Rough Surrender (19 page)

He must be kneeling down there.

She wrenched at the cuffs, strained her mound into him. Strained every muscle, trying to get closer, make his tongue squash harder. The dildo moved in and out. His fingertips grazed her entrance as he manipulated that thick invading thing. A glorious device that forced apart her lower lips and every time it did, every time, the tight feeling curled around inside her female parts. His tongue licked. The dildo rammed and...and...she pushed more into him. A blast of pleasure disintegrated her every thought, sent her body arching toward the heavens.

“Lovely,” he said, kissing her down there. For a few seconds he cupped her mound letting her ride out the last spasms in his touch.

Slumped into the chains, she listened past her gasping. His footsteps told her he’d risen and moved behind her. Something soft slapped onto her buttocks. He’d started with the flogger.

With every nerve still singing from the orgasm, the slap of the flogger didn’t hurt at all. The rhythm seemed to settle into her flesh. As if he were an artist painting her, the soft leather hit one bottom cheek and then the other, curled and tugged on one thigh, then the other. Like a rough lover it would hold her skin for a sliver of time before releasing then grabbing her elsewhere.

The little fox weights swung idly from her aching nipples as they joined in on the fun.

Thud
,
thud
,
thud
. Heat claimed her skin. She pressed her bottom backward into the blows, searching for something, some...release. A little pain climbed over the pleasure and the two mingled on her skin. Which was which became a nothing question. She wanted, only wanted. Vibrations spread down into her pelvis and quivered into her muscles. Sweat beaded and dribbled down her back, across the sides of her breasts. Now, each blow came harder and harder until she gasped and strained for the next one and the next.

With the blindfold masking her, the world became that of the flogger and its caress, that of the seething heat on her legs and buttocks.

Tendrils slapped up between her open legs tapping the dildo, cupping her female parts, awakening her clitoris in a single scorching flare. “Uh!”

Not pain, not yet. For a second, fear grasped her.
Sphinx?
Did she trust him?

Oh. Yes
.

The rhythm increased. Every third blow fell on her sex. Every third blow had her jerking, had that flare erupting up and out through her body, sending seeking fingers of heat to her well-lashed skin. She groaned with an open mouth, feeling sweat and juices flood onto her inner thighs, heard the slap of the flogger change with the suck and grip of the wetness. Five minutes, an hour and she’d jolted into a black red floating limbo where nothing mattered except the next blow.

Another slap, between her legs, and she tilted her pelvis. The second, between her legs and she pressed her neck back tensing, climbing, clawing toward the climax. Her breath stopped. The rope slid, the dildo shifted, her clit was full and pulsing.

The blows stopped, and she groaned, so close, so very close.

He pulled the dildo out of her. In what seemed the far distance something crackled as if he tore a wrapper open.

Mr. Meisner’s naked body molded against her back and his cock, that huge organ she’d so avidly sucked on, prodded at her entrance and slipped inside. Large and wide and making her swell open and clasp and ripple around him.

“Ah, Faith. You feel so nice.” He thrust and thrust again, and though her clit throbbed in time, and the heat of her skin welcomed his touch, she required something more. His big hands held the sides of her waist and his thrust upped in tempo–a bit harder, a bit rougher, but she could take it, she tilted back into him. Her wrists and ankles pulled at the leather restraints. The slap of his skin on hers reawakened need.

His cock seemed to enlarge a little more as he rammed up higher inside. Another thrust and his hand slid down her side and took her clitoris between finger and thumb.

She half choked out a sound.

“Come for me, Faith.” Another thrust shoved her up onto her toes. The head of his cock hit somewhere inside that exploded her senses. Everything roared outward, singing through her, tumbling through her as she hung there centered, with limbs outstretched in the implacable grasp of rope and man, shaking and crying out.

She came down from it, like a mountain climber sliding down a slope of rubble. Destroyed. Lifeless. Trembling.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Leonhardt’s soft voice cradled her as he released her from the ties and the cuffs, unclipped the foxes. She whimpered as each bit of his paraphernalia relinquished its hold on her body. The rope on her hair went last of all then she was scooped up in his arms and carried to his soft bed where they sank down together, entangled. Where Mr. Meisner began and she ended, she didn’t know and didn’t care.

His gentle kisses and stroking of her body lulled her slowly into sleep.

Chapter 20

During the night she awoke to find Leonhardt holding a tray that held glasses of cool lemon water and tidbits of fruit and small pastries. After they ate he drew her to the bathroom where a filled bathtub awaited. Unlike at the hotel, he allowed her to bathe without it culminating in session of lovemaking.

She slept again, in his arms, only to be awakened by his caresses. When her sleep-fogged body was slow in responding, Leonhardt ruthlessly tied her hands above her head to the headboard. That woke her. Every nerve in her sprang into crisp awareness of him looking down at her, of his scent of man mixed with sandalwood, of the leather around her wrists. Wetness soaked her cleft, her nipples contracted hard and the attention he paid to her body sent her swiftly screaming into orgasm.

He ravished her twice more, and again as dawn misted soft light through the fretwork window panels–hauling her onto hands and knees and tying her there with sheets. It was as if he wished to trial her body in every conceivable position before the sun fully rose, as if some strange fairytale prophecy needed to be fulfilled.

She didn’t mind, at all. Though by the end of it, when he left the room for a moment, she could only lie there on her stomach on the disheveled sheets with her legs still spread. All the newly discovered delicious places on her body ached in time with the thumping of her heart. Glorious.

What was she going to do without Mr. Meisner in a week’s time?

When he returned he sat on the bed next to her and placed his hand in the small of her back. The cotton fabric of his bathrobe rubbed at her naked hip. “I’ve arranged for breakfast in an hour, sweetheart.”

“
Mmm
.”

“I thought you might like to go to the aerodrome today.” His hand drifted upward, found her hair at the back of her neck and proceeded to play with it, coiling it around his finger.

She stayed there, soaking up the attention. No one had ever been this focused on her before. To have a lover was such a wonderful thing...even if he liked turning her bottom pink. Maybe
because
he liked doing that. She sighed, remembering the smack of the leather on her skin, and burrowed her head half under a pillow. All her muscles seemed in a dreamlike torpor.

“And now, I’m going to write my name on you again.”

“Excuse me?” She stiffened. Still wedged under the pillow, her voice echoed in her ears.

“You can protest if you like, but I’m going to do this. Consider it my payment for your instruction.”

“What?” This time there was a definite squeak in her voice. When she tried to heave herself up from the bed she found his hand there, at the small of her back again, pressing down, holding her in place. There’d been a hint of amusement in his voice, she realized. “Why?” she asked, exasperated.

“Stay still,” he said, in a rumbling voice, “and I won’t smack your backside.”

Wriggling didn’t accomplish anything. He was going to do this no matter what...unless she used his famous
sphinx
word. If she did, she wondered what would happen. Would he be cross with her? Stop this so-called instruction? She didn’t want that. Though she fully intended getting back to her normal life after the week was up, right now, she was happy.

“Oh. Very well. Do it, sir.” She huffed and slumped into the mattress. Damn him. The words would come off with soap and scrubbing. What and where would he write this time?

At that he got off the bed and she heard him rummage around in a bedside drawer before he returned to sit beside her. A pen nib scribbled on her back, the writing hypnotized her after a while as he wrote along the hollow of her spine. Having his hand splayed across her was oddly calming, even reassuring, as if while she lay there, she was being shielded from all the bad things in the world. When he stopped, she roused herself, turned her head to one side and muttered, “What does it say?”

He planted a kiss on her bottom. “The same. ‘Property of Leonhardt Meisner.’”

“That’s different. Leonhardt wasn’t in the last one.”

“I know. I just wanted to hear you say my name again, like you did last night when you came.” Then he smacked his hand down on one cheek of her ass hard enough to make her yelp. Hard enough that the sting permeated into her groin and made her wet.

Oh, whatever this writing business was about, that had made it worthwhile at least. Had she said his name last night? She didn’t remember at all. Strange.

Chapter 21

They ate a breakfast of Belgian waffles with syrup and fresh fruit, out upon a lattice-encased balcony. Rich yellow sunlight tangled up in the fretwork holes of the lattice and pocked the red fabric on the furniture with golden spots and squares. Already a breeze spun in through the gaps sending her borrowed white bathrobe flipping up onto her calves.

“Here.” Leonhardt clicked his fingers together.

At the snap of his fingers, Faith eyed the man. He sat opposite her on a wide damask-upholstered chair the twin of her own. “Yes, Mr. Meisner?” A moment before they’d been chatting about the best day to see the pyramids.

“Your feet, up here.” He patted his thigh. “Now.”

She considered refusing him but he had that granitelike look on his face, as if nothing she did would make a jot of difference. Slowly, she lifted her bare feet under the table and put them on the chair between his legs.

“Thank you.”

At the first dig of his fingers into the ball of her foot, she hummed her appreciation.

He smiled.

It was infectious. She smiled back. “Keep going.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Humph. I doubt that, Mr...Leonhardt.” She propped her elbows on the table and chin on her hand. “When would
you
obey me?”

“Ah. Never, my dear.”

Never? That made her wonder at how she could have a relationship with a man who never heard her opinions, or at least, never acted on them. It seemed impossible and a recipe for disaster.

“You said you’d spent your childhood in Australia.”

“Yes.” She took a sip from her little blue china cup. The strong coffee made her grimace. “My two brothers are there now. I’d like to go back some day. After a childhood on a cattle station...that’s like a big property in the outback that runs cattle.” His stoic expression made her wonder if he understood but she forged on. “Anyway, I’d like to go back and maybe live there.”

Though the foot massage was nice, she’d perched her bottom on the lip of the chair to let him take her foot and now
that
was hurting. Still, it seemed a good compromise. Her foot was in heaven.

“Ah, and before this you lived in Paris with your stepfather.”

She shrugged and stirred a big spoonful of sugar into the coffee. Something had to make it taste nice. “Yes. Mostly. I have my own income, but yes, I stay at Henri’s house much of the time. Paris is wonderful in spring and much of the excitement, the advances in our knowledge of flying seem to revolve around there...as well as other things.” As soon as she said that she regretted it.

“Other things?”

And yes, Mr. Meisner, the supreme observer, had picked up her hesitation. Well, if she couldn’t tell him, who could she?

“Henri is in the business of arranging shows, concerts, that sort of thing.” She waved her hand vaguely. “Half the actors and actresses in Paris seem to know him.”

“And?” he raised his brows.

“And...I found that tempting for a while.” She stirred in another spoon of sugar. “I wasn’t sure of my attraction to men so–” She peeked at him, over the edge of the cup as she sipped then grimaced again. Now it was too sweet. “I tried women. I kissed one or two. But...nothing. Seems ladies aren’t for me.”

“Intriguing.” He gave her foot a last squeeze then let her lower her legs. “Though not surprising given your taste for adventure. Paris is a hotbed of lesbians and the nouveau flagellation movement. You can’t turn a corner in some bookshops without a spanking book falling on your head.”

“Um. Yes. I had noticed.” Using a fork, she toyed with the last of the waffle on her plate.

“So.” He leaned in and took her hand in his, running thumb tip over the backs of her fingers. “Have you found another sexual predilection?”