Disgrace (34 page)

By the time I have finished with each leg, she is completely out of it. I know she’s okay. I have checked repeatedly, and the soft smile on her face is all the evidence I need to know she is somewhere between earth and deep subspace. She looks absolutely amazing. Suspended horizontally with her legs wide, secured, bent and bound. She couldn’t be more vulnerable, and I am fucking blown away that this strong, captivating woman gives herself to me like this, that she belongs to me. If she would just wear my damn collar, I would die a happy man but that’s for another day. Now, I will just bask in the image before me for a moment longer before I start the equally important and possibly even more sensual untying and release.

I loosen her hair and drag my fingers through the long silken strands, pulling and massaging her scalp. Her hair hangs almost to the floor, and she rocks gently with just the depth of her breathing moving her suspended body. She lets out little sweet moans every time my fingers skim her body. Although in an almost dream state, her senses are highly reactive and sensitive to my touch. She glows and glistens, alive and on fire, tiny hairs dance over her skin in waves. I trace my fingers along her body, along the ropes that bind her. Her skin is so damn soft. The rope presses hard with a suspension, and I know there will be an array of indents and ridges. But no burns, no pain or soreness from being bound tight. Just a euphoric feeling of release as I untie each knot.

I carefully lower her to the floor and thread the ropes to loosen her legs, her thighs, and the ropes that thread between her legs. I help her into a seated position cradled between my legs as I kneel. She lets out a deep sigh, her lips form a lazy smile, and she meets my gaze with eyes that are dazed and glazed with moisture. I hold her for a moment, stroking her hair and kissing her head as she starts to draw in some ragged breaths. I tip her chin and kiss her full, soft lips as the first tear falls and the salty wetness coats our joined lips.

I take my time to release the remaining ropes and hold her securely when she crumples with each release. The torso ropes, then the chest and arms, each seem to create a surge inside her, and she visibly trembles but instantly calms in my arms. Fucking perfect.

I hold her wrapped in a cashmere blanket, cradled in my arms. She tips her head to look at me, her brow crinkled with confusion and her eyes pool with too many tears for her lashes to hold. Fat drops fall freely down her cheeks, and she starts to sob. I rock her and pull her even tighter to my body. She pushes her arms free of the blanket and slinks them around my waist, holding on for dear life. I hum a soft tune and kiss her hair. My fingers have carefully traced every indentation created by the ropes when I untied her, and I know there is no damage. But I don’t think that is why she is crying. Her body trembles and I just hold her until she’s ready. Long minutes pass; it could be hours for all I care. She’s in my arms, holding me as much as I’m holding her, and I couldn’t be happier.

After a while longer, she shifts and looks up as I’m looking down. Her cheeks flush with colour but are dry since she stopped crying a while ago. I smile and she flashes a tentative one back at me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I actually want to growl in frustration that she could even think she has a single thing to feel sorry for. Nevertheless, I know she must be feeling raw to have reacted the way she did.

“Hey, beautiful, I can’t imagine what you think you have to apologise for, but I’d rather you didn’t,” I lightly admonish.

“I cried.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“You did, and you were amazing. I am so proud.” She softens at my praise, and her smile spreads a little wider.

“Why did I cry? I enjoyed it.” She seems confused. “I’ve never felt anything like that, and you were pretty amazing yourself.” She rushes her words and praise. I chuckle, and she nestles against my chest. A searing heat penetrates my heart, clenching it tight like a molten vise. It kills me that she doesn’t seem to grasp what she does to me.

“Why, thank you.” I kiss her on her forehead, then her nose, and then her waiting lips. “It was intense, I won’t argue that, but your reaction is not uncommon.” She arches a brow.

“You’ve had women cry like that before?”

“No, not personally, but then I have never practised on someone that I have such a connection with, either. Believe me, that takes this experience to a whole different level.”

“Really?” Her smile would outshine a supernova.

“No fucking comparison, beautiful…no fucking comparison.”

I
can’t explain the emotions coursing through me right now. Warm, euphoric, confused, are a few words that float in my mind, but I know they don’t do the feelings justice. I’m an emotional mess but happy. I’m so fucking happy. Jason holds me. No, that’s not right; he cocoons me in a blanket of himself, like a shield. I feel utterly protected, but more than that, I feel treasured and cherished. He’s told me he loves me. Hell, he tells me all the time and shows me every day with his kindness and thoughtful acts. But this, he seems to have infused every nerve in my body with that feeling.

Intense
, fuck yes, that was intense.

He stands, carries me to the door, and places me on unsteady feet before he opens it. We both chuckle at my slight wobble.

“Are you okay to stand? I can carry you if you’d like.” His large hand cups my face, his eyes soft with concern.

“I’m good. I’ll just nip upstairs to your flat and change into something a little more…” We both look down at my underwear. Not that wearing this would raise even a brow in the Club, but my plane Jane ensemble would look out of place. He pulls the large blanket closed around me, effectively covering any bare skin. His possessiveness makes me glow with a pure, warm heat from my chest to my toes but also makes me chuckle. “I think that I’m covered now, Jason.” I remark playfully. He grumbles something unrecognisable but probably very cute.

“We could stay here tonight if you would prefer?” He opens the door and takes my hand to lead me through.

“Oh…um…no, I need to…I mean, I would rather stay at mine tonight. I have a busy day and Leon said he would help me prep in the morning.” I can’t hide my smile.

“Your second interview?” Jason beams down at me, pulling me against his hard chest in a tight hug. “I’m sure it’s just a formality. You have got this in the bag, beautiful, and if they don’t offer you the job, we have a legal department at Stone that would snap you up.”

“Miss being my boss that much, hmm?”

“Oh, baby, I am still your boss.”

We start to walk along the corridor, and I nudge him hard in his side at his comment. “Hey, I have soft places, too, you know.”

“Not many, but I at least know where they are,” I tease and poke my finger at one of those places, causing him to curse.

“Thank you for the kind offer, but if I don’t get this job, I’ll just keep looking. I’m not in a hurry, and I really like the idea of working at the Mission. The first interview went really well, and the letter said they would tell me tomorrow either way. I like that they won’t keep me waiting. I hate the anticipation; it’s a killer.” I admit.

“The anticipation is the best bit.” His tone drops and is thick with sensual intent as he flips the conversation from real life to desire on a dime. I shiver and melt from his gaze. “That’s not true. It’s one of the best bits, but with you, there are too many best bits to count.” His grin morphs from salacious to nefarious. “But in an ever-changing top ten, I would have to say number one goes to coming in your arse as you nearly pass out from my choke hold.”

“Jinx.” I hold his gaze and watch his eyes darken before me, causing a delicious melting heat to pool between my legs. He grabs my chin, his touch a mix of rough and forceful.

“Get changed and meet me in the bar. Don’t take long, because I need to fuck you so hard the first question they will ask you tomorrow is would you would like a cushion to sit on,” he growls.

“Ah, Jason, you say the sweetest things.” I purr, running my finger down his chest.

“Don’t I, though?” He grins but it falters, and his breath catches when I drag my nail down the length of his torso. His button down shirt prevents me from scoring his skin, but it isn’t tucked in at the bottom, and I hook my finger just under the waistband of his lounge pants. Skin touching skin. I can see his straining erection lying heavy and hard against the thin material, and if I dip just a little further inside, I would feel the velvety smooth head of his cock. My hand is now pressed flat on his tummy, fingertips aligned with the point of his delicious V, just poised to slide down and grab what is mine. The anticipation crackles between us like caged lightning; so much pleasure, but just out of reach. He sucks in a breath when I slowly drag my fingernails up and down his happy trail, a torturous touch I repeat twice before I snap my hand free. His jaw flexes and a deep, frustrated moan rumbles in his chest.

“You will pay for that,” he groans.

“Oh, I hope so,” I tease and turn to escape up the stairs to his flat. He manages to get the last retort with a sound slap to my arse before I am at safe distance.

I bounce down the stairs not five minutes later. I have a small drawer in his large chest of drawers and some hanging space in Jason’s bedroom. I slip on a pair of skinny black jeans and a black chain link top that skims my boobs and is mostly backless with a crisscross of spaghetti straps. My wedges aren’t the highest but are studded and sexy with an edge of BDSM glamour. I freeze when I hit the main room.

I don’t fucking believe it.

I know I left him with a raging hard on, but he couldn’t wait five fucking minutes before he is sticking his tongue down someone’s throat? At the far end of the bar, Jason is entwined around a girl I don’t recognise. I can’t really see much of her face since he is devouring it. A gut wrenching pain is subdued at the moment by pure, unadulterated anger. He said we needed to make sure we talk if there’s a problem and not run away. I know my fragile self is all about self-preservation and wants to do just that but I’m not a fucking damsel this time, and I will not run. In this club, I am still Selina, top Dominatrix, even if I no longer carry my whip. I take a deep breath and walk over to the happy couple. Without pausing, I lean around them, grab his beer and her sticky red cocktail, holding both glasses high I tip the contents over their joined heads.

I don’t even slam the glasses down I merely place then on the bar and offer an apologetic smile to the wide-eyed bar girl. I turn to strut away, oblivious to the stream of profanity echoing behind me. I barely make it a single step when I hit the solid wall of a familiar chest. White button down shirt, narrow trim waist and a glimpse of soft hair where his shirt is not tucked in properly. I drag my eyes up the firm, toned chest, broad strong shoulder. Up and up, chiselled jaw that is pulsing nicely, deep, furrowed brow and piercing dark eyes that are currently boring through me with disbelief.
Shit.

That can’t be right. He was at the bar. I know it. I would recognise him anywhere. Hell, I would recognise him blindfolded. I spin around to see the man I assumed was Jason stand and attempt to pat himself dry with ridiculously small cocktail napkins. He is drenched. It was nearly a full pint, and he took the motherlode, his companion barely took a splash by the look of her. She scowls at me and mutters something. The man looks up. Those eyes, that brow, he straightens and towers even at this distance, and that jaw is also ticking. Jason, I step back and jump when the other Jason,
my
Jason, holds my forearms to prevent me from retreating any farther. Not that I could go anywhere, I am flush against him, my back to his front.

“I see you’ve met my twin.” Jason can’t hide his own amusement. I can feel his body shake with pent up laughter, but I am mortified, and Jason’s brother looks really pissed.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. Will is it?” I step forward and offer my hand. He looks at me, at my extended hand and smirks. He glances above me, over my shoulder at Jason, who has stopped trying to hold back his laughter and is now making a racket behind me. I cringe but Will pulls me into a hug. I’m not sure if it is meant as a forgiving gesture or to ensure I soak up my fair share of the beer that his shirt has absorbed. The latter works. He releases me, and I now carry the unmistakable aroma of hops and maybe malt, my skin is damp, and glistens with the residue the napkin had failed to dry.