The Most Dangerous Dame

I stood and took her arm. “Why, Ms. Flacco. I thought you’d never ask.”

The heat ignited a bit early. The elevator doors hadn’t even shut properly before Electra wound herself around me and pulled my mouth to hers. She smelled of rose petals and the taste of cranberry and vodka still lingered on her tongue. The dizzying combination was more than enough to make my blood boil and try to give as good as she gave. By the time the elevator stopped I’d almost forgotten why we were there in the first place. Her naughty laughter and the filth she whispered in my ear awakened the kind of lust that shoved everything else out of the picture. I never even paused when my groping hand found the long switchblade strapped to her thigh. Her deadly reputation no longer mattered. The only thing on my mind was the softness that lay under her clothes.

The short walk across the hallway was an awkward shuffle with us intertwined, trying to hold on to the pieces of clothing that fell off in the elevator. She had my Bogart on her head; I had her heels in my hand. My coat was draped over one arm; she was draped over the other. I didn’t know where my tie was, but with her mouth on my neck it didn’t really matter.

After a few tries she managed to swipe her holoband across the pad to unlock her room door. We tumbled inside and onto the crème-colored velvet comforter of the oversized bed. More clothes quickly littered the floor. The Mean Ol’ Broad thumped off the carpet without notice. A few heat-arousing kisses later she pulled back with a deliciously wicked smile on her face. Leaning in, she took my hands and raised them above my head.

I felt a stupid, drunken grin spread across my face. “I surrender.”

The handcuffs clicked into place at that exact moment.

I glanced at my imprisoned hands. “Think I might need to use those, darlin’.”

Still smiling, she slid down the length of my body in a way that made me gasp out loud. “My game, my rules, Mick.” She wrenched one of my shoes off. It hit with carpet with a thump. My other shoe quickly followed.

I lowered my voice. “I’m serious, Electra. Just in case something happens, if you catch my drift.”

“Something’s going to happen.” She yanked hard, snatching my pants off in a single motion. “I guarantee it. Now don’t go anywhere. I’m going to slip into something more comfortable.” She paused at the bathroom door. “Nice to see you rise to the occasion, by the way.” A fit of giggles shook her shoulders when she dipped into the bathroom and closed the door.

“C’mon Electra. I’m not kidding.” I gave a futile pull, but the cuffs weren’t the play kind and the bed had one of those solid metal lattice frames. I glanced out the window. The blinds were open, allowing anyone who cared to look a clear view of the goings-on inside. Of course that was the point, but I didn’t figure being handcuffed to the bed into the scenario. I kinda doubted Natalie would find it all that hilarious, but it still felt embarrassing to lay there in my boxers for all the world to see. Plus it reminded me too much of another uncomfortable situation with the Gutter Girls I tried not to think about.

“What do you think?”

My stomach sank to my toes when I turned. Electra had donned a latex catsuit so tight on her slender curves it looked like she dipped her body in glossy black paint. Her eyes were covered by cubed goggles fashioned after insect eyes, and a crimson hourglass glimmered from between her shiny breasts. A short-handled leather tasseled whip hung from her gloved hand.

The Black Widow had come to play.

I swallowed. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but—”

“Hush.”

I winced when the tassels cracked across my bare legs. It was more from the snapping sound than the actual sting, but it got an evil laugh from Electra anyway. She leaped atop me, grinding against my groin area in a fashion that proved quite distracting despite my humiliating predicament.

“Your mistress didn’t order you to speak.” She emphasized her point with a savage kiss that ended with her teeth pulling at my bottom lip. She released just at the point of drawing blood and grinned. “You be a good boy and this will go easier. You act up and things might get downright nasty.” She lashed the whip across my legs again. Her other hand produced the switchblade I came across earlier. The bayonet-style blade popped out with a click. I screwed my eyes shut and tried not to scream when her arm whipped down.

When I recovered from my terror I saw she had slashed through my shirt, not my chest and intestines like I figured. She purred like a kitten as her vinyl-gloved hand rubbed my bare chest. Her other hand brushed against the automated holster strapped to my forearm. “Oooh, what’s this?”

“Just a little insurance policy I picked up from the Sarge at Johnson Arms.”

“Well, try not to discharge accidently. This is going to be the night of your life, Mick Trubble. I guarantee it.”