Dominance, page 4
Movement behind the counter caught her attention. Kendria adjusted a row of amber jars, blouse shifting with each small gesture. When she turned, the light struck her face. Dark eyes alive beneath brows drawn in concentration, mouth set but unguarded. Their gazes met. A pulse flickered low in Blackburn’s chest. Heat prickled along her collarbone. She registered the way Kendria’s shoulders tensed before settling again, how her breath stuttered just once before smoothing out.
Blackburn remained still in the doorway, posture straight as if bracing against the room’s gentle artifice. Her eyes didn’t leave Kendria’s face. She watched for micro-expressions, a flicker at the corner of the mouth, fingers curling briefly against glass.
“Good afternoon.” Her voice was even, pitched low but clear. “Detective Morgan Blackburn. New Dresden homicide.”
The words held for a beat. Kendria blinked. Surprise showed only in the slight widening of her eyes. Blackburn extended her hand palm up, and Kendria accepted without pause. Her grip was sure and warm.
For an instant their hands lingered together, Kendria’s skin cool from handling glass, Blackburn’s steady with purpose, before they parted. “Welcome to Coconut Glass Candles.”
Blackburn let her gaze drift over shelves crowded with color and scent. Candle flames cast slow-moving shadows across Kendria’s throat and cheekbones before she returned to meet those dark eyes again.
“I’m here about a hit-and-run,” she said. “Oak Street this morning.”
A furrow appeared between Kendria’s brows, then recognition dawned as she searched Blackburn’s face.
“Oh.” Her voice brightened with sudden clarity. “Now I remember where I know you from.” She hesitated, a quick glance away, then back again. “You’re a friend of Roscoe’s.”
There was no need to elaborate further. The code was clear, though poorly timed.
Blackburn inclined her head in acknowledgment, letting silence fill the gap between question and answer.
“That’s right. But I’m here on business,” she said softly. “If you have time now, I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Kendria nodded once, too quickly, then steadied herself with a smile.
“We can talk while I show you around,” she offered, voice smooth but not entirely casual. “Maybe help you pick out something?”
Blackburn allowed herself half a smile, brief and sharp-edged for those who knew how to read it.
“Maybe you could,” she replied.
They moved together into the aisles, a corridor of pastel wax and metallic shimmer pressing close on either side. Blackburn walked with measured steps. Even here amid scents meant to soothe, there was an alertness to her posture that refused comfort.
She let her fingertips graze the edge of a wooden shelf as if testing its grain.
“Did you notice anything unusual this morning?” Her tone seemed idle but left little room for evasion.
The question floated between them. Somewhere nearby, a candle hissed quietly as its wick consumed itself.
Kendria paused mid-step beside her. For a moment, the silence held weight enough to bend light around it.
“No,” Kendria said at last, voice low and even. “Not until later. I didn’t realize anyone had been hurt. Homicide, you said?”
Blackburn studied her profile. A line of tension along Kendria’s jaw belied by otherwise steady hands.
“Kendria.” She stepped closer, shoes whispering over polished boards until only breath separated them. “Someone at the memorial said you had a theory about what happened.”
A faint smile touched Kendria’s lips, not quite amusement, not quite defiance, as she leaned back against the nearest shelf.
“A theory?” She let the word settle before continuing. “I wouldn’t call it that.” Her fingers found the pendant at her throat. Candlelight caught on silver as she looked up through dark lashes. “Just something I overheard.”
Blackburn waited.
“It’s about self-driving cars,” Kendria said finally, each syllable weighted by intent rather than certainty. “The kind that learn from each other? They’re communicating now, more than people realize.” Her gaze flickered sideways to gauge Blackburn’s response. “And not only about traffic or collisions.”
A subtle shift crossed Blackburn’s features. Interest sharpened by caution.
“Go on,” she said, the invitation edged with command.
Kendria straightened, a flicker of steel sharpening her posture. “They’re targeting the older models,” she said, her words quick and precise. “Hijacking them, forcing collisions, locking down intersections. It’s surgical. No fingerprints, no traces. Like kids pressing at the edges of a fence just to see what gives.”
Blackburn’s eyes glinted with an energy that hovered on the edge of recklessness. She leaned in, voice dropping low, as if the truth itself might shatter if spoken too loudly. Heat radiated between them, a subtle current that made Blackburn acutely aware of every inch of space they shared. She found herself watching Kendria’s mouth shape each word, unable to look away even as her mind insisted on restraint.
The sensation crept up on her, unexpected and unwelcome. It slipped beneath the armor she wore for Jenna’s sake, threading curiosity through grief where there should have been only resolve. Shadows pooled at Kendria’s collarbone, silvered by her necklace. Light caught in the hollow of her throat whenever she spoke. Blackburn’s thoughts snagged there, unbidden.
She blinked hard, pulse tapping out a warning beneath her skin. Distraction threatened to blur the sharp edges of the case. She could feel it in the way her focus stuttered and reformed around Kendria’s presence.
“Sounds like you’ve been mainlining dystopian thrillers,” Blackburn said finally, letting dryness mask the slip in her composure.
Kendria’s grin curled wider, undimmed by doubt. “Maybe,” she replied, tilting her head with feline poise. “Or maybe it’s happening right now, and nobody wants to look too closely.”
Blackburn started to answer but hesitated under Kendria’s gaze, a gaze so steady it peeled back layers with its directness. The air between them tightened, a live wire humming just beneath ordinary conversation.
She cleared her throat and moved away, letting distance cool what lingered unsaid. Her hand drifted along shelves crowded with curated oddities. Handwoven cloth folded with military precision beside glass bottles that fractured sunlight into shards across dusty wood.
She stopped before a display of candles, each one sculpted and colored as if meant for ritual rather than burning. Her fingers hovered over a crimson pillar candle before lifting it free from its pedestal.
The scent enveloped her instantly. Sandalwood braided through vanilla and something darker, a raw undertone of damp hay that rooted itself deep in memory.
“I’ve seen you.” Kendria leaned against the shelving, watching Blackburn turn the candle in her hands. “I was at last month’s gathering,” she said. “You wore a half-mask, but your voice… I’d know it anywhere.” She reached out and took Blackburn’s hand, turning it palm up as though reading more than lines or fate. “And this hand. I saw what this hand did.”
Blackburn did not pull away. Kendria traced slow circles along her palm, a touch both casual and deliberate.
“It was me,” Blackburn said, letting authority settle back into her voice as if donning familiar armor. “And I enjoyed it.” She studied Kendria’s face for any flicker of recognition or challenge. “Were you part of the crowd, or did you join in?”
“Watching,” Kendria answered without hesitation, thumb still moving in arcs across Blackburn’s skin. “You have an interesting approach.”
Blackburn arched an eyebrow. “Approach? What, are you hoping to add some new tricks?”
Kendria smiled, a small, private thing that hinted at secrets withheld. “Most days I lead,” she said softly. “But for someone who knows how to control, really take control, I can be flexible.”
“And this someone?” Blackburn stepped closer. “What does this someone look like?”
Kendria reached behind herself without breaking eye contact and lifted another candle from the shelf, angled so that Blackburn’s reflection shimmered in its glassy surface.
“Like this,” Kendria murmured.
Blackburn held still for a moment longer than necessary, letting silence spool out between them, taut as wire strung between two anchor points.
“You know,” she said at last, voice velvet-dark and pitched low enough to draw Kendria nearer by instinct alone, “attention is rare currency.” Her smile barely tipped up at one corner, a promise curled tight beneath restraint. “Most people never bother.”
“Oh, I agree,” Kendria replied, her tone dropping into something richer, slower, the kind of agreement meant for closed doors and shadowed rooms. She raised the candle between them as if offering proof or confession, or both. “Would you rather take this home wrapped up safe? Or do you prefer things raw?”
Blackburn let her smirk sharpen into something almost wolfish. When she spoke, it was slow and certain. “I like it raw.”
Time stilled around them, just long enough for Blackburn to catch the hitch in Kendria’s breath, quicksilver-brief but unmistakable. She filed it away alongside other observations, the way Kendria watched people too closely, how she held tension like a secret waiting to be spent, as new theories coalesced in the quiet corners of her mind.
Now was not the moment for speculation. Blackburn’s tone when she spoke shifted, professional, but edged with a certainty that pressed forward. “Regarding the investigation,” she said, letting silence settle before continuing, “did you hear anything unusual this morning? Any disturbances or sounds out of place?” She reached for the candle, her fingers steady, and set it back on the shelf. The gesture closed a circuit. There would be no argument.
“What time?” Kendria’s voice was flat, not defensive but alert.
“Between six-thirty and seven.” Blackburn watched for any flicker in Kendria’s expression, a tightening at the corner of her mouth, a glance away, but found only careful recollection. Kendria’s brow knitted as she searched memory, unhurried and unmasked.
“No,” Kendria said finally. The word landed cleanly in the hush between them. “The shop is soundproof. I can’t stand city noise, so I lined everything, walls, ceiling, with acoustic tile.”
Blackburn let that explanation hang, measuring its plausibility against the room’s quiet. “You’re here that early?”
“Sometimes.” Kendria’s lips quirked. The admission was neither boast nor apology. “Deliveries arrive before opening. Inventory checks don’t wait for business hours.” She shrugged lightly. “That’s small business.”
Blackburn’s gaze lingered on Kendria, not just listening but cataloging each movement. How her hands stilled when she spoke, how her eyes sharpened at each question. The air thickened with something unsaid. Tension gathered in small spaces, the gap between their bodies, the hush after every answer.
She let it build before breaking it. A smile traced itself across her mouth, controlled, never careless, as she inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you for your candor, Kendria.” Each word was deliberate. Blackburn chose them like chess pieces moved into position. “Rumors often prove more useful than you might expect.”
Kendria nodded slowly, then tipped her head to study Blackburn anew, a glint of curiosity behind her eyes catching light like glass at dusk. Her words came softer than before but held their shape. “I never gave you my name.” The pause that followed was calculated. An invitation or an accusation hung between them. “How did you know?”
Blackburn did not look away. Earlier, she had noticed the slim tag pinned above Kendria’s heart, a detail absorbed and filed without conscious effort. Now she allowed herself a glance there again, making the motion obvious enough to answer.
“Your name tag,” she said.
Kendria looked down as if rediscovering it. Color rose up her neck in a muted flush. Laughter slipped from her, a low spill of sound that broke tension while acknowledging it. “I forget I’m even wearing it half the time.”
Blackburn’s smile deepened, subtle, almost private, though Kendria seemed not to register its intent. “Since I’m already here…” Her tone softened but retained its undercurrent of command. She let her fingers drift along the shelf as if reacquainting herself with its textures and shapes before selecting a sleek black jar from the row. “I’ll get a candle,” she murmured.
She moved with unhurried precision. Each step seemed calculated to narrow the distance without haste. Her gaze traveled over the displays until it caught on a cluster of pale candles marked by stark black labels. Wax Play Candles. The words tasted strange in her mouth as she spoke them aloud, amusement flickering at one corner of her lips.
Kendria stepped closer until Blackburn could sense warmth radiating from her skin. A scent rose up. Violets bruised under heat, threaded with something sharper beneath. Kendria smiled and tilted her head toward Blackburn in silent communion.
“Familiar territory?” Kendria asked, voice pitched low enough to confide but not quite whispering.
“It might be,” Blackburn replied, turning one ivory candle between her fingers as if weighing more than wax, testing intention against restraint.
Kendria leaned nearer still so that their arms brushed lightly. Contact brief but unmistakable, a claim staked and withdrawn in an instant. “These are my favorites,” she said. Her words curled around them like smoke rising from an extinguished wick. “Formulated for sensitive play.”
Blackburn repeated the word back to her, “Sensitive,” but made it rougher, almost dismissive. She set the candle down but didn’t move away.
“That wouldn’t be my word,” she said.
Kendria angled her head so shadows played along her throat. Invitation shimmered in that exposed line of skin and in the hush that followed.
“What would you call it?” Her voice was velvet drawn taut across something harder beneath.
A shadow passed through Blackburn’s gaze, a storm gathering behind glass, and for a moment neither moved nor breathed.
“I could show you better than I could tell you.” Her smile was all edge now, a promise or threat or both entwined together.
Silence pressed close around them until Kendria’s hand lifted to touch the chain at her throat, silver glinting where pulse fluttered beneath skin.
“I close at eight,” she said.
Blackburn raised one hand and traced a featherlight line along Kendria’s collarbone, the backs of her fingers cool against heated skin, a gesture less comfort than possession.
Her breath grazed Kendria’s ear as she whispered. “Perfect.” The word lingered between them like smoke curling upward from an extinguished flame.
“Close your eyes.”
Kendria hesitated only a moment before lowering her lashes. Anticipation wound tightly inside her chest until every sound, the hum of air above them, the distant hum of traffic, seemed amplified by waiting silence.
“Don’t move.” Blackburn’s voice cut through the hush, sharp enough to halt Kendria mid-breath. The click of heels marked a slow orbit, each step inescapable. Silk whispered as Blackburn passed close, close enough that Kendria’s skin prickled in anticipation.
Blackburn moved with intent, every gesture a signal in an unspoken game where time thinned and stretched. Beneath the surface, a current of longing pulsed, more perilous than idle curiosity, more urgent than she dared admit.
Kendria stood motionless, hands braced on the old wood of the display case, her breath uneven. Blackburn fought to steady herself but found resolve slipping beneath the heat rising inside herself. Desire pressed in, insistent and unwelcome, blurring the line between control and surrender. She caught herself breathing faster, a secret betrayal she refused to let show. This was not supposed to happen now. Not here.
Leave before you lose your grip. The thought flickered by, sharp and fleeting, quickly drowned by denial. Of course she noticed women like her, she always had. Angular cheekbones softened by laughter, intensity flickering behind fleeting warmth. In Kendria, that contradiction lived in every glance.
The air carried lavender and the faint musk of old paper. Outside, city noise seeped through glass in muffled waves. Kendria’s eyes stayed shut as the lock slid into place with a metallic snap, her flinch barely perceptible.
Blackburn was behind her without warning, a presence heavy and intoxicating in the dim light. Her arms circled Kendria’s waist, steady but unhurried. “What are you thinking?” she murmured, voice low enough to blur into breath.
Kendria swallowed hard. “I wish I could close early.” Her gaze darted toward shadowed windows before dropping again.
A smile curled at Blackburn’s lips, a velvet sound vibrating in her chest as she leaned in so close Kendria felt every word against her ear. “You won’t be interrupted,” she promised quietly. “The door is locked.”
She pressed her mouth to Kendria’s neck, not gentle, not rough, but precise. A touch that kindled heat beneath skin and scattered every rational thought Kendria tried to hold on to. The shop faded away. Only Blackburn remained, deliberate and consuming.
Blackburn lifted Kendria’s chin with fingers tracing familiar territory along her jawline, memorizing each angle anew. Their next kiss hovered on the edge of restraint, a careful graze of teeth hinting at hunger kept just barely leashed. Kendria shivered and leaned closer.
“I want you.” The words escaped on a trembling exhale as Kendria gripped Blackburn’s hips and drew her nearer. “All of you.”
