Hush Hush #2 (6 page)

But my lips are listless, and my thoughts are elsewhere. I’ve lost the magic of the moment. All I can think about are those four words, repeating over and over in my head.
 

Liam senses my reluctance. He pulls away. “What is it?”

I look into his eyes, which are pale blue like ice. I need to know the truth.
 

“Can I ask you a question? I heard someone mention something yesterday,” I lie, “and it didn’t make sense to me.”

“All right,” he says warily.

“What’s the second account?” I ask him.

Suddenly, it’s like I’ve said the forbidden words. Liam’s blue eyes turn dark and stormy. His eyebrows furrow, and his hand wraps around my arm tightly.

“How did you hear about that?” he demands. “Who have you been talking to?”

“No one,” I say hastily, frightened by the sudden anger etched onto his face. “No one did. I was in the French Quarter, and some people were walking by, and I heard them say your name and then something about a second account. That’s all.”

Liam studies me for a moment with a hard expression. And then, suddenly, he stands up. He strides across the room and quickly pulls on his pants.

“You wait here,” he says, zipping up. “I need to make a call.”

My heart pounding, I watch him retreat quickly across the room. The door snaps closed behind him.

I don’t waste a second. Feeling a little like déjà vu, I quickly yank on my dress and then slip through the door in Liam’s wake. Daring not to make a sound, I walk quickly down the long hallway. I finally come to a stop in front of the door where, only yesterday, I had eavesdropped on Liam and heard about ‘Mr. Robinson’ for the first time.

“Yes, I
know
what time it is,” says Liam’s clearly irritated voice from the other side of the door. “You need to look into this immediately.”

A pause.

“No, I don’t know
who
,” says Liam. “That’s your job—
you
figure it out.”

Another pause.

“Yeah, we’re going to have to tell them. They’re not going to be happy. No, no, I’ll do it. Better that it come from me.”

He says something else in a low voice, but the sound is too muffled through the door for me to understood. As I inch closer to press my ear against the door, the floorboards creak beneath me.
 

Liam’s voice drops. I wait for him to say something else, hoping that he’s just pausing for the other person on the phone line. But there’s nothing.
 

I notice a flicker of movement below the door. With a sudden feeling of dread, I realize what it is—a shadow. This can only mean one thing: he’s standing right on the other side of the door, mere inches away. He knows I’m here.

My limbs seize up, frozen by fear. Shit.

Oh,
shit
.

5

The door swings open suddenly, and I find myself standing nearly nose-to-nose with Liam. He is enraged, visibly bristling. A thick band of muscle jumps in his neck as he leans over me.

Has he always been this tall?
I wonder to myself.

“Were you eavesdropping?” he says angrily.

I shrink back from him. I shake my head vigorously in denial.

“Then explain to me,” he says hotly, “why you were outside my bedroom, even though I gave you explicit orders to wait for me down the hall.”

Good question
, I think. My mind races for a plausible explanation. Why
would
I come out here? Why would I resist his orders, at the risk of getting punished?

And then it hits me.

Pun intended, I guess.

Summoning every single ounce of acting ability I possess, I look up and bat my eyelashes at him. A coy smile spreads across my face. I bring my arms up over my head, crossing them at the wrists. I twist my hips as if I can hardly contain my arousal.

“Are you going to punish me?” I ask flirtatiously.

He blinks in surprise. His hard expression seems to soften. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Sir, please.” I turn around and bend over, spreading my legs wide.
 

Please let him buy it. Please let him buy it,
I whisper silently.

My prayers are answered in the form of a sharp slap across my bottom. Pain has never felt so sweet.

“How could I deny such a request?” Liam says. There’s a merciful hint of humor in his voice—he thinks this is all a game.

Oh, if only he knew.
 

He grabs my arms and roughly pulls me upwards. He pushes me back toward the end of the hall, toward the open door of his sex room. My legs stumble forward obediently, willingly.
 

Here we go.

When we are back inside the room, Liam grabs the hem of my dress and flings it upward. He tugs it over my shoulder blades and then tosses it to the floor, stripping me naked once more.
 

“Get onto the bench. On your hands and knees,” he says, nodding toward the black leather bench in the corner of the room. The sides of the bench are studded with metal rings. I’m not sure what they’re for, but I imagine that I’ll find out in a moment.

I walk over to the bench. When I crawl on top, I discover that the leather is soft and plush. Liam follows me a moment later, grasping a set of leather cuffs, similar to the ones he used to tie me to that wooden X only a week ago.

He secures my wrists first. Each cuff has a large metal clasp, like a lobster claw, which he fastens to nearby loops on the bench. He moves to my ankles next, spreading them out wide.
 

I wait there with shallow breath as he steps away, returning a moment later with a final piece: a leather collar, with a single metal clasp hanging from the center.

“Raise your head,” he instructs. I oblige.

The collar wraps around my neck snugly. It’s surprisingly soft. Liam pulls the clasp downward, bringing my head down to the edge of the bench. He snaps the clasp around the loop, locking me into place. Finishing the pose.
 

And now—I wait.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Liam turn to the wall, where an array of whips and paddles and other thrilling objects are mounted in an elaborate display.
 

“So many choices…” he murmurs.

I hear the
click
of something being removed from the wall. I try to twist my neck to see what it is, but the collar holds fast.
 

A hard object slides across my rear, caressing the left cheek. It’s broad and flat—the paddle, I’m guessing.

“I haven’t punished you yet. Not like this. I had planned on easing into it, but you have a tendency to make it
so
difficult for me to follow through with my plans,” he says, slowly tracing the curve of my bottom with the paddle’s edge. “And I have to admit—I’ve been
very
curious to see how you’d react.”
 

His tone is laced with anticipation. My curiosity is piqued; I want to ask him why he’s so excited about this, what’s so appealing in strapping me down and using the paddle on me.
 

But in this room, as the submissive, I don’t get to ask those questions. Not now.
 

“Now, since this the first time, we’re only going to go to ten. You can count to yourself if you want, but only silently. I don’t want to hear a sound from you.”

And then he begins.

One.
I feel the hard slap of the paddle across my bottom. This kind of pain feels different from the strike of his hand. The impact is wider, larger. I can feel it radiate across my skin.

Two.
The pain deepens. But before I have a moment to recover—

Three. Four.
The paddle comes down hard again. The heat of the impact is spreading down my thighs, up my spine—

Five. Six.
Liam’s free hand finds my waist, holding me in place as I begin to squirm.

Seven.
I can feel my bottom turning red and raw, or at least I think I can. Each strike of the paddle seems a little more acute than the last.

Eight.
I bite my lip to prevent from groaning.
 

Nine.
His palm slides up the curve of my back, fingers reaching into the wild mane of my hair. He pulls at the roots, just enough to make my head tingle. From top to bottom, my skin is buzzing.

Ten.
That’s it. It’s done. I dig my chin into the corner of the ottoman, my chest heaving. I hear the
click
of the paddle being returned to its place on the wall. Seconds later, Liam’s hands begin to stroke my rear, caressing the skin.
 

His fingers slip downward, in between my cheeks, down to my sex. After the paddling, every inch of my skin feels ultra-sensitive, and as he begins to rub back and forth gently against my clit, I feel a rush of pleasure course through me. My mind is light, awash in endorphins.
 

Ah.
Now
I understand why people enjoy this.

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I let out a low, long moan. As Liam continues expertly working his fingers against my clit, the feelings of ecstasy intensify, until finally an orgasm rolls through me in a body-racking shudder.

He reaches around me to unclasp my restraints, one by one. Now freed, I sit up shakily.
 

“You’re drenched in sweat,” he tells me. “Come on, let’s get you washed up.”

He takes my arm, gently helping me off the bench and across the room. I hesitate when we reach the doorway, glancing down at my naked body.

“No one’s home,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

I nod. We walk down the length of the hallway and into Liam’s bedroom. The room is tastefully decorated, but spartan: a bed, a wooden-framed mirror, a dresser, and not much else. But what catches my eye is the beautiful painting above the bed, colored in soulful blue hues. I lean forward, wishing I could take a closer look.

But we’re only passing through. He walks past the dresser and pushes open a second door, which leads us into the master bathroom. Liam walks over to the pedestal bathtub and turns on the faucet.
 

While I wait for it to fill, I cast a few glances around the room. It is elegant and modern, with clean white tiles and textured grass cloth walls. An elegant pendant lamp hangs from the ceiling. It feels more like a spa than someone’s personal bathroom.

“I could just take a shower, if you want,” I say, pointing toward the glass-paneled shower behind us. “It would probably be faster.”

He shakes his head.
 

“A bath is better for sore muscles. And trust me, you’re going to have those,” he says. “Here, it’s ready.” He offers a hand to help me step over the lip of the tub.
 

I take his hand cautiously, curiously. I still don’t know what to make of him. One minute, he’s feral, rippling with power and pure sexuality. Mesmerizing me. Consuming me.
 

And the next moment, there’s a gentleness in his touch. A softness in his blue eyes.
 

He seems to swing back and forth between the two, fierceness and sweetness, like a pendulum. And I’m still scrambling to find the rhythm of the motion.
 

I slide into the water. It’s the perfect temperature: warm enough to feel soothing, but not hot enough to scald me. I sink downward until only my head and shoulders are above the surface.
 

Liam withdraws something plastic and wrinkled from the cabinet in the corner of the room. He finds the nozzle and blows into it; after a few puffs, I see what it is—a plastic bath pillow.
 

Not the kind of thing I’d expect a man like Liam would own.
 

“Thanks,” I say as he tucks the pillow behind my shoulders. I glance up at him appraisingly. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? This kind of relationship, I mean.”

“Once,” he says. “But it’s been a while.”

“Was it your idea?”

“No. It was hers, actually.”

I use my palms to scoop the water over my shoulders. It feels soothing as it trickles down the back of my neck.

“Why did you do it?” I ask softly.

He pauses. “With her?”

“With this kind of relationship. With being a dominant. What drew you to it?”

The corner of his mouth flicks with amusement. “I always figured I was a cliché, actually. Business executive working an eighty-hour week, up to his ears in contracts and correspondence, needing to find a way to reclaim some control. You know, blow off a little steam.”

I gaze up at him. I’m not sure I believe him—not entirely, anyway. His eyes are too dark, too haunted, to belong to someone who’s just “blowing off steam.”
 

There’s more to it than that. I could feel it in the urgency of his hands on my skin, in the force of his body against mine.
 

It’s a need.

“All of this is a result of contracts and correspondence?
That’s
what pushes you over the edge?” I say, cautiously attempting to push against the walls that he’s built so carefully around himself. “But you’re the boss. You could make someone else deal with all that stuff if you wanted. You’re already in control.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches.
 

“Am I?”
 

I lean forward; the pillow slips into the water behind me. I can feel the plastic seam brushing against my back. I ask him, “What do you mean?”

His pale eyes meet mine. “Let’s put it this way: when your whole life has been mapped out for you since birth, there’s not a lot of satisfaction to be found. You might be the one giving orders, but they were never your orders to begin with. You still have someone to answer to. You
always
have someone to answer to.”

The beginnings of a sardonic smile plays at my lips. More than most people, I know what it’s like to unsuccessfully resist your own fate. Why do I get the feeling that, in another life, under different terms, Liam and I might actually get along?
 

Of course, my fate was sealed much later than his. It was the trial that irrevocably twisted the course of my life. Sometimes, when I’m having a bad day, it’s tempting to blame my parents for somehow getting tangled into this mess in the first place. Or to blame the judge for being so quick to punish them, for stealing away the only childhood I’d ever had. Or—