Club Helix: The Power Games (7 page)

“What about you?” he asks. “Where are you from?”

“New York.”

“And your family?” he presses. “Do they live in New York also?”

“There’s just my mother. She lives in Seattle.” This is really none of his business, and I have no desire to tell him anything more about my family. “I just graduated from NYU,” I add, veering to a safer topic.

“What did you get your degree in?”

“Marketing and design. I want to do Internet design. Logos, websites, stuff like that.”

I feel ridiculous. We’re exchanging pleasantries like we’re on a regular date, but I’m blindfolded. And he’s not. It doesn’t seem quite fair. I’m desperate to see his face, to read his expressions, or to at least see out the window and know where he’s taking me.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“When are you going to take the blindfold off?” I ask.

“When are you going to stop trying to control everything?” he counters. “I’ll take it off when I’m ready.”

I bite my lip, wanting to ask when that will be, but I know he won’t give me a definitive answer.

He growls, and then his lips are on mine again, pushing my head back against the leather headrest with the force of his kiss.

“Rule number two,” he rumbles. “If you bite your lip, I’m going to take your mouth.”

I lift my fingers, self-consciously rubbing the lip in question. He captures my hand and sucks my finger into his mouth. His tongue flicks across the pad erotically, his teeth nipping sharply, and my stomach drops in response.

“Tell me something else about yourself, Ava,” he rasps, releasing my finger.

I’m drawing a blank. I don’t want to talk about my past, and my present for the past two years has consisted of nothing but school and my job at the Coffee Bean. Not exactly scintillating conversation. There’s the show, but that certainly doesn’t seem like a safe topic when I’m sitting blindfolded next to the man who bought me. “There’s not much to tell,” I say finally.

“I somehow doubt that,” he says, his voice silky. “You seem to have infinite layers. I’m looking forward to peeling each one away until you’re fully exposed to me, hiding nothing.”

I swallow hard. “And what if I have secrets I want to keep?”

His hand has moved farther up my thigh, and he slips a finger beneath the hem of my shorts, tracing the line of my slit through the embarrassingly damp fabric of my panties. “You may hide behind your cool reserve and those enigmatic eyes, but your body can’t lie. Your body will have no secrets from me.”

My heart thunders at his bold assertion. He abruptly removes his hand, and I keenly feel the absence. I’m unnerved without his touch to center me.

“What do you want, Ava?” he asks, his voice low. “Do you want me to touch you?”

It’s tempting. Oh, so tempting. I’ve never felt this way with anyone before. My body is drawn to his like there’s a force field pulling me in. The effect is disorienting, and I suddenly want more than anything to feel the touch of his hands again—somewhere, anywhere—if only to ground me. I nod.

“Say it,” he demands softly. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please, touch me again,” I whisper.

The silence is deafening. I know what he wants. “Please touch me, Sir.”

Then his hands are in my hair, his mouth on mine, ruthless and plundering, claiming me with his lips and tongue. I’m so stunned by the kiss, it takes a minute before I realize the car has come to a stop. Instead of taking off the blindfold, Roman moves away from me, and I hear the sound of a car door opening and then closing. Seconds later, the door next to me opens, and Roman is grasping my hands in his, helping me from the car.

“I guess you’re not ready to take the blindfold off yet, huh?” I grumble.

The sound of his chuckle sets my nerve endings tingling again. “I like you blindfolded. It makes you more dependent on me and dilutes that cool composure that you seem to rely on like it’s armor.” He lowers his voice. “But I also like the hint of fear and uncertainty I see in your eyes when you look at me, so don’t worry; I won’t blindfold you too often.”

My breath catches. That’s supposed to make me feel better?

He wraps a strong arm around my waist and guides me across a smooth surface that feels like asphalt beneath my feet. We’re outside, and the wind catches my hair, whipping it around my face. I can feel the warm sunshine, and wherever we are, it’s noisy, the whapping sound of air being churned like butter filling my ears. The noise grows louder as we come to a stop, and Roman unties the blindfold.

I blink into the sunlight, my eyes unaccustomed to the sudden brightness. We’re standing beside a huge helicopter, its blades slicing the air above us. I look at Roman questioningly.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asks, tucking the blindfold back into his pocket.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“Good.” He smiles and gestures toward the helicopter. I look back at him once and then climb in as he follows me. He reaches across me, buckling me into the seat, and my body comes alive again at his touch.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“We’ll fly over the Hoover Dam and Lake Mead on our way to the Grand Canyon. We’ll see some of the Canyon and then land at the bottom for a picnic lunch before flying back.”

I look at him disbelievingly, unable to keep the smile off my face. This is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined. Although the circumstances of this unconventional date are seriously fucked up, the man is ruining me for ever dating anyone normal. “Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious,” he says, but there’s a small smile playing at his lips.

“What if I’d been afraid of heights?”

“Then I’d have talked you through it,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he has the power to banish all my fears by the sheer force of his will. I’m starting to wonder if maybe he does.

The pilot shakes hands with Roman and introduces himself to me before giving us headphones to wear that will allow us to hear and talk to him and each other. Then we’re taking off, slowly rising vertically off the ground. We hover for a moment before tilting forward slightly, and then we swoop into the air. It’s like riding on a roller coaster, and I instinctively grip Roman’s hand, needing something to hold on to. His fingers close around mine, and he smiles at me, sending warmth spreading through me. He has a nice smile. It’s the kind of smile that transforms his entire face and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Once we’re airborne, it feels like we’re floating, and I stare out the window, mesmerized by the sight of the Hoover Dam sprawling beneath us as the pilot tells us about the history of the construction of the dam. It’s amazing to see the ever-changing landscape below us from the bird’s-eye view of the helicopter; however, nothing could have prepared me for the magnificent grandeur of the Grand Canyon. As we hover at the rim, I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something beautiful and ancient and beyond comprehension, and I get goose bumps, the hairs on my arms standing up in primordial recognition. The beauty of the vast canyons cracks something in me, and some long-buried emotion swells, filling my senses and overwhelming me. A tear spills down my cheek, and Roman leans over to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, an odd expression on his face.

Without taking his eyes off mine, he brings his thumb to his mouth and licks the tear away. He holds my gaze for a long minute. Something passes between us, and then it’s gone as he points out landmarks among the towering buttes and rugged cliffs—the glass Skywalk that extends out over the Canyon itself, the Dragon’s Corridor, and the Colorado River that has carved this vast majestic wilderness.

We descend slowly, privy to amazing views of the ancient rocks before coming to a stop at the bottom of the canyon. Roman helps me out of the helicopter, and I glance down at my watch, surprised to see it’s one o’clock. The pilot hands him a wicker picnic basket and then takes the controls again, and I watch as the helicopter slowly climbs up and disappears from sight, leaving Roman and me alone on the floor of the canyon, the red walls towering on either side of us.

Roman unfolds a picnic blanket and spreads it on the ground, and we sit down as he unloads the hamper. There’s cheese and crackers, caviar, grapes, strawberries, slices of cold roast beef threaded onto a skewer with bleu cheese, and a bottle of champagne, which Roman expertly uncorks and pours into two crystal glasses.

He hands me a glass and then clinks his with mine. “To winning,” he says.

I smile. “To winning.”

The food is delicious, and we talk while we eat. I ask Roman more about his company, and in the process I find out that he’s the oldest of three kids, has two younger sisters who live in Boston where he’s originally from, and loves to travel. But for all that he tells me, there’s more that he doesn’t, and I can sense a darkness, maybe even a sadness, about him.

“Tell me something about you,” he says.

I concentrate on the last strawberry on my plate. “Like what?”

“What else makes you feel as deeply as you did when we flew over the rim into the canyon?”

I look into his gray-blue eyes that see far too much. I think hard, trying to conjure up something—anything—that has broken through the walls I’ve built around my heart. Has it really been so long since I’ve allowed myself to feel anything?

Noticing my hesitation, he says, “Okay, if that’s too hard, tell me your favorite book or your favorite song,”

I tilt my head, considering. “When I was younger, I loved
The Chronicles of Narnia
. I loved the idea of being able to climb into a wardrobe and disappear into a completely different world. But I don’t have a favorite song, or maybe I just have too many.”

Music was the only thing that had gotten me through that dark, endless, gray time after my father’s death, and I think I lived with earbuds in my ears for at least a year, the ever-changing playlist of songs my constant and often only companion. I still listen to a wide variety of music because it’s the only time I don’t feel alone. There’s always a song to match my mood and assure me that someone else somewhere has felt the same way and has survived.

“What are you thinking?” Roman prompts softly. “You looked sad.”

I give a little shake of my head. “Nothing. How could I be sad here? This is beautiful.”

“Look at the sky.” He pulls me down gently so my head is pillowed on his lap. His thighs are rock hard, and the nearness of him is making me light-headed. “It’s so infinite. Nothing like the grandeur of nature to remind us of our insignificance in the whole scheme of things,” he says wryly.

“I’ve never seen anything more stunning.” He may be bossy as hell and completely intimidating, but I have to give him props for trying to ease my trepidation. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Content for the moment, I lie there with my head in his lap as he strokes my hair until the helicopter returns, and we begin our ascent out of the canyon and back to reality.

Chapter Six

Roman

The limousine is waiting for us at the helipad when we land. Ava is more relaxed on the drive back to the Strip, and although she’s far from verbose, she’s noticeably more comfortable with me.

Back in town, I introduce her to a sampling of what Las Vegas has to offer. We ride a gondola at the Mandarin, watch the acrobats perform at Circus Circus, and wander through the Bellagio, where I greedily drink in the delight on her face as we stop to watch the dancing fountains in front of the hotel. I haven’t been on a date or gone to so much effort for a girl in years. I’m not quite sure why I’ve made an exception for Ava, other than the fact that I’d quickly realized last night that it’s going to be imperative to win her trust if we’re going to stay on the show, which I’m determined to do. I don’t care about the money or even winning, but if we get voted off, my time with her ends, and with it my chance to see if she could be the permanent submissive I’m looking for, the one who can make me forget the demons that haunt me, if only for a little while.

If anything, she intrigues me more now than she did before the auction. She’s easily embarrassed and almost shy when it comes to anything remotely erotic, but when I looked over her list of hard and soft limits this morning, I noticed she’s agreed to just about everything but the most extreme acts. But somewhat surprisingly, given her obvious willingness to submit to the full spectrum of BDSM, she’s listed intercourse as a hard limit. I fully intend to change her mind about that.

I’m also surprised by how much I enjoy making her smile. She doesn’t smile easily, but when she does, it makes me feel like a fucking king. There’s something about her raw innocence that arouses every Dominant instinct in me, and I want to protect her as much as I want to possess her.

“Are we going back to the hotel?” she asks as we walk down the street back toward the Helix. I thread my fingers with hers, and I’m pleased when she lets me. I’m definitely making progress.

“Not yet,” I say. “I thought we’d go to dinner first. We don’t have to be back until eight o’clock for the meeting.”

“What meeting?” she asks, turning those inquisitive green eyes on me.

“The first official meeting of the games to go over the general rules going forward, the photo shoot tomorrow, and maybe even the first group challenge.” I shrug. “We’ll find out when we get there.”

“The photo shoot? What photo shoot?”

“As a little pregame bonus round, the show has arranged for a photographer to come take boudoir photos of each of the submissives tomorrow. I have a feeling there’s some kind of sponsorship incentive behind it, but it will be fun for the Doms to pose their subs for the photos, and for the subs to show off all the sexy clothing they brought. The photos will probably also be used for hotel publicity in the future.”

She falters and I stop.

“Ava, I told you what will happen if you’re ashamed of your body,” I remind her softly.

“It’s not that,” she hedges. “It’s just…” She takes a breath and then lifts her gaze to meet mine, that little chin tilting up again. “I didn’t bring the right clothes to wear for something like that.” She smiles wryly. “I was at NYU on a full academic scholarship, but they don’t really factor in a bondage-and-lingerie budget for the average college student.”