Chase (25 page)

Surprised, I consider this. ’Both,’ I say at last.

His gleam of satisfaction is quickly veiled. ‘
Now?
’

He’s asking me join him …
downstairs.
I nod.

His look softens briefly. ‘Freda? Everything ready?’

‘Yes,’ she says quietly. ‘All yours. Usual?’

‘No. Level three.’

Freda stares. ‘
Three?
You sure?’

Their eyes meet and she clears her throat. ‘Fine. Whatever you say.’

Now he turns back to me, his voice low. ‘You broke a whole bunch of rules coming here without me knowing. And that’s given me a whole bunch of ideas. You know about the facilities here and I can only suppose you came here to taste them. But you taste them only with me. So we’ll do it now.’

First we shower. Our session is slow and thrilling, his touch on my skin warm and exciting. The tiny submissions he demands – like stooping low to kiss his erection when I’ve soaped it all over and rinsed it off – send tremors all through me like always. But now there’s something extra, an edge to his quiet commands that sends heat all over me, even in the cold spray.

He forbids me to touch myself and towels me off, holding my gaze. He dresses me for my role and forbids me to speak. Even this is a turn-on.

When he reappears in dark jeans, bare to the waist, I feel horny as heck.

In the mirror I stare, transfixed at my porno chic. I’m wearing a thin leather thong, the straps already cutting into my hips. My breasts bulge and gleam in a slim, tight leather bra, showing more than it covers and uncomfortably taut as my heavy breasts weigh down on its scanty construction.

I’m spared stockings and suspenders but I’m instructed to step into tall, scary heels. They make my legs look long and slender and add a touch of grace to my outfit – if there’s enough of it to call it that.

He reminds me I’m to be supple, graceful and above all available, every hidden part, every secret, private place easy to access so he can do what he has to do.

Hearing him say this makes me throb and it reminds me that what we’re going to do will be physically demanding.

Soon
I’m kneeling in the middle of the room, in a pool of light. My head is bent, my eyes cast down, my hands clasped demurely at my back. I listen for his movement, the soft pad of his feet and the clatter of equipment as he selects objects off the scary, horror-porno rails.

I’m not supposed to look, but every so often I take a peek. My field of vision is limited but beyond the light I catch the occasional glint of metal or the soft sheen of leather from the darker shadows around us. Scarier still is the soft clink of the equipment ranged around the walls as he fingers first one item and then another, feeling its weight, testing resilience, a craftsman amid his tools.

As he moves around the room light catches his gold-flecked hair, his gleaming, oiled torso and the slanting angles of his stunning face. He’s assembling his weaponry for the evening’s entertainment.

He’s in no hurry to begin. The waiting is burning me up.

It occurs to me that maybe I should have had an even longer talk with Freda. Not about Darnley, but about me.

‘Ready? Don’t speak. Just nod.’ His voice is low and measured. The silence around us tells me he’s assembled his tools and now the craftsman’s about to start work.

A shiver runs through me as I nod. He loops me to the trapeze and raises it so I stand on tiptoe.

He walks round me, touching me into position, arranging me to his satisfaction.

‘And now for some darkness. You’ll feel safer.’

Safer?
Is he kidding? But as he slips a sleep mask over my face the scary scene blots out. In one way I feel less scared, like a horse blinkered for a parade. But now I can
hear
– every movement, every breath he makes as he puts the final touches to my position, widening the gap between my feet with the bar, raising my chin, straightening my back.

I hear the brush of fabric as he slips out of his clothes and the soft fall of his feet as he walks back over. Now I shudder as he winds his arms round me and captures my mouth, the contact unbearably warm and loving, and the softness of his lips unbearably romantic.

He kisses me deep and long. I’m thrilled to discover that now he’s naked too, apart from some kind of leather straps around his waist. And as his erection grazes my naked, sweat-misted belly I feel a rasp of something warm and hard lodged in the end –
he’s wearing his stud
.

The thought sends a flare of heat through me as his shaft, huge and hard already, butts against my soft nakedness, teasing my trapped, rigid limbs with nudges of its silky heat.

All at once he steps away and I hear something swish through the air. I feel a flurry of leather land on my back. I gasp, still limp from his kiss as the leather strands land again and again in an easy rhythm.

His voice comes from somewhere behind me. ‘This is the flogger. I’ll just give you a warm-up.’

He sounds light, cheerful, like this is fun. Soon the swishing leather is searching into every cranny of my body, from my legs and thighs to my quivering, stiffening breasts, and even into my soft inner places. The feeling is extraordinary. It’s soft to begin with, once I’m used to the shock. But as it soothes and snaps, over and over, it starts to sting, the places burning hotter under the constant rain of blows. I feel arousal burn.

He moves round behind me and now he starts on my rear end, the lashes falling in a continuous rain on both cheeks as he does some super-slick wrist action thing.

After a while I’m gasping for air, quivering all over as my skin tires of sensation, stimulated past bearing.

He pauses, running his hands over my fiery, sweating flanks. ‘How’re you doing? OK?’ His voice is anxious, his tone low and thrilling.

My burning places flare and tingle, one part especially. I lick my lips. ‘Yes, sir,’ I manage. I feel like I’m on fire, but this is only the start.

He stands very close, breathing deep. I feel his erection again as he brushes against me. It’s even hotter now, scorching on the soft, damp skin at my hip.

His voice lowers. ‘Kneel on the mat, head down.’

I do it, holding my breath, and wait. He turns away for a moment and from the corner of my vision I catch a glimpse of his shaft, tall and purplish, and a glint from the wicked little stud clamped in its rim. The thought sends a flame of arousal through me so acute I wonder if I’ll come on the spot.

‘
Know what? I think we’ll finish this upstairs.
’

In the elevator I lean against him, outwardly weepy and spent, inwardly seething and lustful.

He holds me close and murmurs nonsense into my hair. ‘It’s normal after a session. You’re doing fine. Breathe deep.’

In his room we’re hardly through the door when he falls on my mouth, slamming the door shut by pushing me against it. Our bodies fuse together as his oiled muscles rasp against my still tender softness, his heat searing my tender places, still tingling and eager from constant denial.

My arousal, held off for so long, thuds like a drumbeat. He pushes impatiently, his freed erection and its wicked little stud newly rampant.

I arch to reach him, my skin rippling under his touch as he feels my curves, my tingling breasts and between my legs. His forceful mouth pins me down, his eagerness overwhelming, leaching my will.

All at once he pulls away, exasperated, his erection still hot and bold against my thigh. ‘When can we fix you up with some protection, Ella? I’m so sick of those damned packets.’

I grin against his ear. ‘I already did. Thought I’d surprise you.’

He pulls away and stares down at me. For a moment it’s like Christmas morning dawns in his face. ‘You
did
? You mean, I can just …’

I laugh softly in his ear and caress his hot, hard length, letting my fingers map his ridges and his silky, rigid contours. ‘Yes. You can just do it. All the way. All the time.’

‘Wow.’ He buries his face in my neck for a moment and then leans up over me, solemn now. ‘Thank you, Ella. Wait till I tell Freda. She was standing by with her special collection. Ridges, fruit flavours – the whole bit.’

‘
Freda?
’ Slowly I stiffen below him. ‘You mean
Freda
was there? What,
watching
?’

He leans up on his hands, smiling. ‘Sure. I asked her to watch.’

A chill sweeps over me. ‘Why?’
Is this some new, unspecified kink?
‘Did I miss something? When did Freda become part of this bargain?’

He’s frowning now, like I’m a small child unable to grasp a simple fact. ‘Level three. Our safety code
.
The dungeon’s a dangerous place to get carried away. She makes sure we keep within safe limits. Why? What’s the matter?’

I struggle underneath him, sliding my leg out from his.

As he senses my bid for escape he tightens his grip with a frown. ‘What’s up? Where are you going?’

With difficulty I extract myself, rise to my feet and take some deep breaths. ‘I’m going to bed. You could have warned me she was watching. I don’t want people to watch. I’m not a peepshow.’

He’s on his feet now, glaring down at me. ‘You could have warned
me
we were going commando. I thought couples were supposed to discuss that kind of thing. I asked Freda to watch because I want you to be safe.’

His erection still juts between us, glossy, hot and unsatisfied. I ache to touch it. Instead I steel myself to hold his gaze. ‘You don’t get it, do you, Darnley? I don’t want to be safe because Freda’s watching. I want to be safe because you’re in control.’

I make a dash for the nearest bedroom, slam the door behind me and hurl myself onto the bed, sobbing.

In my misery I pull the cover over me and finally drift into a troubled kind of sleep. I only know it’s that when I wake suddenly in a pool of light. But it’s not yet morning. The light comes from the lamp by the bed.

I stare at it for a moment, puzzled.
Surely I switched that off?

‘You awake now?’ Darnley’s sprawled in the armchair facing me. He looks gorgeous, his long legs stretched out, his short black robe a poor cover for his still-rampant manhood.

With an effort I focus on his face. His gaze is chilling.

My stomach shrinks.

Fully awake now, I haul myself upright. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You are.’ He rises slowly to his feet and walks over to stand beside me.

This close he’s magnificent. He’s freshly showered. His clean, earthy aroma is a heady blend of Darnley and spice.

‘We’re doing this because of the bracelets. We had an agreement.’

‘Sorry. I got a little carried away.’ My welcoming smile freezes.

‘It’s you who doesn’t get it, Ella. You accepted them with the conditions I attached to them. And that means when you wear them, I make the rules.’

His voice is low, his face stern. For a split second I sense a wave of power, the scary inner Wolfe who rose from the ruin of his life to make his millions. He hides it well but all at once it’s shockingly close to the surface.

Slowly he folds his hand around my wrist, circling it with his finger and thumb, squeezing gently. As he does it his robe gapes open, his chest shining firm and golden in the soft light. He looks good enough to eat.

He sits close to me, his eyes dark and keeps his hand firmly in place. ‘I’m not used to having someone this close to me. When we’re together something sparks between us. It scares me sometimes. I may go too far. That’s why I make Freda watch.’

I hold my breath, slipping my hand into his gaping robe and letting my fingers explore the glories of his powerful chest. I massage gently and then kiss his jaw. ‘She’s not watching now, is she?’

I see his jaw clench. ‘In the dungeon, I meant.’

I kiss him again. ‘I know what you meant. But I trust you.’

‘That’s just it. I don’t. I’m a killer, remember.’

I wind my arms around his neck.
No, no. You’re not
. In my head I’m screaming it, but I daren’t say it out loud.
If only I could help him
…

I manage a troubled smile. ‘Coming to bed? Free access, don’t forget.’

‘You think I’d forget a thing like that?’ His voice is husky with need, his face full of pain.

Now
. I lean over and touch my lips to his breastbone. For a second he holds perfectly still while I sink back onto the pillows with a lazy smile. His eyes gleam. ‘Move over.’

It’s like I’ve lit a fuse. In seconds Darnley’s robe is hurled across the floor. It’s quickly joined by the covers as he rips off the bedclothes.

I was soft and easy with sleep. There’s a sudden rush of cold air on my tender, whip-warmed skin. I’m still dressed like a hooker. Now the fire in his eyes reminds me my slicing thong and the thin leather straps of my scanty bra are not just for decoration.

They’re
for
discipline
.

His mouth fastens on mine as he kneels over me, pinning my arms and forcing me back down. I yield to him eagerly, pulsing already as his thighs straddle me, his rigid muscles rasping against my soft curves as his massive, purplish erection looms in my face, his hooded gaze and his set, rigid jaw hinting at the submission he wants from me first.

‘You broke one of the first rules of the submissive. You never,
ever
,
walk out on your Dom. If he wants relief he gets it, period.’

He stoops to touch his lips once more to mine, this time gentle, unbearably tender, a startling contrast to his stern gaze and his curt command.

‘So now he’s going to get it. Slide out and kneel on the floor facing the bed. Just here.’ He pats the edge of the bed and I slither out, newly aroused and eager to please.

I hastily arrange myself to his satisfaction between his knees, hands at my back, eyes down. At last he tilts up my chin, his gaze troubled. ‘You OK?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I murmur softly, while down below a storm rages between my legs. All my punished places scream out for attention. ‘I’m ready, sir.’

Is this what he wants? Does this ritual of respect heighten things for him? Weirdly, it sends flames through me too. I’m rested and refreshed, but still throbbing, yet to be satisfied.