Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (30 page)

“Come.”

Once again he catches my small hand in his much larger one. He slows his pace but only a little, and my curiosity sparks as I wonder what he’s going to show me. I feel tension radiating off of him which isn’t just sexual. His eagerness fuels my excitement.

When we reach our suite, Nijad swings open the door and ushers me quickly inside. Closing the door behind him he turns to me, his eyes dark, a formidable expression on his face. I’m not sure how to interpret it.

He stares at me, his gaze first on my face, then lowering to my breasts, then rising again. He nods slowly, as though appreciating what he’s seeing. Then he gives me an instruction.

“Strip.”

His voice is low deep and low, that tone which resonates within me. It’s not as if he hasn’t given me that instruction before; our foreplay has taken many forms, and always with Nijad, my experienced husband, in control. And I’ve been glad to follow his lead. But there’s something different
about him today. And hadn’t we come here to talk about something? My forehead creases; I’m puzzled. But as I look at him quizzically, he is standing completely still, feet apart, his arms folded, waiting. His expression is hungry, hungry for me, and it fuels my passionate response. Suddenly, I’m impatient to comply, my hunger matching his.

Slowly I smile at him, not minding one bit if our conversation has to wait. I’ll never get enough of this handsome man who seems to want me as much as I want him. So, slowly, teasing him, I undo my tunic and fold it carefully, now knowing I can increase our anticipation by stringing this out. His eyes flare as I treat him to an unhurried striptease, and watch as a grin comes to his face. I hesitate before removing my underwear, still a little unsure about being naked before him, but I continue when he nods sharply once, in encouragement. Naked, I stand a little hesitantly before him. He’s still fully dressed, and I don’t know what he wants me to do. He doesn’t keep me waiting long.

“Kneel.”

I follow his command.

“Move your knees apart, and put your hands on your thighs, palms up. Lower your head.”

As I follow his instructions, I feel a rush of excitement and am embarrassed because my exposed position will show I’m already shining with arousal. I take an indrawn breath and hold it.
I’ve read about this position in books.
Before I can think too much about it, I feel his hand on my head.

“Cara, you are my wife.” He pauses, and I hear him breathe in deeply before he continues. “And my submissive. Eyes on me.”

I take a second to process what he means before I look up at him.

“Do you know what that means?”

Well, who in the world wouldn’t? Everyone must have read
that
book, and probably then a whole lot more in the same vein. I certainly have. A delightful shiver runs through me as I realise he might want to take our sex life up a notch. Am I ready for that? Realising he’s waiting for an answer, I respond with a question of my own. “You’re a Dominant? A Dom?”

He laughs softly. “I’m
your
Dom.”

His words send another flush of wetness through me. I know he can see the evidence of my arousal glistening as he tells me gently, “I think you might be happy with that idea, little one.”

Suddenly I recall all our previous lovemaking, how he takes control, holds my hands, leads me in everything. It all makes sense. It’s not just my innocence that makes him take command; it’s our preordained respective roles. I haven’t had a label for it before, not needed one. But now he’s named it I’m more than happy. I’m ecstatic. And eager to explore where this new development in our relationship is going to take us, wondering if it will be anything like I’ve read.

He slips out of his outer robe. Underneath he’s wearing Western-style jeans and a black figure-hugging T-shirt that highlights every muscle. I swallow rapidly, anticipation sending a tingling through my body. What woman wouldn’t be turned on by this example of perfect manhood standing in front of her? I watch as he takes the thin leather tie from his hair, letting it hang loose around his shoulders. It frames his masculine face perfectly, making my mouth water. I swallow as he moves behind me, and feel him gently pull my long hair back. He’s braiding it, and I realise he must be using his tie to keep it back. That one simple action seems so intimate, and makes me feel cared for.

“Do you know about safe words?” he asks as he expertly captures my hair.

I nod, not trusting myself to talk. He strokes my hair as though pleased.

“I use the traffic light system. It’s easy to remember.” Moving in front of me, he lifts my chin. “If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable you say ‘red’ and I’ll stop. Immediately. You have no need to worry; all the control is in your hands. I can only do to you what you permit me to do.” He waits for me to show I understand. “I’ll check in with you that you’re happy to continue, and for that you’ll use ‘green’. You can use ‘yellow’ if you are unsure or want a break.”

He stares intently into my eyes as though seeking my agreement. Even his simple touch on my face is raising my arousal level further. I’m part nervous, part exhilarated. My whole body seems to throb with anticipation. I want to know where this is leading, what he is going to do.

He steps back from me. Putting his hand over his back, he removes his top, and I have the opportunity to study him. I’ve seen him naked before, but somehow the knowledge he’s a Dom,
my
Dom, has given him an increase in stature. He’s holding himself taller and looks even more imposing.

“These quarters,” he waves his hands around to indicate the room, “Were used by the sultan. The tradition goes back centuries.” I didn’t expect a history lesson, so am a little taken aback by the change in topic, but enlightened as he continues. “Below these rooms is the harem.” I start a little, immediately imagining a bevvy of willing women waiting for my sheikh in the rooms below, anxious that he expects me to join them. My concern must show on my face as he chuckles. “I can assure you it’s been unused for many decades now.” Quickly he grows serious again. “Jasim has made some changes and additions for me. I want you to come and see them with me.”

“Let me just get dressed.” I start to get to my feet.

“No!” He holds his hand up to stop me moving. “I didn’t tell you to move. Wait here.”

Perplexed, I watch as he crosses the room and opens a box I haven’t noticed before. While my eyes are following him, I’m wondering whether he really means me to walk about the palace naked. As he returns to me I can’t quite see what he is carrying. He tells me to bow my head, and I do. I next feel cold metal placed around my neck, and hear a snap as it is fastened. I put my hand up in wonder. It’s a necklace, not heavy. I feel a filigree pattern and I suspect it will be pretty.

He rests his hand on my head. “You wear my collar. As my wife, and as my submissive. You are mine.”

I turn my cheek into his hand, feeling a welling up of emotion for him, realising, without him having to say the words, that the collar sitting lightly around my neck symbolises so much more than the words on the marriage contract binding us together. It signifies that he has chosen me of his own volition. I go to speak, but his fingers touch my lips.

“I ordered this collar for you, for play. But even when I placed the order I knew I wanted it to mean so much more. It’s up to you, Cara, but you can wear it all the time to signify you are my submissive, as well as my wife.” He pauses and swallows, as if he too is overcome by emotion. “People outside the lifestyle will see it as a pretty necklace. But those in the know will realise it signifies even more than the fact you are bound to me in marriage. By wearing my collar, we show a deep commitment to each other.”

I go to speak, tears shimmering in my eyes, but his fingers still press to my mouth.

“You needn’t give me your answer, now.” He lifts his hand away.

“But I want to.” We’ve exchanged no expressions of love for each other, but I don’t feel we need to. He’s collared me, and I’m going to tell him I accept that. “I’ll wear your collar with pride, Nijad.”

He releases his breath, showing me he’d been anxious for my response. Then smiles and gives a slow nod. “Now, Cara, I’m going to ask that you trust me.” He reaches behind him and picks something up. I wonder what he’s doing, and then I hear a faint snick and see a thin leather lead in his hands. He’s attached a leash to me. What the heck? Intellectually I know I should protest, but my body’s visceral reaction is to produce a fresh rush of moisture and an incessant pulsation between my legs that makes me want to squirm to get some relief. By the way he’s already increasing my body’s response to him, I instinctively know this man is a serious and experienced Dom.

“Stand. Eyes on me.” He watches me, as if gauging my reaction. What he sees obviously pleases him. His dark eyes gleam. “Come.” He takes up the slack on the lead.

“I can’t walk around naked,” I hiss.

He’s unrepentant. “Yes. You can.”

If I’m going to trust him, I have no option but to follow him. Instead of taking the normal exit to the suite of rooms, he leads me through to the bedroom, and there pulls back a tapestry revealing a hidden doorway. He unlocks the door with an ancient-looking key, and gently leads me through a stone passage. The floor is smooth. Understanding this is the route the old sultans must have taken to the harem, I idly wonder just how many feet it must have taken, walking over these flagstones, to level out the roughness, and just how many women have come to the sultan’s bed following this route. The sexual history hidden within these walls makes me shiver in anticipation of what my sheikh has in store for me.

“There’s a staircase here; be careful.” He’s still holding my leash, letting me know who’s in control, but he’s also holding my arm now, supporting me so I don’t fall. There’s another doorway at the bottom of the steps, and again he uses a key to open it.

I’m shaking, unsure what to expect as I step over the threshold. What I had assumed would be an unused and dusty primitive surrounding is actually a large, brightly lit room. It smells of paint, and there is a new partition around the circumference which appears to be one of the alterations he’d been discussing with Jasim. It doesn’t look like any kind of harem I’d ever imagined, but with the equipment dotted around, some of which I recognise from descriptions I’ve read, some of which I don’t, I know exactly what this room is. It’s a Dom’s Dungeon. Another expectant shiver runs down my spine as I wonder exactly what I’m going to experience here.

He leads me forward. His buoyant steps and slow grin as he takes in the alterations show me how pleased he is. His next words confirm my observation.

“Jasim has done us proud!”

I start in horror as the thought hits me. Just how much does his brother know about our sex life?

“Does Jasim will know I’m your submissive?”

His arm comes round me. “Jasim knew you were submissive the first time he met you, little one. And you needn’t worry your mind about Jasim being concerned about anything we might choose to do between us. He runs a BDSM club in London, sweetheart. He was the best person to set this up for us, and used his contacts to get the work done quickly.”

I’m stunned with the news about the brother I had thought fairly conservative, and shocked and embarrassed that he’d sussed out my natural inclinations so quickly. But Nijad doesn’t give me time to worry about that, as he leads me over to a couch in the centre of the room and sits, pulling me down on to his lap.

“We need to discuss a few things before we begin.” His hands are roaming over my naked body, making it hard for me to think about anything. “Usually, I’d go through your limits, things you would like to try, and things you would absolutely not want to do. But I know you haven’t got the knowledge or experience for that.” He moves his hand down over my stomach, and his fingers creep inside my open thighs, feeling the ample moisture gathered there. Chuckling, he says, “But you’re obviously willing to give things a try.” He removes his hand and I whimper, already on the edge. “Remember, everything we do is safe, sane, and consensual. I only want your pleasure and, of course, by giving you pleasure, I will take my own. You hold all the power, little one. Your safe words will stop or slow me down at any time.” He places his hands either side of my head and turns me to face him. “Are you willing to give me your complete trust?”

My arousal fights any trepidation I might have about the unknown equipment and what it’s used for, as I consider my answer. But I
do
trust him; I’d trust him with my life, so why would it be difficult to trust him with my pleasure? Tracing my hand over his face, I give him the answer he wants.

“I trust you.”

He closes his eyes and then opens them, and I can feel him relax beneath me.

“Thank fuck for that! I wouldn’t have wanted to waste all Jasim’s good work.” He smirks, “Now, what shall we try out first?”

It’s blatantly not a question he’s expecting me to answer as his gaze flicks round the equipment in the room. As he’s deciding where we will play I pluck up the courage to ask him. “Why the leash?”

His attention comes back to me in an instant. “How does it make you feel?”

“A bit nervous, as if I’m completely under your control.”

“Exactly.”

He leans in and kisses me, his kiss deep and arousing. At this moment I feel if he continues I’m going to come simply by his mouth being on mine.