Wild Licks (32 page)

“Right, of course,” I said, then bit my lip. How was I supposed to play this? Miles wasn't saying anything. “So. How are you?”

“I'm well, and you?”

“Damn. You're always going to be better at the small talk game than me.”

“My finishing school was more demanding than yours,” he said, and a genuine smile appeared for a moment. Then he grew serious. “Here's what I really want to say, though.”

He dropped to one knee, held up the ring box, and cracked it open.

My hands flew to my mouth in surprise. A
much
nicer-looking ring than the prop I'd worn yesterday was sparkling at me, the diamond glittering in the sun flanked by two small emeralds.
Is it real?
I mouthed.

He gave an infinitesimal nod.

Tears welled in my eyes. “No, really, is it real?”

“As real as I can be,” he said. “I want you to be mine. In every possible way.”

“The real me?”

“The real you. Every part of you. The part of you that calls to the beast in me, and the part that calls to my noble side.” He was looking up at me and I felt keenly how strange it was for him to be the one on his knees. He swallowed. “And the part of you that brings those two sides of me together. I can't do that without you, Gwen. You are literally what has made me whole.”

And you're what made me whole,
I thought, but I couldn't speak past the lump forming in my throat.

“You know I'm quick to anger and slow to learn. I'm far from perfect.”

Mal, you're perfect for me!

“But you make me want to be. My best self. The self I've discovered through my bond with you. It's going to take time. Maybe that's why I want you forever. Gwen Hamilton,” he said firmly, his eyes shining almost as bright as the ring. “Will you marry me?”

Everything I'd been holding in burst out in a flurry of “Yes, yes, yes!” I practically knocked him over I kissed him so hard, until he steadied me and stood, never taking his mouth from mine, until his hands were locked in the small of my back, bending me as the kiss deepened.

“Cut!” Miles yelled. We didn't stop but the crew took that as their cue to break into applause.

The first time Mal and I were seen together in public after the engagement was about two months later on the red carpet at the American Music Awards, where The Rough was up for the Favorite Band, Duo, or Group award. The video for “Razor Sharp” had been released that week, and the tale of our engagement on set had become a huge news story.

Which meant that the photographers wanted to go nuts over my dress, and they wanted to see my hand. Not that you can really get good pictures of an engagement ring from ten feet away, but I couldn't go up close with every single one of them.

Mal didn't want to let go of me long enough for me to be photographed alone, but the handlers insisted this was how it was done and he relented, looming next to the backdrop waiting to claim me into his arms again. We took many photos together as well, and I placed my hand on his dark lapel to show off the ring best. I even heard a photographer shout “thank you!” when I did that.

The reporters were just as curious. “Is that ‘the ring'?” the sideline reporter for
Entertainment Tonight
asked.

I showed it to her with a grin. “Yes, it's the real ring. It's a shame in the video you actually don't get much of a look at it.”

She looked up at Mal and realized his earring had a matching silver-set emerald and diamond. “Classic and classy. So what was it like being proposed to on set?”

“A total surprise,” I said.

“What gave you the idea to do it?” she asked Mal.

“We were going through a rocky patch in our relationship,” he said smoothly. “I'd let misunderstandings between us get in the way of the truth. I'd stupidly suggested we take a step back. Proposing seemed the most definitive way to commit to taking a step forward, together.”

I held in a laugh. I think she'd meant him to answer how he got the idea to do it live on camera, but I loved the answer he gave. “He got all the cast and crew in on the plot to surprise me,” I added. “Got my ring size from the costume designer and everything.”

“Sneaky!” she said. “I approve.”

The next reporter was from one of the viral Internet sites I'd met at a WOMedia press event a few weeks before. She was filming me from her phone, and she also asked the “what was it like” question.

I gave the same answer. “A total surprise.”

She turned the phone toward Mal. “What would you have done if she'd said no?”

“Reevaluated my worldview and life choices,” he said seriously. That was Mal for you. He would answer any question truthfully and honestly but never in the way you expect.

At last we were past the media gauntlet and moving into the theater. Mal kept his hand at the small of my back. We ran into my agent on our way through the lobby.

“Simon, you remember Mal? Simon Gabriel, Mal Kenneally.”

They shook hands. “I must say thank you for the tremendous attention my client is receiving as a result of not only the video but also the stunt,” Simon said. “Many people would have been reluctant to have something so personal exposed this way.”

“I did not intend the proposal as a stunt,” Mal said, “but I'm pleased it has had positive repercussions.”

“Goodness, yes. My phone has been ringing off the hook since the story broke. Gwen, let's meet later this week, hmm? We have a lot of offers to sift through.” He patted Mal on the shoulder. “Best wishes to you both.”

As he walked away, Mal murmured to me, “Besides, there's so very much more to our personal lives we keep to ourselves.” His hand slid over the sleek fabric of my gown and along my tailbone, where the edge of the chastity belt could be felt. “How are you holding up?”

“This thing is going to keep me wet for the entire evening,” I whispered into his ear before I kissed him on the cheek.

“Good,” Mal said, and kissed me on the hand before leading me toward our seats.

Maddie Rofel loves her job at the exclusive Governor's Club dungeon, but she's made it her business never to get involved with a guest—until now. Chino, charismatic drummer for a rock band, is new to the scene but catches on fast. Now Maddie intends to learn all his secrets—no matter how close to the edge her quest takes them both…

    

A preview of
Hard Rhythm
follows.

Chino Garcia strutted into the dungeon like the cock of the walk. Or as my dad used to call it, the walk of the cock. “A bad boy like that just wants to stick it somewhere warm,” he had warned me.

When I was younger I hadn't heeded that warning. Bad boys were my catnip, the thing that made me roll on my back and yowl. I had plenty of fun, and so did they. But in my years in Hollywood I got jaded to the tattoos and the macho saunter.

Chino crossed the social room to greet Sakura and Ricki, and I saw Sakura look him up and down, perhaps trying to figure out if that cocky attitude translated to dom or sub. I was curious mainly because I hadn't figured him out myself, not because I was interested. In the months since Axel's bandmates had joined, I still hadn't seen Chino play. Oh sure, he joined in happily enough when it was Ricki's birthday and Axel made her crawl through “the paddy-whack machine” like a kindergartner, or that time with the circle jerk. But just because he was sexually adventurous, it didn't reveal whether he was a sadist or a masochist, a top or a bottom, a dom or a sub.

He slipped his leather jacket off to show he was wearing nothing but tattoos underneath. I felt as if a cool breeze had just blown across my own bare shoulders, goose bumps rising and my fingers itching to touch his ink all of a sudden.

Stop it
, I told myself.
He annoys the fuck out of you, and you're better off steering clear of him
. I didn't appreciate how Chino seemed to turn everything into a joke. But I found myself adjusting my corset as my nipples hardened against the supple leather when he threw back his head and laughed at something Sakura said. I stared at the long line of his neck, leading down a buff, well-inked chest. Playing drums kept him in ridiculously perfect shape.

My hormones must have been peaking or something. I made myself tear my eyes away from him and went to do a rounds check of the rooms, to see which were in use and whether any of them needed a resupply of condoms or lube. It was still early in the evening, and though Kresley Palmer had strapped his wife over the new padded spanking bench in the Inquisition Room, everyone else was still socializing and warming up.

When I came back, Gwen was showing the new studded paddles to the group. “Can't wait to find out what these feel like!” she was saying. “But I have to wait until Mal gets back.”

Chino picked one up and swung it in slow motion like a tennis forehand. He made eyes at me. “Hey, Madison, aren't you the one to usually show off new things around here?”

“You bet I am,” I snapped, holding out my hand for the paddle in challenge. “I'd love to see how many you can take before you beg for mercy.”

He twirled it by the leather loop on the handle instead of handing it over. “Is that right? Who do you think could take more, you or me?”

Sakura's eyes lit up and she came between us. “If you wanted a fair test, I could paddle you both…”

Chino's eyes were locked on mine, though. “Naw. I think the only way it'd be fair is if we take turns beating each other. You think you can take ten at a time, Maddie? Twenty?”

“Twenty per set, no bondage, hands on the wall, drop hands and you lose,” I said, staring right back at him. Oh, I was so on fire to put him in his place, to make him lose that smirk.

“Agreed,” he said. “Should we flip a coin to see who goes first?”

I clucked my tongue. “
Tsk
, no. You can beat me first to make sure this contest isn't over too quickly.”

He raised an eyebrow as if to say
touché
, and Sakura chuckled, looking back and forth between us. It was she who said, “And what does the winner get from the loser, hmm?”

“Fifteen minutes in private to do whatever we want,” Chino said.

“Does the Rotorvator work on men, too?” I asked.

“Definitely,” Gwen said.

“Then I know what my fifteen minutes of entertainment will be,” I said with a wicked grin. “Sakura, will you judge the contest?”

“Surely,” she said with a wicked grin of her own.

Chino gave a little bow in my direction and then gestured toward the empty area of wall across from the Catherine wheel. “If you'll assume the position, please.”

I took my skirt off to reveal my thong underneath and placed my hands on the wall. There was no way I was going to lose this contest. Gwen had nicknamed me “Iron Butt” after the first time she'd tested new hardwood paddles on me. I was sure Chino was either going to be all bravado and turn it into a joke or he was going to turn out to be a secret sub, who was going to love being paddled…in which case I might technically lose the contest, but in the big picture I will have won. Fantasies of him looking up at me from his knees, with his ink-black hair plastered to his neck by a passionate sweat, entertained me while I waited for him to start.

What was taking him so long anyway? I glanced back. He was gathering a crowd of spectators.

And he'd stripped down to nothing. My jaw dropped. The real thing was even better than I had imagined. His entire body was lean, hard muscle, not the chunky bulk of a weight-lifting nut but the powerful form of a man who actually used his muscles for something. He'd even stripped off his leather pants, revealing the dragon tattoo on his leg that matched Mal's and Axel's, but I found my eyes drawn to the graceful curve of his cock—already hard, just from anticipation of paddling me? If so, there went my theory that he was a closet subbie.

“You ready?” he said.

“Waiting for you,” I sneered.

“Oh ho, so that's how it's gonna be.” He tucked the paddle under his arm and ran a hand over my bare buttock, as if feeling out where exactly to hit. “I'll count.”

Twenty strokes isn't that many if the beating gets spread around. After all, that's only ten on each butt cheek usually, and with a butt as round as mine the target was pretty wide. And at first he seemed determined to spread the redness all over. He'd barely gotten one good swat in on each part of my bottom before it was time to switch.

He handed me the paddle with a little bow and took my place on the wall. I imitated him, rubbing my hand over the peach fuzz of his buttocks before I took to swinging the paddle. Unlike me, he had hard, tight buns, easy to catch both in one swung. I swung upward slightly, catching the tenderest part of the buttocks—the underside—with each swat. He gritted his teeth, and by the time I neared twenty he was grunting on each blow.

His turn again. “Remember, Madison,” he said as he ran his hand over the striking zone, “all you have to do to make the pain stop is put your hands down.”

“
Tsk
. Not likely.”

“As you wish.” He stepped back and swung.

This time he hit much harder and it was me who grunted. Apparently he'd gone easy on me for the first round, but now the gloves were off. He was putting a full swing on each blow and leaving the paddle against my skin so the studs would dig in. Still, I'd suffered worse. This wasn't that bad…

Until he got to eleven and I felt my palms prickle with sweat against the wall. What was going on? All of a sudden there wasn't enough oxygen in the room, but as I sucked in breath after breath the feeling only got worse instead of better.

I felt his hand on my shoulder, solid and warm. The blows had stopped and his voice was calm in my ear. “You all right?”

“Of course, I'm all right.” I blinked. Wasn't I? I let out a breath. It was just a little adrenaline rush, I told myself. No big deal.

He sounded bemused. “Because it's your turn.”

“Oh.” I stood straight, my heart still pounding, but my head high. “I lost count.”

I was determined not to lose the contest, but somewhere inside me a battle was raging, a battle to keep my heart. A battle I'd already lost, I just didn't know it yet.