Against the Ropes (23 page)

Ten minutes later, I am back at the table, bare. My panties are tucked inside my tiny apple-shaped evening bag. “I hope we don’t have a car accident on the way home,” I grumble. “My mother would be horrified to find out not only was I not wearing clean panties, I wasn’t wearing panties at all.”

Max pulls out my chair and leans over to whisper in my ear. “Don’t sit on your skirt.”

“Why?”

His voice drops, nearly to a whisper. “It’ll get wet.”

All the blood in my body races downward. Moisture pools between my thighs. I surreptitiously flip up the back of my skirt and take my seat. The soft, silk chair cover is cool on my heated skin. Naughty sensations ripple through my core. I am going to ruin this chair, and I can hardly wait.

Wine is poured and the parade of tiny, artfully presented dishes arrives, starting with a caviar and egg thing. Yech. Fish eggs. Disgusting. I brush the tiny, black, gel-like mass off the egg with my fork.

“That’s the best part,” my dinner companion points out. Seated to my left, he is tall and slim, with thinning, silver hair and a long nose. He has a shiny gold tooth and thick glasses. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.

Max slides his hand under my skirt and traces lazy circles up my inner thighs. I glance down to ensure his naughty meanderings are hidden by the tablecloth. My relief is short-lived. His fingers reach their target. I jump in my seat and squeal.

“You really have an aversion to caviar,” Gold Tooth chuckles.

Max strokes his finger along my folds. “This one is quite wet.”

“True. I do prefer mine dry.”

Breathe. In. Out. Slow. Easy.
My teeth are clenched so tight the Jaws of Life couldn’t pry them apart. Yet another phrase to add to the “How to Intensely Arouse Makayla” list.

My white wine is replaced with red. Food comes and goes. I talk to Gold Tooth’s wife about the hospital and the lack of funding. The table conversation turns to whether children should be allowed two or three horses each and where the best place is to buy a fourth home. Max’s fingers continue their incessant stroking, slicking through my folds and around my swollen nub. Sweat trickles down my back. My body is coiled so tight I am sure I will detonate.

When Max’s finger slides inside me, I can’t stifle my gasp. My hips jerk at the unexpected intrusion, and every nerve in my body jolts into awareness.

“I thought I saw the president,” I explain when everyone looks at me. Heads turn in the direction of my gaze, and I slap Max’s hand away. He pushes out his chair.

“I think we’ll step outside for a breath of air before the next course.” Max excuses us and escorts me out of the tent.

Five minutes later, we are locked away inside a small storage room at the end of a long, marble hallway. The room is packed with music stands, boxes, musical instruments, and an assortment of costumes hung from a rail attached to chains in the ceiling. A mirror, a big table, and a few chairs fill the rest of the dusty space.

Max locks the door and turns to give me a wicked grin. “Alone at last.”

“How did you find this place?”

“Advance scouting.”

“You planned this in advance?”

Max wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest. “I like to be prepared for all eventualities.”

“What if I didn’t want to play your game?”

“You always want to play, baby. That’s what I like about you.” He slides his hand under my dress and along my wet folds.

“Bad Max. I can’t believe you did that at the table.”

“Bad Makayla,” Max whispers, his breath hot and moist in my ear. “Running around a big society event without any panties. You need to be punished.” He spins me around and pushes me down on the table. My breasts and belly press tight again the hard surface. He flips up my skirt and runs his warm hand over my cheeks. “You have such a beautiful ass, baby. It just begs to be spanked.”

I glare at him over my shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”

“You showed it to the world. Why shouldn’t I get a little bit more?”

Oh God. Charlie was right. He is pissed at me. I naively thought he was going to let it slide.

He holds me down with a firm hand on my back. My heart beats frantically against the table, and I shudder so violently my teeth chatter. “No. You’re angry. Please. Not when you’re angry.”

“What’s your safe word?”

My entire body goes rigid. My lungs tighten so hard I can barely speak. “Ag—”

Something soft and fluffy tickles my legs, running over the backs of my thighs and then down again. Soft, sensual, and very arousing. My breath whooshes out of me and I slump on the table.

“What is that?” I look back over my shoulder. Max grins and holds up a giant feather duster. He tickles it along the juncture of my thighs, and I squirm on the table as abject terror becomes abject need.

“More?” he whispers, brushing the soft feathers along my folds.

I moan at the delicious sensation. “More.”

Max puts down the duster and removes all the costumes from the rail. He tugs on a rope at the side of the wall and the rail lifts into the air, swinging back and forth on the chains.

“Go hold on to the rail, baby. I won’t restrain you this time. Something is going on with you and until you tell me what it is, the farthest I’ll go is honor bondage.”

“Honor bondage? Sounds like a bad Japanese film.”

Max snorts a laugh. “Go. Stop cracking jokes. You’re spoiling the mood.”

“What mood?” I ask as I round the table. “The Makayla pretends to be a monkey on a flying trapeze mood? I had other ideas about what might happen in here.”

The sound of Max wheezing in a breath startles me. I spin around just as he doubles over with laughter and clutches his stomach.
Yes
. I pump my fist in the air. I cracked the uncrackable Max.

“Stop looking at me,” he barks. “Go and hold on to the rail.”

I grasp the bar overhead with two hands. “Like this?”

“Take a few steps back so your weight is forward.”

After I’m in proper trapeze position, Max tugs the rope and the rail lifts, pulling me up along with it until I am standing on the balls of my feet. I am stretched so high my stomach now forms a highly desirable concave, but my strapless dress is sliding down too far for comfort.

“Um.” I manage to say before my breasts burst free. Classy. I am so cut out for high society.

“Don’t let go.”

“Is that ‘don’t let go in case you hurt yourself’ or ‘don’t let go or you’ll be sorry’?”

Max comes up behind me and brushes his lips over my ear. “What do you think?” he purrs.

“Not really thinking right now, which is my usual state around you.”

Max chortles. “If you move, this”—he strokes the feather duster along my folds—“will become this.” He smacks my bottom with his bare hand and shoots me into shocking arousal.

“Not moving. Not moving.”

With a gentle tap, the feather duster hits my bottom. Max brings it down again and again. Tap. Tap. Tap. How irritating. The impact is barely a whisper, a tease, an amuse-bouche for my behind. I wiggle, seeking more sensation.

“Do you want to be spanked, baby?” He brings the duster down harder and the tickle turns into an itch. Arrrgh. It makes me almost want to say yes. But I don’t. Never really having been spanked before, I have no frame of reference to answer his question.

His hand slides over my bottom, and he brushes a finger through the crevice of my cheeks. I shudder at the intimate touch, but by the time I’ve recovered his finger has moved on, gliding into the wet center of my body. I moan, so ready for him, I can barely stand it.

“Yes, you do,” he rasps.

“Max! Please!” I rock my hips against his fingers as he teases me toward my peak.

“No ‘Max please,’” he murmurs in my ear. “I want to hear ‘yes, Max,’ and nothing else.” He nibbles my earlobe and feather kisses along my neck.

“Yes, Max.”

“Good girl. You get a reward.” He kicks my legs apart and slides his erection, hot and heavy, along my folds.

Jeez. When did he undress?

The violent gesture combined with the erotic sensation of his hot, heavy shaft between my thighs sends a firestorm through my blood. My body trembles with need and the exertion of holding the rail and balancing on my toes. Too much. Too many things to think about. I whimper softly and moisture trickles down my thigh.

“Hold on, baby.” He pulls away and I hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Then he is back, easing me open to accommodate his girth.

“Yes, Max,” I groan.

He laughs, low, deep, and sexy, and then he fills me. Slowly this time. He eases himself into my body and sinks deep. I sigh, relieved to finally have him where I want him. Now, if he would only move.

“I could stay here forever,” he rumbles. Not the words I want to hear.

I angle my hips and push against his pelvis. I need him so badly I ache and throb inside.

“Aaaaagh,” I groan my frustration.

“So impatient,” he whispers. “I know what you want, but it’s better if you wait.”

Better for whom?

His hand slides over my hip, brushing over my mound, before settling on teasing circles around my sensitive nub. My core spasms. He drives and he strokes, building a rhythm, building my need.

My body arches into the sensation, but it isn’t enough. I tighten my grip on the rail and push against his movement. “Harder,” the word comes out before I can stop it. “More.”

He freezes and his voice sharpens with warning. “What did you say?”

My pulse races. “Yes, Max.”

He groans and pinches my sweet spot with firm, gentle pressure, the one touch I was waiting for. My release comes hard and fast, my sex convulsing around him as waves of sensation explode through me.

Max slides his hands to my hips and grips them hard. He increases his pace, driving into me with such force, I can barely keep hold of the rail. My body tightens and I near the peak again. So good. “Yes, Max. Yes. Yes—”

Just as I think my body can’t get any tighter, the sensations any stronger, Max angles himself to thrust against a spot so sensitive my eyes slit closed. My orgasm explodes from me, sending ripples of liquid heat through my body.

With a shout, Max shudders and swells inside me, pumping hard and deep. When he finally stills, he pries my fingers from the rail and pulls me back into his chest. After a few minutes, he gently eases away and disposes of the condom. Then he returns to hold me some more.

I melt into the warmth of his arms. “You’re very creative when it comes to sex.”

Max chuckles. “I used to bartend at a sex club when I was younger. I was curious and wanted to check the scene out from a safe distance. They gave me a few ideas.”

“Are you…into BDSM?”

“I enjoy it as a game, especially the dominance aspect, but not as a lifestyle. I like to be in control in the bedroom and take it right to the edge. Just like in the ring.”

My breath whooshes out of me and I swallow hard. What does that mean? Whips and chains and spankings?
Oh
my
.

We dress in silence and straighten the room. As I reach for the door, Max cups my face in his hands and kisses me, a long, soft, tender kiss. A kiss that says more than words.

***

We make it back to the table just before dessert, a delightful combination of cherries jubilee and chocolate cake. After dinner, music fills the tent and we follow a troupe of dancers into the hall for a Champagne Promenade, followed by a two-hour concert during which at least half the men fall asleep.

By ten o’clock we are back in the tent for the after party. My head is spinning from the overload of sensation and way too much alcohol, but I manage to drag Max to the edge of the dance floor through the hoards of overbearing mothers and their undernourished daughters all trying to get a piece of what’s mine.

“I like jealous Makayla,” Max whispers, when I scowl at another couture-clad matriarch desperately trying to get Max’s attention.

“I’m not jealous.”

“I think you’ve left fingerprints across my hip.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s hard to balance in these shoes.”

“Those shoes put you at a perfect height.” His fingers brush under my skirt, and he pinches my cheek.

“Ow.”

“Max, darling, are you bothering this girl?”

One of the grand dames of the gala kisses Max firmly on both cheeks and then turns her gaze to me. She holds up a thick pair of glasses on a stick and peers at me through at least three thick inches of lens. I shudder under the scrutiny of monster-size eyes and return her stare. She drops the glasses and huffs her derision with an inelegant snort.

“Really, Max. This? Instead of my Tootles?”

“Tootles?” I have to ask.

“My granddaughter. She was with Max for—” She cocks her head to the side and her eyes narrow. “How long was it?”

“I can’t recall, Moira,” Max’s voice is cold and stiff.

“Longer than anyone else. I do remember that.” She peers at me again through her enormous lenses. “They were engaged. Did he tell you that?”

“Engaged? You were engaged? To Tootles?”

“No.”

“Don’t be shy, Max.” The grand dame’s voice becomes decidedly cold. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. There aren’t many men the family would even allow near Tootles. She has one of the finest pedigrees on the West Coast.”

A giggle escapes me. I imagine Tootles as a pedigreed poodle prancing around at a dog show. I should be upset at the revelation, but instead I am amused at the thought of Max with a woman named Tootles. Maybe I’ve had too much to drink.

“Enough, Moria.” Max grabs my arm and pulls me away, but curiosity holds my feet to the ground.

“What happened to Tootles?”

“The same thing that will happen to you.” She sniffs. “He’ll have his fun with you in the storage room, just like he had with every other girl he’s brought to the gala, but in the end, he’ll leave you and marry his own kind.”

My mouth drops open and my heart drops to the floor. My good humor dies a thousand deaths.

“Makayla.” Max touches my arm and I yank it away.

“Look around this room, girl,” she continues. “This is Society with a capital
S
. These are his people. He can have his pick of any of these women. I can tell by looking at you that you don’t belong. Why would he want you except to have a bit of fun?”