Nobody's Angel (32 page)

Damn it. Allen didn’t have time for this bullshit. He was supposed to be running through the books to make sure his accountant wasn’t cheating him. He saw nothing on the top of the bar or in the area where the liquor was lined up three bottles deep. Maybe below the bar. Rico kept the notebook here, he was certain of it. But where?

He began rooting around under the bar, but didn’t see anything familiar. Aha! Allen pulled the familiar hunter-green, leather-bound portfolio from where it had been tucked next to a bin of clean bar towels. His hand shook as he reached down and pulled it out. Not wanting his workers to see him, he turned around and walked to the other end of the bar where he opened the portfolio and flipped the pages up until he came to the last page with writing. Nothing. Just a liquor shopping list. He flipped back another page.

Bingo.

Two names stared up at him. Marco D’Alessio. Stephen Lucas Denton. He jotted down their license numbers and addresses. Then he closed the portfolio and returned it to its hiding place.

So, he’d be taking a drive to Denver tomorrow. Then it hit him. That voice had sounded so familiar. He looked down at his notes. Marco. The man had reminded him of some…that’s it! The Dungeon Monitor Supervisor at the Masters at Arms who had ended his scene with Angie last month before it had barely gotten started.

Apparently, Angie’s meeting him here last night was no accident. Had the two been seeing each other since last month? Is that why she hadn’t been hanging out at the bar all this time?

No big surprise that they’d known each other intimately, given how they’d danced last night.

Slut
.

D’Alessio had shut down Allen’s scene with her that night just so he could get his kink on with her. The bastard had stolen her from him.

Well, we’ll see who she’ll be with…in the end
.

Chapter Eighteen

Angelina was a bundle of nerves as she waited for Marc to return tonight for her punishment. He had so many more implements and devices he could employ this time. What would he use?

“Karla, would you walk through the club with me before Marc gets back? I want to see everything so I can know what to expect.”

“Sure. Where should we start? The theme rooms?”

“No!” Angelina had to take a deep breath to decrease her anxiety. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“How about the great room, where I sing?”

She remembered the Dom in the Harley vest and the coiled whip. Maybe there was no safe place in the club. “I guess we could start there. Maybe you can describe some of the activities you’ve seen there.”

A few minutes later, Karla flipped the lights on and the great room was illuminated before her. It looked so…normal without all the people in BDSM gear hanging around. She walked into the room and saw the ottomans and tables. They were closer to the stage now than they had been the night she’d been here with Allen.

Angelina walked up to the center post and lifted up a cold, heavy chain with a leather cuff attached to it. Had the Dom in the Harley vest chained the blonde submissive here and used his whip on her? Still, she shivered when she thought about being restrained by them with Marc.

“Do the chains excite you, pet?”

The pit of Angelina’s stomach dropped and she turned loose of the chain as if it were suddenly on fire. It clanged against the center post and Angelina turned to find Marc standing in the entryway beside Karla. He wore black leather pants and a black leather vest, his chest bare, except for the tufts of hair over his heart. Dear Lord, her nipples hardened just looking at him.

His gaze went to her breasts. “Never mind. I can see your answer.”

He stepped into the room and walked toward her like a wolf stalking its prey. Her heart pounded against her chest, depriving her of oxygen that might have helped keep her mind from turning to mush. When he reached her, he stared until she was squirming in her skin, then took his knuckles and brushed them over her nipples, making them even more engorged. She hissed, gasping for air.

“Karla, Angelina won’t be needing you for a while.” He didn’t even turn around to dismiss Karla. His gaze remained fixed on Angelina.

“Angie, will you be okay?”

No, never again
. “Yes. I’ll see you upstairs later.” Karla was sweet to worry about her, but Angelina knew Marc wouldn’t administer pain without pleasure. She knew she wouldn’t enjoy the first, but couldn’t wait for the other.

“Did you miss me, pet?”

How should she answer that? Karla had kept her busy with unpacking and chatting, but Marc had dominated her thoughts all evening, mostly with her worrying about the punishment to come.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Oh, God. She really had.

“Thank you for your honesty, pet. Now, strip.”

Her eyes opened wider. Had she heard him correctly? She looked around to make sure Karla had left and that they were alone. They were, but someone could come in at any minute, couldn’t they?

“I’m not sure…”

“I am. I said strip. Now. Or you’ll add to the length of your punishment.”

Angelina pulled air into her lungs as she reached up to the vee of her blouse and began to slip each button through its hole, making her way downward to the hem. She spread the flaps open a bit and untied the peasant skirt belt, then shimmied the cotton over her hips until it pooled at her feet. She hadn’t worn panties today, per Marc’s explicit instructions before they left her house this morning. The cool air made it crystal clear her pussy already was wet.

Marc motioned for her to continue. She reached up to spread open her blouse, pull it off her shoulders, and slip it down her arms to join the skirt on the floor. Her breasts were shielded in a skin-tone bustier that captured Marc’s interest.

His hands reached up to cup her breasts, rolling her swollen nipples through the lace before he bent down to take one lace-covered peak between his teeth. He bit her with enough force to cause her knees to buckle. Marc caught her elbows to steady her.

“We can’t have that, now, can we?”

Angelina wasn’t sure what he meant, until he reached behind her and picked up the leather cuffs. “No! I’m not ready for that!”

Marc smiled and took each of the cuffs off the chain and rubbed them over her nipples, teasing her with the brass buckles. She gasped at the delicious sensations.

“What is your safe word, pet?”

“Red, Sir.”

“Do you trust me to stop when you say that word?”

Did she? She liked to think so, but how could she know unless she actually used the word?

“Pet, I hope to enjoy your gift of submission all week. Why would I do anything to jeopardize that on our first night? I think you know I will stop immediately if you use your safe word.”

She did. Didn’t she? Oh, God. She could do this. She really could. Angelina extended her hands to him, palms up.

“Good girl.”

His praise melted away some of the ice in her veins. As she held her hands before him, he wrapped each wrist in one of the cuffs and fastened them with Velcro. So the buckles were just for show, as she would be if he strapped her to the post. He slipped his finger between the leather in the skin. “Not too tight?”

“No, Sir. It feels fine.”

“Well, let’s see if we can do better than fine.” He hooked the two cuffs together and pulled her hands over her head and placed his other hand on her upper right arm to begin maneuvering her into place before the post.

I can do this. I can do this. Oh, God. I can’t do this. I can’t do this!

Angelina’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “Yellow!”

Marc stopped moving, but still kept her hands high above her head. With his other hand, he trailed gently down the underside of her arm until he reached her breast and rubbed his knuckles against her rigid nipple.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, pet.”

“I don’t think I can do this, Sir.”

“What frightens you?”

“My hands over my head. That reminds me of…”
the one who shall remain nameless

“When you were restrained before, were your hands together or apart?”

“Apart, Sir.”

“Were you restrained to a post like this?”

“No, Sir. To a St. Andrew’s cross.”

“Good. I want you to focus on how this experience is different from that early one. Not the least difference being who your Dom is this time. Will you trust me to continue, Angelina?”

Her name always sounded so musical when he said it, and calmed her down more than when he called her pet or other endearments. She took a deep breath.
This is Marc. He doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you for slowing down for me.”

He rolled her nipple. “Thank you for remembering to use ‘Yellow’ to slow me down. Now, we will continue.” He guided her backward. Would he turn her around to face the post? Oh, God. Then she wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing. Just like when Allen…

“Relax, pet. You’re almost there.”

She felt the wooden beam press against the expanse of skin between her shoulder blades and the cheeks of her bare ass. She still wore the bustier, although, with its front hooks, he could remove it whenever he chose. Apparently, he liked having her wearing it. For now.

“Keep your hands here.”

Was he going to do honor bondage again? That wouldn’t be so bad. Then she heard the rattle of chains and dread pooled in her lower abdomen. He knelt on one knee in front of her, the out-of-whack symbolism making her smile, and attached a leather cuff to each ankle.

After checking to make sure the bindings weren’t too tight, he stood and she watched him walk to a wall where a variety of whips, paddles, and straps hung. He would remember she’d said no whips, wouldn’t he? Before the concern became a full-blown panic, he bypassed them for a display of bars of varying lengths, considering several bars before choosing one and bringing it back to her.

“Spread your legs. Wide.” When she hesitated too long, he added, “Don’t make me repeat my commands, pet.”

She spread her legs and planted her feet about the width of her shoulders. “Wider.” Her hips protested, but she complied. He knelt again and attached the ends of the bar to each of her cuffs. As he stood, he trailed the backs of his hands up her inner calves, knees, and thighs, until he reached the folds of her pussy. His right hand cupped her mound and, with his middle finger, he delved between the folds and thrust his finger inside her to the hilt.

“Ahhh,” she gasped.

“You’re so wet, pet. I see you enjoy having your body restrained for my pleasure.”

Angelina realized that, so far, the restraints and Marc were giving her pleasure, as well.

He removed his finger and stared at her until she became uncomfortable again, then took this finger he’d just had inside her pussy and brought it to her mouth. He caged her jaw with his hand and forced the finger between her teeth, pushing her jaw down with pressure against her lower teeth until his finger was pressing against the back of her throat. Her pussy muscles clenched. He’d remembered her fantasy about having her mouth invaded by his hand, only this time she tasted herself on her tongue. He pushed deeper inside, his gaze never leaving hers, until she gagged and her eyes watered.

“I look forward to working with you to overcome your gag reflex.”

That wouldn’t happen in a week. But she didn’t think he planned to use his finger for that particular bit of training.

He pulled out his finger and, reached up to take her hands in his again. She heard the rattle of a chain higher up the post and felt him attach the cuffs to either the chain or something on the post. She tested her bonds and heard the chain scrape against the post. She wouldn’t be able to move her upper body much now.

A trickle of sweat trailed from behind her ear, down her neck, and between her breasts. Marc took his fingertip and followed the trail, then cupped her lace-covered mounds.

“I love your breasts.”

She smiled, even though she hadn’t done anything to provide him with this particular pleasure. His long fingers and thumb met in the valley of her breasts and unhooked the first of more than a dozen hooks. Then another, and another, until about half of them were undone. He pushed the lace aside and downward, exposing her breasts to his eyes and hands. Blood rushed to her nipples as the cool air hit them.

Marc lowered his mouth to one and suckled, as he pinched the other between his finger and thumb. Angelina’s hips jolted away from the post and toward him. He pulled away, slowly tugging her nipples—one between his teeth, the other his finger and thumb. She arched her back as the pressure became painful.

“We can’t have that much movement, now, can we?”

Before his words registered, she heard the rattle of another chain. This time, he wrapped the cold metal links around her torso, tucked just below her breasts so that their undersides rested on the links. He pulled the end tight until she felt the post against the length of her spine, then he must have attached it to a hook or something on the post. She tried to move her upper body away from the solid wood.

Just when she realized she could still move her hips away, she smelled leather and felt the kiss of a belt of some kind on the bare expanse of skin between her hips and waist. He buckled the ends together snugly, but not too tightly, then yet another chain clinked as threaded it through a loop above one hip and then around her back to a loop on her other side. Then he moved behind her, placing the post between them, and tugged on the chain until she was pulled flush against the wood.

She had very little motion left. Her breathing hitched and became rapid and shallow. He could do whatever he wanted to her now and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Panic set in as she worried about what kind of punishment he planned to administer. He didn’t have ready access to her butt. Why had he chosen to restrain her facing toward him?

“Breathe, pet. Slow, deep breaths.”

Marc was standing next to her. She hadn’t even felt him there. She drew a ragged breath into her lungs.

“Again.”