Paris Punishment: Paris Trilogy: Part Two

by Lila Dubois

  “Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked softly.

  “I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want that. I shouldn’t want you.”

  “But you do.”

  She raised her gaze from his lips to his eyes. “And you want me.”

  “God help me, I do.”

  Another fleeting moment of hurt, this time quickly masked by haughty anger. “I have that effect on men. You aren’t special.” She reached up and patted his cheek.

  She was goading him. He knew it, but that didn’t stop it from working. Solomon grabbed her hips, jerking her against his mostly naked body. She hadn’t looked down at his crotch, so when his erection prodded her stomach, her eyes went wide.

  “You shouldn’t be surprised,” he growled. “You always have this effect on me. Even arguing with you makes me hard.”

  She swayed into him, breasts brushing his chest. “What are we doing?”

  “Making bad decisions.” This was a bad decision that felt very, very good.

  “I came to tell you I was planning to leave today.”

  He bent his head toward her neck. She obligingly tipped her chin up. He skimmed his lips along her soft flesh.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” she murmured. “I might change my mind about leaving.”

  Leaving. She was going to leave him. It was for the best. Last night they’d said everything there was to say. This morning they were just rehashing it, and as they did, they were hurting one another. The best thing would be for her to go.

  But he’d made a mistake. He’d touched her.

  “Leave tomorrow,” he whispered against her collarbone. “Stay with me tonight.”

  “We make bad decisions when we…” She tangled her hands in his hair and moaned as he flicked his tongue over her skin.

  “Bad decisions,” he agreed, skimming his lips back up her throat to nip her earlobe.

  “We should stop touching. If we do and still, oh yes, right there… What was I saying?”

  He sucked the delicate skin high on her neck. She shivered. He shifted to whisper right into her ear. “You were saying we should cool off. Why don’t you take off your dress?” He let his fingers skim over the shoulder strap.

  Vivienne wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing tight. “I have a better idea.”

  Why were her eyes sparkling mischief?

  Vivienne suddenly leaned back, throwing them both off-balance. Solomon windmilled his arms, but with her clinging to his front, he wasn’t able to regain his balance.

  Vivienne let out a single triumphant laugh before they splashed into the ocean.

  She let go once they hit, and Solomon stayed under for a moment to get his bearings. When he was sure which way was up, he popped to the surface. Vivienne was already there, her dark hair plastered to her head, the rest of it floating on top of the water like an ink spill.

  She grinned at him, and Solomon couldn’t help but smile in return.

  “That’s one way to force us to cool off.” He dunked under the water to slick his hair back. “My dick is not super happy by the sudden introduction to cold water,” he said wryly.

  Vivienne laughed, and he wondered if this is what the Sirens had used to lure sailors to their death. Not a song, but a genuine, delighted laugh, with just a hint of husky knowing.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Cooled off?”

  Her laughter abated and she looked at him seriously. “Yes.”

  “And?” He hoped he didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt.

  “I still want you, Solomon. I always will, but we can’t be together, even just for D/s.” She bobbed in the water, turning away from him to look at the wild expanse of the ocean. “What happened in Paris proved that.”

  He reached out and grabbed the edge of the dock with one hand, extending the other toward her through the ebbing ocean water. “You’re right. But maybe we could part as…friends.”

  She took his hand and he pulled her toward the dock, where she wasn’t subject to the rhythm of the current.

  “What I feel for you isn’t friendly, Solomon.”

  “That’s a loaded statement.”

  Her lashes veiled her eyes. “Is it any different for you?”

  “No,” he agreed.

  “The smart thing would be for me to leave. To say au revoir.”

  If he were smart, weren’t a damned masochist, he would agree with her. But floating with her there, where the dock hid them from shore and the water felt intimate and safe, made it too easy to be stupid.

  “Or,” he said quietly, “you stay tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can give you that tour.”

  One dark eyebrow rose. “Oh?”

  “So I can show you my dungeon,” he said. “So I can strip you naked and put you on your knees one last time.”

  Her breath escaped in a whoosh of warm air that fanned his cheek.

  She stayed silent so long he was sure she would refuse. That she’d gently push him away, and rightly point out what a fucking stupid idea that was.

  “One last night together.” She raised her gaze to his. “Then we part as friends.”

  “It’ll be our closure,” he said.

  Her lashes dipped, and she nodded.

  Solomon wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling their bodies together, then sealed his lips over hers. She tasted like salt, tea, and a unique flavor that was all Vivienne.

  One last night together.

  Chapter 8

  She wore a light robe in deference to the people who worked for Solomon. If not for them, she would have arrived at the double doors into his dungeon completely naked.

  Barefoot—she remembered his rule—she knocked once. She’d second-guessed staying. She’d stared at her phone, fingers hovering over the buttons. All she had to do was text Aldric and he’d make arrangements for her to take a helicopter to George Town. But she hadn’t done that. Instead, she’d showered, prepared her body for her Master.

  Solomon opened the doors in a matter of seconds. He must’ve been waiting for her on the other side. That was flattering yet somehow heartbreaking.

  He opened both doors simultaneously, his long, muscled arms stretched out. She stepped over the threshold into the bubble of his personal space. Solomon’s right arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her against his body while his left hand nudged the doors closed. They made a heavy, satisfying thunk as they sealed.

  Vivienne was desperately, wonderfully aware of his hard muscles and tight body. Solomon wore a pair of snug black pants tucked into heavy black boots. His lovely chest was bare. If they’d been somewhere besides a tropical island, his pants would’ve been leather, but here the pants were heavy cotton, held up by a thick leather belt.

  His hand trailed up her back, rubbing the fabric of her thin, white robe, before tangling in her hair.

  Vivienne closed her eyes and let the weight of her head fall back against his fist.

  “Open your eyes, Vivi. I want to show you my dungeon.” The command was accompanied by a sharp tug on her hair. Vivienne opened her eyes just as he released his hold on her waist and stepped to the side so she could see the room beyond.

  He called it a dungeon, but it was massive, light, and beautiful, not cramped, cold, and foreboding. The walls were a pale cream color, the floor tiled rather than poured concrete or stone. The beachfront wall was almost entirely made of glass. It was late afternoon and golden light from the sun, which hung just above the horizon, spilled into the room, painting everything a beautiful pale gold while also casting long, dark shadows that fit the mood of the moment. Tonight was about both light and dark. It was about finally saying goodbye to this man who, even in the years they’d been apart, defined her. He would always be a part of her past, but maybe after tonight she’d be able to leave him there.

  Maybe after this she would move on and actually see someone, try to create a future for herself where she wasn’t alone.

  Those thoughts were fleeting and quick beca
use looking around this place he’d created made her ache. A thousand unlit candles waited in myriad back sconces, on tables protected by glass hurricane lamps, and in candelabras made of iron or driftwood. And that was just the decor. Then there were the things that made this a dungeon.

  From St. Andrew’s crosses to tie points on the walls, and even dangling lattices for suspension play. Each piece of equipment was a work of art in itself. The wood was carefully carved and finished to a smooth, glossy sheen. The leather, when it was present, wasn’t black but a more natural dark brown.

  The entire place gave off a feeling of being bespoke, everything having been designed and made to fit Solomon’s vision. It was both nothing like what she’d expected, and exactly right. Solomon was, at heart, a romantic. He liked to talk about how his need for BDSM probably stemmed from his issues with his powerful mother and his own need for control, but she’d realized, not long after they started exploring BDSM in earnest, that there was more to it. Part of him wanted to be the white knight rescuing the fair maiden from the tower. If it just so happened that he was the one who put her in that tower in the first place—and that he would ravish her in the best possible way before finishing the rescue—that was entirely beside the point.

  He was behind her, one forearm coming across her belly and pulling her back against his bare chest. “I expect submissives to mind their manners when they’re in my dungeon.”

  “Of course, Master Carter.”

  “No, Vivi. That’s not what you call me, is it?”

  A hot flush raced over her skin, yet some part of her wanted to needle him.

  “No, Sir. It’s not.” That wasn’t the word he’d wanted to hear and she knew it. She was goading him, but also putting distance between them. This was a goodbye scene.

  “You want to begin with the punishment?”

  “Actually, I do.”

  His lips brushed her ear. “Why?”

  “You know why, Sir.”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  “Because I never feel more submissive than when you’re punishing me.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  She sighed. Why couldn’t he make it simple and easy? “Punishment is—”

  “Punishment is easy submission.”

  “Easy?” She tried to turn in his arms, but he tightened his hold, his forearm like a steel bar across her midsection.

  “You want to top from the bottom. You want me to punish you, so you’re being a brat.”

  “I’m not trying to top from the bottom. I’m trying to tell you what I need.”

  Now he turned her, his hand sliding up into the hair at her nape, deep and forming that wonderfully familiar fist there. He forced her head back enough that he could look into her eyes.

  “You need to be punished?” he asked.

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I broke your heart.”

  Solomon jerked back almost as if she’d slapped him.

  Vivienne lowered her gaze, her throat tight with the tears she didn’t want to shed right now. Solomon’s opinion on what had happened in the past had shocked her, and she didn’t think he was wholly right. But she was realistic enough to know that her view of their past was also colored by her own emotions and perception.

  And there was one more thing. One thing she had truly done that she deserved to be punished for.

  It took her a moment to master her emotions, but once she was sure she wouldn’t cry, she raised her gaze to his, then touched the scar at the corner of his lips with the pads of her fingers.

  “I deserve to be punished for giving you this scar. I deserve to be punished for lashing out. I deserve to be punished for forcing you to wear the reminder of how very badly things went wrong.”

  “No, Vivienne. I’d never punish you for this.” Solomon grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face.

  It was the first time they’d even come close to talking about what had happened the day he’d broken their engagement and walked away. The day she’d physically scarred him, and he’d hurt her so deeply she’d been the walking wounded ever since.

  And now that they were talking about it, she had questions. Why hadn’t he had a plastic surgeon fix it? For the relatively shallow cut to have left such a big scar, it meant that he’d had either no treatment or only minimal medical care.

  She was about to ask him, about to launch into a discussion about that horrible day. Talking about it would provide closure, perhaps even better closure, than a BDSM scene.

  Before she could say anything more, Solomon reached for the tie of her robe. He undid the double knot with sure, quick movements, pulling the long satin tie free of the anchor loops. The robe slid open, hanging from her shoulders and leaving the front of her naked body on display from neck to toes.

  For a moment she was emotionally off-balance. She’d walked in here expecting to scene, then started thinking about the past. Now Solomon was pulling her back into the scene, and she hadn’t quite mentally transitioned before he cupped her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple. She gasped and took a half step back.

  Solomon’s brow rose and a half smile curved the undamaged side of his mouth. “I won’t punish you for something that happened five years ago, but I will punish you for denying me full, unfettered access to those lovely breasts.”

  He reached out, quickly grasping the nipple he’d thumbed only moments ago. This time he gave it a punishing twist. She gasped once more, her arms jerking in an instinctive move to come up and push him away, shield and protect her delicate nipples.

  He pinched harder and twisted a little more, and a shudder of relief worked its way down her body. Her arms fell to her sides. She raised her chin, lowered her gaze so she was staring at his navel. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “You should be. Who does this body belong to?”

  “Me, Sir.”

  “Very good. But who has the right to toy and play with and touch this body however he wants?”

  “You do, Sir.”

  “And why do I have that right?”

  She inhaled, held a breath long enough that her ribs started to ache. She expelled the air in an open-mouth sigh. “Because I gave you that right. Because I’m submitting to you. Because we are engaged in a power exchange.”

  His fingers trailed over to her other breast. He was gentle with this nipple, softly stroking and circling the areola with the pad of his thumb.

  Then he returned to her first nipple, harsh once more. He flicked it, hard enough to make her yelp. Next, he pinched down hard and pulled, her back arching as she tried to relieve some of the terrible, wonderful tension.

  “There’s a simpler way to say all that.” Solomon’s voice, always deep, now had a gravelly quality to it. It sounded like the purr of a dangerous jungle cat.

  She began to respond, but he released her nipple, and the return of blood to the tightly pinched flesh made her whimper softly.

  His gaze traced her features, then down her exposed, naked front. As he reached for her breast once more, she instinctively hunched her shoulders.

  “No,” Solomon admonished her. “If I want to abuse your breasts, I will.”

  Twin bolts of white-hot arousal and pale fear shot through her. Vivienne straightened, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her breasts. She took a deep breath, raising her nipples even higher. And without him ordering her to, she slid her wrists behind her, resting them on the small of her back, her fingers loose and soft.

  Solomon reached out and flicked the edges of the robe. It fell off her shoulders, catching on her forearms, but otherwise leaving her wholly naked before him.

  “I will punish you,” he said in that deep, purring growl. “But not for something that happened in the past. Not even for trying to shield yourself from me right now.”

  Once more he reached for her nipples, but this time he reached out both hands. He balanced the lower swell of her breasts on his palms, his thumbs moving in sync, fl
icking back and forth across each nipple. Pulling down before pushing up on the tight peaks.

  Vivienne had to fight not to let her eyes slide closed and her head fall back. It would be too easy to get lost in the pleasure of this moment. This wasn’t just about her pleasure, it was about her need…and his.

  It’s about saying goodbye a small voice whispered in the back of her mind.

  That painful thought was chased away when he changed tactics. Adjusting his hold, he pinched each nipple with a thumb and index finger. Her left nipple, the one he been rough with, once more received wonderfully cruel treatment. He pinched hard, twisted her nipple a hundred and eighty degrees. In contrast, her right nipple was gently being rolled between the pads of his fingers. The dichotomy between sweet pleasure and cruel pain made her breath catch, made her pussy ache. Unbidden, she widened her stance, spreading her legs so that if he wanted to reach between them and either abuse or pleasure her pussy, he could do so.

  “Tell me why I am going to punish you,” Solomon demanded.

  “Because you can,” she breathed.

  “And?”

  His fingers never stopped moving, constantly toying with her nipples. She wanted to rock her hips forward and back in time with his fondling. She wanted to beg him to stop hurting her, wanted to beg him to be even rougher.

  “Vivienne.” Her name was a warning and a command.

  He wasn’t going to let her put distance between them. Not now, while they were Dom and sub. Not here, in his beautiful dungeon.

  “Because you are my Master.”

  “Say it.”

  She inhaled, exhaled. And as she did, she let go of those last remnants of self-preservation. She let go of those bits of armor she’d been using to pretend that this man didn’t still have the power to touch her in ways she doubted she’d ever allow another to handle her.

  “Master. My Master.”

  Solomon released her breasts, his hand sliding into her hair. He tugged once, an unspoken command.

  Vivienne shifted her arms so that the robe dropped to the floor a moment before she did.

  Her knees hit the cold tile and she exhaled, sinking deeper into the submission. This felt so right, so good. If only things had been different, if only they were different…