The Devil's Kiss Series Boxed Set

by Gemma James

  She stumbled back, and only then did I realize that I’d inched forward with each verbal strike to the bullseye of her venomous core. I would have kept on pushing, refusing to back down until the bitch fell flat on her ass, but Gage grabbed my shoulders.

  “Come on, Kayla. She’s not worth it, and this stress isn’t good for the baby.”

  I knew he was right, but hell, I wanted to keep going at her until not a trace of her claim on my husband remained.

  “If you’re not gone in five minutes,” Gage told her, “I’ll send security after you.” He veered me in the direction of the estate, and I caught a glimpse of something dark passing over her face, settling into the depths of her eyes.

  The promise of payback.

  She might be down this round, but she fully intended to dig her claws into what was mine….one way or another. Beneath the mask of momentary defeat lived an irate woman who issued a silent challenge.

  Game on.

  19. Rendezvous

  “Why were you out here, Kayla?”

  “Why were you?” I shot back. Once again, I tried to pull from his grasp, but he wouldn’t allow it. He had my hand in the crook of his arm, the picture of a perfect gentlemen, but as he placed his palm over the back of my hand, I knew the true reason he held onto me.

  Power and control. It was such a Gage type of move that I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  The lights from the mansion lit up the patio several feet in front of us, but Gage steered us toward a bench. As I settled into the seat, he removed his jacket and draped it over my shoulders before taking the spot next to me.

  “Do not disrespect me, Kayla. Answer the question.”

  “I’m sorry, Master,” I said, lowering my gaze to my twiddling thumbs. But I wasn’t really sorry—a large part of me still seethed from my confrontation with that bitch. Adrenaline pumped through my veins too fast, and I took a deep breath to get a grip on my emotions.

  “I came out here to touch myself.” From the corner of my eye, I noted how his shoulders seemed to release some of his tension.

  He let out a breath. “Of course you did.” He shot me a sideways glance. “Did you come?”

  “No, Master.”

  “But you got close?”

  His line of questioning more than frustrated me. “Shouldn’t we talk about Katherine?”

  “You still don’t trust me,” he said, matter-of-factly. “But to answer your question, Kayla, I went for a walk with Katherine because she said she needed to talk about Conner.”

  I turned to face him and laced our fingers together. “I do trust you. That’s not what this is about. I feel like…”

  He squeezed my fingers, and that small gesture of encouragement gave me the strength to forge ahead.

  “I guess I feel like there’s something I’m missing, or not understanding. We’ve been married for over a year, but she just won’t let go. You were with her for months, but that was years ago.”

  The instant the words left my mouth, I realized how ridiculous I sounded, considering my brief time with Ian years ago. Cheeks flaming, I lowered my gaze, ashamed that I’d let my jealousy and doubt cloud what was right in front of me.

  It was like a bulb flashing behind my eyes.

  “I feel so stupid,” I whispered.

  He tilted my chin, refusing to let me hide. “You’re not stupid, baby. You’re mine, which makes me yours, and you have every right to get angry. She’s overstepping, but it won’t last forever. Eventually, she’ll move on.” His hold on me tightened. “She’ll move on because she has no choice.”

  His assertion was layered in meaning. People always had a choice, but in Gage Channing’s world, his decree was law, and he always got what he wanted. I wasn’t sure he was right—not after I’d punched the bitch before throwing my pregnancy in her face.

  “I’m only going to say one more thing about what went down back there,” he said, nodding in the direction of the gazebo, where thankfully I found no sign of Katherine. “Because I won’t allow her to ruin this night for us.”

  My breath stalled in my lungs as I waited for him to continue. Whatever he wanted to say, I sensed the importance.

  “You were fucking amazing,” he said, voice hoarse as he palmed my cheek. “If you’re wondering why I didn’t stand up for you, it’s because I didn’t have to. Watching you in action, with your claws bared and fighting for what’s yours, was the best foreplay imaginable. I can not wait to get my hands on you tonight.”

  His words arrowed straight between my legs. “Master?” I breathed, fighting the urge to cover my suddenly aching nipples as visions of the two of us tore through my mind.

  “What is it, baby?”

  “I’m so wet.” A whimper drifted from my lips, and I pressed my thighs together.

  “Spread them,” he ordered, a seductive timbre holding his voice captive.

  “But what if someone—”

  “I don’t care who’s watching. Spread your legs.” And he truly didn’t give a fuck. His gaze remained on me, and he brought his hand to my cheek again, preventing me from searching our surroundings for bystanders.

  Wetting my lips, I inched my thighs apart, horribly self-conscious as a hint of air drifted up my legs.

  “If you don’t spread your legs like you mean it, I will bend you over my lap and expose your ass.”

  Oh, fuck. That shouldn’t make me so hot, but it did.

  I spread wide open, and he slipped a warm hand underneath my full dress. He didn’t bother easing into it—his fingers filled my pussy in a forceful thrust.

  “Master,” I groaned, arching my back.

  “So fucking wet.” He licked his lips. “Who owns this sexy-as-fuck cunt?”

  “You do, Master.” And he was driving me crazy because he refused to move his fingers. They’d laid claim to my drenched opening, and they seemed content to stay seated there as if my body was but a glove for those digits.

  “Please,” I practically sighed, falling into the deep sea of his eyes. No one else existed—it was just the two of us, nose-to-nose, his left palm on my cheek while his right hand drove me insane.

  “You can beg all you want, but you’re not coming.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Because I can.” Leaning forward, he dipped his tongue between my parted lips. “Because I love to watch you come undone, nothing holding you back.” He crooked his fingers inside me, and I moaned against his lips. “If I told you someone was watching us this very minute, would you still beg me to fuck you with my fingers?”

  “Yes, Master.” I kissed him, eyes fluttering shut, and spread my legs as wide as my tired muscles would allow. He tangled his tongue with mine for a few lust-filled seconds then pulled away.

  “What if I wanted to lick your beautiful cunt while strangers watched? Would you beg me to do it?”

  “God,” I choked past the desire strangling my throat.

  “I’m not your God, but I am your Master. Beg me, Kayla.”

  “I need you,” I said with a whimper. “Fuck me, Master. I’m begging.”

  “Mmm,” he murmured, scraping his teeth over the sensitive part of my neck, “your cunt is begging. Know the difference, baby.”

  “It needs you. Bad.”

  “Yes, it does. But your belly is growling, so your cunt will have to wait.” He rose to his feet, and it was a good thing he pulled me to mine because I knew my legs would have folded without his support.

  He led me back inside in time for the first course of an elaborate meal, and I wondered if everyone could guess at the mess between my legs with one glance at my flushed face. My lust for Gage consumed me, and I was certain I gave off whore-like pheromones that no mask in the world could disguise.

  20. A Test of Trust

  I made it through dinner and dessert in a daze, politely nodding upon what I hoped were the right cues, and speaking only when directly spoken to. But my mind had zeroed in on the hot need
between my thighs. Gage had mastered the art of controlling me through denial, and when he played with my head like this, I might as well be a puppet dangling on the other end of his strings.

  Sometime later, long after we’d eaten our last course, he dragged my reluctant feet to the middle of the dance floor. Couples crowded around us from all sides—at least that’s what it felt like despite the cathedral ceiling over the spacious ballroom. My husband’s unyielding finger titled my chin in his direction, demanding my undivided attention. He pressed a hand to the small of my back and brought me into his arms. We swayed to the music, lost in our own world, mindless of the time passing. I could dance like this with him forever, one cheek nestled against his chest, moving more to the sound of his heartbeat than to the music.

  “It’s time,” Gage whispered into my ear.

  He might as well have poured ice water over my head. I withdrew from the circle of his arms, and only then did I notice how the guests had mostly disappeared. Hired help in crisp black and white uniforms began clearing tables.

  Wordlessly, Gage ushered me from the ballroom. We headed toward a grand staircase with ornately carved wooden banisters, but instead of climbing to the second or even third floor of the estate, he steered me to the left of the stairs where we disappeared through an archway.

  “Where are we going?”

  Instead of answering, he laced our fingers together and escorted me halfway down a long corridor before opening another door and urging me into what appeared to be the library, going by the floor-to-ceiling shelves housing books. Some of them were old and worn, possibly antiques. The room offered privacy in a claustrophobic nature, as not a single window allowed a beam of light from the moon or a ray of warmth from the sun during the day.

  Even though he’d removed his mask, I recognized Mr. Davenport instantly. He sat in a chair in front of the fireplace, his lean body nestled in dark brown leather. “It’s an honor to have the two of you join us tonight,” he said, his smile reaching his eyes.

  I turned to Gage for instruction because I was way out of my element here. I didn’t know what to expect or what was expected of me.

  “My wife is in the dark about all of this, so please forgive her lack of protocol. She’ll know better after tonight.”

  Our host narrowed his thick brows. “Do you need a few minutes to discuss it with her before we get to the nondisclosure?”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. This is a lesson of trust for her.”

  “I see,” the other man said, nodding. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Channing.” He gestured to another chair to the right of him. A crystal decanter sat on a table alongside two tumblers.

  Gage led me to where the other man sat and pointed at the floor in front of the table. “You may kneel here.”

  “Yes, Master.” Regardless of our audience, the title slipped off my lips, as natural as breathing, and I sank to my knees, arranging my dress over a plush Persian rug as I did so.

  Gage poured two fingers then settled into the high back armchair.

  Mr. Davenport laid a document and pen down on the table. “It’s standard, but feel free to read through it.”

  Burning with curiosity, I watched Gage go over the paper, certain his astute gaze left not a single word unread. With no hesitation, he signed his name at the bottom before passing the pen to me.

  “You need to sign as well. It’s just a standard nondisclosure agreement. You’re not allowed to speak to anyone about what goes on during these sessions.”

  Sessions…as in plural. I tried not to gulp as I pushed upward, standing on my knees so I could reach the paper.

  “Welcome to our circle,” Mr. Davenport said. “I must admit to being pleasantly surprised you finally took me up on my invitation,” he told Gage.

  My husband merely shrugged. “I guess I was waiting for Kayla.” He leaned forward and brushed his fingers under my chin. “And she wasn’t quite ready until now.”

  The other man rose. “Wonderful. You’ll find a robe for your slave at the top of the stairs. We require that new slaves disrobe in front of everyone their first time in the circle.”

  I felt my jaw slacken, but I didn’t dare look at Gage. If I did, I might beg for him to take me home.

  “If that’s all then,” Mr. Davenport stated rather than asked, “we’ll see you down there in a few minutes.” He gathered the document and crossed to the wall of shelves before pulling out a book. Much to my astonishment, two bookcases wheeled outward and to the sides, revealing a secret staircase.

  “Is this some sort of secret society?” I asked after those stairs seemed to swallow our host.

  “In a way, yes.” Gage stood and held out a palm, assisting me to my feet. “Let’s get this dress off.”

  I shrank back, fists crossing over my breasts. “I want to go home.”

  Gage frowned. “Now is not the time for you to rebel, baby. I’ve waited years for this. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to take into the circle.”

  “Why me?” It was a stupid question, and a desperate one I’d thrown out to stall him.

  “Address me properly.”

  “I’m sorry, Master.” Sorry wasn’t even close—my mind spun in all directions, trying to latch on to something that made sense. How had we gone from Master and slave in the privacy of our home to this?

  “When spoken to by the men in the circle, you’ll address them as Sir, myself excluded. I’m your Master, and you’ll address me as such.” He straightened his spine, rising high over my quivering form. I stood on my feet in front of him, but my will was but a tiny ball of nothing, cowering on the floor.

  “As for the other slaves,” he continued, “you won’t speak to them unless directed to.” Carefully, he removed my mask and set it on the table before taking his off as well. But as he reached for me, I stepped out of line again.

  “Please don’t make me do this, Master.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, Master.” But wanting to trust someone and doing so were two different things.

  “Then prove it,” he said. “Obey me. I promise you won’t be touched by anyone but me.”

  No, I’d just be used and humiliated in front of his societal bigwig friends. Allowing him to unzip my dress took more self-control than I thought I possessed. As that zipper slid down my back, I clenched my fists and mashed my lips together. Why did the idea of submitting to him in front of others seem so daunting? Compared to what he put me through daily, having an audience shouldn’t bother me so much.

  My dress fell in a heavy pile on the floor, surrounding my shaking limbs with the finest fabric money could buy. Gripping his offered hand, I worked my heels off before stepping outside the circle of discarded formalwear, and goose pimples erupted on my skin as he slowly freed my body from his rope binding.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, folding the silky twine before pocketing it.

  Not even close, but I’d be damned if I allowed this night to be the catalyst for a breakdown.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be, Master.”

  Gage herded me to the top of the stairs, where the “robe” hung on a hook. Robe, my ass. The garment was nothing more than a sheer peignoir.

  “Whether you receive pain or pleasure tonight is up to you,” he said, holding the lingerie open so I could push my arms through the long, flowing sleeves. Impossibly, I felt more exposed with it on.

  “How so, Master?”

  “If you behave, you won’t be punished.”

  “That doesn’t reassure me, Master.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you love my pain.” Promises or not, he’d find creative ways to make me stumble.

  Taking my chin between two commanding fingers, he pressed his lips to mine for a fleeting moment. “You know me so well.”

  The winding staircase took us to a room hidden below where the ball had been held. My skin chilled from the cold, or maybe from nerves. A door came into view, and Gage h
alted.

  “You will follow my directions and only mine. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes, Master.” I swallowed hard, but nausea busted through my resolve. “Can I have a safe word?”

  “You don’t need a safe word. You asked why you? This is why. You give me what I crave most. You give me the honor of truly owning you. Trust that I know what you can and can’t handle.”

  Oh God. I was close to panicking.

  “No gags,” I begged.

  He ran a thumb across my lips. “Considering your condition, I wouldn’t have gagged you anyway. This is what I’m talking about, Kayla. You don’t trust me to take care of you.” Sharp disappointment drew his face taunt, deepening his indigo eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Master.” My failure at pleasing him sucked the strength from me, and my knees gave out. Wrapping my arms around his legs, I nestled my cheek against the smooth fabric of his pants. “I want to make you proud.”

  “You’re making me hard.”

  Those words had the power to flip that mysterious switch inside me. From despair to arousal in less time than it took to inhale. Gazing up at him, I exhaled my reservations and grabbed his offered hand.

  He propelled me to my feet, and though my body still shook from fear of the unknown, I felt stronger at my core as he wedged open that door and ushered me toward the next test of my submission.

  21. The Circle

  The sweet aroma of cigars drifted through the space that could only be described as elaborate…or decadently sensual from the candlelight that washed the room in a soft glow. This was not a basement, but a huge circle of a room, and Gage and I stood at the edge. Directly in the center sat a group of people, unsurprisingly in a circle. The men relaxed in chairs, their formal attire in various stages of undress as they talked, drank, and smoked. The five women I’d met earlier in the evening kneeled at their feet, sans their masks.

  Blondie was completely naked, and her husband had gagged her mouth. Tears lingered on her long lashes, and I wondered what she’d done to earn the punishment of silence. To their left, Mr. Davenport puffed on a cigar, his legs spread to accommodate his wife’s bobbing head. He helped her along, his fingers sifting through her sleek hair. He downright petted her as she sucked him with lazy strokes of her slurping mouth.