Until I Break (17 page)

He slowly withdraws his one finger only to
plunge it back inside with a second. My heart is racing as tension
builds inside my stomach. I fight the urge to let my head fall back
and my eyes drift shut, my body overcome with sensations that are
totally foreign to me.

“I’ll be watching you when you come on me for
the first time. And
you will
be coming on me. And after you
do, I’ll roll you onto your stomach and I’ll come all over that
perfect, round ass of yours. And there won’t be anything you can do
about it. Because this weekend, you’re mine,” he declares, his
fingers sliding in and out of me, winding me up like a pocket
watch. “To do whatever I want with. Whatever. I. Want. Do you
understand?”

Faster, his fingers move inside me as he
awaits my answer. My brain is scrambled, nearly every thought and
nerve centered on what he’s doing to me.

And then he stops, his fingers at rest deep
within me.

“Say it,” he orders.

“Yes,” I say automatically, not really caring
what I’m agreeing to.

“Yes what?”

I struggle to think. My breath is trapped
behind my ribs. “Yes, I’m yours.”

“You will not tell me no.”

I pant as my body sucks at his fingers, a
silent plea for him to continue. “I will not tell you no.”

Slowly, he eases his fingers out, leaving me
with an empty feeling of frustration. “Good,” he says, bringing his
hands out of the water to lather up again.

With expert attention, he treats my legs and
feet to the same tender attentions he did to my arms and hands,
never once acting as though he’s bothered by what just happened. Or
nearly happened.

When he pulls the plug to let the water out,
I’m forced to admit to myself that I failed miserably. Not only did
I enjoy the bath, but I’m disappointed that it’s over, that he
didn’t continue. And that’s a first for me.

Hope rises again, mingling with that
frustrated feeling, leaving me achy and distracted as Alec pulls me
to my feet. Reaching behind him to grab a towel, he begins to pat
me dry as his eyes rove my body. He seems thoughtful when his gaze
moves back to my face. “Leave your hair up for tonight,” he says of
the sexy, messy pile of red tangles atop my head.

I nod absently as Alec helps me from the tub.
He bends to brush his lips over mine before he walks toward the
door and grabs my bag from the corner. He carries it back and sets
it near the vanity that graces part of one wall in the bathroom.
“I’ll see if your clothes are here while you get ready.”

He stares into my eyes for a few seconds
before he turns casually around and exits the room, closing the
door softly behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT- Alec

I glance over at Samantha, sitting primly in
the passenger seat of the car. I brought the Mercedes tonight. I
drive it so seldom, people are less likely to recognize it. Not
that I’m well-known anyway, but still, I’m cautious. This kind of
thing could ruin a man.

I wonder what Samantha is thinking. She
hasn’t said a word since she came down the stairs wearing the dress
I took up to her.

She’s quite the vision in the sheath. Every
curve is perfectly delineated in nearly-sheer black silk. She
didn’t mention the discreet zipper in the back of the dress that
begins at her ankles and travels all the way to the base of her
spine, just like I didn’t mention that I could see her hard nipples
when she stepped into the light.

Her deep red hair is still up, albeit in a
sleek twist now, and her lips are stained a rich crimson. I’d love
to see that color smeared around my cock as I thrust it into her
mouth while she’s bound and helpless on her knees in front of me.
But I doubt that will happen tonight. In all likelihood, her hands
will remain free for the remainder of the weekend. That is, unless
she lets Laura Drake out of the bag. Then all bets are off.

The thought of that, of being with a woman
like that again, makes me hard as a rock behind my zipper. It also
makes me uneasy. I learned my lesson with Alyssa. Or at least I
thought I had.

I shift in my seat. From the corner of my
eye, I see Samantha glance at me. I turn to capture her gaze.

“Are you nervous?”

“Should I be?” she replies.

“A week ago, I would’ve said yes. But
now…”

She doesn’t respond, just looks away. I see
her fiddle nervously with the domino in her lap. I’m sure she’s
curious about it. Or maybe she’s not. My estimation of her
responses is skewed; she’s a bit more of a mystery than I’d
originally thought. But there’s nothing I like more than unraveling
a mystery. Except, of course, unraveling a tightly-wound woman.

When we arrive at the deceptively blasé
building, I’m a little more sexually…jacked up than usual. For the
last couple of years, I’ve come here only to watch, to feed my
addiction just enough to keep it under control. I haven’t
participated in a long time. But tonight…tonight is different.

I’ve got the sweetly naive Samantha sitting
beside me, dressed in something I could really take advantage of,
something that gives me easy access should she decide she’d like to
take a room of our own. But also in the seat next to me I’ve got
Laura Drake. She writes about sexual exploits that fascinate me.
And inflame me.

The question is: Who will accompany me inside
tonight? Who will show up to dominate the beautiful redhead on my
arm? Both excite me, just in totally different ways, and the
anticipation is like rocket fuel to an already raging fire. It’s
been too long.

After I park and cut the engine, I get out
and walk around to let Samantha out of the car. I reach for the
domino between her fingers. I put it into place. She adjusts it
slightly and then looks up to meet my eyes. There’s anxiety in
them, as well as in the smile she gives me. It tells me that
Samantha Jansen is with me right now. Laura Drake is nowhere to be
found. It makes me wonder if she’ll ever make an appearance or if
she is more of a fictional person than I realize.

After I slide my own domino into place, I
take Samantha’s hand and place it on the inside of my arm as we
walk to the front of the building.

Like many others, this house, loaded with all
the Southern architectural charm that Charleston is known for, was
long ago converted into a business. Beyond the wide steps and
charming veranda lie a restaurant and bar areas that occupy the
entire lower level. It’s neither known to nor frequented by the
general public. Only established and thoroughly vetted members are
permitted through the subtly secured front doors. While it appears
we are able to walk right in, I happen to know there are cameras on
us, as well as the eyes of several seemingly casual observers who
are actually high-end bouncers. They are in place to ensure that
the “club” remains exclusive and discreet.

And largely undiscovered.

I lead Samantha to the bar and order both of
us a martini, extra dirty. She doesn’t argue when I push the stem
of the glass into her fingers. She merely eyes me over the rim as
she takes a sip. I see her top lip curl slightly at the harsh bite
of alcohol and I suppress a smile. She really is mostly
Samantha.

We stand in front of the elegant bar, beneath
the elegant chandelier, inside the elegant club until Samantha has
looked around and I feel the tension leave her stiff spine. When
the muscles relax beneath my palm, I speak.

“Let me show you around.”

She smiles another small smile, takes another
sip of her drink, sets it down and then nods in agreement. I lead
her toward the long, winding staircase with its rich mahogany
railing and thick oriental runner, and we slowly ascend it. My
pulse is already quickening with thoughts of what’s to come.

At the top of the stairs, there is a hallway
to the left and right, as well as another set of steps that leads
to the third floor. But for us, for tonight, I think this floor
will suffice.

When I motion Samantha to the right, she
turns slowly in that direction. I wonder if she’s noticing the
subtle changes as we walk toward the hall—the dimmer lighting, the
darker colors, the thick panels covering the walls, panels designed
specifically to absorb sound.

At the mouth of the hall, there are three
doors—one left, one right and one straight ahead. I happen to know
the ones on the left and right are bathrooms. It’s the one directly
in front of us that I’m most interested in.

I twist the knob and push open the door. I
urge Samantha through into another hallway. When I close the
insulated door behind us, the low tones of conversation, the
delicate tinkle of glass and the soft music from the floor below
are all immediately deadened.

I take Samantha’s hand and lead her slowly
forward. Doors line the corridor ahead, the first of which is
closed. Even though the soft moans assure me it’s occupied, the
closed door signals their desire for privacy. No one in the club
would dare violate that. The rules are strict and absolute.

“Tell me, Samantha,” I begin, leading her on,
“have you ever been to a place where you can have anything you
want? Where anything you desire is not only acceptable, but
obtainable?”

She doesn’t answer me, but I feel her fingers
tighten around mine. The next door we approach is open. I let
Samantha move slightly ahead of me, sliding my hand over her hip to
bring her to a stop and then moving in to stand behind her. Looking
over her shoulder, I see the man and woman inside. I think to
myself this is a good first look for her.

The room is windowless and dominated by an
enormous mattress draped in black. There is a woman lying atop it,
spread eagle. Around her wrists and ankles are black leather cuffs
attached to chains which are anchored to the floor. There are
candles dripping with thick rivulets of hot wax placed all around
the bed. They’ve been used, as I can see by the streaks of dried,
blood-red wax on her stomach, thighs and breasts. Kneeling on the
bed, with his head between her legs, is a man.

“Some people like to be watched,” I whisper
into Samantha’s ear before I press my lips to her neck. As if
triggered by my words, the woman on the bed turns her head to look
at us. I recognize her. Her mouth is open in a silent moan and her
eyes are wide behind her domino. I hear Samantha’s soft gasp when
Carla’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. Her moan becomes louder
and she twists against her restraints. The man between her legs
moves his arm, pushing something he’s holding in his hand deep
inside her, in and out. Her next moan is partly a laugh as she
arches her back and throws her head back in ecstasy.

I turn Samantha away from the room, back
toward the hall and all its doorways, and we walk to the next one.
Inside it is a woman, bound and gagged, on all fours in the center
of a bare floor. Behind her is a man, gripping her hip with one
hand and slapping her bright pink ass with the other as he thrusts
into her. The woman moans and grunts behind her gag.

“Others like to be spanked,” I explain. I
move Samantha on to the next door. “It’s impossible to know what
you like until you try…everything.”

We pass three more doors, each one making me
harder and harder, thinking of Samantha in the various positions,
bound and completely under my control. And loving it. Giving me
orgasm after orgasm as I work her body in ways she never
dreamed.

When we reach the last set of rooms, two of
them are empty. One has a bed with smooth, clean, black sheets that
would be the perfect backdrop for Samantha’s pale skin and vibrant
hair. The second is a smaller room with hooks on the wall and
floor, as well as chains suspended from the ceiling. I can also
easily picture Samantha here. Against the wall. Facing away.
Chained and unable to move. Her dressed unzipped all the way to her
delicious ass. Her skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat. And me.
Behind her. Pumping into her. My fingers biting into her flesh. Her
moans filling the air. Her body squeezing around mine.

“Let me show you how good I can make you
feel,” I say, moving around in front of her, tugging her with me as
I back into the room.

A muffled scream echoes down the hall. I know
no one is being hurt. Not really. Everyone here is consensual.

Samantha stops. I see her chest rise and fall
quickly with her accelerated breathing. I see the unusual pallor of
her skin. I see the look of terror in her eyes. I see the tremor of
her lower lip. This is beyond the fear I wanted her to feel. A fear
like this won’t allow pleasure to pass. And that’s not what I’m
into at all.

“I won’t hurt you, Samantha,” I pledge
quietly, stepping closer to her, reaching up to take her chin
between my fingers. It trembles in my grasp. “This is all about
pleasure, pleasure you’ve never known before, pleasure I want to
introduce you to. A little fear can heighten the senses; a little
pain can feel like ecstasy. Would you like me to show you?”

As I watch her in her silence, I see
something surge to the surface, breaking through her upset. It’s
something unwanted.

Emotional pain. And, with it, tears.

“What’s the m—”

“Get me out of here,” she says so softly I
can hardly hear her.

“Samantha, I—”

“Please, Alec,” she pleads, her voice
quivering with barely suppressed distress. “Take me home. Right.
Now.”

“Okay,” I say immediately. “We’ll go home.
There’s no reason for you to be upset. I—”

“No, not we. Me. I want to go to my house.
Alone. I’ll get my car tomorrow.”

I feel the frown settle over my forehead.
“Samantha, I—”

Before I can even really begin to apologize
and explain, she’s turning and heading for the door. She
practically runs down the hall toward the exit. I reach her before
she can yank open the door.