by HELEN HARDT
We have each other’s backs.
Betsy will help her, and Tessa will be fine.
And that’s what I want. I want Tessa to be fine, to be happy.
Yes. I want that.
The problem? It’s not all I want.
Chapter Fifty
Early in the afternoon, we arrive at Braden’s Manhattan penthouse.
“When can we go to the club?” I ask.
“Tonight. It doesn’t open until eight p.m.”
“It’s your club, though. Can’t we go now?”
He stares at me, his countenance slightly tense. “What are you looking for, Skye? Why is the club so important to you?”
“For the same reason it’s important to you,” I reply.
He nods. “I think that may be partially true, but you seem to be after something more than just sexual gratification.”
“Aren’t you?” I ask.
“I like to be in control,” he says. “You know that, and playing a scene at the club gives me the control that I like to a greater extent than in a regular bedroom. Though I could easily build my own playroom.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Because…the lifestyle is important to me, but it doesn’t define me.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?”
I nod, swallowing. Do I?
“Because I think,” he goes on, “you found something at the club that helps you deal with other aspects of your life.”
“So what if I did? Is that bad?”
“No, Skye. Nothing about the lifestyle is bad. But I have no interest in living that way twenty-four seven.”
“Neither do I.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”
“How could you think I wouldn’t be on the same page? Do you really think I want to spend my life as your submissive day in and day out?”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you want that.”
“Then why are you—”
“You resisted my control in the bedroom. You still resist my control in other aspects of your life.”
“That’s true. So why would you think—”
He rubs his jawline. “I don’t think that. Trust me on that one. I don’t think it for an instant. As to whether it’s what you want, we’ll find out tonight.”
Shivers overtake me, surprising me.
His words are enigmatic. I don’t want to be his submissive. I know that as well as I know my own name.
What am I after, then?
Why is the club so intriguing?
Many potential answers to my own question exist.
And every single one of them frightens me.
Chapter Fifty-One
No corset tonight. Braden gave me a bustier and black leather miniskirt along with the fishnets, garter belt, and platform stilettos. A much more comfortable ensemble. He also asked that I wear my hair in a high ponytail, which makes me wonder what he has in mind.
Doesn’t really matter. I’m already wet and ready.
Last, he places the diamond choker around my neck and eyes me lasciviously. “Nice,” he says simply.
My fingers wander to the choker. I did some research on collaring. In the club atmosphere, it means I belong to Braden and everyone else there will respect that. But there’s another meaning. A real-life meaning.
Some submissives wear their collars twenty-four seven. They are submissive in real life.
The choker is warm around my neck, almost as if it’s burning me. Branding me.
I like the feeling.
Another thing that frightens me.
“What will you wear tonight?” I ask.
“Black pants and a black shirt. My usual.”
“That’s your usual? Last time, you were bare chested.”
“Last time, my favorite black shirt was in Boston. I brought it this time.”
“Oh. I see.”
“We left quickly in the middle of the night last time,” he says.
“I know. And you didn’t think…”
“Right. I wasn’t sure you were ready for the club. Whether you’d ever be ready for it, actually. As I told you then, I didn’t plan to introduce you to that part of my lifestyle quite yet.”
Yes, he said all of that then. But the club… It awakened something in me. Something that seems almost as necessary as air.
I clear my throat. “Some of the men wear leather gear.”
“They do. I don’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t find it comfortable.”
Is the answer truly that simple?
He continues, “The club isn’t a place to play dress up for me.”
“Is that what it is for some people?”
He nods. “Dressing in leather with pierced nipples is a fetish for some. It’s part of exhibitionism for others. Not for me.”
I smile. “Yet you like to dress me up.”
His lips curve upward on the left side of his mouth. “Yes, but that’s for my pleasure. Not for anyone else’s. Not even yours.”
“It pleases me to look good for you.”
“Then I guess it’s for your pleasure as well.” Braden dons a black button-down, leaving the top two open.
I suck in a breath. God, he’s magnificent.
“Are you ready?” he asks, handing me my trench coat.
I nod, squirming against the tickle between my legs.
I’m so fucking ready.
We head to the elevator.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the club.
Black Rose Underground.
“Did you name the club?” I ask.
“Of course. It’s my club.”
“Where did the name come from?”
“It just sounded good to me.”
I nod. I’m not sure he’s telling me the whole truth, but I’m so enamored by the club that I let it go.
“Do I have to sign the NDA again?” I ask.
“No. You’re good for a year.”
Braden signs us in and we enter. It’s a little more crowded this evening, maybe because it’s Sunday instead of Monday night. Braden leads me to the bar, where he orders two Wild Turkeys. The bartender, a different one this time but still topless, slides the bourbons to us, and Braden hands one to me.
“What would you like to do tonight?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate. “I want you to bind me again.”
“That would please me, but there’s a lot here you haven’t seen. I can show you so much more.”
“That would be nice,” I say, “but maybe another time. I’d like to see the bondage room again. Then I want to go to your suite.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “As you wish, Skye.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I never showed you this.”
I take his phone, and my mouth drops open.
It’s a photo of me the last time we were here. I’m bound with the dark-red rope and lying on my side in the semi-fetal position, my eyes closed.
I’m stunned.
And turned on.
“You said I could take photos of you. Cameras aren’t allowed in here, but since I own the place, I bend the rules a little. Besides, I have no intention of posting this photo anywhere.”
I gaze at my own image, bound and satisfied.
The knot work is simple but beautiful, and the color of the rope against my white skin is lovely in its contrast.
My hair is slightly disheveled, and all I’m wearing are the black stilettos.
And Braden’s collar.
But it’s the look on my profile that truly draws my gaze.
I look…
Content?
Yes, but more.
Serene?
Yes, but more.
Almost…drunk.
But I’m not drunk. I had one drink that night. Only one, and I don’t let myself get too drunk ever.
Then it hits me—the perfect word to describe the look on my face.
Enthralled.
For that’s what I truly am.
Enthralled by Braden. In thrall to him. In bondage to him. Captive to him and captivated by him.
“What do you think?” he asks.
He’s asking what I think of the photo, as a professional. I know this, yet I respond to a different question entirely.
“I see a lot in this photo,” I say, “but most of all, I see me.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
I don’t take the time to ponder my own thought, though its meaning seems clear enough. I’ve been wondering who I am lately, given all the changes in my life.
Yet in Braden’s photo, I see me.
Is he pleased with my response? He’s as stoic as ever, so I’m not sure.
His words from yesterday ring in my mind. You seem to be after something more than just sexual gratification. Am I?
Again, I don’t take a lot of time to ponder the question, because only one thing is truly on my mind.
“Take me to the bondage room,” I say. “Please.”
He finishes his drink, sets the glass on the bar, stands, and offers me his hand. “Come with me.”
We walk through the same door, into the hall of rooms, and then to the bondage room.
I come alive when we enter, when I gaze at the scenes before us.
“Take it all in, Skye,” Braden whispers in my ear. “See. Hear. Learn.”
I take the lead as we walk around the room. I don’t recognize any of the faces, but then I wasn’t looking at faces last time. I was looking at the scenes themselves, the bondage.
Tonight’s are similar yet different. Some couples are having sex, others aren’t.
The knots in the different colors of rope ensnare me. All so beautiful, some simple, some intricate.
Until one scene totally captivates my attention.
A woman stands, her arms over her head, tied at her wrists, and attached to a pole. She’s bound around her waist and breasts, with only her nipples showing. They’re plump and taut, and though I’ve never been interested in women, I wonder what they might feel like against my tongue.
The thought is fleeting, though, because as I rake my gaze upward, I see what makes me quiver even more.
She’s bound around her neck, her Dominant holding a chain that’s linked to the makeshift collar.
He pulls on it lightly, and she gasps.
Again.
Then again.
Each time she gasps, her cheeks slightly redden.
Then he flogs her bare ass with… I’m not sure what it is. It looks like a ping-pong paddle.
Her ass turns pink, and those nipples, if possible, protrude even farther.
What about this scene speaks to me?
I don’t know, but I want to be that woman, and I want Braden to be that man.
This is why I wanted to return to New York. To play out this scene.
“Seen enough?” Braden whispers.
I nod. “Can we go to your suite now?” I whisper.
“Absolutely,” he growls.
He leads me out of the bondage room and down the hall, where he enters his code. Once again, we’re in his private suite. In one corner stands a pole, something I didn’t pay much attention to last time.
This time? I notice.
“Braden?”
“Yes?”
“Can you bind me to that pole? Like the woman we just saw?”
“My knotting is a little different, but yes, I can accommodate you.” He unzips my bustier, and it falls to the floor. My breasts are swollen and my nipples already hard and ready.
He pinches one. “Gorgeous.”
I tremble, the sensation surging to my pussy. I’m so wet, I must be dribbling down my thighs.
“What about that scene enticed you, Skye?”
I know the answer, but I’m not ready to tell him just yet. “All of it,” I say.
He slaps one of my breasts lightly. “Be more specific.”
“Her nipples,” I say.
“What about them?”
“How her boobs were bound but her nipples were free. They were so tight and hard.”
A low groan rumbles from his throat. “And you liked that?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Her ass. All red after he paddled her.”
Another groan. “Yes. Very nice.” He peels my skirt from me and turns me around. “Your ass is prettier than hers. It will be even more beautiful when I make it red.” He rips the thong from me so I’m standing only in fishnets and my platform stilettos.
He trails his fingers over the cheeks of my ass. “Is tonight the night?” he asks.
He wants to fuck me there. I’ve been so enthralled by the bondage that I forgot. The idea intrigues me, but what I really want is—
“Answer me,” he commands.
“If you want it to be.”
He doesn’t reply right away. He’s displeased with my answer. He wanted me to be as excited about the prospect as he is.
I’m intrigued but not excited. What excites me is being bound for his pleasure.
And if I’m bound for his pleasure…
“Yes,” I say, much more adamantly this time. “Tonight is the night.”
This time, his gaze darkens. “Good. Perfect.” He turns toward one of the cupboards and opens it. He returns with a bottle of lubricant and a stainless steel anal plug. “I should have made you wear this all day. Hindsight.” He lubes up my asshole and gently inserts the plug.
I gasp at the intrusion, but once it’s inside, my rim relaxes.
“Tell me,” he says, “how you’d like me to bind you.”
“Like the woman in the last scene we saw.”
He nods and gathers rope from one of the chests. Black this time instead of the dark red. Does the color have significance to him? To me it symbolizes darkness, the underground. I’m following him under this time.
And I can’t wait.
“Kneel before me,” he commands.
I drop.
“Raise your hands above your head.”
I do as he asks, and he binds my wrists tightly with the rope. I wish I could see him work the knots.
“Now, stand.”
I rise, resisting the urge to squirm against the invasion of the butt plug.
He leads me to the pole, where he attaches me with what appear to be carabiner hooks and leather straps. I’m not suspended, but I’m nearly immobile, as moving my feet backward will cause me to stretch to an uncomfortable position.
“Now, face me.”
To my astonishment, I can move around. Whatever he attached me to allows this.
“You liked what you saw on the woman’s breasts,” he says, his voice a rasp. “I’ll bind yours even tighter.”
My pussy throbs as he pulls a piece of the black rope around the top of my chest. My breasts are full, swollen, and rosy, and my nipples…
I know what’s coming, and apparently, so do they.
He continues to wrap the rope, knotting it so quickly that his fingers seem to fly, but when he gets to the swell of my breasts, he pulls two strips down over one breast, using my own flesh as a stop to let my nipples slide through the rope.
The pinch of the nylon rope against my nipple sends surges of electric current through me that land right in my clit. I moan.
I don’t speak, though he hasn’t forbidden it.
What’s happening to me seems too reverent, as if speaking will bastardize it in some way.
He repeats with the other nipple.
This is different than the bondage I witnessed—different tying and knotting—but the result is the same. My nipples are pushing outward and my God, they’re hard and straining.
My breasts and nipples now bound, Braden continues down my abdomen, binding me horizontally until he gets to my belly button. He stops there. “I can bind your legs,” he says, “but not this time. I want you to be able to spread them when I take your ass for the first time. Binding your legs will make it more painful for you.”
I nearly contradict him, telling him I welcome more pain.
But I don’t.
Because talking might bastardize what’s happening to me.
“Are you ready, Skye?” he asks.
“Always,” I reply, my voice breathy.
I close my eyes, waiting for him to complete the bondage. He’ll bind my neck and hold a rope that will allow him to tighten and loosen the collar.
I want this.
I need this.
“Turn toward the pole,” he says darkly.
I obey, my eyes still closed, the skin on my neck tingling with sharp chills.
I’m ready.
Ready to take this to the next level. And then, once I’m bound, Braden will take my anal virginity.
Yes.
Just yes.
My nipples are straining, the tight friction of the rope deliciously stimulating them. Braden’s lips and teeth would be even better, but each time I move, the friction changes slightly, and the stimulation is enthralling.
Yes, my new word.
Enthralled.
I’m fucking enthralled.
Totally under Braden’s spell, and when he binds my neck and exerts total control, I’ll be home.
Finally home.
The waiting only increases the intensity.
When will he touch the skin of my neck? When will he fit me with a rope collar? When will he pull on it, making me gasp and then releasing, allowing me to breathe in the sweet swell of beautiful air? Then he’ll paddle me, make my ass nice and crimson before he fucks me there.
When?
I wait.
And I wait.
Until—