Club Helix: The Power Games (26 page)

That gets her attention. “I’m supposed to thank you for punishing me?” she asks, flabbergasted, and I have to fight back a smile. “What kind of punishment?”

“Punishment can be anything—I may spank you, whip you, give you a writing assignment, or take away a privilege. And sometimes I’ll spank you simply because I can and because I enjoy it, and to remind you of your place.”

“This doesn’t seem fair at all,” she huffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“It’s not meant to be fair,” I say.

“Isn’t this supposed to be negotiable?” she asks a little wildly.

“The fine points are negotiable. The basic rules are not. If you want to be my submissive for the remainder of the games, you’ll agree to them.”

“Well, fuck,” she grumbles.

“This is what you asked me for, Avalon,” I remind her softly. “You said you wanted to be my submissive and give yourself completely to me. This is what that means. Do you still want this? Now is your chance to quit if this isn’t what you want.”

“I don’t want to quit,” she whispers, her gaze flitting back to the camera briefly.

“You will wear a collar as a symbol of my ownership and your submission to me. You will do what I command you to do, immediately and unquestioningly. Do you agree?”

Ava’s quiet for a long time, worrying her lip so much with her teeth that it’s all I can do not to reach across the table and kiss her until she can’t breathe or think or do anything but give in to me. But this has to be her decision. I’ve never taken a woman unwillingly before, and I’m not about to start.

I can tell by her expressive eyes that she’s shocked and outraged and maybe even a little appalled by my words. But while her mind seems to resist everything I’ve suggested, her body clearly craves it. Her skin is flushed, her pupils are huge, and the tablecloth rustles as she shifts in her seat, her thighs no doubt pressing together tightly under the table. I would bet my entire company that her panties are damp beneath that tantalizingly short little dress.

Finally, her gaze meets mine. “I agree.”

Thank God. She had mesmerized me before I ever touched her. Now that I’ve had a taste of her, the thought of initiating her into my world and molding her into the perfect submissive for me is downright intoxicating.

“Thank you, Avalon.”

She colors prettily and then looks at the cameras again before looking back at me. “Should we discuss the hard and soft limits now?”

I stare at her, wanting to savor this moment.

“Or not,” she adds belatedly when I don’t answer. “Um, what do you want to do?”

“I want to unlace you out of that dress and have you right here on the dining room table,” I growl honestly.

Her eyes widen. “But the cameras…” she whispers.

“I don’t give a damn about the cameras, and neither should you. Focus on me, Avalon.” I raise one eyebrow. “Unless you’d like a little taste of punishment right now?”

She swallows audibly before shaking her head. I pass a copy of the contract she filled out before the show across the table to her. “Turn to the second page, please.”

She obediently turns the page.

“You’ve indicated you’re okay with any and all kinds of restraints and bondage,” I continue. “Do you want to go over any of these? Do you have any questions?”

She shakes her head mutely.

“So no changes?”

“No.” Her answer is barely audible.

“All right, the next page covers toys. Anything here you’re unfamiliar with?”

She laughs. “I’m unfamiliar with all of it!”

“Okay, let’s start at the top. You’ve experienced clamps. You’ve also worn a plug, so I’m going to assume you’re okay with that. How about dildos and vibrators?”

“Can we just not do this?” she begs, her voice ragged.

I look up at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“This!” She gestures at the paper in front of her. “I don’t want to go over this again; it was hard enough the first time. If you make me go through this item by item, I’m going to run, and I probably won’t stop until I get back to New York. I don’t know what anything is or whether I would like it or not, other than the things I’ve already listed as hard limits. You decide. I trust you. That’s what this is about, right?”

I sit back, stunned. “You’re willing to agree to whatever I want, carte blanche?”

She nods. “Except for the flogger. I…I don’t want to be whipped again.”

I mentally kick myself for asking Collin to use the flogger on her during Western Night. Now it has negative connotations for her. I know I’m an asshole for wanting to push her on the only thing she wants to limit, particularly since she’s leaving the rest to me, but my God, do I love flogging a woman. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t imagined how her pale skin would redden under the flogger’s kiss, or how intoxicating it would be to mark that flawless skin. “Will you at least consider it? A flogger in the hands of the right Dom can take you to subspace.”

“What’s subspace?” she asks suspiciously.

“Subspace is when a submissive’s mind and body are so deeply immersed in the intense experience of pleasure and pain that the nervous system dumps epinephrine and endorphins into the bloodstream, producing a similar effect to morphine. It can increase your pain tolerance, but it also produces a trancelike state that most submissives find extremely satisfying.”

“I see.” Then she shakes her head and levels that straightforward gaze back at me. “Actually, I don’t see at all!” she admits with frustration. “How is that even possible?” She takes a breath. “This is a lot to absorb in one day. Can I say no for now, but I’ll think about it?”

“Of course you can,” I assure her. “I only have the power that you give me.”

She smiles at me tentatively. “Okay, then.”

I smile back. “Okay, then. There’s just one last thing to do.”

Chapter Seventeen

Ava

Roman’s one last thing is stopping off at Tiffany & Co. at the Bellagio and buying a small padlock made out of eighteen-karat gold and engraved with the Tiffany & Co. logo that sets him back two thousand dollars.

“What’s that for?” I ask suspiciously.

“You.”

“You can’t spend that on me!” I protest.

He silences me with a threatening look, and I immediately acquiesce, unwilling to earn one of the punishments he’d referred to at Lemongrass. Although Roman’s last punishment had resulted in an earth-shattering orgasm, the thought of a true punishment, even at Roman’s hand, makes me shudder. We make two more stops—one at a tiny, out-of-the-way jewelry store where I stay in the limo while he goes inside and the other at the small boutique at the Helix where guests can purchase a variety of toys for the kind of kinks and pleasures the hotel caters to. I go upstairs to get ready for dinner while he shops at the hotel boutique, and he returns to the suite with a nondescript brown package that’s quite honestly making me a little nervous.

At dinner, I’m too preoccupied to do much more than push my food around my plate and listen halfheartedly to the conversation around me. We’re sitting with Luke, Tessa, Jake, and Rose, and the conversation centers on Sabrina, Shawn, Eva, and Sam, who have been the most recent contestants to be voted off.

“If you guys will excuse us, we have some matters to attend to,” Roman says abruptly, pushing his chair back and holding his hand out to me. The look in his eyes is smoldering, and it matches the heat that’s been burning through me since we negotiated the terms of our relationship for the rest of the games. I have butterflies in my stomach as I lay my napkin down, and my gaze darts to Tessa. She winks and smiles.

“See you two later,” she says with a wave.

Rose looks from me to Roman. “Damn!” she says softly. “If the hotel catches on fire tonight, we’ll know where it started. You two stay out of trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble,” Jake says, capturing Rose’s chin in his hand. “We have a few matters to discuss ourselves.” He looks at her meaningfully, and she flushes.

“Yes, Sir,” she breathes.

I don’t get to hear any more because Roman’s guiding me out of the restaurant, his hand firmly pressed against the small of my back.

“I’ve been waiting all day to get you out of that dress,” he growls as we get into the elevator. The door isn’t even closed all the way before he’s crushing me against the wall, one hand pinning my wrists over my head and his other hand fisting in my hair. His lips bruise mine as he kisses me brutally. When the elevator door opens on our floor, we’re both panting.

The door to our suite is barely closed before he’s kissing me again, his tongue skirting the fine edge between lust and violence. He angles his head to kiss me deeper, and when he pulls away, his eyes are glittering with desire.

“I want you naked,” he rasps. “Now!”

I move my fingers to lower the straps of my dress, but he intercepts me, brushing them away roughly. “I’ll do it.”

He turns me around and methodically unlaces my dress, then spins me back around to face him. I stand still as he gives one sharp tug, and it puddles around my ankles. His gaze roves over my bra and panties.

“Take them off,” he commands. Roman’s in full-blown Dom mode now, and tiny daggers of anticipation prick across my suddenly hypersensitive skin.

But I’m ready for whatever this evening holds. I want to be initiated fully into Roman’s world. I hold his gaze as I slowly unclasp my bra and remove it, conscious of the way the cool air of the hotel room caresses my nipples, making them pucker. His eyes darken. I peel my panties off and step out of them so I’m standing naked in front of Roman, who’s still dressed in his trademark expensive dark suit.

“Kneel!”

I awkwardly lower myself to my knees.

“You will practice that until you can do it smoothly,” he continues as he slowly circles me. “When I command you to kneel, you will do so immediately. Keep your back straight, your thighs slightly parted, your hands resting on your thighs, and your gaze down unless otherwise instructed.”

“Why can’t I look at you?”

“No more talking!”

Duly chastised, I lower my gaze and close my mouth. He leaves me there for a while, and I can hear the rustle of paper as he moves around the room, but I don’t dare look up to see what he’s doing.

“Good girl. You may stand now.”

I slowly stand, still keeping my eyes down. He lifts my chin with his finger. “The rule about keeping your eyes downcast only applies to when you’re kneeling,” he says softly. “I like to see your eyes. It’s the only time I have any idea what you’re thinking.”

He holds up a thin circle of polished silver about five millimeters wide that fastens with a hasp and staple—a horizontal slot in the metal that fits over a U-shaped ring on which the padlock he bought at Tiffany’s hangs. My breath catches as I realize what it’s intended for.

“This is your collar,” he says, confirming what I’d already guessed. “Lift your hair.”

I gather my hair up with trembling fingers, holding it in a pile on top of my head as he fits the collar around my neck and fastens it, locking the padlock onto the collar with a tiny key. The reality of being truly owned settles over me with a knowledge much heavier than the slight weight of the collar. Although it’s barely thicker than some necklaces I’ve worn, what the circle of silver represents and the fact that it’s locked into place and only Roman can remove it sends my pulse racing.

“You’ll wear this for the remainder of our time on the show. It’s sterling silver, so you can wear it everywhere—in the shower, at the pool, and to sleep in. It will serve to remind you that you belong to the one who put it around your throat. You’re mine.” His eyes smolder with desire.

I try to swallow past the lump that has suddenly lodged in my throat as my heart rate careens wildly.

“On your hands and knees,” he snaps. “Crawl to the bedroom.”

I look at him in outrage. “You want me to crawl? Like some kind of animal?” I ask indignantly.

He grabs the padlock and pulls me toward him, tugging up until I’m standing on my tiptoes, my eyes gazing into his uncompromising ones. With his other hand, he grasps one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger and twists cruelly, making me squeak.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice quiet but lethal. “You will obey me without question, Avalon. You will address me as Sir from this point forward. And you will not speak again unless it’s to say
yellow
or
Anthony
.” His face hardens at the mention of Anthony’s name, and his hand on my shoulder isn’t soft or gentle as he pushes down, forcing me to my knees. “Now crawl to the bedroom and wait for whatever I decide to do to you.”

With humiliation flowing over me, I crawl on my hands and knees to the bedroom as he follows behind me. I hate that he’s making me do this, and I hate that I’m actually doing it, my sex becoming slick from the degradation as much as from his absolute authority. What the fuck is wrong with me that this treatment makes me want him even more?

Once we’re in the bedroom, he pulls me to my feet and wraps leather cuffs deliberately around each of my wrists. This time he doesn’t ask for my wrists; he simply takes them. I’m his now to do with as he wants.

“Kneel on the bed.”

I’m not sure whether to walk or crawl, but I’m certainly not about to ask him. Deciding to play it safe, I drop to my hands and knees again and climb the single stair onto the platform where the bed is positioned like it’s the focal point of the room. I crawl onto the bed and assume the position Roman taught me just a few minutes ago—spine straight, knees parted, hands resting on my thighs, eyes downcast.

“Nicely done,” he says approvingly. “You may look at me.”

My eyes meet his. They have darkened to a stormy blue and are filled with the promise of sin and debauchery.

“I realized at the restaurant that I need to work on your concentration and your ability to tune out what’s going on around you and focus only on me. If I gave you a stroke for each time you looked at the cameras today, you wouldn’t be able to sit down.”

I look at him wild-eyed. There’s a faint hint of humor in his hungry eyes that makes me think he’s not actually going to punish me, but then again, this is Roman. He’s blatantly admitted he loves nothing more than to hurt me, and I’ve given him the perfect excuse. Trepidation wars with excitement, and my traitorous body is the battlefield. I’m dying to ask him what he’s going to do, but he was very clear on the fact that I’m not to speak, so I wait, my heart hammering.