by Quin Zayne
His smile had broadened at her words. Leaning close, he drew his hand down her waist to her hip.
The possessive touch gave her a thrill despite her distrust.
“My Rose. My exquisite Rose. I see you want more details. You must be eager to know what your role is exactly.” He gave her side eye and a honey-slow smile, referring to her demand for information at their first meeting. “You will be better than a devoted pet, more attuned than a trusted servant, superior to an equal match, and far more entertaining than a call girl, mistress, or robotic pleasure toy. You will fulfill all of those functions and more, assisting me, accompanying me socially, and fulfilling my specialized sexual tastes. Small clue, they run to control and causing you such exquisite pain your wires will cross.” He caressed her lower lip with his thumb. “You’ll become so aroused when I torment you, you’ll come. In time, you’ll come from the thought of it, without touching yourself. I’ll train you to excite me and please me in ways you’ve never imagined. You’ll come to enjoy it, in time.” His lips twisted. “Of course, you’re being well paid, and I’m a man of honor. I won’t damage you. Aside from the aesthetic improvements, there will be no permanent marks. You’ll come out of this adventure unharmed. At least, your body will bear no damage.”
“Inside,” he tapped her between her breasts, “You’ll be different. Forever. Don’t worry. I’ll free you when I’m done.”
“When will that be?” Her voice shook, but she raised her chin.
“You have such spirit. I enjoy that in you.” He drew a slow breath, his magnificent chest expanding in pale blue shirt. His chest hair and nipples showed through it, and it formed to his muscles all the way to his low belt. His erection writhed down his thigh in black linen trousers.
“When?” She stepped closer, and his hand glided around her waist.
“Within two years, I imagine. We’ll make a good show of it, and then you’ll leave, and I’ll be free of having to play this game in public. In fact, I may be so shattered from losing you,” he pursed his lips, “that I never take another woman.”
“What do you mean?” A line deepened between her brows.
“You must refrain from frowning. You’re creating a crease in your face.”
“Damn it.” She meant, damn you.
“I’ll be heart-broken.” He stroked his chin, then he grinned like a showman, ruining the heart-stopping effect of those words.
She felt chilled.
He handed her a silky throw from a low table sitting in deep shadow. “Here.” He stood and wrapped it around her. “You’re mine. I’ll take care of you. You have nothing to worry about. Everything you need, I’ll provide it. At the end of the contract, I’ll give you payment in full as we agreed.” His fingers grazed her shoulder as he brought the blanket up to her neck.
She flinched.
“No, no, no.” He wagged a finger at her, softening his disapproval with a smile. “You must act as though you crave my touch, like a cat, eager to be petted. A little aloof will do, but not too cold, never too cold. You must appear devoted at all times, never bored, never restless nor indifferent. Your life is in my hands.” He gripped her chin until she met his eyes. “Beautiful. The lilac irises captivate me.”
She leaned toward his touch. Obedient, playing the part.
He sighed. “Too forced, Rose. You can do better.” He flipped his hand and stepped away from her. “You’re intelligent. You’ll improve. Begin by picturing I’m someone you care about and pretend I’m him.” The words held a caustic edge. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “In the meantime, your shortcomings will fuel valuable lessons.”
“What do you mean?” She pulled the blanket into a cocoon.
“Soon, you’ll entertain me again in the basement.”
Her brows rose and her eyes widened.
He extended his hand.
She hesitated then gave him hers. “Yes, Sir.” Her nipples hardened.
“Excellent. That’s the kind of response I like to see.”
She enjoyed his power more than she allowed herself to reveal. His underestimating her and eking out bare approval made it more exciting for him. She’d be his rough diamond, make him work to get what he wanted. Men found it more thrilling to break through resistance.
“I’ve never been able to stand girls panting after me.” He drew his fingertip from the nape of her neck to her tail bone. Even through the throw, his touch was electric. “You’ll be fun to break.”
“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she said in her starchiest tone.
He chuckled. “To be honest, our charade will also please my blood-thirsty family. There’s a weighty matter, and their pressure is becoming tedious. I want them off my ass. Your presence in my life will serve beautifully.” His stiff expression told her not to ask for details, and his eyes raked her.
She nodded, pretending to be satisfied by his cryptic idea of giving her details about her role. Acceptance was the safest course.
“Good, Rose. You’re learning.” That downward flick of his eyebrows. “Curiosity is one of my least favorite traits. It’s bad for cats, and it could be dangerous for you. Don’t pry. Don’t snoop. Don’t interrogate.” He leaned back. “Don’t open doors.”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, close enough to see a few whiskers he missed shaving and the shell-form translucence of his ear.
Someday, she’d sketch him. Two years was a long time. She might paint a portrait, but when he discarded her, she wouldn’t want it. She closed her eyes and curtained her face in her hair.
“I want your cooperation.” He held up his hand. “Oh, yes, I know. You’ve been obedient. You’re diligent about your lessons. You’re making rapid progress with French.” His eyes crinkled, as though amused she ignored his warning about Romance languages. “Your choice of studying certain First Ladies is inspired. I applaud your intelligence and initiative.” He leveled his I-know-everything gaze. “As conscientious as you are, you aren’t—impassioned. I require you to reach your maximum effort, to surpass everything you’ve imagined you could do.” He glanced out at the waves. “I need your help.”
His softened voice and the words caught her off guard. All this time, he had her pinned like one of his moths in the entryway. Now he wanted to enlist her voluntary assistance, beyond the level of the job. The part of her that analyzed books as she read them recognized the play as a master stroke. Bravo, Damon. If you can’t get when you want by bribery, coercion, and crude manipulation, get personal.
She caught herself hunching her shoulders and corrected her posture. “Yes? How can I help you?” Her intonation matched the lessons exactly. It was one of her phrases, the woman in the recordings.
His head jerked up. He blinked and stared at her. “You are good,” he whispered. “Perhaps I haven’t praised you enough. I was raised in an atmosphere of criticism and reproach. As a Karl heir, being good enough was never possible.” He raked back his hair and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m running out of time, my dear. You’re bright, I’m sure you understood an enormous fortune hangs in the balance. As much as I’d like to believe my father wouldn’t disown me, he’s as tenacious in a power struggle as I am.” He took a long breath. “I have a streak of pride and stubbornness as wide and virulent as my old man’s. I made a mistake.” He closed his eyes. “Ultimately, I hope, not a mistake, because it allowed me to choose my destiny. However, in the game of who gains my father’s throne, I came close to ruining my prospects.” He shook his head sharply and got up from the throne.
She stood looking at his retreating back, more mystified than ever.
An unseen door clicked and he was gone.
At a loss, she headed to the suite to study her French.
Seated at the desk, she stared at the lesson on the computer screen.
Her heart pounded. In the distraction of dancing for him and puzzling over his cryptic pronouncements, she forgot she had to meet him in the dungeon this evening. Arousal suffused her from her bottom to her nipple
s. Pulling her lips between her teeth, she bit them.
She didn’t want to crave his touch, but she could hardly wait to feel his hands on her.
Lesson 2
Damon
Her hard breathing shook her breasts.
I peeled off a glove and ran my fingertips down her arm. She trembled, her body dangling helpless, her toes scrabbling to gain control.
Trembled like a flower.
Her exquisite sex-jolt reaction to my light touch transformed her body into a pendulum.
I allowed her to swing.
Padded leather wrist restraints attached to chains held her suspended for my delectation. A soft spot light showed the delicate flushed skin of her face and chest. Her breasts rose and fell quickly with he panting breaths, and her skin glowed from arousal. The fresh sea scent of her cunt slipped from between her legs. My Rose found pleasure in submitting to me.
“Beautiful. I enjoy you bound and responding.”
Her bound hands drew her breasts high. Goosebumps made them stark as an art photo. I pictured them displayed with flower stamens, bees’ pollen-covered legs, the inner folds of persimmons.
Her nipples stood out at peak hardness.
I wanted to lick them, but more than that, I wanted to make her wait.
I wanted her crazed with desire.
Being past my years of most-urgent sexual passion allowed me the leisure of savoring her.
Sexuality in this decade became more controlled, less ruling. I welcomed the leisure to choose when and how to achieve pleasure. Sexual desire rarely arrived masked as need anymore. I mastered it, and it left me be until I chose to direct it to fulfill my own ends.
I drew my fingertips from her nape to her tail bone. She shook, a new fern frond unfurling in the wind.
The prospect of beating her again drew me, but I resisted. That was too simple. Based on her responses to having her ass slapped, she’d like it.
Now, I wanted to create a more complex experience.
With each touch, I’d embed sensations, build layers of longing, patterns of arousal. Tantalizing her would became music between us.
I drew my thumbs from the crack of her ass to the dimples at the tops of her hips, watching her cheeks spread with my pressure and close as I eased the depth.
Her ragged breathing caused my cock to swell.
Bending close, I blew on the nape of her neck and withdrew my thumbs from their tantalizing closeness to her full butt cheeks.
She moaned.
Soon, she’d never know when I’d touch her, and when I’d withhold touch. Except, she’d sense my hands caressed her most often here in my dungeon, when she was bound.
The link between being restrained by me and being caressed would lead to heightened arousal each time I cuffed her wrists. Soon, she’d crave the cuffs.
I wanted her tossing in bed at night, wishing I was beside her, wishing I was on top of her and inside her. Wishing that I’d merely slide one finger tip from her skull to her ass.
My Rose. So scintillating and classy-sexy.
Her face and body held timeless beauty. Already her waist curved in more tightly, enhancing her lush curves.
For now, her uncertainty served me. Her insecurities set her apart from the brash women, the barracudas circled me, as though any man worth anything couldn’t see through flattery and pathetic grabs based on shallowness and greed.
If I hadn’t been right about my Rose, if she wasn’t as nuanced in her mind and spirit as she was in her potential for mesmerizing, perfect beauty, I wouldn’t have wanted to keep her.
Making her walk for me in the Sky Lounge confirmed she had a balance of confidence and uncertainty that excited me to fever. It confirmed I wanted her, and I’d own her, and I’d break her. Once I determined she was everything I hoped, all I’d needed was to gain her consent. I knew from the moment she sent the email that would be easy.
Her toes gripped the floor. She arched her bottom toward me, offering herself.
“Lovely instincts.” I pressed my thumb into the hollow at the base of her skull and massaged her there. “If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you weren’t a virgin after all. You told me the truth in your email, didn’t you?”
She gasped. The mirrors showed her tongue sliding over her lips.
I caressed her throat and withdrew my thumb from the nexus of nerves.
“Yes, I did. I told you the truth. I’m a virgin.” The challenging smile I’d missed returned. “I figured it was a selling point. That’s why I sent the PS.” Her tongue flicked over her lips again.
Not a PS, my pretty snake, a second email. At her age, she probably had no idea what a PS was. I dismissed the urge to correct her. We had far more pressing priorities with which to occupy our time.
I gathered her hair in my hand and tugged.
Tendrils stuck to her face and the back of her neck. Her heat rendered her slick.
My cock wanted to find out how slick. Down boy.
I pulled her face toward mine, her entire body arcing to me like an archer’s bow.
Inhaling a whisper from her lips, I siphoned her breath into my body.
Her eyes widened. Her cheeks reddened.
I pulled my face away.
Her body swung at me and collided at our hipbones and knees.
She gasped and scrambled with her tiptoes.
I gripped her hip, arresting her swing.
She stopped, eyes fluttering, lips parted. Her panting breath made me want to yank her legs around my waist and fuck her right there.
I wheeled to the winch and ratcheted the chain down. The heavy links slid over her shoulder as she lowered her bound hands.
Without a sound, I released her wrists.
Her eyes pleaded with me.
I didn’t answer them.
I handed her the tiger kimono.
“Oh, it’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it suits you.”
She slipped into it, a sylph, a woods nymph, a warrior princess.
I treasured how when I looked at her she slid between so many facets of beauty.
She had the strength for this, I was certain of it, but I’d have to be hard on her. There wasn’t much time, not nearly enough for a full training. We’d both be tested to our limits, and a great deal rested on how we performed.
I wrenched myself from looking into her cave-pool eyes. They took me eons into the past and shot me far into the future. I could ill afford to indulge all the places I imagined us loving together through time. If we were to accomplish what we must in the present, I had to maintain my mask. For now.
“You did well. That’s enough for today. Go and study.”
She turned, her hair whirling to hide her face. Her face had gone redder, and her lips more pale. No mistaking the upset and hurt flashing in her eyes. I’d like to kiss it away, but this wasn’t the time to indulge whims.
Much would be required of her if we were to succeed.
Watching her exquisite walk, her rounded ass leaving the room, I longed to blow it off, all of it, call her back and kiss her until she climbed my body begging for my cock, or became unconscious from breathy excitement.
I’d carried her unconscious body. I’d saved her life. I belonged to her in ways I might never let her know.
It remained crucial that she belong to me—and that no one be able to challenge that. The depth of my possessing her must be complete. The challenge ahead required an unbreakable bond between us.
Up ahead, those fiery eyes of hers might soften in understanding. At least, once we completed her training, her body would surrender and her cries would reach their limits in completion.
She was mine. I was a patient man. As I left my lair, the secret panel whispered shut behind me. My cock ached. My Rose was so close, and soon, I’d claim her virginity.
The Corset
She awakened to the sight of a boned black satin foundation garment.
The black satin garment sat on a chair in front of the French do
ors, the early sunlight making it shine. Lacing cords coiled in front of it like snakes at rest. A series of heavy silver loop fastenings in the front gave an impression of heavy-duty hardware beneath the fine fabric with its lace edging and tiny bows. The garment appeared at once girlish and funereal, a lady’s foundation garment and a relic from a crypt. It was something suitable to a stripper, a dominatrix, or a corpse of the Victorian era.
She sat up in the bed, kicking the sheet back to the floor. It seemed whoever brought the thing in here put the damned sheet on the bed, no doubt meaning to be helpful.
Against her sense of being invaded, and anger flaring in her belly, she reminded herself she forfeited privacy when she signed Damon Karl’s damned and damning contract. With a deep breath, she shut her eyes against the glare.
Rich people lived like this. It wasn’t a sign of being a prisoner.
This same outrage filled her when a housekeeper moved her things in a hotel room on rare vacations with her parents. She hated it. She might have one thing in common with Damon, that she craved control, even if only the small comforts of having things left the way she left them.
Easing one eye open, she examined the corset again. Beautiful, in a way. She imagined her compressed breasts bulging at the top, her hips flaring at the bottom, everything in the middle squeezed. She’d worn one only once, but it was the lingerie type with a triple row of hooks and eyes, and a thin satin ribbon criss-crossing up the front. It was possible to get into that playful merry widow alone by opening the lacing wide, fastening the hooks, and sliding it on. Another model gave her a thumbs-up, both giggling, rushing to be ready for the runway.
This corset was another matter. Its design dated from the era of lady’s maids, when a privileged woman didn’t have to dress herself, and probably couldn’t.
Mandy was intrigued. Whatever was to happen to her today, she imagined the corset would be part of it. With a sigh that expressed more than she would say in the master’s home, she rose out of the too-comfortable bed and headed for a cool shower.
She dialed the luxury massage shower head to a needle-sharp setting to help her get on alert. Whatever Damon had in mind, she needed to be careful. She had to quash the fire threatening to lash out and sabotage this cushy gig.