Frisky Business (4 page)

HER MASTER CARRIED her through the lobby. Claire felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment as they gained the attention of guests and staff. They’ve probably seen everything. She looked at him, feeling unaccountably shy.

He was smiling. “You look so lovely when you blush.”

“I’ve never been literally swept off my feet.”

“It is my honor to carry you.”

His courtly words charmed her and she returned his smile.

He walked past the bank of elevators which took guests to the upper floors. As he headed toward the main hallway, her eyes widened. For a panicked moment, she thought he might take her to a public dungeon. Not only was she not ready to show others these new truths she was discovering about herself, she was afraid she might run into someone from Bad Boy.

Instead, he rounded a corner and walked down a short hallway. Within minutes they arrived at a single elevator. A guard stood on duty, his brawny arms crossed as he watched their approach.

No words were exchanged. The guard nodded to her Master and pushed the button. The shining gold doors parted and he carried her inside.

Dipping her toward the panel, he said, “Push the red button.”

“I hope nothing explodes,” she murmured as she punched the unnumbered circle.

He laughed as he righted her, bestowing a kiss on her collarbone. Then, slowly, he lowered her to the floor. Their clothes were thin barriers, hiding neither her turgid nipples nor his hard-on. She realized that before the night was over, he would strip off more than her clothes.

He would strip her defenses.

Claire felt the sculpted muscles and delicious heat of his chest as she pressed against him. Her heels scraped against the marble; the only other sound was their intermingled breaths.

“See the railing?” he asked.

Claire looked at the gold rail. It separated the polished wood lining the lower half of the car from the upper mirrors.

“Yes, Master.”

“Go to the railing, hold onto it, and then lean down and bare your ass.”

Her heart revved as she moved away from him, from his warmth and his safety. She wondered how far he would try to push her in this game of theirs. And she wondered how far she could go. She had disappointed Phillip so badly. You’re not cut out for this, Claire. You’re too vanilla.

Then why was she so turned on? Why was she staying here, instead of running away?

I need this.

Claire stopped a half foot from the bar and leaned over, dragging her dress over her ass. Then she wrapped clammy fingers wrapped around the cold metal and waited.

In the mirror she saw the fear and need in her own gaze. She saw him, too. His mask couldn’t hide his hunger for her. The air seemed to thicken with tension, with heat, with expectation. Her heart stuttered as desire built low and heavy in her belly. He leaned over and pressed another glowing button on the panel.

The elevator slowed to a stop.

Her stomach dove to her toes as she realized that she was trapped with him in a twelve by twelve box. A ready-made cage. She couldn’t escape from him—or from her own desires.

His eyes flicked to hers in the mirror. “Look at the floor.”

She did as he demanded, though she preferred to watch him. She wanted to know what he planned. The thought of not knowing what he would do next was both thrill and frustration.

“I told you that a Master always listens to his submissive. We play these games for pleasure, but also to address certain emotional needs. Needs that can only be met when we give each other absolute trust.”

She felt him move behind her. Licking her lips nervously, she sucked in an unsteady breath. She hadn’t realized that a connection between two people could be like this—beyond mere sex, beyond even mere relationship. Phillip’s abuse had been disguised; he hadn’t cared about her pleasure. Already this man had proven he was different.

And Lucius? For an aching moment, she wished he was behind her. She wished he would dominate her. That he would love her. But that would never happen. She wanted more than he could give. Better to never know his kiss or his touch than to have it for a short while and spend her days yearning for more.

“Sometimes, the situations get intense,” continued her Master. “An experienced Dom will push you past that point where you believe your boundaries lie. You may think you cannot another demand, another punishment, another sensual torture, but I assure you, Belle, that you can.”

Claire’s breathing was uneven and her arms tingled from their stretched position. Whatever she’d gotten herself into with this man, she wanted it. But to hand over her trust along with her body for one night of playing together—that, she wasn’t sure she could do.

“If you feel that anything I do to you is approaching your breaking point, say yellow. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“If anything I ask is beyond your endurance, you say red. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You are in my domain. I own you. You will do what I say when I say it or I will punish you.” One finger dragged down her buttock. “You are mine to do with as I wish and you will remain mine until dawn. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

Oh, God. He was going to play with her all night? She had to be at a breakfast meeting at eight a.m. But she didn’t want sleep as much as she wanted to be here, with him.

“Good.” He pulled down her dress. “Stand up.”

She let go of the railing and straightened. Her arms and legs prickled uncomfortably. She looked into the mirror and found her Master staring at her.

“Did I tell you stop looking at the floor?”

Her heart turned over in her chest. Her belly clenched with dread as she returned her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s two infractions.”

Shit. What had she done to get a second demerit? Her thoughts raced, and then it came to her: She hadn’t called him Master. Claire realized he’d been gentle with her so far. His explanation of safe words had been a warning that things between them were going to get intense. She hated that she had disappointed him. Fear curled in her stomach. What would he do to her?

“You must be punished,” he said softly. “Bend over and hold your ankles.”

Heart pounding, Claire did exactly as he said. Once again, he flipped up her dress. What was he—

He smacked her ass hard with his open palm.

Ouch! She swallowed her cry of outrage.

He smacked her again. Fuck! That hurt! Yet, her pussy clenched and moisture seeped from the folds. He landed a third blow. The sting vibrated to her very core. Oh, God. She kept her gaze on the floor and pressed her lips together.

He spanked her twice more, leaving her ass raw. Tears fell onto the floor between her heels. Her throat knotted as she tried to drag in shuddering breaths. Her body couldn’t decide on between pleasure and pain, so it went with both. The sensations confused her.

“Stand up.”

She straightened. Her legs hurt and her ass throbbed, but kept her arms at her sides and her gaze on the floor.

“Turn around and look at me.”

She didn’t want to, but she didn’t want another spanking, either. Slowly, she faced him and dragged her gaze to his face. His eyes didn’t reveal any emotion and the damned mask hid his expression.

“Close your eyes.”

For a moment, she considered screaming red and ending this crazy night. Screw him and his head trips. Then her stubborn nature re-asserted itself. He wouldn’t break her, damn it.

She closed her eyes. It was, she realized, a sign of trust. She was giving him permission to do as he liked. Not because he wanted it, but because she wanted it. For the first time, she understood that control rested in her hands as the submissive.

He cupped her face and brushed his lips across hers. “You took your punishment well. I’m proud of you.”

The dread and disappointment winding through her like poisonous snakes dissipated in an instant. She had pleased him!

He held her hand then he pushed the button that released the elevator. In moments, the doors opened and he led her into a marble foyer.

Obviously, they were in one of the ultra-luxurious penthouse suites. If paying fifty-thousand dollars for a one-day slave wasn’t enough of a hint about his finances, then the size and luxury of the suite stated it loudly.

Only one lamp glowed in the living room. The rest of the suite was dark. Even the curtains were closed. He led her past the big, blocky furniture and toward a spiral staircase.

“Hold onto the rail,” he said as he let go of her hand. “In those heels, you could trip on the stairs.”

He started up first and she followed him. At the top was a single door, which he opened. The room beyond was pitch-black. Generally, Claire wasn’t afraid of the dark or of confined spaces, but she was still nervous about entering that utter blackness.

Nervously, she licked her lips. “Is that your bedroom?”

“It’s my dungeon.”

Her fingers, which were still curled around the top of the railing, gripped the cool metal. “I’ve only been in one,” she said. “But I didn’t stay very long.”

Phillip had taken her to a public dungeon once and the experience had scared the hell out of her. That had also been the end of their relationship. If she was so vanilla, why did her fantasies always put her on her knees at the feet of a strong male? Her heart pounded. What do I really want?

“Are you scared?” her Master asked.

She nodded.

“Are you willing to face your fears?”

That was the million-dollar question. Letting go of the rail, she sucked in a steadying breath.

Then she walked into the room.

After a few steps, her knees smacked into something low and wooden. She stopped, leaning down to rub her protesting kneecaps. Her Master entered the room. She heard the slid of a drawer, the scrap of a matchstick, and then light flickered in the darkness.

On a side table, he lit several candles. Their low flames didn’t penetrate very far into the large room, but she could see several pieces of strange furniture. On the wall nearest the candle was a series of floggers and riding crops.

Her Master walked to her and cupped her face. “You are brave and strong and spirited.”

“Thank you, Master.” Her gaze flicked down to the item that had so painfully stalled her progress.

“It’s a spanking table,” he explained. “See how this part is lower than the large surface? That’s where you kneel as you lay down. Your waist is supported by this narrow piece of straight wood and your torso drapes across the angled tabletop.”

Claire considered the table. For a moment, she imagined herself splayed against it in the way he described. Her bare skin would press against the black leather. Her ass would be angled just right for penetration, too. Her heart stuttered as she considered that scenario. And would he spank her? Would he use the flat of his hand or choose one of those floggers? Her stomach squeezed.

“You’re interested in the table,” he said softly. “I think you want to lay on it, ma fleur. Yes, it would be a treat to strap your ankles and your wrists to the table. You would look so beautiful shackled to it, so open and vulnerable to my every whim.”

Desire fluttered through her. Yes, she wanted to experience the pleasure to be had on the spanking table. She would take the whipping, damn it. She wanted to be worthy of him, to show her Master that she could take his punishments and earn her pleasures.

“Do you want the table, Belle?”

Claire’s legs wiggled like Jell-O. Her body quivered at the sensual promise in his words. She would conquer the doubts and worries still plaguing her. As of now, she was leaving behind the idea that she would walk away from this man. She was his. At least for tonight.

Claire dropped to her knees, lowering her head as she gazed at the tips of his shoes. Her heart pounded furiously as she said, “Yes, Master.” 

WHEN CLAIRE SUNK to the floor and offered her obedience, Lucius admitted to himself the truth: He was in love with her.

He’d lusted after Claire since the day he’d hired her. He flirted with her outrageously, but she ignored him. Anytime he tested the waters, she rolled her eyes and pretended not to notice his attempts to impress her.

God! Just one flutter of her eyelashes or sensual curve of her lips and she would’ve been handcuffed and on her knees in ten seconds flat.

Instead, she quit.

His ego didn’t appreciate the brush-offs. Claire was the only woman who ever told him no. Rather, she had never given him the opportunity to expand the parameters of their relationship. He respected her boundaries. He respected her.

He wondered if she responded to him now because she believed him a stranger or if some part of her recognized who he really was—and that she could trust him. He hoped that was case, especially since he was putting more than just trust on the line tonight.

He was betting his heart.

For a long moment, he stared at the crown of her head. The rasp of her rapid breathing infiltrated his jumbled thoughts. Should he continue? Or should he admit who he was?

If he told her now, he would break her trust forever. Whoever had tried to dominate her before had not given her control of the situation. He needed to know more about that relationship and how it had affected Claire.

One night wasn’t going to be enough.

He wanted much, much longer with his beautiful Claire. He wanted … forever.

His heart raced as both love and lust wound through him. He would give her what she craved. He only hoped she would still want him after he took off the mask.

“I want you on my table,” he said, keeping his voice low and raspy. “I want you naked and writhing and begging.”

He heard her excited inhalation of breath and noted her trembling shoulders. Anticipation and excitement raced through him.

“Stand up, Claire.”

She wobbled to a standing position and kept her gaze on the floor. God, she was beautiful. His cock was hard and aching, pressing almost painfully against the zipper of his pants. He couldn’t wait until she earned her reward … until they would both be worthy of exquisite pleasure.

CLAIRE KEPT HER gaze on the floor. She was so nervous she felt her stomach quiver with nausea. And yet, submitting to her Master had created a state of arousal that went beyond mere sexual stimulation. She had never enjoyed the way Phillip made her feel. She realized now that Phillip had tried to master her only to please himself. This man’s demands created answering needs within her. She wanted to please him. She wanted to obey him. And in doing so, she found freedom.

“Undress,” he commanded softly. “Slowly. And look at me.”

Claire raised her head and looked directly at him. In the shadow-filled dungeon, her masked lover looked very much like the dark, tortured hero of a gothic romance. She couldn’t wait to see him naked, to feel his flesh slid against hers. Her breath hitched as she thought about the way his cock would feel during that first, sweet thrust. Her pussy clenched and the moisture of her desire rolled down her thighs.

Since she was only wearing the dress, taking it off would pretty much end the striptease. She had no music, only the tumultuous beat of her heart and the rasp of her rapid breathing. She languidly turned so that her back faced him. Her fingers drifted down her hips and eased the dress up so that the curve of her ass showed.

She waited a beat then dropped the cloth. It fell softly against her calves. She heard the sharp intake of his breath and smiled.

“Will you unzip me, Master?” she asked.

He yanked up her dress and smacked her buttock. The blow stung, but she managed to keep from crying out. He caressed the abused flesh with his fingertips.

“I didn’t think I needed to teach you manners.”

Claire’s heart beat frantically. Her ass throbbed, but her body went hot. God, she wanted him. More than any man she’d ever known. Even though her stomach roiled at the mere thought of taunting him, she whispered, “Maybe you do.”

He drew flush against her, his arms draping her waist. His lips pressed against her ear. “Are you deliberately disobeying me, ma Belle?”

She said nothing. He nibbled her earlobe then he chuckled. His hot breath cascaded down her neck. “You are, aren’t you? Hmm. You’re being a naughty girl. Do you know what I do to naughty girls?”

Sweat dotted her forehead. Her body trembled so badly, she thought her knees might give way. She figured his question was rhetorical, so she didn’t answer.

She closed her eyes and licked her lips, praying he wouldn’t stop holding her. She might slide to the floor if he removed his support. She felt utterly boneless; her body was liquid fire, reacting to his words, his touch.

He drew her arms behind her back. Cuffing her wrists with one hand he pulled her backward. “Don’t stumble, Belle. Not once. Or I’ll extend your punishment.”

He tugged her backward and she managed to keep up with him. Her high heels protested the awkward movements, but didn’t betray her feet, thank God. She was reminded of that oft-quoted phrase about that famous dancing duo: Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in high heels.

The next thing she knew, she was standing in a darker part of the room. Her Master let go of her hands. She heard a rattle of chains above her head, but she didn’t look. Whatever she was in for, she’d didn’t want to add to it by trying to see what he was doing.

He lifted one arm and clasped her wrist inside a fur-lined manacle then did the same to her other arm. The pose wasn’t uncomfortable, but it did feel strange. She wondered how long she could stand like this … wondered how long he planned to keep her imprisoned.

“I want you to understand why you’re getting punished,” he said. His breath was ragged. Oh, God. He was going to enjoy whatever lovely torture he administered.

So was she.

He walked into another corner of the room. She could barely make out his shape as he bent down and rummaged in what she thought might be a trunk.

“First, you asked me for a favor and you didn’t say please.”

She heard him rattle objects. Was he doing that for her benefit? If he was hoping to add to her tension, he was doing a damned fine job. He must’ve thought she’d moved beyond hand spankings.

Her mouth went dry and her throat knotted. Oh, hell. What have I done?

“Second, you told me I needed to teach you manners—and that is my decision, Belle, not yours. Then you failed to call me Master.”

He stood up, his back to her, and then he circled the room—probably so that she couldn’t see which implements he’d chosen. Her heart hammered now and she was sweating everywhere; beads of moisture rolled between her breasts.

Her swollen pussy ached for relief. She didn’t think it possible to get any wetter. Her nipples were pebbled against the soft fabric of her dress. With only his voice and his dark promises he had managed to get her into a glorious state of titillation. She licked her dry lips as expectancy settled low and hot in her stomach.

“You didn’t answer direct questions,” he continued. “That’s four infractions so far.”

So far? Oh! He was right behind her. She heard the soft scrape of his shirt being removed. Then his shoes thunked to the floor. When he came around to face her, she saw that he wore only his black pants and mask.

He was magnificent. He was muscled—oh heavens, was he! His washboard stomach begged for her fingers, for her mouth. A light sprinkling of dark hair covered his pectorals, arrowing down his six-pack abs to his pants.

“Finally, you deprived me of your striptease. I very much wanted to see you slid out of that dress. I wanted to see you reveal yourself to me inch by inch.” He looked at her. “I’m disappointed, Belle.”

Damn. She didn’t want to disappoint him. She just wanted to up the ante. “I’m sorry, Master.”

His smile was whip-thin. “I accept your apology, Belle. But I expect you to take all of your punishment.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you remember what I told you about the safe words?”

“Yes, Master. I must say yellow if I feel things are getting too intense. I must say red if I feel I’m in danger.”

“Very good,” he said. He smiled approvingly. “You turn me on, ma fleur. I like it when you’re good. And I love it when you’re bad.”

She resisted the urge to grin. Instead, she tried to look penitent, but she suspected he saw the humor flash in her eyes.

He stepped closer and raised his hand. She saw something sharp and silver flash in his grip. Oh, my God!

“Yellow!” she cried.

Stunned, he looked at her; the scissors hovered above the vee of her dress. He immediately stepped away and dropped his arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“N-no blades,” she said. “Please.”

“I don’t use knives and I don’t do blood play. It’s dangerous and quite frankly, I abhor the idea of cutting my subs.”

Tears pricked her eyes. Shit. She didn’t want to end the game, but he had reminded her of her last night with Phillip. That rat bastard had told her then she wasn’t what he needed, that she was too afraid to make a good submissive. That she was worthless.

And she had told him to fuck off.

But deep inside, she had believed his words. She knew how to be a good employee. She knew how to be a decent human being. But when it came to expressing her own sexuality—to getting what she needed from a lover—she believed he’d been right. Phillip’s ugly words echoed in her mind: Maybe you’re frigid, Claire. Did you ever think of that? God, you’re pathetic.

“Our game is suspended. I’ll take you down.”

“No,” she said. “Please.”

He studied her for a moment, probably trying to determine her mental and emotional capacity. That he even took a moment to consider her needs made him a hundred times better than Phillip. Her Master deserved more from her than this display of cowardice.

He showed her the scissors. “I planned to cut off your dress. I only wanted access to your luscious body.” He tossed the scissors away; they landed with a clunk somewhere on the floor behind him.

“Thank you, Master,” she managed.

To her disappointment, he reached up and released her from the cuffs. He rubbed her tingling wrists then he massaged her arms. “Relax, ma fleur.”

He rubbed her shoulders, easing the tension knotted on either side of her neck. His gentleness was nearly her undoing.

Was their evening over? Had her fears driven him away? She looked at him. The mask barred his expression, but she was close enough to see the wariness in his gaze.

“Master, are you … done with me?”