Beck & Call (6 page)

Jake put his hands behind Mia’s shoulder blades and gave them a gentle push.

“Walk to the chair and wait,” he said, projecting sufficiently that she imagined everyone in the place could hear. “Slowly please. People will want to admire your excellent legs.”

Crap. He meant walk onto the stage alone. Mia’s palms broke into a sweat. She dried them on the skirt of her snug red dress then hoped she hadn’t left a mark. Her supposedly excellent legs felt like stiff spaghetti in her tall shoes, ready to snap the moment she unlocked her knees. She’d practiced walking in the heels like Jake advised, but at the time she’d been by herself in her apartment.

The idea of swinging her hips for watchers made her as uptight as trying to prevent them from moving.

“Slower,” Jake said, still in the wings. “Don’t sit until I tell you to.”

Her right knee buckled at his order, but she recovered without twisting her ankle. She assumed the little gasp that rippled through the crowd didn’t break the golden rule. The near miss sent heat flooding to her face. Luckily, the stage was small. She’d reached the aluminum seat. She wanted to sit but didn’t.

“Stand behind the chair and grip its back,” Jake commanded.

Mia gripped it for dear life.

“Breathe,” Jake said, and this was an order too. “Slowly in, slowly out.”

She tried to do it, but it was hard to calm. She’d never liked being the center of attention. Her comfort zone was in the background where people were less likely to notice her idiosyncrasies. Though she faced the packed audience, the footlights blinded her from seeing them. She wondered if Damien Call were watching in the dark. Did her anxiety excite him? Was he breathing faster in his James Bond at the casino clothes? Perhaps he felt an increase in pressure from his cock prodding his zipper.

These ideas came out of nowhere to arouse her. Or maybe not
nowhere
. She and Jake were here for Call. He was the only observer whose opinion signified.

She could tell herself the roomful of other strangers didn’t exist.

She wished telling herself would convince her. Every person she’d glimpsed in Audition—every diner, every waiter, every gyrating dancer—flashed into her retentive mind. Immediately, she longed to tug at her hem. This dress was so short. Were people thinking her thighs were fat? How long was Jake going to take before he joined her?

She turned her head toward where she thought he was and jerked in surprise. Jake was right beside her. He’d crossed the stage silently. Relief flooded her at his nearness. She was safe now. He was with her. Her gratitude was so potent it startled her.

She had a sneaking suspicion this was the reaction he’d meant to cause.

If it were, he didn’t give the game away. He shook his head in mild disapproval, his deep blue eyes gleaming. “I see I need to teach you no one exists for you but me. I am the only master you need to please.”

She swallowed, unable to look away from him.

“Better,” he said in his raspy voice, “but I think you need more focus.”

He had something in his hand. He’d been holding it by his trouser leg, and she hadn’t seen. Now she recognized a short whip, the same as silhouetted Audition’s poker chip, the same she’d seen jockeys use in horse races. About thirty inches long, the riding crop had a rigid handle, a flexible whipping part wrapped in leather, and a narrow slapper bit at the tip—probably to prevent breaking the horse’s skin.

As Jake drew his martial arts hardened fingers along its length, Mia’s fascinated gaze followed every millimeter of their progress.

“This is your focus aid,” he purred. “You’ll grow to like it, I think. It should pinpoint your perceptions perfectly.”

A sound that wasn’t speech broke in Mia’s throat.

“You’ve never been spanked, have you?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Nor whipped.”

She shook it again.

He dragged the leather slapper across his palm. “In truth, your ass is completely virginal.”

She blushed. The answer to that was
yes
in more ways than one.

Jake’s smile was sexy and saturnine. “Push your lovely ass out, doll. And spread your feet apart. I’m going to
focus
you.”

Him calling her
doll
reminded her he was the Jake she knew. He cared about her, and wouldn’t embarrass her too much. She only shivered a bit as she moved her legs wider. That was the draft’s fault, she told herself.

Jake drew his arm back and stopped. “Remind me, what is your safe word?”

For a moment her mind went blank. “Daffodil,” she burst out.

“Yes. Daffodil.” He trailed the slapper part of the whip around her pushed-out bottom, the feel of it through the short skirt both tickly and erotic. “Say it any time and I’ll stop whatever it is I’m doing. Other than that, feel free to cry out all you like. I won’t pay the least attention.”

She gaped at him. He thought she was going to cry out? He’d told her earlier to react as she reacted. Didn’t he know wailing like a porn star totally wasn’t her? Who did that in real life? In her experience, real world sex wasn’t that earthshaking.

His lips curved archly at her expression. Apparently, he had a whole arsenal of smartass smiles he intended to use on her.

“Why don’t I begin?” he suggested.

“Yes, why
don’t
you?” she heard herself goad unexpectedly.

Someone in the audience muffled a giggle.

Jake swung the riding crop sharply down on one butt cheek. The sting surprised her—and the heat that streaked after it.

“That tone of voice isn’t acceptable,” he warned.

He swatted her again and again, each stroke deliberate and controlled. Right cheek, left cheek, top, middle, and underneath. The blows drove her onto the balls of her feet, though not precisely because of pain.

The aftermath of each strike felt better than the one before, as if the whip were driving electric charges from the muscles of her bottom into her clit. That throbbing button swelled as blood engorged it and all the flesh nearby. Her pussy ached, hot slick fluid filling it. She heard Jake breathing harder, and knew he was aroused too. She wanted to squirm, to writhe—anything to ease the tormenting need.

She couldn’t do that without moving her legs together.

Actually, she couldn’t do it without his say-so.

He struck her once more, and she did cry out. She couldn’t help it. She wanted his hard cock driving up inside her too badly.

He took the cry as his cue to stop but let her know it wasn’t out of pity. “Perhaps that’s enough for now. We wouldn’t want to take all your … innocence in one go.”

His concern for that trait was questionable. She gasped as he used the slapper bit to stroke up the inside of one shaking thigh and onto her swollen lips. She prayed the audience couldn’t see where the whip had gone. She wore a thong, but it wasn’t covering much. Jake teased the whip down the other thigh and back to the heart of her sensation.

“Do you know what this part of the whip is called? The one that’s touching you right now?” His voice had changed, darkening and tightening as he pulled her deeper under his spell. “It’s called the keeper.”

He stroked the leather wings up and down her labia. The pressure was too delicious. Mia’s sex overflowed. She bit her lip to restrain a whimper. Jake drew the whip end toward him again. Her knuckles tensed around the chair’s metal back. She knew the leather would come out wet and that he was bound to say something.

“Don’t,” she pleaded before he could.

“Don’t what?” he taunted. “Tell the world the effect my keeper had to you? They can guess, doll, even if they’re not near enough to see.”

He understood her too well. She hung her head and her hair fell across her face.

“That won’t do,” Jake said, suddenly touching her nape gently. “You may stand straight again. Gabriel, please bring the rest of my submissive’s accessories.”

She straightened, trembling. Jake’s warm hand fell to her spine, where her dress was cut out. Up and down he rubbed her bare skin, as if they were a couple of longstanding. As he did, she had the odd sensation of being taller—though this was likely due to her fancy shoes.

Jake towered over her the same as before.

Gabriel had been watching from the wings. He came out at Jake’s summons with an armload of silvery chains. Mia would have tensed, except the other
accessory
the server emerged with distracted her.

Gabriel’s black waiter pants looked like he’d shoved his fist behind their zipper.

Her breath sucked in. That was some serious wood. Gabriel did nothing to hide it. Apart from his heightened color, which might or might not have been embarrassment, he didn’t seem self-conscious.

He was, however, walking gingerly.

“Sir,” he said, stopping a foot away. “What would you like me to do with these?”

“Please attach the ends to her collar rings.”

There were three lengths of chain, all long and none wider than a finger. The strands were light, possibly aluminum. Gabriel attached them to her necklace with a glancing touch for each. He must have like girls too, because he didn’t seem to mind being close to her. His respiration was choppy by the time he drew back from her.

His attention dropped to her breasts. Mia tensed but she hadn’t suffered a wardrobe malfunction. Her red dress still covered her. The indecency came from her nipples having turned to volcanic stone.

It was a sign of how extraordinary the circumstances were that this didn’t make her want to cross her arms over them.

“Sir,” he said, wrenching his gaze to Jake.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Jake said with a hint of wryness. “That will be all for now.”

He seemed to know what the other man was experiencing. Was that what being a good dom meant? That you could get into other people’s heads?

He didn’t have any trouble getting into hers. He took the triple length of chain in his hand as if it were a leash, sparing her from tripping on it as he walked her to the front of the chair. The move didn’t make her happy. Simple though the seat was, it had been a barrier between her and watching eyes.

Before her panic could rise, Jake stepped in front of her.

“I’ll just tug this down.” His body radiated warmth as he leaned close to pull the hem more securely around her butt—the same as she’d have done if he’d allowed it. “Now sit.”

His words were as good as a shove. Her basted cheeks appreciated the coolness of the metal, though she had to struggle not to wriggle. The nerves of her clitoris wanted her to a lot.

Jake knelt in front of her. “Legs first, I think. I can tell you’re concerned about exposure.”

This time he wasn’t trying to prevent it. Gently but firmly, he pressed her knees apart until her calves sprawled wider than the chair legs. He took hold of her right foot, tucking the toe of her fancy shoe into the chair’s bottom rung from its outside.

“Stay like that,” he ordered.

She stayed, though doing so unnerved her. Then again, maybe it was the tingles his every action inspired that kept her in turmoil.

Jake strode around her once with one of the silvery chains, circling her waist and binding it to the chair. He crouched again to feed the links around both her lower leg and the nearest rungs. The loops weren’t tight, but there were so many they held her limb secure. His physical adeptness was obvious. With efficient yet precise motions, he looped a nearly identical spiral around her second leg.

Mia clenched the seat of the chair with her still free hands. Having her feet tucked up off the ground made her feel off balance and vulnerable. Sharon Stone’s
Basic Instinct
moment hadn’t involved this much. Despite Jake’s earlier adjustment of her hem, her skirt had crept up. The lacy tops of her fancy stockings—which Hillary had insisted on—were exposed. Mia hoped the shadows hid the more personal parts of her.

She also hoped the club’s no camera rule was well enforced.

Jake straightened to his full height and looked down at her.

His efforts had been
almost
businesslike, but she saw he was affected. His black silk shirt clung to him in places where the sweat of his excitement dampened it. She recalled his story about the movie and the girl who’d been tied up: how he hadn’t been able to hold back from jacking off. Though the lines of his face weren’t giving much away, he was breathing more deeply, clearly liking the picture he’d created using the chains and her body.

The ridge that pushed out his zipper was bigger than it had been on the drive over.

She leaned toward it without thinking, her body yearning for what his had to offer.

Jake stepped neatly out of reach. “Both hands behind your neck. Point your elbows toward the ceiling.”

It was the bark of a drill sergeant, reminding her he’d been in the military. Feeling like she was in a dream, Mia released her hold on the seat and positioned her arms as he’d instructed. With the final and longest chain, Jake bound her wrists together.

The sound of the links’ clash and rattle was sexual.

“Don’t struggle,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want the links cutting into you.”

He wasn’t done binding her, and she found she was glad of it. The process of being wrapped was unexpectedly reassuring. He was controlling her, taking the weight of that burden on himself. More slowly now, as if he needed to savor the process, he wrapped the chain around her torso. He used it to separate and draw attention to her breasts, to circle her waist, to immobilize her hip joints. There seemed to be an aesthetic to his choices, not simply a wish to constrain. Whatever he was aiming for, each loop felt as if it were a further step in a sexual act—so many passes, and they’d have to reach climax. He formed a
V
around her pubis that was like a hand squeezing it. Her muscles shuddered, her nerves jumping crazily.

At last, he ran out of chain.

Though she would have listened regardless, he put his hand on her shoulder to claim her attention. “Tell me, beautiful, do you feel helpless now?”

“Yes,” she gasped, the act of admitting it exciting. A moment later, she had a different thought.
Should
she be giving him what he wanted? Wouldn’t, maybe, resisting be more fun? She couldn’t
really
resist, not to any dangerous degree. He did have her at his mercy.