Fearless (31 page)

“Dominic, this is Emmaline,” Beckett says grimly as he snaps the cuffs around each of my wrists, securing them behind me. “Gavin brought her here tonight, but she's mine.”

My heart leaps a little at his possessive statement.

The man looks at Gavin and cocks his head. “Gavin, you and I will discuss this later.” Turning to Beckett, he says, “May I be of assistance?”

“This is between Emma and me,” Beckett says with grim determination. He clips the leather cord to the ring on the collar that is fastened around my neck. I lick my bottom lip and swallow. This is way scarier and infinitely more humiliating in reality than I thought it would be.

Dominic looks at me with an intensity that reminds me of Beckett, although he's not nearly as intimidating. “Are you here because you want to be?” he asks me kindly.

I nod.

“I just need a room for a few minutes,” Beckett says.

“I think it would be best if you played in public, Beckett,” Dominic says, looking pointedly toward the bar. “Remember why you're here.”

Beckett looks at Griffin, who gives an almost imperceptive nod.

“Fine,” he says grimly. To me he curtly says, “Follow me.”

He wraps the leather cord around his wrist a few times and gives it a slight tug, throwing me off balance. As I look up at him with wide eyes, my lips parted slightly at my raw vulnerability, I see a momentary flash of sheer hunger in his eyes, and then it's replaced by regret.

He leads me to what looks like a small stage set up in the corner of the room, somewhat removed from the main dance area but still in easy view of the bar. Thankfully, at least it's somewhat dark. In the middle of the stage is what looks like a skinny picnic table padded with leather.

“This is a spanking bench. If you insist on doing this, I am going to lay you across it and spank you,” he says, and despite the fact that there is an audience, despite the fact that he is angry and there is another woman at the bar waiting for him, my body still responds to him.

“Here?” I manage to squeak. “In front of everyone?”

His lips quirk with the first hint of humor I've seen from him tonight as he says, “Yes, Emma. It has to be here. This is a punishment spanking,” he adds. “That means it's supposed to hurt. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

Leaning close to my ear, he says quietly so that only I can hear him. “Leave, Emma. Leave me and this club. Don't make me do this.”

“No,” I say stubbornly. “It wasn't on purpose, but I betrayed your trust. I want this. I want to make it right.”

He sighs again. “You are leaving me no choice.”

Taking hold of my shoulders, Beckett eases me forward so that I am lying prone across the table, my legs supported by the padded benches on either side in a kneeling position, my ass sticking out over the end. Although I'm still dressed, the leather is cold against my skin as Beckett secures me to the table with a leather strap placed just above my hips. He fastens something around each of my ankles, attaching them to the bench. He skims his fingers down my spine as I shudder. I have never felt so helpless, so at another's mercy. Yet somehow, despite my vulnerability, I'm not afraid. I know Beckett. No matter how angry I've made him, I know he won't hurt me.

He lifts my skirt and the cold air caresses my bottom, bare in the thong I'm wearing. I instinctively pull against the restraints.

“Easy,” he says gently as he moves around to the front of the bench, the warmth of his fingers curving over my shoulder steadying me. He lowers himself in front of me. “Look at me, Emma,” he commands with a steely quietness.

Panting, I look into his whisky eyes.

“However much you hate me after this, I want you to know that I loved you more than I have ever loved anyone,” he says softly.

“I couldn't hate you,” I say softly as a tear escapes and makes its way over the curve of my cheek. He wipes it with the pad of his thumb and then lifts his thumb to his mouth, savoring the salt of my tear.

“You will,” he says with certainty. “What's your safe word?”

“I don't need one,” I protest. “I know you won't hurt me.”

He fists his hand in my hair, pulling sharply enough to bring tears to my eyes. “It's red. Say red if you want me to stop. Do you understand?”

I nod, understanding his words but not the barely detectable tinge of desperation in his voice or his sudden ruthlessness.

“Remember to breathe,” he says.

Oh god. Easy for him to say. My breath hitches as I watch him pull the leather belt from his pants. I brace myself for the first blow, but instead he places it across my back as his fingers slip between my legs to find my clit. He toys with it expertly, flicking and pinching until my desire flares stronger than my fear and embarrassment. He slides a finger inside me, instantly finding my G-spot, and I groan. He tortures me, finger fucking me relentlessly until I can feel myself growing tighter and tighter. I don't want my pleasure displayed for whoever happens to be watching, but I am powerless to stop it. He is insistent, his fingers skillfully playing me until I am writhing as much as the restraints allow. I can feel the orgasm building, about to break free when he stops, and the belt abruptly sears across my butt, biting into the tender flesh as it cracks across both of my cheeks simultaneously. I scream and pull at the restraints.

“This is punishment, Emma,” he reminds me. “Do you want to use your safe word?”

I shake my head vehemently. He rubs my clit gently and I shudder as the pain disappears, replaced by a hot neediness.

“I'm going to give you five more. Count them.”

I feel the blunt sting of the leather against my left cheek and I manage the word, “One.”

“Relax into it,” he says, and I almost laugh at the absurdity.

I try to do as he says and the next blow, although it still stings like hell, is easier. “Two,” I squeal.

He lands a stripe across my other cheek, followed by two more deliberately placed across the previous two. My butt is truly burning and I can't stop the tears that are flowing, even though in the whole scheme of things it doesn't hurt that bad. Having a baby hurts far worse than this. He pauses after my last count and I desperately wish that I could see his eyes and see what he's thinking as he looks at me. Several long minutes pass and fear scurries across the rivulet of sweat along my back.

“You are beautiful,” he says, his voice catching. “And incredibly brave. You are the most fearless woman I have ever met.”

Before I can process his words, the belt cracks across my buttocks at the tender crease where my thighs meet the curve of my ass and nothing could have prepared me for the intensity of pain that sears across my backside. I scream, and instantly he is on his knees under me, his mouth on my clit as he sucks gently. That's all it takes. In some confusing mix-up of pleasure and pain, I come violently against his mouth as he licks my juices as if he were parched and I'm an oasis in the desert.

Then he's unfastening the straps that hold me to the table and releasing the cuffs that bind my wrists, helping me stand so that I am facing him. He gently unfastens the collar that is around my neck and removes it, holding it lightly between two fingers as he looks me in the eye. Deliberately, he drops the collar and it clatters to the floor.

“Goodbye, Emma,” he says with finality. He turns away from me and says, “Gavin, please see her home. Don't ever bring her here again.”

And then he is gone.

Becket was right. I do hate him. I hate him with the depth and passion with which you can only hate someone whom you have loved just as deeply and passionately. Oddly enough, I don't hate him for the spanking. In a strange way, it erased some of the guilt I felt for not guarding the secrets entrusted to me more carefully. What I do hate him for is having so much control over my body that he made me orgasm in a room full of people. I hate him for walking away from me and straight to Camille Penworth, who looked at me with such pity and triumph. But most of all, I hate him for saying he loved me, for letting me think that there was a way back for us and then breaking my heart anyway.

I try to gather whatever remaining dignity I have as Gavin takes my arm, leading me toward the door. Just as we're about to leave, the girl with the pink hair begs Gavin to stay and cover the front desk for her for a few minutes.

“I can't,” Gavin says, nodding toward me. “I have to get her home.”

“Please!” the pink-haired girl begs. “Sheila is out sick tonight so I have to go help set up for the party downstairs. It won't take long. She can wait for you in one of the private rooms.”

“It's okay,” I say to Gavin. “I'm a mess anyway. I could use a few minutes to get myself together.”

Gavin reluctantly agrees, and the pink haired girl shows me to a small sitting room just off the main room. It's small but cozy, and without turning on the lights I curl up on the deep leather sofa to wait for Gavin. After a few minutes, I hear footsteps outside the door and then Beckett's voice.

“Alright, Camille,” he says. “Why did you insist on this meeting? I have nothing to say to you.”

“I don't know why you insisted we meet at your friend's depraved club,” Camille says disdainfully.

“We're meeting here so I can control who else is here,” Beckett says matter-of-factly. “I don't trust you Camille. You can't ambush me here.”

Camille sighs. “I suppose the important thing is that you're here and I'm here, and you have finally seen that little writer for what she is,” she says. “Now there's nothing stopping us from being together. I want a partnership, Beckett. You and me. The way it was meant to be. The way our fathers would have wanted it.”

“Why would you think I would even consider a partnership with you?” Beckett's voice is menacingly quiet.

“Despite what you told that little slut, I believe the information you gave her is true. You've never been a very good judge of women. I daresay you really thought she cared about you. If it is true, you have in your hands the scientific knowledge and information that could change the face of cancer treatment. And I have the means by which you can get your testing accomplished and get the drug approved. Together, we can make history.”

“Alright, Camille. I'll play along. Suppose that information is true. How exactly do you propose helping me get the clinical trials needed to get some sort of medicine derived from the guanabana seeds approved?”

Camille lowers her voice confidentially. Clearly they have no idea I'm in here, listening to every word. “After daddy died, I learned that he had heavily invested in Coker Pharmaceuticals. In fact, he put every cent he had into the company, certain they were on the verge of perfecting the drug he and your father had been working on,” she adds bitterly. “Since he had given them all of his money, I've had no choice but to continue to support Coker Pharmaceuticals. I'm currently on the board of directors. I feel certain we're almost there. And with your information, we may have not one but two new drugs that will change the industry. Coker will be the leading pharmaceutical company in the world! I can guarantee that Coker Pharmaceuticals will do everything they can to do the necessary testing to get the drug approved. Think of the lives we could save!”

“Guanabana seeds are natural. Coker couldn't patent it.”

“Well, of course Coker can't patent the seeds. That's why they will synthesize it,” she says with a harsh laugh.

“And charge individuals and insurance companies thousands of dollars for what they could get for almost nothing.”

“Don't be such an idealist Beckett. The bottom line is it will save lives. So what if we become rich in the process?”

“I wasn't interested in a partnership with you before, and I'm not interested in one with you now,” Beckett says coldly. “As a matter of fact, Emma's information was accurate. Although Emma betrayed the confidentiality of our agreement, her leaking the information to the press is probably the best thing that could have happened. There will be renewed interest and scrutiny into graviola as a viable treatment for cancer, and public pressure may ensure that the clinical trials will happen now under the direction of the American Cancer Society and noted researchers, not a pharmaceutical company out to make as much money as possible. I should probably thank her.”

“Thank her?” Camille screeches. “Thank HER? That little bitch did nothing. I'm the one who convinced her spineless little ex-husband to find out what she was writing and I'm the one who leaked it to the press. You should be thanking me!”

“What did you say?” his voice is quietly menacing.

“Can't you see, Beckett? We're made for each other. Besides, you and your father owe me this!” she continues, incensed. “I lost my father to this cause and your father's seductive promises of a cure when I was little because one little girl can't possibly compete with a cure for cancer for her father's time. It was almost worth it when I realized that I would become a billionaire when Coker Pharmaceuticals finalized its drug treatment based upon my father's research. But now I stand to lose everything. If your precious little seeds really are the cure you think they are, no one will be interested in Coker's drug, if they even have one. You have to give me the information. We could be rich!”

“Camille, I will never give you that information,” he says with finality. “Cancer research is first and foremost about saving lives, not making money. We have nothing more to discuss.”

I hear him moving away from the hall as she screams, “I'm not going to have given up my entire life for nothing. This is not over Beckett!”

Her heels clatter angrily down the hall and then it's silent as I sit in the dark, stunned by what I've heard, until Gavin comes in.