at the side of his eyes and creases beside his mouth. The man was gorgeous. Suzie wasn't aware her hands had slipped off her lap and were now clutching the side of the padded table, fingertips digging into the leather.

  "Any physical problems?" She shook her head. "Hard limits?" Her breathing sped up. Was he planning on playing with her?

  "Suzie?"

  "Um, permanent marks?" she squeaked.

  "Was that a question or a statement?" His tone didn't give away his state of mind.

  "Sorry, not a question." Suzie squared her shoulders and lifted her head. "It's okay for you to hurt me as long as you don't leave any permanent marks."

  "All right, blood play isn't allowed in the club anyway, missy. Can I touch ye everywhere? Ye kept yer panties on with Kate."

  She smiled shyly. "I don't know. I don't know if I'm ready for sex. I wouldn't have been comfortable with a woman touching me there."

  He smiled brighter. "So as long as I refrain from penetration, I can touch yer pussy, then?"

  Oh, she was so going to Hell for this. "Yes, Captain," she whispered.

  Her sweet surrender shot straight to his loins. He was dying to play, but one thing needed to be done. "Safewords green, yellow, and red work for you?" he inquired.

  "Green?" she asked.

  His mouth lifted at one corner in a smirk and his eyes twinkled in devilish amusement. "Aye, when you're particularly happy and want me to go on." He stepped away from her to put a fresh covering on the table then turned back and ordered, "Strip."

  Suzie scrambled to do as he had told her. She made quick work of undressing and only hesitated for a moment before stripping off her panties. She was glad Laura had talked her into shaving her pussy bare. What now? She looked helplessly over to the Captain. The man hadn't moved a muscle and was watching her in a way that made her feel even more naked, if such a thing were possible. It was embarrassing—it didn't seem fair that she was naked and he still had on his clothes.

  He grinned like he knew her thoughts and strode over to her side of the room. Before she knew it, he had picked her up and plopped her on the table.

  "It's cold," she shrieked, and the sadistic bastard chuckled.

  He nipped her earlobe and growled, "Not for long." With firm hands, he pushed her onto her back and positioned her arms and legs, binding her to the table with the attached Velcro cuffs. A moment of insecurity came over her and she started to struggle. "What color, missy?" His callused hand stroked above her knee.

  Color? Oh, yes, her safewords. "Yel," she started to say but then amended, "no, green. I'm green." His big hand on her thigh squeezed. Pain, pleasure. Her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned. Captain Connor began slowly massaging her legs, gradually moving up her body. He avoided her pussy but continued on up her abdomen to her breasts, where he lingered for quite a while. He finished with her arms before bending to drop feather-like kisses on her face and neck. She felt the loss of his body heat and her eyes flew open at a scratching sound. He had lit a match and was now standing over her with a candle flame dancing before his face. He looked both handsome and scary in the flickering light. She watched as drops of wax trickled from the candle and landed on her leg. The wax was warm, almost comforting. His gaze was trained on her face as he lowered the candle and again dripped wax, this time on her other leg, avoiding the tender crease between her thigh and pussy. As the drop connected with her flesh, it burned. At first, she froze, ready to call "red," but as the pain eased, she realized she wanted more.

  He grunted and put the candle down. He took his sgian-dubh from the top of his kilt hose and she pulled in a breath.

  "No blood play, remember," he reassured her, and she nodded. "This is a ceremonial knife and I won't cut you with it. What's your color, love?"

  "Green, Sir," she answered.

  Captain Connor used the dull edge to scrape away the wax on both spots and then inspected them. He grunted again and put his hand over the last spot he marked and pushed. Suzie gasped and felt a gush of wetness drip from her pussy.

  "Aye," he growled and picked up the candle again. He started painting an erratic pattern over her body, paying special attention to her breasts. The first drop on her nipple made her pull against the restraints, even as she wanted more. He alternated the height and the amount of wax he poured on her. She believed he asked her about her color a couple of times, but the sensations were so overwhelming, she wasn't sure.

  Connor leaned with one arm on the table next to her head. She was a masochist all right; her need to receive pain was a match to his need to give it. The air was filled with the scent of her arousal. His cock jumped beneath his kilt, begging to claim her, to fuck her into further submission. But the girl had been clear—no sex. Sorry, dick. But he could give her an orgasm. He picked up the small tool he'd selected for this scene—a Womanizer. Not really a vibrator, this handheld device sucked at the clitoris and made most women go wild. As an added benefit, he didn't have to remove it once the sub had reached her orgasm. With a vibrator, the area became too sensitive, but with the Womanizer, he could keep going. And so he did. As Suzie reached her first peak, he picked up his knife and started to scrape off the first pieces of wax. Suzie bucked and moaned into a shuddering climax.

  He loved the sounds she made, but she was still inhibited. When he was through with her, her voice would sound like a good Scotch tasted—velvety and smooth. Relentless, he held the Womanizer on her pussy. "Give me more," he demanded.

  Her muscles became taut once again. Her arms and legs strained against the binding. "Oh, God, oh, God," she wailed. Like tidal waves, her peaks came rolling over her. Mixed with the erotic scrape and pull from him removing the wax, the suction at her clit was at once wonderful and terrible. She wanted it to stop and she didn't want it to stop.

  She panted and gasped for air. He pulled away the torturous device and leaned over her, claiming her lips in a kiss so deep, she was astonished he didn't touch her tonsils. Whatever strength she had left flew out of the window and she sank into the table, surrendering to his kiss and mastery.

  Suzie woke up a bit dazed the next morning. A glance over at the old-fashioned alarm clock told her she had time before she had to get to church to collect the
children from her father and Mary. Her mind drifted back to last night. After the scene, Connor had held her in his arms. She wasn't much of a cuddler, but being on his lap had been nice. Connor had told her about his first BDSM experience. It hadn't been in a BDSM club, but in the barn at the family estate in Scotland. He had spanked a neighboring girl, after she had been teasing a little kitten. Connor had laughed his deep laugh as he remembered how he had almost come in his pants from the experience. That remark had her noticing his hard-on, but he hadn't asked for anything sexual. She felt a little guilty about that. The man had made her come so often, she couldn't tell one orgasm from another in the end. But when he noticed her awareness of his arousal, he locked her head in an unyielding grip and kissed her questions right out of her mouth. He used light touches with butter soft lips that were in stark contrast to his hold on her. All her coherent thoughts scampered away like a flock of ducks chased by a Labrador retriever.

  Suzie took stock of her body. Her legs and upper body were covered in red marks a little like a sunburn. She should probably put aloe Vera cream on them. Her pussy felt sore in a good way. Her gaze stopped at a distinct marking on her thigh. Was that a bite mark? Son of a bitch, the savage had bitten her. She skimmed her fingers over the spot, which was more black and blue than red and had the telltale form of teeth. She shuddered at the contact and her pussy contracted.

  She stroked the spot again, imagining the fierce Highlander clamping his teeth on her leg. She closed her eyes and threw back her head in ecstasy, probing and prodding at the spot. Her other hand slipped between her legs and touched her drenched slit. She stroked the wetness over her clit. She was still tender from last night, but she rubbed frenetically until she brought herself to orgasm.

  Connor slept like a baby after his scene with Suzie. Giving her pain and seeing her climax had settled something deep inside him. It didn't hurt that he had gotten himself off twice on the memory when he got home. Unfortunately, his day started before his night was over when his phone rang at the crack of dawn. He cursed as he reached for it in the pitch-black room. "Be very careful what you say to me, Hamish," he said without looking at the caller ID.

  "How do you always know it's me, ye ol' rascal?" his cousin asked.

  "Because ye're the only one fool enough to call me at this godforsaken hour," Connor answered. "What's the emergency this time? Did you run out of drinking money again?"

  "Hardly," Hamish responded. "I'm afraid I have bad news. Uncle Angus died in the night. The funeral will be Saturday to give the clan time to gather. You'll be here, I suppose?"

  "What happened?" Connor demanded.

  "He's been having problems for the last couple of months. The doctors thought it might be some sort of cancer, but he would nae go to a hospital to find out for sure. He said if it was his time, he'd rather die in his own bed."

  "Well, why didn't ye call me sooner, ye scunner?"

  "Why? Ye're not suddenly a doctor, are ye?" Hamish said sarcastically.

  "I would ha' liked a chance to say goodbye, Hamish, as ye well know. Uncle Angus was like a second father to me. And to you, too, for that matter."

  "Well, you can say goodbye with the rest of the clan at the funeral. It will be Saturday, at the Carmichael Kirk. Can we expect ye?" Hamish asked a bit more politely.

  "O' course, ye can expect me. I'll send ye the details of my flight as soon as I get it booked," Connor said. "Thanks for calling. I know there are those who would nae ha' bothered."

  Connor turned on the light as he ended the call. It was 4:06 am by his bedside clock. He muttered to himself as he got up, "What's the point of funerals anyway? The dead don't know what we do about them." He got up, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore that night.

  He woke up his computer and started searching for flights. Glasgow was always a crapshoot when it came to finding a decent flight. After an hour and two cups of strong coffee, he found himself with flights that took him from Kansas City through Chicago, to Edinburgh. If he left Thursday morning, he could get there by Friday afternoon, barring complications. His return was a bit more complicated. He didn't know when the clan meeting where his uncle's will would be read was. He should have asked Hamish while he had him on the phone but hadn't been sure he could have gotten a straight answer out of his cousin.

  Who could he call to find out what he needed to know? His aunt would have enough on her plate without having to answer a phone call like his. He finally settled on his uncle's solicitor. Someone in the office should be able to help him. It was after 5:00 am now, which made it 11:00 am in Glasgow.

  Sure enough, there was an answer on the first ring. "Carmichael, MacInnes, Ogilvie and Associates, Sharon speaking, how may I help you?"

  "This is Connor Carmichael, Angus' nephew, and I was wondering if someone there could help me with some information about the arrangements for my uncle's funeral?"

  "Certainly, sir. Mr. Richard is out today helping your aunt, but Ms. Ogilvie may be able to help. Please hold on a moment and I'll see if she's free."

  Connor was met with the inevitable hold music while he waited. In contrast to what was used in the States, he was treated to a highland reel. When the reel ended, the music segued into the Battlefield Band with their classic cover of Bad Moon Rising , an old favorite of his. He didn't get to hear much of it before he had Sharon again. "I'm sorry for the wait, Mr. Connor, but Ms. Ogilvie was on the phone. Here she is now."

  "Elizabeth Ogilvie, how may I help you, Mr. Connor?"

  "Good morning, Ms. Ogilvie. I was hoping ye could clarify details about my uncle's funeral and the clan meeting. My cousin Hamish called with the news but not the details."

  "Of course, Mr. Connor. Your uncle left specific instructions about everything. The funeral will be Saturday at 10:00 am in the Carmichael Kirk. I believe you're requested to be one of the pallbearers. Mr. Hamish was going to pass that information along."

  "My cousin Hamish is well known for being selective in what he tells other people."

  "Be that as it may, your uncle requested no viewing or wake. Pallbearers are requested to be at the church at 9:30 am. Following the funeral and burial, there will be a luncheon at Eastend House, with the reading of the will at 2:00 pm," Ms. Ogilvie said.

  "Are there any specifics about who can or should be at the reading?" Connor asked.

  "Any clan member over the age of eighteen is welcome. I expect they'll have a place for you at the house, as you are close family."

  "Thanks, Ms. Ogilvie. You've been very helpful."

  "One more thing, Mr. Connor. I believe you're named in the will, so you may want to plan on staying on a few days after the funeral in case there's paperwork to take care of."

  "Thank you again. I appreciate your assistance."

  Connor hung up and went back to his computer. He changed his return flight to Tuesday and called Hamish. "Ye scunner, tell me, is there room at the house for me or have ye given it all away?"

  "O' course, there's room. Aunt Margaret is expecting you. When does yer plane get in and I'll have someone at the airport to meet you?"

  "Ye don't need to do that, Hamish, I can find me own way out. I'm sure ye've got enough to do without having to make an airport trip," Connor insisted.

  "Have it yer own way, then. We'll see you on Friday."

  Chapter 4

  O nce he completed all the travel plans, he went into his office and tried to concentrate on his clients, but when he looked at his notes after meeting with a new client, he realized they made no sense. He was afraid to think what other sorts of mistakes he might have made. Thank heavens it wasn't tax season. His thoughts were filled with memories of his summers in Scotland with his Uncle Angus and Aunt Margaret. Connor's father had been Angus' younger brother. He had married an American girl and emigrated. Since Angus and Margaret hadn't had any children of their own, they invited Connor almost every summer so he would know his Scottish roots.

  Hamish was a couple of years older than Connor and
lived in the tiny village near the estate. He spent as much time as he could at the clan chief's home, his own father absent much of the time on business. Connor had forgotten Hamish's precise familial relationship. They were something like second cousins once removed, but the clan chief was "Uncle" to all the younger generation.

  He and Hamish had gotten into lots of trouble when they were young. Their most elaborate prank was when they tried to dam up the stream that the sheep used for most of their water. They tried to make it look like a beaver dam, since they had heard that beavers were being re-introduced to Scotland. Connor claimed to have seen beaver dams in the States and he provided the structure, while Hamish focused on coming up with a convincing story. The farm manager had quickly found them out and turned them in to Uncle Angus. Fortunately, no harm had come to the sheep. They had simply followed the water upstream to the temporary pond. Connor and Hamish were not so lucky. They had listened to a lengthy lecture, first from the farm manager and then from Uncle Angus on the keeping of sheep, then they had felt their uncle's ire from his belt on their backsides. They had to dismantle the dam and then spent the rest of the summer as shepherds.

  Finally, Thursday morning came, and Connor left his house with his best kilt and everything else he would need to be a pallbearer and for the clan gathering. His trip to the airport was interminable. The driver of the Uber he was in kept chatting about the weather, the prospects of the Chiefs, and other minutiae that held no interest for Connor that day. By the time they reached the airport, Connor had sworn to himself he would never use a ride share service again. Give him a cab with a divider between him and the driver any day.

  The airport was busy as always. Construction on the new terminal made check-in and security more tedious than ever. Once through security, Connor went directly to his gate, refusing to be tempted by the various shops and eateries. He sat down to wait for his flight, which wasn't scheduled to leave for an hour and a half.