Club Helix: The Power Games (39 page)

And he gives me more. His fingers penetrate my dripping pussy, and I involuntarily clench around him as his fingers and cock move together inside me in perfect rhythm, a flawlessly choreographed dance of dark sensuality.

His use of me in my most private of places reinforces his ownership over me like nothing else could have. And I crave it. I crave his power and domination, and my stomach contracts, my body quivers, and my core tightens as every fiber of my being strains for release. That only spurs him to use me harder, and his fingers press deeper still. He fucks me relentlessly with both his fingers and his cock until I finally can’t hold back anymore. I writhe beneath him as the orgasm crashes over me, pulling me into an abyss of forbidden pleasure as my mind splinters and my body soars. With my name on his lips, he comes with a great shuddering jolt as his arms band around me tightly, and I feel consciousness recede, lost in a haze of mindless pleasure.

I wake up to Roman’s hands on my body, gently stroking and massaging the soreness out of muscles I didn’t know I had. It’s sensual but not sexual, and I relax into the soothing pressure of his fingers as they travel across my skin. When I’m heavy-limbed and drunk with contentment, he turns me in his arms to face him.

“Do you know what I love best about you?” he says.

My heart stumbles at his words.

“My bed head?” I joke self-consciously.

He smiles. “You look adorable when you wake up.”

“Morning breath?”

He kisses me thoroughly, his tongue sweeping into my mouth despite my protests.

“Clearly not,” he says smugly as he releases me.

“I give up.”

“I love your spirit and feistiness.” His hand strokes my hair tenderly. “Even when I punish you for it.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, not understanding what he’s getting at.

He regards me seriously. “After what I did to you last night, I didn’t want you thinking I’m trying to change that about you, or that I was punishing you for who you are. I fucking love it when you provoke me, and I love that you’re strong enough to push back when you don’t agree with something. It makes what happens between us that much more explosive. And,” he adds with a twinkle in his eyes, “it’s that much better when I ultimately get my way with you anyway. There’s nothing a Dominant loves more than a challenge. Unless it’s when that challenge becomes submission.” He tilts my face up to his. “It’s important to me that you know this. I don’t punish you because I want you to change. I punish you because your impudence gives me an excuse to do all the wicked and depraved things I want to do to you.”

I smile. “You’re in luck. I’m not usually like this, but you bring out the rebel in me, and I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut when you get all authoritative on me.” I trail my fingers over his chest, scraping my nail across his nipple and smiling when it hardens. “Was your wife like that? Did she like to tease you like I do?” I ask curiously.

He covers my hand with his, stilling it. “No. Natasha was just the opposite. She was agreeable and eager to please, and she’d do just about anything to avoid a confrontation.” His laugh is brittle. “Actually, she had all the characteristics of the perfect submissive.”

“But she wasn’t?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Are you still on friendly terms?”

He’s quiet for so long I’m afraid I’ve overstepped my bounds.

“Natasha died two years ago,” he says finally.

“Oh,” I breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

I want to hold him and comfort him, but he pulls away from me, rolling onto his back.

“I killed her.” He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair in a gesture I’ve come to recognize as a sure sign he’s either frustrated or uncomfortable, both of which are exceedingly rare. Roman is one of the single most confident people I have ever met. “Not literally,” he qualifies. “She didn’t die at my hand, but I’m responsible for her death as surely as if I had killed her myself.”

“Whatever happened to her, I’m sure you weren’t responsible for her death,” I say quietly.

“I was,” he says flatly. “I knew Natasha wasn’t submissive; it was why I’d hidden my true self from her from the beginning. In fact, when she found out what went on at BDSM clubs, she was equally repulsed and horrified. But she was desperate to save our marriage, and she apparently decided the only way to do that was to pretend to be something she wasn’t. It wouldn’t have worked. The need to have control and dominate and even the need to inflict pain is too ingrained in who I am for me to be married to someone who’s completely turned off by it, which I should have known before I married her. But I was young and idealistic, and so was she. She didn’t talk to me about it. If she’d been honest, we could have at least parted friends. And she wouldn’t be dead.”

I tentatively place my hand in his, and this time he threads his fingers with mine, our clasped hands resting on his stomach. He takes a deep breath and continues.

“She did some research and went online and found someone who promised to train her to be a submissive. It turns out he was a man who made a career out of preying on vulnerable women. He may have killed her, but I’m the one who’s responsible for her death. If it weren’t for me, it never would have happened.”

I can’t imagine the horror he’s been through, carrying the knowledge that his wife had died trying to be someone she wasn’t for him. But while I of all people know how it feels to carry the heavy weight of guilt for being responsible for someone’s death, I also know he didn’t kill her. Natasha was a grown woman who had made her own choices. Bad choices, but still choices.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I repeat.

“Whether it was or wasn’t is irrelevant now,” he says briskly. “I won’t make the same mistakes again. Now I stick to strict Dom/sub relationships where there’s a contract and no misconceptions about who I am and what I want. You know exactly what you get with me if you’re my submissive—pain wrapped in pleasure. While the devil inside me may have driven Natasha to her death, I won’t apologize for who I am anymore. I’ve embraced the monster.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” I say softly.

His eyes meet mine. “I’ve had many submissives since Natasha, but you’re the only one who’s not afraid of the darkness in me that lurks just below the surface. It defies logic,” he adds with a tinge of wonder in his voice. “You’re as inexperienced as they come, yet no matter how far I push you or how depraved I am, you always meet me halfway. And so I push harder because I need to know I can’t break you. But the bitch of it is, I want to. I want to strip you of the very composure that makes it possible for you to stand up to my demons. I want to destroy you, but at the same time, I’m terrified that I’ll break you and kill the thing I love most about you in the process.”

This insight into Roman’s psyche is unexpected. I don’t know if Roman’s opening up to me now because of what he did to me last night, but I’d readily endure any punishment, no matter how harsh or cruel, if the trade-off is this rare glimpse into Roman’s soul.

“I’m not Natasha. You’ve taught me just how strong I am.”

“Everyone has their breaking point, Ava. I just haven’t found yours yet.”

“You won’t,” I assure him as I allow my hands to roam over the hard planes of his chest. I would give anything to take away the tortured pain I see in his eyes. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I trust you to know my limits.”

“I don’t,” he says flatly. “And my biggest fear is that you don’t either.”

* * * *

On Tuesday morning, Logan announces the next event in the games.

“One purpose of the Power Games is to highlight the various amenities of Club Helix,” he begins. “Throughout the games so far, we’ve showcased the pool, the various restaurants, the special-events rooms, the Helix Room of course, and even the suites. How about the versatility of the beds and the grid that’s constructed over the bed, gentlemen?”

The guys cheer and whistle.

“Tonight’s games will be at the Helix Club’s casino. This is a special preopening party that’s by invitation only, but we’ve invited quite a few travel writers, bloggers, newspapers, and travel agents, so this will be a PG-rated event with everyone fully clothed. Dress is formal, and we want you all to look your best, so the ladies will be treated to a shopping excursion after breakfast to choose gowns to wear tonight.”

Tessa squeezes my hand under the table. “Yes! Shopping!” she cheers.

“Of course this wouldn’t be the Power Games if there wasn’t a sexy component to it,” Logan continues with a smile. “Here’s how it will work. Each contestant will be given ten thousand dollars at the beginning of the evening to gamble with.”

I gasp softly. Ten thousand dollars is probably pocket change to Roman, but that’s six months of rent for me. I shake my head slightly as Logan continues.

“At the end of the evening, you’ll cash in your winnings. The couple with the most money will win immunity and is guaranteed to move ahead to the next round, which, as you know, is the last round before the finals. The rest of the contestants can use their winnings to buy things from a predetermined list.”

He nods to Rachel, who’s manning the laptop, and a chart pops up on the screen behind him.

“Here’s the list of things you can buy with your earnings. Please note these purchases are for the individual contestants to buy with their own winnings. There are some pleasurable items you can purchase for yourself, such as a night out without the camera crews, a massage, or being brought to orgasm however you wish. Or you can buy a punishment for someone else—a rival, your submissive, or if you’re really brave, your Dom.”

The girls titter nervously. I look at the list of punishments. Some things like spending the night in a cage and orgasm denial I understand. Others are like a foreign language.

“What’s figging?” I lean over to ask Roman.

“It’s when a piece of ginger is peeled, carved into the shape of a butt plug, and inserted into the anus. The juices from the ginger give a very intense sensation of burning without causing any physical harm and can last anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour and a half.” His lips curl into a grin. “When the wearer’s muscles clench, like when they’re being spanked, for instance, the sensation is even more intense. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

“That’s okay,” I say hastily.

After breakfast, the girls pile into one of the hotel’s limousines, and we’re whisked off for a day of shopping. It’s like being in
Pretty Woman
; we don’t have to pay for anything, and we have a blast trying on evening gowns and shoes and modeling them for one another without so much as a glance at the price tags. I finally settle on a sparkly, backless, full-length, deep-red dress that hugs every curve, and I’m practically giddy at the thought of Roman’s face when he sees me in it.

Tessa and I wait for our dresses to be bagged while Carly and Rebecca go to the restroom.

“I love your show,” the salesgirl says in a conspiratorial voice. She looks at me curiously. “You’re the Blindfold Girl, aren’t you?”

“Apparently,” I say wryly.

Tessa looks at me questioningly.

“Don’t ask,” I say, rolling my eyes.

The salesgirl knots the bottom of each bag and hands them to us. “Just for the record, I’m Team Emmett,” she says with a wink.

“What was that about?” Tessa asks as we walk out to the waiting limousine.

“I have no idea,” I say. “I ran into a fan in Sonoma who told me she was Team Roman. I guess people are picking their favorites. I guarantee there’s a Team Luke out there.”

“Maybe,” she says, but she doesn’t look convinced. “Or maybe they see what I did between you and Emmett and are rooting for you to be with him.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. Emmett and I are strictly friends,” I protest.

Our conversation is cut short by the return of Carly and Rebecca, and we finish our shopping before stopping for a late lunch. We sit in the welcome cool of the Mexican restaurant, eating chips and hot sauce and drinking margaritas, and the talk turns to flogging.

“It’s wonderful.” Tessa sighs. “There’s nothing like the kiss of a dozen strands of leather to get me off like a rocket.”

“I’m not much of a fan,” Carly admits. “But I pretend I am. Otherwise Michael would be flogging me every day.”

“Me neither,” I say. “It sounds pretty awful, and my very brief experience with it at Western Night wasn’t erotic at all!” I turn to Tessa. “You really like it?”

“I love it!” she assures me. “But it’s all in the way your Dom flogs you. If he wants to hurt you, believe me, a flogger can hurt like a bitch. But if he does it for pleasure, there’s absolutely nothing like it.”

“You’re smart to stay away from it with a sadistic Dom like Roman,” Rebecca says with a malicious little smile. “I know a girl he flogged at the Dominion who had welts all over her body that lasted for days. I’ve heard he’s even more vicious with a whip.”

Although I wish for Roman’s sake that I could do this, this is one area where I just can’t meet his monster.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Roman

Ava insisted that she wanted to surprise me with her dress, so at exactly eight o’clock I knock on the door of my own suite, appreciating the irony of it. Then she opens the door, and I forget everything else. The sight of her in a body-hugging red dress that perfectly accentuates her subtle curves, the back cut out to show a tantalizing expanse of her smooth, flawless, pale skin, has my pulse racing and my dick straining. Her long dark hair is loosely swept up to the side, exposing her slender neck, and with a growl, I pull her to me, sinking my teeth into her flesh. Her pulse quickens, and I unhurriedly move to her lips. She opens to me, her tongue tangling with mine as her fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer. I am, without a doubt, the luckiest man in Las Vegas tonight, regardless of whether I win at the casino.

“You look absolutely stunning,” I say, pulling back from her slightly, and she smiles with pleasure.

“You like it?”

“I love it. And I love you in it. And I’ll love getting you out of it even more,” I add wickedly.