Love Beat (27 page)

It occurs to me in a flash of bitter clarity that I’m making an awful lot of assumptions here. One is that I’m worth anything like fifty grand to anybody. Another is that Cade Fitzlean, of all people, would want to waste another week on me, after giving up a whole week of his busy life already.

Why should he? I’m new at this, not one of his trained-to-be-perfect, delectable subs.

I’ve no right to feel angry. I should be grateful.

He’s done everything I asked and more. He’s been the perfect gentleman.

I’m just a selfish, conceited bitch.

But now my intensive training takes on a whole new, utterly sinister meaning.

He was preparing me for somebody else.
And like a fool I thought he was doing it because something had sparked between us.

I’ve been so stupid.

He’s smiling now. “Please, let’s not spoil your last two hours of training with a fight over detail. We’ve still got one final session in the dungeon. I intend to make it…interesting.” He catches my hand and kisses my fingers then deliberately turns over my hand to kiss my palm, his tongue hot, his mouth urgent.

I shiver as the familiar shimmer shoots up my arm and tingles all over me, raising all my tiny hairs. The idea’s alarming. I’ve been caned once today. I’m still shaky. How much more can I take?

And from midnight tonight, I’m in entirely new hands. I have to face a whole week with the Panther. My worst ever nightmare.
I swallow. “What are we going to do there?”

“You’ll see.”

“Cade, why did you put me on sale? Were you really so keen to punish me? Or do you just want to get rid of me?”

His face splits into a delighted grin. He’s clearly enjoying this.

“You mean you haven’t
guessed
? Then that’s another surprise. All will be revealed in due course. Now we must get you out of this delectable gown and into the shower. The dungeon beckons, and I’m getting twitchy.”

* * * *

The shower takes a while. As he unfastens my gown, his hands run lovingly over my breasts, my curves, my thighs, dropping kisses where he touches until I glow all over.

It’s like he’s committing every part of me to memory.

I’d better do the same. This may be the last time. I decide to forget about tomorrow and lose myself in the moment.

In the shower he holds my hands high over my head and massages me first with the gel then with the warm jet, until I laugh and squeal in protest. As he towels me dry with my hands still held high, he forbids me to lower them.

“No touching. I want to do that. Keep your hands away.” To make sure, he lowers my hands, slips handcuffs behind my back and clicks them onto my wrists.

I shudder as the cold, hard metal presses into my skin. I stare at him in alarm. “What are you doing?”

He kisses me gently on the tip of my nose. “Cuffing you until we get down to the basement. Feel good?”

It’s an odd question but I consider it carefully. I know now that the answer’s never simple. Once more I feel vulnerable, subject to his will, and yet oddly, now he has me in his control,
safe
. And already I’m starting to guess what he has in mind. Even as I think it I’m growing excited, aroused—and
curious
.

What’s happening to me? How does he make me want this so badly?

“Okay, it feels good. But I’m scared.”

He looks genuinely interested. “Of me?” His voice drops to a velvety murmur, sending a throb straight down to my groin.

“Of what you’ll do.”

“Sure you’re scared.” Slowly, deliberately, he runs a thumb over my left nipple then tweaks it gently. “Like I said, that makes it fun. Do you trust me, Tunis?”

“Yes.”
In spite of everything.

A slow smile spreads over his stunning features and tears at my heart. Will I ever tire of being a plaything to this beautiful man?

He tweaks my other nipple, watching my reaction intently. With a supreme effort, I suppress a wince and smile up at him instead.

He kisses me again. “Good girl,” he says softly. “You’re getting the idea.”

In spite of the fabulous firework display, many guests are still partying. Against a background roar of bangs, fizzes and explosions, music and laughter echoes all through Beat Hall as he leads me down to the dungeon. But as the padded wooden door closes behind us, we’re engulfed in silence, the soundproofed room shutting us in with our own sinister noises—the creak of leather, the rattle of chains, the soft intake of breath and the wild, regular pounding of my heartbeat.

Without being told, I kneel on the central dais, my cuffed hands resting at the small of my back and wait.

This is the last time he’ll bring me here. The thought brings a surge of emotion so strong that I feel the room spin.

Instantly he raises my face up to his. “What’s the matter?”

“Where will you be this time tomorrow?” My quiet question surprises him, but his answer comes at once.

“On a small island in the Western Isles watching seals in the moonlight.”

“And me? Where will I be?” My question sounds bitter. It was half to myself but he answers that too.

“That will depend on where you’re taken. Ready?”

He’s impatient to begin.

I bow my head to signal a yes. I’m impatient too.

I’m only sad it all has to end.

For a few long moments he moves around at the far end of the room, out of my line of sight. Increasingly nervous, my stomach tight with excitement, I try to work out what he’s doing. The sounds of a drawer opening and closing and the clatter of metal objects raise my excitement to fever heat but give me no clues.

At last he walks back toward me and stands before me with his legs apart. “You can look up now.” As I do so, he unzips his fly and frees his erection, already frighteningly large.

“Take it in your mouth. Just as a courtesy, not to completion.”

I do so, soothed by the ritual, relishing the familiar taste and girth of his arousal, pleased when I hear him draw in a sharp breath.

“Enough.” He cups my cheek in his hand, loving and tender then fastens his fly and raises me to my feet. “I’ll undo the cuffs, but you must keep your hands behind your back. Tonight you’re going to be fixed on the saltire for a whipping. And no blindfold—I want you to watch this.”

The saltire
? What’s that?

Then I remember. It’s the strange contraption on the far wall in the shape of a lazy cross, each arm fixed with various gleaming leather cuffs and buckles.

“It rotates, so we can have some fun with the angles. But we have to go easy. You’ve taken a lot this week. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

He glances at me with a frown. “What’s the matter? Too much for you?”

I hold his gaze, bewildered at his sudden change of tone. I’m still tingling all over from our caning display and the sight of this place is working its magic already. I’m
wet
, tense with excitement, but something needs to be said. I’m too wound up to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “You just want to scare me, beat the crap out of me. That’s what this is all about. Be honest.”

He eyes me for a moment in silence. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, measured, like he’s talking to a child. “A week ago you asked me to take you on a journey. I’m trying to show you where it leads. Sure, it gives me pleasure. I enjoy this, very much, especially with you. But I want you to enjoy it too.”

He sounds so reasonable. And the plea in his eyes is unmistakable. It touches something deep inside me. But still…

I look up at him, troubled. “I feel guilty. Doing this makes me feel so—primitive.”

His expression softens. He runs a finger down my cheek and folds his hand along the side of my neck. As l lean into his touch, he rubs my earlobe gently with his thumb. “Don’t bring too much baggage to this. It’s really very simple. Dominance raises male hormones, submission raises female. Together they take sex to a new level. What happens next isn’t wrong if you both consent and if you both enjoy it. It’s just sex—only deeper, more primal. Maybe unexpected. That’s all I wanted to show you.”

He leans forward and touches his lips to mine, his kiss soft, lingering, infinitely tender. “Do you still trust me?”

I nod.

He kisses me again. “Good. So—shall we make a start?”

The saltire opens up a whole new world. He fastens me so I lie face up. He takes his time to check my wrists and ankles are secure and supported, pausing to touch and caress my rigid, quivering limbs.

“You’re very tense. Loosen up. You’ll enjoy it more. I’m going to rotate it slowly. Safeword if anything feels too extreme. No gags or blindfolds for this. I want you fully aware.”

Slowly the dungeon starts to rotate. I begin to feel weightless, detached, my splayed legs and up-thrust breasts moving gently through the air like I’m floating. I feel almost drowsy as his voice hangs in the air around me, now close, now farther away.

“The whip I’m using is called a quirt. It’s used to encourage teams of horses. We don’t use it much. It’s too unpredictable.”

As I rotate slowly past him, I see he’s running two long strands of leather through his fingers. As I come round again, they’re still moving, slightly thinner this time.

“It’s very long, and has two thin strands, designed to make a loud noise over their heads. So if one happens to land on you, you’ll get the occasional surprise. It makes a very satisfying crack, like this—”

I jump in my bonds as a deafening thunderclap sounds close to my ear. I feel the air whistle as one of the lashes flicks past my arm.

It sounds terrifying.
What would it feel like?

He moves to a point some feet away and lets fly. As I move slowly, the lashes crack and snap around me, terrifyingly close. I feel the ends of the leather flicker across my skin on my thighs, my breasts, over my belly. Once one of the lashes spirals around my lower leg, gripping with a vivid, scorching sting then slithering softly away like a snake.

Deep between my legs, heat begins to glow then burn, the flames leaping higher and higher as the thin ends of the whip whistle past or make vivid, stinging contact.

At last he gives a final flick and a leather snake coils round my thigh and slithers horribly close to my wide, gaping slit.

It’s too much. “
Mercy
.”

The sudden silence falls around me like a blanket. As the saltire slows to a halt, he’s instantly at my side, unfastening the cuffs, gathering my sweating, twitching body up into his arms. “That was sensational, Tunis. Hush, don’t cry.”

Weak, aroused, overwrought, I feel the tears flow as soon as his arms curl around me.

I sob against his chest as he carries me to the elevator. I have a confused feeling of movement, of lights changing, of elevator doors opening and closing then the soft, familiar sound and smell of our rooms, music and laughter still echoing through the great house from the dance floor and the moonlit grounds.

Without letting go, he pulls me down into the bed, still entwined as I fold my legs around his waist, burying my face in his neck,

I hear the rip of foil and suddenly, gloriously, I feel him surge inside, thrusting again and again, murmuring into my hair until he quivers and stills. And with miraculous timing, the ripple of muscle through his abdomen rasps against my splayed dip and I erupt in my own surge of pleasure.

My orgasm is so intense and so long awaited that I think I’m going to faint. Instead I’m held fast in his arms as I drift on a sea of content, with his soft murmurs still in my ear and his face buried in my hair.

Chapter Twenty-One

It’s morning. I feel wonderful. I blink through a dazzling ray of sunshine at the sumptuous decadence of the cherubs painted on the ceiling and glance across the bed. I half expect to see Cade stretched out next to me, tousled and beautiful, a work of art all on his own.

He’s not here.

I can hear voices from his room. I stretch and yawn and tumble out of bed. Winding a bath towel around myself, I catch it over one breast, open his door a crack and take a cautious peek.

The maids are stripping down his bed and cleaning the shower. The cupboards are empty, hangers clinking on the rail. One of the women is cleaning them with a can of spray and a cloth. I step back quickly and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment as reality floods back.

He’s gone.

Tonight he’ll be watching seals then he’ll fly home.

I’m yesterday’s news.

And this morning I’ve got a date with the Panther.

After some coffee and a quick shower, I snatch my clothes off the rail and pack quickly. When my things are neatly stowed, I consider the Beat Hall costumes. Will I have to dress up this week?

Probably. I’m now a sex-slave, albeit a costly one.

I decide to play it safe and seize a couple of gowns and lace-trimmed corsets, rummage for toning accessories and hope for the best.

Then I pause. Better do this properly.

I make a further selection from the rail. I strip off and wriggle into some sexy underwear and slip back into my own things.

If Nera wants the costumes back, I’ll ditch them in the hall. Anyway, maybe clothes won’t be needed…

As I leave, I glance round at the vast suite, with its elegant furniture and tall, gilded mirrors. I’ve been here only a week. Already it feels like home.

With a lump in my throat I think of all that’s happened in here—the battles and the victories, the rapture and the despair. It’s been some journey.

I take a last look round, grab my purse and head for the elevator.

* * * *

Down in the entrance hall Nera is whip-smart in tight latex and thigh boots as she supervises departing guests and welcomes new arrivals. A rock festival is planned for next month and technicians and producers are already arriving to assess the site.

She hails me with a tight-lipped smile. “Ah, there you are, Tunis. The Panther’s flying out this morning. You’re to meet on the plane. Izzy’s waiting for you. He’ll drive you to the airfield.”