Betrayed by Love (5 page)

“I’m leaving.”

“Not until you answer my questions.” He’d found her, after all these years. The questions he’d lived with for five years were going to be answered, right now. “Why? Why did you leave me?”

The shirt she was in the process of putting on fell from her hands. “How could you ask me that?”

“You left me. You walked away without ever looking back.”

“I left you?” She turned, gaze scorching him. “You’re pouting because I left you?” She threw her head back and laughed.

Angrier than he’d been in a long time, Roman grabbed her arm. They froze. His hand tingled from contact with her, even if it was through the leather. Their gazes met for half a second. Roman thought he saw longing, passion, but then her gaze went hard. Savannah reached for the cane that rested on the chair. She lashed his arm. Roman jerked his arm back, a stinging line of pain on his forearm making him grit his teeth.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever touch me again.”

“If you hated what we were doing, if we’d gotten too deep in the scene, you should have told me.” Roman clenched his hands into fists. “Instead you walked away, told me I was a freak for wanting the things I did. You were the only person I’d ever trusted enough to try those things with, and you used it against me.” It rankled that she was here, in a BDSM club, clearly a master of the art. She’d left him because he liked BDSM, and yet it was clear she’d been an active player for years. The club had called her a famous Domme. That didn’t happen overnight.

That could only mean it wasn’t the BDSM she’d left, but him.

“You cannot possibly think you are the injured party.” She looked up at him and he got his first clear look at her eyes through the mask.

“You left me.”
I loved you, so very much, and you tore me apart.

“I
left
you? You betrayed me,” her voice caught on a sob. “You
murdered
me.”

The anger and grief were thick in her voice. Roman stared at her, startled by the pain she showed.

Savannah picked up her shirt and ran. She slammed out of the building, setting the alarms blaring as she exited through a fire door. As people came running, shouting questions, Roman stood, as still as a statue.

He’d pictured that first meeting with Savannah many times. He imagined she’d be cool, haughty. She’d flaunt the white-picket-fence life she’d left him for. She’d look down her nose at him and call him a perverted freak. He’d respond with cool civility, flaunting his success and wealth.

Instead she’d seemed almost frightened of him. What was going on?

Roman returned to his house and poured himself a glass of scotch. Midway through the second glass, Roman found himself thinking back on the last time he’d seen Savannah.

They’d gone away for the weekend, to a BDSM house party near Santa Barbara.

Five Years Ago

“Are you nervous?” he whispered into her hair.

“No,” she said, but she was snuggled against him. They were waiting in the foyer of a beautiful house in the Santa Barbara wine country. Roman could hardly believe they were here. They were going to spend the whole weekend indulging in sexual fantasies. He’d had a hard-on for most of the drive.

Savannah had slid her fingers into his pants, freeing his cock, and played with him as he drove. Each time her slender artist fingers brought him close to climax she’d pressed her thumb to the vein on the underside, stopping his orgasm.

Roman had arrived with blue balls but a big smile.

They checked in with their host, Mr. Wilcox, a man they knew from the BDSM scene in L.A. He’d invited them to come up for the weekend to a house party. All the guests were other BDSM enthusiasts. Savannah had been hesitant about going—she thought Mr. Wilcox was creepy—but the Stalwoods were also going, and Savannah liked them.

Mr. Wilcox greeted them with a handshake for Roman.

“Mr. Wilcox, thank you again for inviting us,” Savannah said.

“That’s Master Wilcox,” he chided.

Roman stiffened, pulling Savannah tighter against him, but she just smiled, lowered her eyes and whispered, “Please excuse my mistake, Master Wilcox.”

The corner of her mouth twitched and Roman relaxed. Savannah thought it was ridiculous to address people by the title of Master. She was an avid reader of historical novels and she’d told him that for her the title of Master would forever be associated with little boys being reprimanded by their governesses. They’d played with the word at home, but it was always just “Master”, never “Master Roman”.

As Mr. Wilcox led them to their room, Roman tickled her, whispering threats of what he’d do to her if she gave them away by laughing. Savannah was biting her lip to hold in giggles by the time they were at their room.

Mr. Wilcox let them in and told them when and where to meet for cocktails.

They’d explored their room, then rolled around on the canopied bed, giggling like teenagers. The four-poster bed was lovely, made of heavy wood. Each of the posts was outfitted with restraints.

“Nice,” he said, holding one up and wiggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” she purred, raising her arms above her head so her breasts thrust up.

Roman pounced on her and kissed her. The kiss had progressed to heavy petting when she tugged on his earlobe.

“We have to get dressed.”

He laid his head on her shoulder. “I need to shower.”

“I’ll help you.”

Toiletries bag in hand, they’d stepped out into the hall only to see a naked, leashed woman crawling from the bathroom. Wet hair dripped around her face, and goose bumps covered every inch of flesh. The man with her struck her ass with a crop.

“It’s all yours,” he said, smiling at them. He looked Savannah up and down possessively, nodded at Roman, and then led his sub away.

Savannah was trembling slightly. Roman couldn’t wait to have Savannah naked and on her knees but he didn’t want her scared.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “we’ll ease into it.”

When she was in the correct mood, Savannah craved every dirty thing he could do to her. When she was aroused she would beg for him to whip her pussy, and it was up to Roman to play safe for both of them. But she wasn’t as excited about this weekend as he was. She was happier playing in the safety of their apartment than with the BDSM club they’d joined, and the idea of “performing” for strangers was making her nervous. Roman wanted to show her off. He wanted other people to see how beautiful, how uninhibited she could be.

They showered together. Roman slid soapy fingers over her clit, arousing her. He didn’t let her come. By the time they were dry and in their room her eyes were dilated with arousal.

They dressed, Roman in slacks and a button-down shirt, Savannah in a slinky black cocktail dress, no underwear. Roman slid a collar, a pretty thing made of leather and lace with a small D-ring in the back, around her throat. It looked like a choker. Only in this setting, with these people, would it be seen as anything more sinister.

Her heels had ankle straps, and she wore her hair loose around her shoulders. She tried to curl it, putting in hot rollers as Roman watched in amusement. As always, five minutes after she took out the rollers her hair was perfectly straight.

Sitting at the vanity, she groaned in disgust. “I wish I had curly hair.”

“Your hair is perfect.”

She smiled at him in the mirror and, not for the first time that day, Roman thought of how completely and perfectly in love with her he was.

They went downstairs, Savannah holding his arm. A lace leash dangled from the back of her collar.

They mingled with their fellow BDSM enthusiasts, including the Stalwoods. They were a nice couple in their mid-forties, who’d stumbled upon a mutual love of S&M while trying to rekindle the spark in their marriage. They were not enthralled with Dominance and submission, but more with the idea of pushing each other to the limits, finding the places where pain and pleasure were indistinguishable.

Savannah started the evening plastered to Roman’s side, which was fine with him. Drinks were being served by Mr. Wilcox’s slaves. Three women, all in their late thirties, strolled naked among the guests, balancing trays of drinks. Each woman had pieced nipples with a chain connecting them. A third chain led from the center of the nipple chains to loop through the rings in their bellybuttons and down to their clits.

They knew the chain was attached to a ring through the clit because Mr. Wilcox had taken great pains to show it off to then when they arrived. He’d grabbed a passing girl by the chain, yanked her over and then forced the lips of her sex open.

Roman admitted to himself that he found the piercing and chains hot, but the blank look on the women’s faces was anything but arousing. When Ms. Stalwood—Karen—told them that pieced clits often lost feeling, he and Savannah had shared a disgusted look.

Gradually Savannah relaxed, and she began rubbing against him and looking up through her lashes rather than clinging fearfully to his arm.

That night they were treated to a show put on by one of the other couples. John and Patrick were from San Francisco, and John was a rope expert. When Mr. Wilcox led them to one of his playrooms, where the shows were to take place, he told the group that subs had to remove their clothing to enter.

Roman turned to Savannah, meeting her aroused gaze. He ran his finger down the front of her dress and said, “Off.”

With a murmur of “Yes, Master,” she obeyed. The beast inside him that needed to possess her in this way roared in triumph. She was naked, her head high, back straight, and he fell a little more in love with her.

He knew she was nervous about her body. She said she needed to lose ten pounds, hated that one breast was slightly bigger than the other, and thought her butt was “rumply”—though he’d never figured that one out. But as he led her into the playroom, she was confidence personified.

The playroom had hardwood floors and plastic furniture. He sank down into a surprisingly comfortable chair and Savannah perched on his knee. Mr. Wilcox’s slaves came around with thick rubber mats, which they placed on the floor beside each Master. Roman left Savannah on his knee as Patrick and John set up, only ordering her onto the mat as the show was about to start—she was blocking his view.

That night they watched John weave a net of rope that left Patrick dangling from the ceiling. The climax of the show was John showing everyone how he’d perfectly positioned Patrick to be fucked. John pulled his cock from his pants and slid it into his sub’s ass. A little push sent Patrick swinging away, and when he swung back John guided Patrick’s ass onto his cock.

When John offered to teach then to do the same, each Master in the room leapt at the chance. Roman had never been interested in complicated rope play before, and knew Savannah felt the same, but when he tipped her face up, she was licking her lips in arousal.

With John’s help, Roman suspended Savannah from the ceiling. She was face to the floor with her knees curled up, arms across her chest like a mummy. In this near-fetal position, she couldn’t move, couldn’t see him.

Standing behind her, his rock-hard cock in his hand, Roman nearly jumped out of his skin when Mr. Wilcox appeared at his elbow.

“She’s enjoying this,” he said quietly, his gaze on Savannah’s ass and pussy. Roman swallowed the urge to step forward and put his body between Mr. Wilcox and Savannah. All the other subs were on display. He didn’t want to appear weak or novice in front of his host.

“I didn’t think she would,” Roman said truthfully.

“She’s a born submissive,” Mr. Wilcox said. “You’re not pushing her hard enough.”

“We’re just starting out—”

“You think your gentleness is good, kind,” Mr. Wilcox cut through his words as if he’d never spoken. He looked at Roman and his eyes burned with conviction. “She is at war with herself. She was raised in a society that says she should not want the things she does. But her body, her heart, craves this.” He gestured to the ropes that held her. “And more. She will never be truly happy until you take her all the way, until you make her a true submissive. She wants it. Needs it.”

And he walked away.

Roman stepped up to Savannah, running his fingers through the curls over her sex, stroking her clit until she was thrashing in the ropes. He grabbed them to stop the slow spin her movement had started and then guided his cock to her sex.

He fucked her, and the angle allowed his cock to bump her G-spot with each thrust. She came, begging and moaning for him to fuck her harder. He had yet to come, so he grabbed some lube, prepped her, and slid his slippery cock into her ass.

Savannah yelped and twitched, her ass flexing as he pushed his cock in. He pushed forward until he was fully within her. He grabbed two of the four ropes holding her and pulled them, lifting her upper body.

A crowd had gathered around them. Savannah saw them as he tilted her upright, and for a moment she fell silent. Roman was about to loosen the ropes and allow her to face the floor and hide from the watchers, but she screamed, “Fuck me please, Master. Fuck my ass, fuck your naughty girl’s ass.”