The Siren (19 page)

He pulled out of her and she dragged her knees to her chest and rolled onto her side, her arms still pinned over her head.

“I don’t know,” she answered the question he hadn’t been able to ask. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Talk to me, Caroline. What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she said again. She took a deep breath and then another. She slowly rolled onto her back again. “We don’t have to stop.”

He leaned forward and untied her wrists and gathered her into his arms. The gesture seemed to release whatever was tied up inside her. Sobbing, she collapsed against his chest.

Pulling her as close to him as he could without crushing her, he said the three words that most terrified him.

“Maybe we do…”

Nora stopped typing and stretched her hands and wrists. She was tempted to delete everything she’d just written. It felt like melodrama to her. But then again most relationships falling apart often genuinely degenerated into melodrama. There was no dignity in grief, a truth she knew all too well. After leaving Søren she’d turned into a ghost for almost a year. It wasn’t until she grew bored and disgusted with her own sorrow, the days spent half-sick on dirty sheets, that she picked up a pen and started jotting down sentences—sentences that turned into paragraphs that turned into pages and pages of demons she exorcised out of her own soul. Still she hadn’t been able to get her life back together. It wasn’t until her mother had laid down the final ultimatum—get up or get out. For once Nora listened to her mother. She’d done both. She’d humbled herself at the feet of Kingsley Edge, the King of the Underground and Søren’s oldest friend. She’d do anything, she told him, just so she could afford her own place to write and grieve in peace.

“Anything,
chérie?
” he’d asked her. “Anything at all?”

“Just a job, King. I’ll cocktail waitress at the club, I’ll mop floors…I don’t care.”

He’d laughed and stared her down. Her years with Søren had taught her to never meet a Dominant’s eyes unless ordered. But that day she had. She looked at him and knew that in her eyes shone all the hurt and desperation that a year of hell had hammered into her like armor.

“Non,”
he’d said, taking her chin in his hands. He’d smiled then, and she knew she was in the biggest trouble of her life. “Not a waitress, not a maid. No more serving for you. I have a much better idea… .”

“Nor?”

Nora turned her head and saw Wesley standing in the doorway to her office.

“Hey, kiddo. Sorry, I was in another world. What’s up?”

“Nothing. How’s the book coming?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Did Zach like the new chapters you sent him?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days.”

Wesley came into her office and sat down in her armchair. He studied her, and she hated the intelligence behind those brown eyes. She should have hired a stupid intern.

“Saturday night…something happened between you two, didn’t it?”

“We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“You worry too much. I’m fine. The book’s coming along fine.”

He stood up and looked at her. She met his eyes and smiled. She never had to lie to him as long as she could still smile. Poor kid bought it every time.

“All right, I’m going to Josh’s. I’ll see you later.”

“Study hard. Learn all those quadratics and isotopes and such.”

“You really were an English major, weren’t you?”

“And an English minor,” she reminded him as she shooed him out of the office. Standing up, she paced the floor, grateful for her solitude. She looked at her office phone. It hadn’t rung all day, or yesterday, or the day before. Zach hadn’t spoken to her since Sunday when he’d given her an awkward goodbye and climbed into a cab. She kept emailing him her pages. He’d send them back with comments and suggestions but no personal notes, no encouragements, no insults, nothing. She handed fistfuls of her heart while he circled her comma splices.

Nora turned away from her black office phone and found her red cell phone. She hit the number eight, the only number she had programmed into her speed dial.

“Oh là là,”
Kingsley said in his usual seductive drawl, “clearly reports of your demise have been greatly exaggerated. Or am I talking to a ghost?”

“You’re talking to Mistress fucking Nora and I’m bored and pissed off.”

“Your usual sunny self then. How can I assist you?”

“Who’s on my waiting list?”

“
Tout le monde, maîtresse.
Absolutely everyone.”

“Pick somebody and set it up.”

“
Mais bien sûr, ma chérie
. I’ll call you back in five.”

In less than five minutes King called back with a name, a place and a time—one hour from now.

Nora ran to her bedroom and threw open her closet. She pulled out her client’s favorite costume—her tailored white Marlene Dietrich suit. She adjusted the pale blue suspenders, threw on the jacket and stood in front of the mirror tying her tie.

“Nor?”

“Shit.” Nora turned around to find Wesley in her bedroom looking pale and cold. “Thought you had study group.”

“I ran off without my notes,” he said with a tremor in his voice. “I came back for them. Nora—”

“Save it. I need a night off.”

She grabbed her matching white fedora but didn’t put it on. Finding her coat and her keys, she headed for the front door.

“Nora, you said everything was fine.”

“It is fine,” Nora said at the door.

“Please, please be safe.” His voice caught in his throat.

“Don’t worry, kid. She’s five-two and a hundred pounds. I can take her. And I will.” She rolled the hat up her arm and set it on her head. “Don’t wait up.”

Nora made good time to the club and parked in her usual spot. She checked her coat and took the secret entrance in the coat closet that led downstairs. At the last door on the left she paused and took a breath. She opened the door and couldn’t suppress a smile at the sight that greeted her.

“Sheridan…” Nora nearly purred the girl’s name as she entered her room at the club. Sheridan lay stretched out on Nora’s bed wearing nothing but a white lacy garter and a smile. Nora snapped her fingers and Sheridan came up on her knees at the edge of the bed.

In the beginning Kingsley had taught Nora the rules of being a paid Dominant. He was no pimp and never allowed his employees to have sex with clients on his time clock.

Rule number one,
he’d intoned in his erotic French accent.
Do not kiss your clients. They may kiss you…but only on the toe of your boot.

“Hello, Mistress.”

Nora cupped Sheridan’s face in her hand and gave her a long, thorough kiss. Sheridan tasted of strawberries and Nora breathed into her lips. Kingsley and his rules were powerless against the petite blonde beauty of Sheridan Stratford, star of
Empire City,
the number one drama on television. Only twenty-three, Sheridan had been a client of Nora’s for two years now. She’d come running to Kingsley after four years of being unable to have an orgasm during vanilla sex. In her first session with Nora, Sheridan had climaxed five times.

Sheridan held on to Nora’s suspenders as Nora ran her hands from Sheridan’s shoulders down to her hips. Right now Sheridan’s skin was a pristine porcelain canvas waiting for Nora to mark it. But first…

Nora pushed Sheridan down and onto her back. With her knees Nora wrenched Sheridan’s thighs apart. Out in the real world, Sheridan had earned the moniker “America’s Sweetheart” because of her innocent blue-eyed beauty and sweet smile. In nearly every role she played a virgin. Virgin? Sheridan hadn’t been a virgin since age fourteen when her father’s best friend had turned her over his knee, spanked her and fucked her right on her councilman father’s big oak desk. She’d developed an appetite for extreme sex, intense BDSM, and couldn’t orgasm unless submitting to a Dominant. Her father’s best friend had kept on his Armani business suit while deflowering Sheridan and now Sheridan had a delicious little fetish for men’s clothing.

With one hand Nora held Sheridan down by her throat while her mouth tasted the tips of Sheridan’s small but perfectly formed breasts. Nora’s other hand slipped down Sheridan’s flat stomach and teased her already swollen clitoris.

“You started without me.” Nora met Sheridan’s eyes as she pushed two fingers into Sheridan’s wet body.

“Am I in trouble, mistress?”

Nora laughed, low and throaty.

“Do you want to be in trouble, little miss?”

Sheridan nodded humbly and smiled so sweetly it took everything Nora had in her not to kiss the smile right off her face.

“Yes, mistress,” she whispered and the smile remained.

Nora raised her hand and slapped it off instead.

Sheridan gasped as Nora grabbed her by the back of the neck; her fingers tangled in the girl’s blond hair, and she dragged her to the head of the bed. From under the bed, Nora pulled her famous red riding crop.

“Hands here,” Nora ordered and Sheridan came up on her knees and gripped the black metal headboard as instructed.

Nora found Sheridan’s clitoris again and kneaded it. In a few moments Sheridan started panting and pushing her hips into Nora’s hand.

“Pick a number between one and five,” Nora instructed, and Sheridan groaned. Poor little thing hated this game. Nora never revealed in advance what Sheridan was picking. One to five orgasms? One to five beatings?

Sheridan’s small hands twisted nervously on the black metal of the headboard.

“Five, mistress?” her worried voice replied.

“Five then, little miss.” Nora pulled her hand away from Sheridan. “Five welts.”

Sheridan released a moan of fear. A well-justified moan as Nora brought her crop down hard and swift between Sheridan’s shoulder blades. Another blow landed in the center of Sheridan’s back. Another on her lower back. Nora hit even harder on her bottom and hardest still on her thighs. With each strike, Sheridan cried out. It hurt. Of course it hurt. Sheridan didn’t love it until it hurt.

Nora dropped the crop and ran her hand down Sheridan’s welted back. She, like Søren, knew how to beat someone brutally without leaving marks. But Sheridan cherished her welts and bruises just as Nora once did. The public believed Sheridan didn’t do nude scenes because of modesty. Modesty? The girl once let four men fuck her in one night while Nora watched and directed the action. No, the only reason Sheridan kept her clothes on in public was because of what Nora did to her in private.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Nora whispered as she traced a finger around a bright red slash on Sheridan’s back. Nora slid between Sheridan and the headboard. Once more she lightly sucked on Sheridan’s nipples. With both hands, Nora opened up Sheridan’s wet folds and looked up at the gasping girl. “It wasn’t just five welts you were choosing.”

“No, mistress?”

“No…you also picked five fingers.”

Sheridan shuddered as Nora pushed first two, then three fingers into her. Nora considered pausing for lube but Sheridan was so wet right now, lube would be a moot point. A fourth finger followed. Finally Nora turned her hand and pushed her thumb into Sheridan and Sheridan cried out in shocked pleasure.

“Don’t you dare, little miss,” Nora warned.

Sheridan’s breaths came in short bursts as she forced herself not to orgasm. Nora never let her come on her own…only on command.

Spreading her fingers, Nora pushed in deeper.

“Now,” Nora said as she lightly pinched Sheridan’s clitoris. The girl released a desperate gasp as her inner muscles spasmed wildly around Nora’s hand.

As Nora pulled out, Sheridan released a little whimper. It seemed such a crime to take Sheridan’s money for these sessions. Nora would pay good money herself just to hear that sound.

“I’m going to tell you another secret, little miss.” Nora gathered a fistful of Sheridan’s hair again and pulled her off the bed. She shoved Sheridan forward so the girl stood with her legs a foot apart and her hands on the bed.

“Yes, mistress?”

Nora gathered supplies before coming to stand at the opposite side of the bed. She threw down a crop, a flogger, a cane, a paddle and a whip—five implements of torture. Then she lay down in a straight line five vibrators of increasingly larger sizes.

“It wasn’t just five fingers, either,” Nora said as Sheridan started panting again in anticipation at the sight of all the pain ahead of her, all the pleasure.

“Mistress…” Sheridan breathed. “I only paid for an hour.”

Nora laughed.

Rule number two,
maîtresse…
give them everything they paid for and not a minute more.

Nora came back to Sheridan and caressed the girl’s trembling back, kissed her shivering shoulder.

“Shh…” Nora instructed as she ran a single finger down the side of Sheridan’s exquisite face. “What Kingsley doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Nora took off her jacket and tossed it aside. She reached for the cane and Sheridan whimpered.

That sound…worth every minute, worth every penny.

Before this night ended, she’d break Sheridan open—body and soul.

Some days Nora loved her job.

* * *

Several hours later Nora pulled up her suspenders and stuffed her tie in her pocket.

Sheridan still lay in bed, the sheet twisted around her hips leaving her petite back, scored with welts and bruises, bare to the eye.

“You did very well tonight, little miss,” Nora said. “A pleasure as always. Until next time.”

“Nora?” she said and Nora turned around. Sheridan sat up and pulled the covers primly up to her chest, an odd gesture considering the last three hours of sex and S&M they’d shared.

“What’s up, Sher?” Nora sat on the bed next to the pale, small beauty.

“I don’t know if there’ll be a next time. I’m getting married.”

“Married? People still do that?”

Sheridan laughed. “God knows why, but yes.”

“You’ve told him—”

She nodded. “He says…he’ll try. We’re working on it. He won’t be as good as you, but then again who is?”