Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (28 page)

Under his rough grasp, I felt entirely helpless. The wax dripped slowly on my skin; his hand held me firm. I could still feel his lust; I could still feel the pain. As I sat, staring blankly at the ceiling, I began to feel like those two things—lust and pain—were the only things that were. I felt them both wash over me, and I felt far away. That bit of me in my mind that had always nagged at me, that had sapped my trust in him, disappeared. Cradled in his lap, I felt safe, dominated, and so aroused. It felt like such a natural state. The pain changed. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel it. I did. I just didn’t care. My world became pleasure, and I embraced it without restraint.

I almost didn’t notice when Calvin tilted his chin over my ear and blew out the candle’s flame. I was confused at first when he began to untie the arm binder. It didn’t matter. I moved only enough to help him handle me as he stood me up, corrected my posture, and massaged my shoulders. The stiffness in them felt far away, but it was still nice to have it worked out. He made me take a few deep breaths, cleaned the excess wax off me, and made sure I felt OK. I felt better than OK.

He put the arm binder back on and began to kiss my neck. I let my eyes flutter shut, overtaken by the ticklish feeling. Every touch felt as good as a brush against my pussy. My skin was so charged full of lusty energy, and yet my muscles were so relaxed. I gave an aroused sigh. He walked around my side, kissing all the way. The candle was gone from his hand and in its place was a thin black chain.

He swept his arm around the small of my back and leaned forward. It was nice not to have to question whether he would let me fall. He wouldn’t. Period. Even with my eyes closed, I fell perfectly into his arm, and he kissed my nipple. My chest felt electrified. He let his saliva coat my skin, making every stray breath he breathed over it tickle coldly.

Satisfied after a few seconds, he did the same on my other breast. I moaned so enthusiastically I hardly even felt him pinching the former nipple with a clamp attached to that black chain. My body registered it, but all that came out was pleasure. When he finished with my nipples, and they were clamped tightly, he began to pull at the chain linking them. It hung lewdly across my chest, and with each pull, it tortured my breasts into what I might have thought earlier was agony. Now, it was just another reminder of my place under this overwhelming man.

We kissed, and he alternated sliding his fingers inside me and pulling on his chain. Either way made me gasp with arousal. I felt almost unable to stand after a while of it. Each stroke of his finger inside me was almost too much to bear. The overwhelming sensation took over my mind, making me so horny and so heedless that I would have probably walked into a fire if he had just pushed me toward one. Of course, he wouldn’t have. At that moment, it was impossible.

We walked around the room, him leading me like a dog, walking backward and watching me with his penetrating eyes as I obediently followed him. He was the master, I the slave. I could hardly separate myself from the role. I wanted to please him because pleasing him made my legs shiver. His triumphant look when I bowed to his will was like a drug to me. He stepped forward. I stepped back.

Like dancers, we matched leg to opposite leg as we glided back toward the wall. I didn’t even wince when I felt the icy stone at my back. We were next to a wall-mounted swing and an antique chair with restraints. We were in the shadows. All but blind, I watched his hulking figure thrust into me powerfully, sliding in three cruel fingers to get a response from me. I felt so tight around him.

This is the sort of thing you like, isn’t it?” he hissed. “Pushed up against the wall, chained, grinding on my hand.”

What else could I say but yes?

“You’re going to cum now. Do you understand me.?” he said. It was no question. I felt warmth spread through my groin just from his tone. It was as if my body took his orders literally, as though I’d been trained to flare at his command. He had made me a loyal servant to him, heart and soul. I hadn’t even noticed he’d done it.

I leaned forward, swinging my head from the wall toward his body. My open teeth fell on his shoulder, and I sank them into his skin. He clapped the hand that had been pulling my chain around the back of my neck. His fingers squeezed, and I half kissed, half bit his skin until the arm between my legs began to slow down. I’d hit a sweet spot, and he looked, for a few moments, as though he were overwhelmed by pleasure. I stopped to smile, a half-second’s break. Before I could so much as open my mouth to bite him again, his eyes flashed open wide. His fingers thrust up inside me, and I rolled back my shoulders in a throe of ecstasy. From there on, I didn’t get a moment’s reprieve.

His hand pushed into me like a slow jackhammer, and each filling thrust spread my wetness over his hand. I bucked against it, giving in to his demand. The orgasm was so close. I could feel my legs shuddering uncontrollably. My breath came out in ragged pants as though I’d run some sort of marathon. Up and down my body, my muscles began to heat. I arched my back desperately. My toes curled tightly. It hit hard and lasted long.

Afterward, I slumped forward, all strength gone from my limbs. Calvin caught me and wrapped me in an underarm hug that lifted me off the ground. My chest felt tight from his strong arms, but it felt good not to have to support myself. I felt myself sway as I kissed Calvin’s neck. I tightened my arms around him until he pressed my butt down on a table. I didn’t bother to look at the table. I found out it had restraints when he began to put me in them. I watched him dreamily. It was so nice to lie down that I didn’t even consider why he’d restrained me.

He disappeared for a minute or so after. I relaxed on the table, catching my breath. I was reliving the moments from the first time he ever touched me. Looking back, I never really stood a chance of resisting him. He was a figure of unimaginable proportion to me, a towering willpower I couldn’t and wouldn’t resist. To say I worshipped him wouldn’t have been far from the truth. To me, he was this man of perfect character, so strong and lordly that I felt obliged to obey. No common man could have done this.

What struck me was how well I felt I knew him. He was a man of few words, but I felt as if I spoke his silent language. I felt the softness of his calm mood in his confident posture. I felt the chaos he kept so loosely bound when our skin touched during moments like the one I was in. He was a man who conveyed himself like a tiger, poised and powerful. He had all the promise of danger as well. I loved thinking of myself as his victim. In my secret fantasy, I thought, I would be consumed by his lust, a prisoner to his will and… well, exactly what I had become, I realized.

Calvin had become my fantasy.

“You still look far away,” he said, walking up beside me, trailing the flared head of a riding crop up my leg and over my hips. The leather felt good across my skin. “No matter. I’ll bring you back.” He slapped the leather against the inside of my thigh. I jumped with surprise. Whatever I had been thinking vanished, and excitement restarted my senses. I gasped.

“Hello, slave,” he greeted mockingly. “My name is Calvin. Good to see you again.”

“
Calvin
.” I whispered his name, letting it slide off my tongue as a whining plea. His eyes widened, as he circled the table. He was toying with his prey. I loved every second of it.

Every so often, he sent his crop whipping at a soft part of my body. I got a few slaps on my stomach, a pair on the underside of my breast, one across my cheek. Each hit shook me, and more so because, after the first few, I closed my eyes. He didn’t have to command it. I wanted to deprive myself of all the distractions. Each slap was a gift; it was pleasure candy-coated with pain. I received one after the next, chanting “Thank you, master!” between each set of strikes. I was alone in a world of his attention, captivated by the sensation he doled so easily. I pulled on my restraints only when a particularly hard slap sent my muscles jumping. I didn’t want to escape. I wanted to feel like this forever.

“Aren’t you pliant tonight?” Calvin mused, as his cruel weapon struck me again. My hip winced away. I opened my eyes. “Something about you seems different,” he said and thrust his head down toward mine. I thought he was going to headbutt me—it was so sudden—but I didn’t move. He stopped with our noses almost touching.

“What is it?” he asked, searching my face for his suspected change. I smiled and leaned my unbound head up to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I feel good.”

He kissed me. It was long, slow, and sweet. Our tongues danced languidly, and we breathed heavily out of our noses. His next kiss was on my neck. The one after was on my collar. The next was my nipple. Then my stomach. Then my hip. Then my thigh. Between my thighs. Up my thighs. When his tongue slid over my pussy, I tensed with arousal. He slid his tongue over my clit until I cried out. Each dart of his tongue sent a clap of thunder through my mind. It was torture—the sweetest sensation a man had ever given me with his mouth. Screaming wasn’t enough. I needed him more, harder. I wanted him inside me; I wanted him on top of me.

“Master, please!” I moaned. “Fuck me!
Please
!”

The agony in my voice did nothing to sway him. He teased his tongue over the wetness without mercy. Trapped on the table, I couldn’t even close my legs to recover from the torrent of sensation he inflicted on me. Each wave of lust drowned me deeper and deeper into that mindless place where the room, the world, and even I disappeared, and all that was left was an orchestra of feeling coursing through my veins.

I don’t know how hard I responded, but my hands began to chafe against the restrains. When my orgasm came, it wasn’t as abrupt as before. Perhaps I had been orgasming since he began to touch me, and only now was I at its zenith. I screamed, I recall, like a downed animal. I begged him; I prayed to him; I whined for him. He stopped for nothing. By the time the orgasm ended, I was more exhausted than I had been before.

It made no sense; it wasn’t the first time I’d orgasmed more than once, more than twice even. Yet this time, I felt a total catharsis, an emptying of my emotions so thorough that I was in complete peace. Even in the darkness, I felt all the joy of waking to a sunny morning pouring warm light on your face. I thought I could see steam rising from my skin into the colder downstairs air. It might have just been my imagination. I was too tired to decide.

Calvin disappeared again. When he returned, he released me from the table and carried me upstairs. He laid me on his bed and got us cups of water. I didn’t touch mine much; instead, I just enjoyed leaning on his chest and feeling his heartbeat. Stroking my hand over his abdomen helped keep me grounded. He stroked my hair for a while, and then held my hand. Over time, I felt more myself. It was almost like coming down from a sugar rush after completing a triathlon.

I’m sure I fell asleep shortly after, but I don’t remember. I woke the next day like a new woman. He made me breakfast and took me home, and as soon as he peeled down the road, I sat down and had to assure myself that it had all been real.

Chapter 17

“Mmm,” I said, rolling over on my back. “Are you sure you have to go into work?” I pulled the sheets loosely over my legs, enjoying the satiny feel against my smooth legs.

Calvin threw me a sexy grin. “If I didn’t, you’d be chained to this bed for the rest of the day.”

I smiled, knowing he wasn’t teasing. “Too bad, then. I could do this for hours.” It was true, something about the way he touched me always left me wanting more. He was addictive. Every little taste led to another little taste led to another craving…

“That can be arranged,” he said, smiling. “But tonight, I’m taking you out,” he said, sitting up and stroking my hair. “I’ll be done around five, so I’ll pick you up for dinner then.”

“It’s a date. Are we going somewhere fancy? Should I dress up?”

“Yes. And yes. In fact, there will be a dress delivered to your hotel this afternoon.”

“What?” I sat up in bed. “When did you plan all this?”

He just smiled mysteriously. “You don’t want it?”

I smiled, narrowing my eyes at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“Good. Then, be ready at five.” Calvin gave me one last lingering kiss before pulling himself out of bed to dress for work. I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face as I watched his tanned, muscular back leave the room, remembering the feel of him against me.

***

“Good morning, Ms. Clarke!” A large-toothed woman shook my hand enthusiastically. “I’m Peggy, Peggy Lichstein. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person!”

Despite the muggy spring weather, Peggy wore a double-breasted, navy blazer with matching wool pants and pointed, heeled boots. Her curly brown hair, freshly permed and excessively moussed, bounced when she nodded. She wore bright-red lipstick to match her silk scarf, and when she smiled, there was a tiny smear of crimson on her front tooth.

“Nice to meet you
. Thanks for being available on such short notice.” Peggy was one of the most highly reviewed realtors in the city, and because of a last-minute cancellation, she agreed to meet me at Starbucks off Broadway and Leonard. Well, once she heard my budget—one point eight million—she said there was a cancellation. The cancellation might have been on her part, deciding that I might prove a more lucrative client than her existing ten o’clock.
Not bad for a Wednesday morning,
I imagined her saying to herself after hanging up the phone with a satisfied smile.
Not bad at all.

Because my decision to stay in New York had been solidified, I decided to invest in an apartment. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I had the money; why throw it away on rent? Especially, because I had no interest in having a roommate. On the nights I had to stay in the city, I wanted a place Calvin could come, and we could… well, you know. Buying my own place seemed like a smart financial decision, given that I didn’t need three million burning a hole in my bank account.

Peggy seemed to agree. After her overzealous introduction, Peggy told me she had four apartments to show me, all within my price range. “They’re darling, just darling, dear!” Peggy gushed. “They just came on the market; no one else has even
seen
them yet!”

“Great,” I said, enjoying her energy. “Let’s get started!”

I almost laughed when she walked me into the first place. “
How
much is this apartment?” I asked incredulously. It was about half the size of my hotel room and looked as if it was built in the 1920s, original fixtures included. Even at eleven in the morning, the room was pitch black, tucked away in the back of a building.

“One point five,” Peggy said, checking her notes. “For the price, Sabrina, you cannot beat the location.” I looked around again, unconvinced.

After we left the third bitty apartment, it became apparent that one point eight million, which sounded like an outrageous sum of money, bought you an outdated, wallpapered closet. I was used to high city prices… but I just hadn’t bargained on the real estate market in Manhattan. One thing we had to spare in Texas was space.

On our way to our fourth apartment, I turned to Peggy. “What if we went up to two million— do you think that I’d be able to find something a little bigger? Maybe just a touch newer?” I’d still have a million leftover, plenty to keep me afloat for the near future.

Her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “I thought you’d never ask, dear!”

***

When I walked back into my hotel room that afternoon, my body throbbed with exhaustion from the apartment hunting. Peggy had unearthed another eight places, and my calves ached from climbing stair after stair. I collapsed on the bed, sinking into the feather comforter. The air-conditioned breeze soothed my sticky skin and sleep slowly washed over me, pulling me into a dreamless slumber until my phone on the nightstand next to me began to buzz.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake. I had no idea how long I’d been out. My brain finally processed the ringtone—the one I had set for Mom’s cell. I hadn’t spoken to her since I’d left, only heard snippets of her shrill voice in the background of my dad’s messages. So far, she’d not attempted to talk to me directly. I was curious what she wanted, wondered whether she missed me. A small part of me hoped she wanted to see how I was and let me know she still loved me, although I had a feeling that wasn’t likely.

I let the call go to voicemail, and within a few seconds, it lit back up, signaling a message. Cautiously, I sat up, leaning against the pillows, and pressed play.

“Sabrina, it’s your mother.” Her voice was softer than it had been in the last few messages, more concerned, and I didn’t hear my dad screaming for her to hand over the phone. I wondered whether she was calling from inside her large walk-in closet, among her perfectly lined shoes and color-coordinated blouses, with the door shut, so no one knew she was speaking with the enemy.
Definitely.
It warmed my heart… a little, thinking that she would try at least
this much
to talk to me in a way that my father couldn’t control. But my heart iced over again almost right away…

“Please call me back. It’s Brandon. I’m worried about him, Sabrina. He came by the house late last night, said that he’d gone to see you in New York.
He looked terrible.” She sounded thoughtful, as if only realizing it now.

“I’m so sorry, he kept saying. Sorry that he’d ruined everything. Then, he said he had come by to say good-bye. When your father asked him where he was going, he only shook his head and said that he’d never be able to forgive himself for the pain he caused you. Sabrina—talk to him, will you? I’m scared he’s planning something terrible. I called his mother this morning, and no one has spoken with him since he left our house. Please, you might be the only person whom he’ll listen to.”

She wasn’t even calling for me. She was calling for
Brandon. But as I listened to the message again, concern replaced my anger. I had chills. She wasn’t being shrill or dramatic, for once. She was seriously worried. And although I was very angry with Brandon, and in no way wanted him back, I still cared about him on some level. My mother tended to be overdramatic, jump to the most outlandish conclusions, and the fact that she didn’t seem to be playing it up made me worry more. True, Brandon had been upset during our last conversation, but so upset that he would… No, I didn’t think so. It made more sense that he was saying good-bye to my parents literally, like good-bye, I probably won’t be seeing much of you given that I won’t be marrying your daughter.
Right?

I didn’t know whether I’d fully forgiven him, but I could finally think about him without crying, without feeling an overwhelming surge of anger course through me. Maybe it was because I was moving on, because I found someone whom I felt safe with, and who didn’t want to fix me. Even though I knew Brandon loved me, I always felt as if I needed to try to be better for him, pretend that I was OK when I wasn’t. In a way, he had done me a favor; he’d given me the opportunity to go out on my own, prove I was strong enough.

Deep down, I knew I still cared about him. I wasn’t in love with him anymore, but I didn’t want to see him hurt. I
had,
yes. But now that my hurt had faded, it was easier to forgive. Because, well, I didn’t even want him anymore. Didn’t even want
what could have been
anymore. I wanted what I had now.

He’d come to say good-bye.
That didn’t sound like Brandon, calm, cool-headed Brandon. Was my mom making it up? Using him to bring me home? My gut said no—not this time. Her concern was authentic, which worried me even more. But just because her concern was real didn’t mean her concern was
justified.
I cared about Brandon, but I wasn’t going to let his feelings, or my mother’s, run my life. I had to get ready for tonight. I had to recover from
yesterday.

I’d call him tomorrow, I decided. Give him a day to cool off, calm down, then reach out and see if he’s OK, hear for myself that he was fine. Not today, though. I wasn’t going to give him a chance to ruin the evening Calvin had planned for us.

But there
was
something I needed to deal with.  Chloe.

I hadn’t had the nerve to call, to text… and she hadn’t contacted me.  Had Brandon told her he confessed? Did she know I knew?

I didn’t want to confront her, but I also wanted to put this all behind me. I picked up my phone and dialed. Part of me still hoped… desperately… that Brandon had lied.

“Hey Sabs!”

He hasn’t told her.

“Brandon was here, Chloe.”

“Oh, what a dick,” she said.  “I can’t believe he flew up there! Jealous, I’m sure. Probably hard for him to swallow, you getting all tangled up with a hot billionaire.”

I’d tried to think about what to say, how to ask, but it just came out.

“He said you were the one he cheated on me with. He said you went after him.”

“What?”

“Don’t lie to me, Chloe. Say the truth. You did it, didn’t you?”

She remained silent. “Brandon said he cheated on me with you.”

“And you believe that?” she asked.  No righteous indignation though.  Her voice was quiet, careful.

It was true. “Chloe, how… how could you do that?”

“It’s not…”
              “Don’t lie to me!”

“Sabrina… it wasn’t like that. Look, I’m really sorry. But it was for the best. I didn’t think he could be faithful to you and see, I was right… I…”

“Don’t you
dare
!” I said.  “Don’t you dare pretend you did it
for me.
Brandon… my parents… do you understand, at all, what you did to me, Chloe?! Why?”

“Look, Brandon wasn’t innocent… and yeah, it was horrible, I know… I just, I’d had a few drinks and he was flirting…
I should have told you, I just didn’t want to upset you.”

“He was flirting with you so you thought it was fine to fuck your best friend’s fiancé?!”

“No, Sabrina… look… and everything worked out for the best, right?  You’ve got someone way better. I know you’re really mad, and it’s going to take a lot to forgive—“

“Forgive you? Really?” I asked. Had she always been this self-centered?

“Sabrina…” She sighed.

“Look, Chloe. You’re right about one thing. Things worked out for the best. I know who I can… well, at least, I know who I
can’t
trust now.  You’re the one who said I deserve people who won’t betray me. You’re not one of them, I guess.  Goodbye.”

I clicked off and sat in silence for a few minutes.  Waiting, for the tears, for the breakdown, for the panic, but they didn’t come.  I knew I wasn’t
over it.
I couldn’t imagine being over it. The cheating, the cheating with my best friend,
her
betrayal of me; but it was like I’d reached some critical point where I had nothing left to give these people emotionally. I couldn’t
be
more upset at them. She had ruined my life. My old life. But there was another life, a new life that I was just discovering.

As if on cue, there was a light knock at my door. When I flung it open, as Calvin promised, a big white box sat in the hallway, blue bow perched on top. Hoisting it into my arms, I allowed a giddy little skip into my step on the way back into my room, feeling like the most spoiled girl on Earth. I set it on the bed, beside myself with excitement. I couldn’t wait to see what Calvin chose. It wasn’t so much that it was a present… it was seeing what
he
wanted to see me wear tonight. It was a little glimpse into his desires.

“Holy…,” I whispered as I pulled the dress out of the box. Was he planning to take me to the Oscars? The floor-length gown spilled onto the floor in a sea of green silk, shimmering against the white sheets. When I finally zipped it, I felt like royalty. The silk draped over my breasts, making them look full and lush, exposed my shoulders, and dipped low behind, showing the curve of my lower back. I eyed my milky pale skin. Calvin had seen me in a bathing suit; he must be perfectly happy with my pastiness, I decided. I preferred it myself, to tanning beds and early wrinkles.