Beck & Call (15 page)

He hung up, leaving Damien to stare in disbelief at his smartphone’s screen. Arousal fought with annoyance inside of him. He was looking forward to seeing Jake operate. The man was an artist, possibly an ideal alpha. On the other hand, while Damien appreciated Jake’s ability to reduce Mia to jelly, he strongly suspected the other man had cut off the call to dodge further instructions.

That crossed a line Damien shouldn’t turn a blind eye to.

~

Laypeople often believed that to get what you wanted, you had to target weaknesses. In Jake’s experience, you got farther discovering an individual’s comfort zone. Once you knew that, you could push against it. Better still, you could lull your subject into a sense of security. Damien’s erotic comfort zone seemed to be watching other folks lose their cool. His self-control felt superior when theirs was less. Jake was relatively certain he could capitalize on that.

Mia had been with him when he spoke to the CEO. She looked at him as he tucked the phone away. “You have a funny expression. Did Damien ask for something you don’t want to do?”

“Everything he asked I’ve already planned. I let him think he was steering me.” Jake studied Mia’s worried face. His fingers curled with longing to cup her velvety cheek. “I need you to play make-believe with me tonight, to be your natural self but as if you were someone else.”

“Okay,” she said unsurely. “Except I’m not Meryl Streep.”

“You don’t need to act, just let yourself fall into the moment. You won’t even need to talk much. You can leave that to me.” Despite his words, her little brows remained furrowed. “If it makes you feel better, we won’t have an audience. It will just be you, me, and Damien.”

She pursed her lips, her manner turning considering. “Can you draw Damien into pretending too? More than just asking him to dress up? Maybe we could get him to participate while he thinks he’s just watching.”

She’d taken Jake’s idea farther than he had himself.

“Maybe we could,” he said approvingly.

~

Reaching Club Diogenes required a drive north of New York City, past the tolerance of most daily commuters. Set amid rolling acres and surrounded by mature trees, the mansion originally belonged to a nineteenth century oil baron. Because he’d wished to buy it, Damien had traced its ownership. The property first became a sex club in the Roaring Twenties. The Great Depression and Prohibition seemed not to slow it down. The club nearly folded in the “free love” sixties but rose from the ashes under the guidance of the oil baron’s many-times great grandson.

As near as Damien could discover, the club changed hands again seven years ago, right around when he’d paid their astronomical entrance fee. From what other members said, the transfer of power had gone off without a hitch, the quality of service not suffering.

Probably it shouldn’t irritate him that he couldn’t dig up the individual’s name who made his pleasures here possible. He’d acquired Audition. That coup would satisfy most people.

Since he hadn’t wished to drive, in case he decided to imbibe, he’d called the club’s private limo firm. The black Town Car stopped beneath the grand portico, where a Diogenes staff member trotted out to open the door for him.

The young woman wore full bellhop livery. “Lord C,” she said, offering him a hand. “We’re so happy you could make it.”

Damien lifted his brows at her. He was no lord, nor did he ask the staff at Diogenes to call him anything but mister. The bellhop bowed to him.

“This way, sir,” she said. “Everything is in readiness.”

This must be part of Jake’s plan to entertain Mia. Damien followed the staff member into Diogenes’ palm-dotted Turkish inspired lobby. The usual skimpily dressed employees lounged attractively on settees, waiting for someone to summon them to a scene. He noticed curly haired Gabriel locked in the embrace of a taller man over by the large fireplace. Jake’s previous favorite seemed engrossed in the kiss, as close to fucking the other male as he could get with their clothes still on. Damien guessed the young man wouldn’t be assisting Jake tonight.

Perhaps it was just the three of them?

Someone removed Damien’s outer coat. Under it he was dressed as Jake requested, in traditional black tie with a crisp pointed collar and polished shoes.

The bellhop’s warm onceover flattered him.

“Sir,” she said. “Your stable master, Mr. R asked if you would condescend to make use of these.”

She handed him an opera hat, a walking stick with an eagle head, and a pair of supple kid leather gloves—suitable for any well-dressed Victorian gentleman.

Damien looked at them and his pulse picked up. The items were all authentic, though—strictly speaking—white gloves belonged with white tie. Damien pulled them on anyway. They were his size. His hands felt good as he worked his fingers in and loosened up the leather. If he were so inclined, these would enhance the delivery of a spanking.

The bellhop must have thought so too. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from them. Amused, Damien gripped the walking stick and gestured its end forward.

“Shall we proceed?” he suggested.

The bellhop jerked back into action. “Yes, sir. Mr. R has your wife sequestered next to the blue room.”

His
wife?
This fiction was getting more elaborate by the second. He donned the top hat as they walked a carpeted corridor. Diogenes Club was huge, and he wasn’t sure where the blue room was. His sense of adventure heightened as they climbed a back staircase. His trousers whispered against his legs, making him aware that his balls were heavy and his cock was stirring. Though its length remained lax enough to swing, he doubted that would stay true long.

His palms were tingling with excitement.

They left the stairway on the third floor. Damien heard none of the carnal noises he sometimes did at Diogenes—no cries of pleasure, no groans, no beds or walls being thumped against. Jake must have reserved the whole area.

“This is your door,” the bellhop said, indicating one with an old brass key sticking out. “My name is Regina. Please call me if you or your partners need anything.”

He looked at her. He was a man, and she was very cute. Despite this, the thought came to his mind that he’d rather watch Mia spank this girl than do it himself. As to that, he’d rather let Mia paddle
him
.

The way his cock twitched at that idea unsettled him. Damien had his quirks, but he wasn’t a bottom.

Rather than speak, he nodded in acknowledgment. Regina retreated partway down the corridor. Damien turned the key in the keyhole.

He saw at once that the room was empty—and where it got its name. The walls above the dark wainscoting were silvery blue, as was the rug and the pooling brocade curtains that had been drawn shut across a pair of tall windows. A ponderous nineteenth century four-poster, also draped in blue fabric, filled the space between them. All the furnishings were true to period, from the washing bowl on the dresser to the leafy ceiling medallion from which a patinaed gasolier descended. The space was intimate, the single chair barely an arm’s length from the foot of the heavy bed. The seat was already wedged in a corner and couldn’t be withdrawn further.

Damien suspected that wasn’t an accident. He was being offered an up close and personal view.

The room was warm. He removed his hat and jacket, laying each carefully aside. The gloves he kept on, and he retained the walking stick. Because pacing would have betrayed too much restlessness, he sat and crossed his legs.

His cock was thick but not erect. Too aware of it, he shifted in the chair. Regina had said his wife was sequestered
next
to the blue room. Did Jake and Mia need to be informed he’d arrived?

He noticed a second door on the opposite side of the bed. Despite his wish to maintain his self-control, his breath sucked in as the old brass knob turned.

Jake entered the room alone. Damien’s “stable master” wore downstairs servant garb: plain black trousers, suspenders, a loose white shirt with no attached collar. The front of the shirt lay open, baring a wedge of muscled chest. The dark hair on Jake’s head was tousled, his sleeves rolled up to expose corded arms. Both the flush on his cheeks and the sheen of sweat on his brow suggested he’d come from some exertion. The tightening of the cloth at Damien’s crotch reminded him Jake was one of a select group of males who piqued his interest.

When Jake inclined his head deferentially, the pressure on his prick increased.

“Sir,” he said. “I’ve prepared your wife for her discipline. Do you wish me to bring her in?”

Damien wasn’t accustomed to being involved in a scene this way, as if he were a player. He hesitated then decided he’d allow it. Jake had gone to some trouble to set this up.

“Please do,” he acquiesced.

His breath caught for the second time as Jake led Mia gently in by the wrist. Her head was bowed, her chestnut hair falling shyly across her face. A beautiful Victorian corset in pale green silk accentuated her already tempting curves. Her breasts swelled above the bodice, and two black velvet bows marked the spots where her nipples were nearly popping free. The matching thong she wore bared her rounded bottom, which was every bit as bitable as he’d imagined that morning. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted innocent pink.

The outfit transformed her. Mia was no longer a modern girl.

She was property.

Was Jake sweating because he’d helped change her?

“That’s far enough,” Jake said when they reached the foot of the four-poster.

Mia lifted her face to the other man. To Damien’s surprise—and perhaps to Jake’s—one glistening tear rolled down her dove-soft cheek.

“There,” Jake said, wiping the drop away with his thumb. “I know you’re frightened, milady, but you’ve earned what’s coming.”

“I haven’t,” she protested. “I only tried to do what’s right.”

Jake’s sympathy turned stern. “You disobeyed your lord and master.”

“Please,” she said, the word tremulous.

“If you wish to beg forgiveness, you must address your husband.”

Mia slid Damien an unsure look.

“Do it,” Jake ordered, giving her bottom a scolding swat.

If she stepped any closer, she’d touch Damien. She dropped to her knees on the rug instead. Her clenched hands dug into her thighs, perhaps in a show of spirit or just to avoid brushing him. She, at least, was honoring Damien’s terms.

“Please, sir,” she said to the floor. “Don’t let this brute punish me.”

Damien’s cock surged with interest, the throb of blood in it quick and hard. His grip tightened on the walking stick. He wasn’t sure what the script for this drama was. “If you’ve sinned …”

“I haven’t!”

“You went against Lord C’s wishes,” Jake contradicted. “He ordered you to pleasure me and you refused.”

Mia tossed her head defiantly. “I only have your word for that.”

“You know his preferences,” Jake scoffed. “What’s more, he knows yours. That quim of yours is too hot to be satisfied by a single man. If your husband wants me to help him fill it, who are you to gainsay him?”

“I am an honorable wife!”

“You are an unruly vixen. You need to be disciplined. Lord C—” Jake turned his gaze to him. “Please explain to this chattel what you expect of her.”

A thrill went through him as both their eyes supplicated him. This time, Damien knew exactly what to say. “I expect my wife to submit to my chosen servant as she would submit to me. I expect her to trust that any demand I make is for her own damn good.”

Jake smiled in triumph, his blue eyes gleaming devilishly. “Shall I tie her to the bed, sir? Shall I … educate her concerning her nature?”

“I command you to,” Damien said unequivocally. “See that you don’t let her off lightly.”

“The ropes are in that drawer,” Jake said. “In the table beside your chair.”

Damien debated ordering Jake to step past him and get the things himself. With a mental shrug, he twisted around to open the compartment. Two lengths of braided yellow silk lay within, the material soft but strong. As he handed them to Jake, the tips of their fingers bumped. Jake’s hand jerked slightly and Damien hid a smile. He already knew Jake was susceptible to his chemistry.

He couldn’t deny the contact gave him a buzz as well.

“Climb onto the bed,” Jake ordered Mia as if the moment hadn’t occurred.

The bed was tall. With the corset hampering her movements, Mia had to grip the post to clamber up onto her knees.

“Left hand,” Jake said, already breathing harder at the prospect of tying her.

Mia hesitated and then offered her hand to him.

He had a knack for making bondage pretty. He wrapped a stack of coils around her wrist before securing it to the post with a sailor’s knot. He did this quickly, as if he didn’t dare linger. Despite the precaution, the bulge of his crotch grew larger.

When Mia noticed, she gnawed her lip.

“Right hand,” he instructed. “Now!”

She tore her gaze from him and obeyed. He bound her second hand to the opposite post, that rope cuff matching the pattern of the first. Mia tested the knots and then looked at her captor. Her soft rosy lips were parted, her eyes startled. She reminded Damien of a silent movie heroine, unable to imagine how she’d come to be tied to the railroad tracks. When she trembled, the reaction was utterly natural.

Damien’s cock went so stiff it hurt.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked anxiously.

Jake’s lips curved. “I’m going to force you to admit the truth: that your pussy is too hungry to be contented by one man.”

“My husband is all I need!”

“We’ll see.” Jake broke through Damien’s daze by extending his arm to him. Damien tensed. Jake seemed to be urging him to get up.

The impression was misleading. “Might I borrow your walking stick?” he asked politely.

Damien handed it over—though for a second he found himself mysteriously reluctant to release it.

Mia’s expression was horrified.

“You’re not going to beat me with that!” she exclaimed.

Jake stroked the stick between his hands, a motion that mesmerized his victim. “Do you remember your safe word?”