Sweet and Dirty (9 page)

S
he’d been waiting for Ro for more than an hour.

Lizbeth toyed with her leash, feeling it tug on the collar she’d fastened around her neck. It smelled faintly of fur. The scent comforted her.

Strangely, so did The Dungeon’s atmosphere.

She sat on a padded barstool, her gaze compulsively darting to the entrance. Ro would be back, everyone told her. He always closed up his club.

People kept approaching her, introducing themselves. There was an air of respect, even deference in some of them that confused her, until one woman expressed her admiration for Lizbeth’s graceful submission under Ro’s lash.

Employees and patrons alike wanted to talk with her, get to know her. Some had seen her in the Crime and Punishment show. Others sensed a kindred spirit.

It would be her pack away from home, Lizbeth determined.

Except that her alpha was missing.

Anticipation and tension swirled in the pit of her stomach, and she glanced toward the entrance once more.

He stood before her. His dark eyes seemed to scald as they took her in, head to foot. His gaze fixed on her collar and the attached leash. He reached out to nudge her black cap, stroke her hair cascading from beneath it, graze her arm, then her hand. She recognized his touch as the equivalent of a dog’s investigative contact. Exhilaration rose in her when she saw the look in his eyes.

“I missed you, Lizbeth.”

“My name is Michelle,” she stated clearly.

“Nice to meet you, Michelle.” The relief, the happiness, and the heat contained in his smile made her heart give an ecstatic leap.

“You let me get away. You know what happens to strays in this city?” She waved her leash back and forth in front of him.

Ro grabbed it. “I don’t intend to ever find out.” He held the leash loosely. “Are you sure this is what you want? Should I assume the message printed on your new cap”—he paused to adjust it on her head—“is meant for me?” He looped the leash around his wrist once. Then twice. Bringing her closer. “Why’d you run?”

“I was scared,” she admitted. “Everything happened so fast. And then, you made me feel so many things.” She tilted her chin up at him, smiled. She leaned away, drawing the leash taut, testing him. “I’m not scared anymore.”

“Is your collar worn for me, then?” Ro’s eyes narrowed, tracking her movement. He drew the leash another loop over his wrist, stopping her movement.

“Can’t you read?” She felt playful, provoking him. Her blood raced through her veins, bringing a tingling awareness to her extremities. Her heart felt lodged in her throat, half in hope, half in excitement.

“Say it,” he commanded.

“Make me.”

He looped the leash again with the fierce smile that made her weak in the knees. “You’ve earned yourself another punishment. I hope you’re happy. Now say it.” He trailed his fingers sensuously down her bare arm.

She shuddered, desire and emotion colliding inside her. “I want this. I’m yours, collared and obedient.”

She caught her breath at the reflection of her emotion in his eyes. She thrilled to his formal tone. “And I’m your dominant and master, though never less a servant to the heart’s demands.” He wrapped the final loop of leash around his wrist, drawing her against him for a kiss that exerted full rights of ownership.

Then he scooped her into his arms.

Her black cap fell from her head unnoticed. It perched, jaunty, on her abandoned stool, the lettering visible to anyone who cared to look:
SLAVE TO LOVE
.

N
ora Sabine twisted the engagement ring around her finger, still unaccustomed to its feel. “I’m sorry I told you.”

After a pointed pause, Ryan answered. “You said that yesterday, too. It’s not like you can take it back. I just wish, you know. That your secret fantasy was more normal. A threesome. Or the Mile High Club. Or performing a lap dance.” Ryan looked wistful.

“But it is normal. Fantasies about forced sexual encounters are some of the most common—”

“I just don’t get it. You’re a feminist, a modern woman who’s vice president of a company!”

“I love you, sweetie. But you are a clod sometimes. And I’m not vice president yet.” He knew she still debated taking the lucrative position. She suspected he didn’t want her to. “I probably pissed them off quite a bit, taking a four-day weekend to think about it.”

Silence.

“They said they couldn’t get along without me. But I took the time off anyway.”

More silence.

She sighed. “Okay, you’re not a clod. I’d never agree to marry a clod. Truce?”

“Sure.”

At his tone, she glanced at him, but he focused entirely on his driving, peering at street signs and then skidding off the main road and onto a gravel one, sending small rocks flying.

“Once a race car driver, always a race car driver.” She spoke gently, intending to bolster his ego. He was so sensitive lately. Her career success in the face of his latest race losses rankled him, she knew.

“You’re very sweet, setting up this long weekend at a bed-and-breakfast.” She could just see the top of Oregon’s Mt. Hood through a break in the trees, its jagged peak snow-covered even in summer.

As they turned into a long, winding private drive, Ryan smiled. “I never said it was a bed-and-breakfast.”

“I’m pretty sure you did. Well, you wrote it,” she amended. “Something about a sumptuous B and B in the mountains, and it being a romantic four-day getaway I’ll never forget.” She remembered her delight that Ryan was trying so hard to make their relationship work.

Black iron gates barred them from the gravel driveway of the enormous house looming ahead. Arching above the gates, ironwork letters spelled out TWISTED WOOD B AND B with sharp-edged top details.

Nora stared. “How Gothic. It looks like the entrance to a
Rocky Horror Picture Show
mansion, not a bed-and-breakfast.”

“I told you. It isn’t a bed-and-breakfast.”

Ryan was beginning to annoy her. “Okay, what do you think B and B stands for?”

“Bondage and breakfast. Whip me beat me make me bleed, S and M is what I need.”

As she stared at him, a deep voice emanated from the black speakerbox: “Password?”

“‘Fanny welt.’” The gates began to swing open. Ryan smiled at her. It wasn’t a reassuring smile.

“S and M? Bondage and breakfast? You’re serious.” Her arm hairs rose as he drove on up to the house. Two years of dating, and she hadn’t known he was kinky. How could she not have known?

She considered herself more open minded than anyone she knew—certainly more so than her married friends who’d up and forgotten her once they started having kids. And she loved adventures. She loved sex. She loved Ryan. Usually.

She glanced uneasily up the driveway as Ryan negotiated its twists and turns. “I’m not sure this is the best thing for us.”

“I am.”

She looked at him.

He tried another smile. “Please?”

She was fit for a 28-year-old woman. She ran every day and lifted weights to stay firm in all the right places. Making a fist, she looked down at it and wondered whether it would help or hurt matters to hit Ryan with it. This wasn’t her idea of a romantic getaway.

She was about to insist he turn around and drive her home, when she spotted the man lounging on the rough-hewn wood steps leading up to the home’s enormous wraparound porch. The flat black color of his clothes soaked up the sun and gave back no reflection, but his eyes glittered like a wolf’s scenting prey.

As their eyes met, she felt pinned and held. It was a mildly unnerving sensation, underscoring her urge to flee. Yet somehow she couldn’t quite bring herself to speak.

The man rose gracefully to his feet, his eyes never leaving hers. Another, more slender and younger man appeared by his side.

The sound of the door shutting alerted her to Ryan’s leaving the vehicle. Startled, she realized the car had stopped. She followed him quickly.

Gravel crunched underfoot as they crossed the section of circular driveway. Early afternoon sunshine flooded the courtyard, but walls of forest surrounded it. On all sides the cedar, oak, and Oregon maple trees seemed to strain inward, as if trying to get at the magnificent house. Or possibly the magnificent, black-clothed man. Nora could hardly blame them. She swallowed as they got closer.

He wasn’t classically attractive, like Ryan. Darker, bigger, and rough hewn like the steps he’d been sitting on, he radiated an almost electric charisma that made it difficult to notice anything but him.

“Hello. My name is Sylvester Vincent. Welcome to Twisted Wood.” The greeting, given with a proper, polite disregard, was directed at both her and Ryan. “Little Peter will bring in your things.”

A bobbing curtsy succeeded in pulling her attention away from the man’s cool appraisal of them both. Little Peter, a small, beardless man who appeared to be in his early twenties, wore a red and white French maid uniform, complete with ruffles, bustier, garters, lace cap, and heavy makeup. “If it pleases you,” Little Peter said to the air between her and Ryan.

She looked at Ryan. Ryan looked back at her. They both turned to look at Little Peter. “Um, okay,” Ryan said. “Thanks.” Ryan made small talk, in his overloud voice he put on when speaking to other men. In some circles it worked well for him. Here, with these men, surrounded by acres of forest and with an elegant, Gothic mansion looming over them, it didn’t.

Little Peter only responded, “My pleasure to serve.” Another bobbed curtsy, and Little Peter scurried toward their car.

Sylvester didn’t smile. “Mistress Kiana let me borrow him for the day. She’s trained him well, though for a service submissive he’s still unpolished. May I show you to your room? You can relax and unpack before meeting the others at dinner at 6:00. Then after, perhaps a tour.”

She felt Ryan’s gaze on her again, and when she looked back she caught a strange, apprehensive expression on his face. Second thoughts about their stay? If she wasn’t mistaken, he was about to grab their luggage, make some excuse, and herd her right back down the hill.

For her part, she was intrigued. Little Peter seemed sweet and sincere, even if he was dressed like a transsexual guest at a wild Halloween party. The grounds seemed vast and pristine. The house was so magnificent from the outside, it had to be amazing indoors. And the man…“Sylvester Vincent.”

He didn’t react to his name. He didn’t smile. He watched her carefully. Waiting.

Nora turned to her fiancé and spoke in a wry tone. “You picked a fascinating place for our ‘romantic getaway,’ honey. Let’s get settled in.”

Nora Sabine wasn’t what Sylvester had expected.

He reviewed his impression of her after he deposited them both in the Sultan Room. He enjoyed her pleasure at the sight of the low-lit exotic room with its wall-to-wall bed, glittering erotic art, sensual pillows, strategically placed mirrors, and whisper-soft draped canopy.

An executive’s polish and confidence, check. Her age, her health, both as described. But she didn’t quite match her checklist.

The BDSM Play Partner Checklist he had all his guests mail along with the check to hold their reservation provided an overview of their kink involvement, identifying their interests, any medical issues, and their sexual limits. It helped him build a guest list of people who had common ground for play.

His instant attraction to her was unexpected, as well. Those huge dark hazel eyes…Her gaze through the car window seemed at first totally captured by his, almost fearful. Then simply interested, then eager. Fascinating. Eyes that contained depths that pulled at him, that was something he hadn’t expected.

Her simple, unadorned beauty set her apart as well. Long, straight, dark brown hair that flamed to a rich amber in the sun. A finely tapered, firm young body. Expressive brows. White teeth when her mouth parted to smile the fierce smile of one who craved adventure.

Still, he couldn’t think her idea of good fantasy adventure included a chase and capture, followed by a rough rape. Her checklist included that, and more. He reviewed it again, puzzled. According to Nora’s list, she derived gratification from serving as an ashtray while wearing a chastity belt. She enjoyed infantilism, heavy bondage, golden showers, electric torture, and having her face slapped.

He scanned the rest of the list. Blindfolding, sexual torment, anal plugs, gags, paddlings…mostly garden-variety stuff.

What gave him pause were the more hardcore, advanced-level items next to which she’d checked “5” on a scale of 1 to 5, meaning the activity would be a wild turn-on for her, and she’d like it as often as possible. Not only had she marked 5 on nearly everything from breath control to pony play, she’d placed a double asterisk next to each item, meaning she was willing to do them even with casual and multiple play partners.

He’d never heard of her before in the local fetish community. People talked. He’d have been told about a gorgeous woman who enjoyed wearing diapers and horsetail butt plugs. Something was wrong.

Maybe he was wrong. Very little surprised him anymore after two years of owning and presiding over the only local fetish-scene B and B. It was his domain, his exotic fortress in the middle of twenty-one private, wooded acres, and the high demand for an incomparable interlude at Twisted Wood Estates added to his dot-com wealth.

Often it was the most buttoned-up, prudish-seeming folks—the repressed bankers, the frustrated mothers, the shy computer programmers—who harbored the wildest and woolliest fantasies. Nora might very well have such twisted fantasies they’d make even a jaded recluse like him blush.

It wasn’t as if he’d never been wrong before. Grievously wrong.

He folded her checklist, opened Ryan’s. Sparse. He was interested in a threesome, with women only. “Women only” was underlined five times. He liked to watch. And, oral sex. Receiving only. That was it.

He folded Ryan’s checklist, put it with the others.

If Nora actually liked rough sex and every single nonpermanently damaging activity on the list, good for her. He’d do his best to facilitate her adventures.

Now if only he could rid his mind of his own fantasy: Nora fleeing her pursuers, then captured. Rebelling against taunting words, struggling against violating hands. Her arms pinned above her head. Her legs forced apart.

Sylvester’s cock hardened in his pants.

He cursed himself for it, turning his mind to more productive pursuits, like supervising Kitten and Little Peter’s dinner preparations, and checking in with Mistress Kiana as she put together a savory feast. Perhaps he could help.

Anything to take his mind off fantasy-raping Nora Sabine.