Intimate Exposure (8 page)

And it was that expression, that dazzling glow, that tipped her over into an immense wrenching orgasm. Her flesh pulsed deep and hard around the intrusion, and her hips worked so furiously that it almost slipped out of her.

As she almost blacked out, the pleasure too intense to be borne, a big, strong hand closed gently around her smaller one.

Red steadied the bottle to keep it safely in its place.

Chapter Four

Reclining back in the bath, up to her chin in bubbles, Vicki smirked as she brought her mineral water to her lips. It was going to be difficult looking at any kind of bottle from now on, after what she’d done with the champagne bottle in the limousine.

Look what you’ve done, Red Webster. You’ve made me into a wicked degenerate.

Setting her Evian aside, she floated in the scented water, just letting herself null out rather than analyze what was happening to her. She’d had the most magnificent orgasm, lolling across Red’s lap like an odalisque with the neck of the champagne bottle inside her, and now she was relaxed and full of delicious well-being.

After she’d come back to earth, she’d fully expected Red to demand some kind of quid pro quo, but again he’d surprised her. He’d been erect—his cock like an iron bar against her thigh—but all he’d done was give her one of his perplexing smiles and murmur, “Later.”

He’d helped her dress again, straightening her cardigan and skirt once she’d wiggled into her knickers, then handing her the ruined remnants of her bra and her camisole so she could hide them away safely in her bag.

After that, it’d been barely ten minutes’ more drive before they’d arrived at their destination.

Ah yes, their destination. Vicki glanced around happily.

She was in a beautiful Art Deco bathroom, in possibly the best suite in one of the most gorgeous hotels in the country.

The Ivory Pavilion, yet another Shanley holding, stood on a high promontory, commanding its own private bay like an ocean liner from the golden age of glamour, frozen in time and set on dry land. As Red had helped her from the limousine and led her into the lobby, a delicious air of luxury and sophistication had seemed to reach out and envelop her like a vintage satin wrap.

The entire atmosphere of the Pavilion was hushed, rarefied and discreet. Drifting around the lobby while Red dealt with check-in, she’d formed the impression that it was a place where anything was possible. A magical aura hung in the air, like an external embodiment of the secret realm she enjoyed with Red in their sexual dealings.

Everything was tasteful. Everything was immaculate and stylish. Yet every sense in her body told her she was in a den of erotic decadence. It was like being in a thirties movie—all it lacked was a hawkish Sheikh with his hand up the skirt of a promiscuous Good Time Girl in the shadows.

And I’ve just let my own Valentino bamboozle me into sharing a suite with him?

Red had definitely tampered with the bookings. She hadn’t been able to make out what he’d said to the receptionist, but there had definitely been complicity in their hushed voices and the woman’s faint smile. Vicki had no idea if this sumptuous suite was actually part of their sweepstake prize, but she didn’t care. The take-charge woman she usually was had somehow got left behind at Wickham-Drake.

Is this part of the sex? The submission?
It could be, but it also felt suspiciously like having finally found a man she trusted to take care of her.

Unsettling thoughts began to stir and turn over in her mind, their tricky undulations disturbing her relaxation. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be in here, lolling around in scented foam all on her own. She wanted to be out in the sitting room, trying to understand the complex and mysterious man with whom she’d become so inextricably involved.

As she toweled herself off and applied moisturizer to her face and body, she became aware of voices in the room beyond. They were muted, indecipherable, but the quality of the sound suggested that Red was watching television.

Slipping on her kimono, Vicki decided to join him, and as she turned the cut-crystal door handle, her heart fluttered dangerously.

A unexpectedly domestic scene met her eyes, despite the high-glamour décor and the luxuriousness of every fitting and item of furniture in the room. Red was sitting in one of the capacious Lloyd Loom chairs, wearing a white toweling dressing gown, sipping a cup of tea, his long legs stretched out in front of him, utterly relaxed.

We could be an old married couple. Missus having a bath while Mister watches the telly.

The bizarre thought rocked her. She tamped it down immediately, but a vague sense of unease told her it was only banished to her subconscious.

Don’t be silly, Vicki. He and I are nothing like that.

Turning his attention from the screen, Red set aside his cup and stood, the looming quality of his imposing body not in the least diminished by the soft fluffiness of his cuddly robe. It was the first time Vicki had ever seen him in anything but dark, sober clothing, and it was a shock to the system. Yet even in a perfectly normal, if high-end, bathrobe, Red still retained his pervading aura of shadow and mystery.

“Enjoy your bath?” he inquired.

Vicki nodded, trying to work out if there had been any kind of innuendo in the question. Any implication that she might have been touching herself while she soaked. But it seemed there was none. It’d just been a companionable enquiry.

“Tea?” He nodded towards the chic white tea service laid out on a black lacquer tray on the small table beside his chair.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” she answered, suddenly feeling nervous and awkward. How could things be so…so…
ordinary
between them? After what had happened in the car. With the bottle.

Red stared at her steadily, his curious eyes assessing behind his spectacles. She could almost feel him monitoring her every thought and reaction. It was obvious he was a uniquely empathic man and that he understood before she did what she wanted and needed. He was the one who’d suggested she take some “me” time for a long soak in the bath.

“Don’t worry, Vicki,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he took the two long paces that brought him to her side. Looking down on her, he stared into her eyes, his own warm and startlingly kind. “There’s no pressure on you… Just relax. Let’s see what happens.” His large hand cupped her cheek, the gesture so tender that she couldn’t help but sway into it.

“We’re on holiday. We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to, do we?”

“I suppose not.” The tremble in her own voice was quite alarming.

What is he doing to me? How can this be happening? Only a few days ago I hated the sight of him, and now, oh God, now, everything’s changing.

Had she made a huge mistake? Agreeing to a no-strings weekend to explore her secret sexual urges had seemed great in theory, but what would happen if she suddenly started to want strings? And a bond that was nothing to do with BDSM games?

Don’t be a fool, Vick. All
he
wants is couple of exciting erotic days, then it’ll be “So long, it’s been fun, good luck with your life.”

Stiffening, she drew away from him and his broad brow puckered, as if for once, he was wondering if he’d misread her.

“How about that tea, then?” she prompted, flashing him a smile to defuse the moment, then nodding towards the tray as she pulled forward a second Lloyd Loom chair and set it adjacent to the small table.

Red tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Of course,” he said, his voice vague, unsettling. He seemed to be watching her closely as she flopped down into the woven chair.

Stalemate. Red’s hands were quick and deft as he prepared her a perfect cup of tea without even asking how she took it. His wary composure troubled her and she suppressed a sigh.

Not
playing elaborate sex games with Red Webster was as tricky and potentially perilous as playing them was.

But a few moments later, as she sipped one of the most delicious cups of tea she’d ever tasted, Vicki’s disquiet faded. The large widescreen television, which had previously been concealed in a rather magnificent inlaid cabinet with a stylized sunburst design, was showing the most distracting video.

It was a scene that could have come straight out of one of her favorite fantasies.

Seen from above, a young woman was standing in the center of a circle of chairs. Interested observers lounged at their ease, appraising her as if she was the prize exhibit in a sophisticated slave market. She was naked, save for a tiny tightly laced corset that barely covered anything but cinched in her waist to an almost impossible smallness. A black leather collar circled her throat and she was teetering on a pair of impossibly high black patent leather high heels, her feet tilted at a precarious angle.

The expression on the woman’s face was hard to fathom. Her eyes were very bright, anxious but excited. She kept glancing around, then suddenly and very studiously staring down at the toes of her absurd shoes.

It’s difficult, isn’t it? Being a good submissive.

Vicki’s sympathy reached out to the woman on the screen. Would she herself be able to maintain the correct decorum? That’d always been in her mind as she’d read
O
and other such material. The idea of being under a man’s control, and punished by him, thrilled her, but she was a strong-minded person too.

Stealing a quick glance at Red, she caught her breath. He was watching her, not the screen. Was he wondering if she could ever be an ideal slave? Would he be disappointed when it turned out she was just too stubborn? She wanted what she wanted, and she couldn’t suppress her own will.

Returning her attention to the corseted woman, Vicki saw that a man had joined her in the limelight. He was lean and blond and wore leather jeans, a heavy belt and high boots, but nothing else. With almost languid assurance, he reached out and roughly handled the woman’s bare breast, twisting and tweaking the nipple just as Red had handled her own. Unsurprisingly, his victim wriggled, and Vicki’s own hips were suddenly energized too. She shifted her thighs uneasily in her chair, acutely aware that Red was still watching her. It was difficult to tell which was most arousing—observing the video or being observed herself.

Feeling those demonic eyes track her every move, she set aside her cup. She might as well have been drinking pond water now.

The slave must be moaning. The young woman’s lips were parted, but there seemed to be no soundtrack. The loaded silence only intensified the action. It also meant that if Vicki made even the slightest sound herself, Red would hear it.

More men now moved forward, fondling and groping the submissive en masse, their greedy fingers cruising all over her body and slipping into the most intimate areas, making her rise even higher on her toes.

The young woman was being handled like a stock animal. She ought to be experiencing the depths of shame, but the expression on her face was rapturous. Her painted mouth was slack with desire, and she was slowly tossing her head from side to side.

“Would you like that?”

Vicki’s gaze flew towards Red, a hot flush staining her cheeks. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be felt up by a whole tribe of men, but her body still reacted, heating up and stirring.

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you touch yourself and see?”

Here we go again.

Adjusting herself in the Loom chair, she plucked at her kimono. Then suddenly halted.

Her inconvenient stubborn streak flared again. These games were always all one-way. She was the one who was showing everything. She was prepared to play along with Red’s desires, because they were hers too. But she was also curious. The man sitting just a few feet away was exciting and bizarrely beautiful in his own massive, primal way. She wanted to see more than just those strongly molded, slightly hair-fuzzed calves.

“Why does it always have to be me doing all the showing? You’ve seen my breasts and…and my sex, but I haven’t seen anything of you.”

Red chuckled, and his tongue flicked out over his lower lip as he grinned.

“I thought you wanted to play games of submission, Vicki? As a rule the master only reveals himself when, and if, he chooses to.
You
shouldn’t really have a say in things.”

Vicki held his gaze. And smiled. The merriment in his bearded face was infectious.

“I’m not an O, Red. That’s not really me, and I’m only a learner anyway.” Her heart thudded, daring flared up. “Go on, cut me some slack… Just show me some flesh, and I promise I’ll be a good girl from now on and do exactly what I’m told.”

“You’re impertinent, and you’ll be punished for this—” he paused, still smirking, “—but because you’re a very rare and special woman, I’ll indulge you.” Laughing softly and shaking his head, he reached for the sash of his robe and unfastened it. Quirking one dark brow, he flipped the white garment open.

The image on the television faded from Vicki’s consciousness. Who even cared what was going on? There was nothing she wanted to look at now except Red’s body.

His chest and torso were solid and powerful, but unable to help herself, she zeroed in immediately on his cock. And gulped.

He was a tall man. Well over six feet. And his penis was in proportion, maybe more so. He wasn’t erect yet, but even just perky, it rested against the sculpted musculature of his thigh, large and latent. Vicki swallowed again as she imagined him inside her, stretching her every which way as he thrust and thrust and thrust.

God, I don’t care if you are supposed to be my master. I’ve got to have you, and I can’t wait much longer.

“Very nice,” she said crisply, wanting to giggle.

Red Webster might be mysterious and full of sexual authority, but in one thing he was just like any man on the planet. He was inordinately proud of his equipment.

“Well, I’m so glad that you approve, Vicki,” he shot back at her, his devilish eyes glittering behind his spectacles. “But remember, you have to obey me now.”