Afterlife (46 page)

boy’s losing his touch.” Peter gave

Lucas a wry look, and

the CFO shrugged.

“We al know it doesn’t have anything

to do with time, not

when there’s already a relationship

in play. It has to do with

the type of catalyst you bring to the

table.” Lucas

considered Rachel as she stopped in

front of one of the

view screens, every line of her curvy

body shimmering, as if

there was an electric current causing

her to vibrate. “Jon’s

picking up on it though. Notice how

close he’s staying? She

could get knocked off balance and

pushed under pretty

quickly.”

“Yes, Obi-wan. You afraid she’l eat

more candy than is

good for her? Isn’t that Dana’s

problem?” Ben grinned and

winked at Lucas behind Peter’s

broad shoulders.

Lucas snorted. “Dana was already

wel immersed in the

club scene when Peter met her. She

has an endless

capacity for sweets.”

“That’s for damn sure.” Ben tossed

Peter a smirk and

Peter shoved at his stool with a

booted foot. Neatly surging

to his feet, the lawyer caught the

stool, keeping his whiskey

steady in the other hand. “Easy there.

Just making sure the

almost-married bear stil knows how

to growl.”

“He’l be happy to put his big furry

foot up your ass. With

claws extended.”

“Don’t tempt me with foreplay,

soldier boy.”

“Hmm.” As unofficial point man

tonight, and used to their

byplay, Lucas brought his attention

back to Jon, watching

how the man gauged her reaction to

each display. The

CFO lifted his brow when he let

Rachel drift back to one,

like letting a compass choose north.

“Look sharp, gentlemen. Surreal’s

going to get a rare

public performance from us tonight.

Jon’s made his

choice.”

Chapter Fifteen

Though the biggest crowd was in

front of the girl in rope

suspension, Rachel’s curiosity drew

her to where a woman

was pil oried between two posts, her

legs spread out wide

enough that her cuffed ankles could

be hooked to the

eyebolts there. The same had been

done to her arms, held

straight out from the shoulder. The pil

ars were carved in the

shape of elongated male and female

nudes, rough, simple

outlines in the wood so that it kept its

functional post shape.

The images reminded her of Shakti

and Shiva, the male

and female deities that symbolized

the
kundalini
energy

exchange in Tantra. She noticed worn

places on the posts,

where she imagined countless fingers

like this woman’s

had clung, the grain smoothed by the

friction and

perspiration of nervousness, desire,

pain.

She jumped when the whip hit, a cat-

o’-nine that fanned

out over the woman’s shoulders, her

back, then lower,

across her naked buttocks. She had

on a simple col ar, a

silver cuff. However, it appeared to

be custom made,

suggesting the man whipping her was

her dedicated

Master. More than that. Rachel’s

gaze strayed to the only

other jewelry they wore…matching

wedding rings.

The woman’s back was already red

with the stripes, her

ass pink and inflamed with heat. He

came to her then,

yanking her head back by her hair and

kissing her while

she moaned, obviously close to

climax. She was begging

in a harsh whisper, words easy to

read. “Please let me

come.” The Master caressed her

throat, her jaw, shook his

head. Clamped a hand on her tender

backside and

pinched hard, making her cry out and

writhe more.

Jon shifted Rachel in front of him so

she could see better.

It also al owed her to lean back

against him, gave her his

protection on al sides, and in front by

the one arm he had

around her waist. He slid the other

hand under the clinging

fabric, over her hip bone and then

down, down, two fingers

surrounding and pressing on her clit,

idly tormenting her

there. If the Master on the platform

turned around, he could

easily see what Jon was doing. The

dual stimulation,

mental and physical, had her leaning

more ful y into her

escort. “Keep your hands at your

sides, palms open,” Jon

said in her ear. He’d anticipated how

difficult it was to do

that rather than reach up, hold his

neck, or even grip a smal

fold of his slacks to hang on as an

anchor.

Her breasts had ached in reaction to

the girl in breast

bondage, nipples of course drawing

up hard, and now they

burned for attention. Al of her did,

every inch of flesh. She

wanted to be the woman in front of

her. She wanted al the

clothing stripped away, wanted Jon

to touch and mark

every inch of her overheated, needy

skin. The music from

the dance floor was pumping through

the soles of her feet,

and the energy of this place was like

that, surging through

her, matching her increasing

heartbeat, her increasing wild

need to let out some of the desire she

was feeling. She

wanted this, this form of painful

release she’d never

experienced directly, but wanted to,

so badly.

The Master had uncuffed his wife,

helping her straighten

from the spread-legged position. He

massaged her hips

and her wobbly knees, suggesting

she’d been there awhile.

Then he recuffed her wrists to one

another and did the

same to her ankles, holding onto her

to keep her steady.

Bending, he lifted her over his

shoulder, her cuffed hands

fal ing down his back as he put his

hand squarely on her

abused backside, his fingers settling

over the glistening

and flushed cunt they could see

through the almond-shaped

opening between her thighs. Holding

her like that, he slid

two fingers in, then used his thumb to

massage her clit. So

highly aroused, he’d known he’d

finish her in such a

vulnerable position. She cried out,

begging him for

permission.

“Please, Master…let me come. Let

me come.”

“Come. Gush for them. Please your

Master.”

Her body writhed on his shoulder,

and Rachel

appreciated the man’s brawny

strength, because it would

take some power to hold a climaxing

woman so stil , though

having the ankles and wrists bound to

one another as they

were certainly helped, she was sure.

The woman squirmed,

screamed, shuddering, convulsing,

and Rachel couldn’t

look away to see if the audience was

as riveted as she

was, though she gave a little cry of

her own as Jon’s fingers

rasped over her clit. A hard stroke,

his mouth opening on

her throat to set his teeth there, as the

woman came.

In that position, they al saw the

creamy fluid spil from her

cunt in several generous offerings. As

Rachel watched, the

Master beckoned to a man in the

crowd. Intrigued, she

watched a handsome blond with

vivid green eyes come to

the platform. He placed a familiar

hand on the Master’s

chest.

The brawny man covered the other

man’s hand with

sensual affection, making it clear the

three were intimate.

The blond said something that had the

other man smiling,

then he leaned in and licked away her

release, running his

other hand over her buttocks around

the Master’s hand,

caressing, enjoying and reassuring

her at once. She made

those bleating noises and shudders

that came with

aftershocks, and Rachel realized she

was matching some

of those movements with tiny jerks of

her own as Jon

continued to work her clit with such

slow and maddening

movements.

As the three moved off, he lifted his

mouth from her

throat. She felt the throb of where

he’d bitten her, knew from

the ache he’d left another mark over

the first.

“Your turn,” he said.

She wasn’t sure she’d heard him

right, but then he

smoothed her dress and stepped up

the short step to that

platform. As he tugged her with him,

the heat of the

spotlights was suddenly closer and

brighter. In her tour of

the public play area, he’d recognized

the one scene that

fascinated, disturbed and scared her

the most. Pil oried,

stretched between two demands,

helpless to them.

Short and snug as the dress was, the

coverage was

somewhat of an il usion. But she

noted how he’d smoothed

it back in place before he brought her

up here. He could

strip and bind her, but he’d obviously

wanted the crowd to

see her at the beginning, put together,

sexy, beautiful. She

saw al of that in his eyes.

When was the last time she’d thought

of herself that way

without prompting? Laying her hand

against the Shakti

side, he guided the other one so her

palm pressed to

Shiva. Now that she was up here, she

could see the posts

could be adjusted, that they were

fixed onto curved tracks

that would al ow them to be closer,

wider, or even at

diagonal angles.

He’d chosen two sets of cuffs from

an attendant, and now

he brought them to her. She stared up

at him, barely

breathing as he kept his attention on

her wrists, wrapping

the cuff snugly on her right wrist, then

hooking it to that

eyebolt. She couldn’t speak. She

didn’t know how right

now. She felt held there by what he

wanted, what he

seemed to know she wanted, and that

want was growing

large, capable of crushing her with

its weight.

“Sshh…” he murmured, though she’d

said not a word. He

threaded a hand through her hair, a

gentle stroke that

became firmer as he tilted her head

back. He was so

close, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead,

his gaze roved over

her face, her lips, making them part,

making her wet them,

wanting his kiss. He smel ed so good,

that male aftershave

smel . The jacket etched the line of

his shoulders, drawing

her attention to the tie around his

corded throat, the tie

she’d tied for him. The silken, ebony

strands of his hair

brushed his col ar, and she fol owed

that to the smooth line

of his shirt, how it delineated his

chest. As he shifted, her

attention went to the belted slacks,

the muscular waist she

knew was under that buckled strap,

and even lower, to the

cock she knew was already straining

the fit of the tailored

slacks. Her fingers curled in the

cuffs, registering the

unmovable force of the posts.

He stepped back then. An attendant

had brought

something else to him, the briefcase

he’d carried into her

apartment that first night. Though her

back was now to the

crowd, she had a sense that it was

growing in size. Given

the deference Jon was shown here,

and the artistry and

skil s he’d shown her in a short time,

she realized he could

be a popular performer. It gave her a

sinking feeling, but

he’d said she was special. Different.

Could she believe

that? Was she hopelessly deluded

and naive? And could

she real y resent how he’d obtained

his skil s, skil s that had

so far brought her to some of the most

intense sexual

experiences she’d ever had?

She started as a familiar hand slid

over her lower back.

She looked up into Peter’s eyes, and

he nodded toward

her opposite side. “I don’t think

you’ve met Ben yet.”

She shifted her attention to another

impossibly

handsome man, one perhaps a year or

so younger than

Jon, with black hair and bril iant

green eyes. Though not as

broad as Peter, his shoulders were

certainly broad enough,

his fit body enough to command a

woman’s attention. He

wore a charcoal gray suit, an emerald

tie over a black

dress shirt.

“And you remember Lucas.”

Lucas stepped up behind her, so she

had to turn her