Time passed, and Jocelyn was fingering Reggie’s once stiff starched shirt, looking at the floor, her head resting against his muscled chest. He didn’t hold her like this often enough, with this degree of openness, his body feeling as if something substantial and protective was welded to her, incapable of being taken away. When he was often ready to move away from a sexual aftermath quickly, he didn’t this time. She was thinking that neither one of them were good at being so exposed to one another in this intimate way. She smiled, self-satisfied to have him in this vulnerable place. “You know, Reg, you’re still a friggin’ bastard,” she said softly.
“I am,” he agreed with her, while his hand combed through her mass of tousled curls. He liked the playground of their desires, where she made him feel so safe after making love, that he was happy with her inside the lines of his well defined sphere. No one else could break the barrier of his heart. Not this way. Jocelyn’s fragrant aroma kept him holding her, then kissing her with small tokens of affections from his lips to her forehead. Capturing her face in his hands he kissed her eye, and then her lips that warmly welcomed the affection.
“I’m not going to forgive you,” she added to her complaint when they pulled further apart.
The magical spell of safety was breaking away sparring like this, but then, they couldn’t take too much intimacy all at once. A playful ending was as natural to them as their affections and their lust.
“Then don’t,” he replied. “I can live with that. Though I can’t live without loving you the way I love best. And you know, my darling, there’s a lot of desire in you that you’re not admitting to. Eventually I’m going to make an honest woman of you.”
One last kiss and he pulled away from her altogether. Gathering the tools of punishment in his hand, he moved to the cabinet and replaced them, taking time to arrange them exactly where each belonged. Jocelyn watched the ritual as she sat on his desk, feeling the sticky aftermath of their love making between her parted legs. It was strange to love a man so meticulous about certain aspects of his life, but so crude about others. Then she smiled, noting what a fine tight ass he had. How she loved to squeeze it as much as he loved squeezing hers. Forgive him? She already had. How could she not when she loved him so much?
Chapter Eight
Will was home at last, his car in the parking space where it belonged side by side with Alex’s small sedan. Her heart beat twice as fast at the sight of the red Fiat. She had to keep herself from running to him, from flying through the door and attacking him, though he’d probably laugh at her efforts. Imagining his grin, she felt the affection already working its magic.
Up the elevator and opening the door, she found the apartment was so quiet it was eerie walking inside. Was he lurking there in the dark, behind some door, ready to jump out at her? How she wished he’d attack her. Like a madman. Scare her. Startle her right out of her wits. Just the thought was arousing in familiar places. Reminders from the night before he left for Alaska were skipping through her head. She shivered just as she’d done on the patio when his presence loomed more perilous than the imminent storm, when she’d been spirited away, making love to him in midst of that savage night.
Tiptoeing further into the apartment, turning a light on here and there, Will still wasn’t to be found, even when she searched the kitchen for him—he hadn’t even raided the refrigerator—and then their bedroom. The only sign of his return was an unpacked bag sitting on the bed. He wouldn’t have dared go out walking his first night home. But there wasn’t a reasonable explanation for his whereabouts until she returned to the living room and looked toward his studio. The light was burning underneath the door.
Of course. But working so soon?
Rapping on the door, Alex heard his familiar voice respond.
“God, you’re home! I didn’t expect you until the weekend,” she dashed to him, flinging arms around his neck, kissing him crazily until he pushed her back. “You don’t look happy, something’s wrong?”
“Is this a joke?” he asked. A hellish look accompanied the question.
“What a joke?”
He stared at his worktable, a copy of the letter she’d sent the museum with a sample of his photographs was lying neatly in the center of his desk, just where’d she left it for him to find.
“I thought you’d be pleased. I was talking to Davidson at the museum. He was dying to see your work. Said you were supposed to have sent it. I couldn’t get hold of you in Alaska, but I know you talked to him just days before you left…”
“So you went ahead and sent him my stuff. These pictures?”
“Of course.” By then, Alex was almost stammering. The look on Will’s face, no pleasant grin, no spontaneous excitement to allay her concerns; she was worrying now that he was about to slap her. The rage beneath the surface she’d seen before in him scared her.
“I didn’t believe it, when he told me. I honestly didn’t believe it,” Will started talking, though he wasn’t making any sense. “I mean, I thought Rick was just full of shit, telling me these photographs were being touted as part of the next museum expose. I told him he was crazy, that the photographs were safely in my files. And now, I see the whole world’s ogling them while I have egg on my face.”
“I sent them to Davidson, they were just for consideration. Nothing more.”
“Do you know what a fool you’ve made of me?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You had no right to do this!” Will barked. He walked away from her toward the kitchen. She followed. Grabbing a beer from the fridge he turned toward her and glared. “I told you not to mess with my stuff, and what do you do?”
“What did I do?”
“Spill the beans on thousands of dollars worth of prints that aren’t going to be worth jack shit once everyone in the whole world has already seen them.”
“You’re overreacting. You must be.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
He was too angry to talk anymore. One last glare and he brushed past her on the way to his studio, slamming the door after him.
It was innocent. The gesture a favor. Of course she never did anything with Will’s work without his consent, but this move to the museum was everything thing they’d talked about, at least until he left for Alaska. If something had changed, she knew nothing about it. Unfortunately that didn’t hide the fact that she was guilty, and there wasn’t much defense for that, except that she meant well. In her heart of hearts she thought it was an act of kindness taking care of this tiny piece of business that appeared to have slipped through the cracks in his hurry to make the trip north.
She rapped lightly on the studio door an hour later, hoping his rage had died down. Will didn’t answer her knock, the door swung wide instead.
“I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing,” she said.
“I guess you did,” he replied. This admission was comforting, but he hardly looked happy, and there was still no decent welcome home. The best she could say, he was calmer, at least for the moment.
“Maybe you could take it out of my ass?” she proposed. “You probably want to do that anyway.” She tried flirting with the idea, being coy, thinking a little humor might relieve the tension and get them into bed where they belonged.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “When I’m not thinking of what a mess you’ve made of my career, I’m thinking up ways to make you suffer.” His expression was as grim as his words, and not humorous at all.
“Well then, how about taking me to Reggie?” She tried again, but the attempt backfired.
“Hell no!” he snapped. “And why would you say that, anyway? Is that what you want?”
“It’s just a joke. Though right now, I think he’d be easier on me than you.”
“You’re likely right. But right now you can go to your room like the negligent brat you are.”
“And wait until you pass sentence?” she wondered aloud.
Will glared. “Frankly, I’m surprise
d you weren’t out finding some other man to spank your ass.”
“That’s unfair,” she retorted. Any attempts at playfulness quickly lost their inspiration, reminded of one particularly dark hour in their rocky years together.
“Maybe so, but I’ve lost my perspective on this,” he said. “So let me handle that, then I’ll take care of your backside.”
“Why can’t we get it out of the way now?”
“Because we can’t,” he snapped. “You need to suffer and I need to stew.” The nasty flash in his eyes drove her from the room without another word. It was a sinking feeling being caught in Will’s massive web of anger; so, try as she might, she couldn’t escape its grasp, not at least until he’d punished her.
While Alex waited in the bedroom for Will, the phone rang.
Jocelyn’s voice on the other end sounded so sweet.
“So he’s home?”
“I think I’m regretting it,” Alex answered.
“You’re in trouble so soon? You don’t waste time.”
“Don’t kid. This is serious. I screwed up without knowing it, and I haven’t even begun to pay.
Standing in the doorway listening, Will heard the nasty singsong in her voice.
“Alex.” His voice cut through the conversation, drawing her attention away from the call.
“I have to go,” she quickly explained. After a hasty good-bye, she hung up the phone and stared at her husband.
“What’s going on?” Will asked.
“I was talking to Jocelyn.”
“You always talk about me with so much sarcasm?”
“Just when I’m angry.”
“She saying malicious things about me to fuel your opinion?”
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t think it’s any secret that Jocelyn and I don’t exactly see things the same way.”
“Sorry, but I never noticed.”
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, not when there are other matters more pressing.” He moved to her side, standing over her, looking down on the golden tresses and the blue eyes and the winsome sweet grin on her face. He appeared less hostile than he’d earlier been.
“You’re probably innocent of any malice sending the photographs to the museum,” he said. “I can even understand why you did it, and why on another occasion it would be the perfectly right thing to do.”
“So you’re forgiving me?”
“No,” he said.
In the dim light of the room his face was half in shadows, half in the light. One eye glaring, the other looked as soft as love. Was that even possible? she wondered, staring up at his odd gaze.
“Sounds like you’re trying to.”
“It’s not the forgiveness that I’m worried about. I think I can handle that. It’s what’s brewing between you and me. These fireworks. You have a solution for that, because I’m still damned pissed.”
“My mistake, it’s going to cost you a lot?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Would making me suffer, strapping my ass, abusing me the way you love to…would that help?” she wondered aloud.
“It won’t solve my problem with the museum…”
“But…”
“It would eliminate the tension, maybe curb my anger, and probably fit your brand of atonement.”
She smiled from the depths of understanding, from that warm place where comfort resided. And the smile turned into a mischievous smirk as the two locked onto the same wicked musings “Maybe it’s just what we need,” she said.
“Maybe, it’s my welcome home,” he added coldly.
She nodded, looking into coldness beyond Will’s restive mood, beyond which was the fire that always raged in him. He rarely let it show on the surface of his life, just when he was really angry, and times like this.
“Give me your hands,” he said, holding his in front of her.
“My hands?”
“Yes, your hands.”
She held them out while he drew a length of rope from out of nowhere, and wrapped it around her wrists with a skill she’d always wondered about, how he’d managed to perfect the art. Reggie would use cuffs, but Will preferred rope. He once told her he found it more personal. Any way she looked at it, this was personal.
As civil as he seemed on the exterior, Will’s face was exceedingly dark, his fury visible to her, and the time in his studio had apparently transformed the wrath into a purposeful plan.
Pulling her off the bed, he led her out of the room and down the hallway to the apartment’s front door.
“Good god! What are you doing?” she asked, spooked, not just by his attitude but by a destination that was apparently outside the safety of the apartment.
“Worried someone’s going to see?” he asked.
“Of course I’m worried.”
“Then be glad it’s after midnight.”
There were just a few paces between their door and the elevator, and to Alex’s relief, there wasn’t a soul in the hallway. If there had been it wouldn’t have mattered to Will, her being seen with her wrists bound wouldn’t have bothered him.
“You’re going to like this, Alex,” he whispered in her ear. The steel in his voice, like something suddenly driven into her, shocked her system when she realized this was no mere punishment. They were on their way to a dark game, the kind she liked best; though this one was laced with Will’s righteous indignation and a fury that would color the event with its own distinct aims.
Straight down five floors, they passed the first floor and continued into the basement, where the boiler room fired an angry blast of steam that made the dim light cloudier still. What could be more apropos? she thought, as she stepped into the shadowy dark, and then into a maze of corridors and grinding machines.
“You like this, don’t you?” he whispered in her ear again. He could have shouted and no one would have heard, but the whisper counted for something, as if they were keeping secrets from the rest of the world. When he spoke in her ear, the effect was staggering—her cunt throbbing, pangs of need shooting everywhere, every bit of her craved attention. She’d get it, and hard, very hard, before he’d ever be soft again.
There was a month of sexual recess to make up for, even if this episode wasn’t precipitated by her regrettable act.
“Hold on to the bar,” he said, as he fastened her bound hands to a steel rod that could only be reached by bending over a metal tank.
How convenient that the heavy metal hit her in the groin where her legs bent. Her ass would be hard to miss pushed out so lewdly. Will shoved her skirt to her waist so the bunched up material was the only comfort she’d have against the unforgiving surface. The metal edge of the tank felt as if it was cutting her thighs in two. But what luck, even these discomforts, like the thought of her bottom scorching from the many-taloned whip Will held, excited her so much that she figured she’s be orgasmic in minutes. Fear was the best aphrodisiac. No matter what she anticipated, real things were always more dangerous and pleasurable than the imagination.
When Will began flailing her backside, each snap created a jerk, which created more pain. She thought bone and flesh would soon be welded to the metal beneath her. The way she was bent over with her legs spread wide, her cunt was exposed so that her pussy felt the raw snaps of leather against it as distinct as those on her ass, and decidedly more biting against the tender flesh. She howled into the din like some feeble mouse crying in a cornfield on a stormy night. No one to hear but her own ears, she wasn’t much comfort for herself. The only thing to comfort her was knowing she was ‘at the edge’ of orgasm. With enough stimulation she’d be barreling over the top, not caring how hard Will laid on the retribution. She’d have her pleasure on the spot.
Will backed away at one point and let her rest. He’d seen his wife a dozen times so ecstatic, and it always left him awed. He knew what the midst of pleasure felt like; but his satisfaction could be nothing like what she experienced at a moment like this. Som
e time he’d have to reincarnate as a woman to feel her kind of bliss. As he waited to begin again, he watched the infinitesimal movements in her sultry form, ones that made her look as if she was moving to some inner music, since there was nothing melodic about the blaring discord of noise around them. He inspected the whip, liking the way it looked, the way it felt in his hand, and the imprint it left on his wife’s behind. The six long fingers of leather were tied into a handle, and capable of snapping against six distinct places. This was his ultimate weapon because it was so unpredictable. If there was anything that she wanted, but was scared of most, it was unpredictability. Today was the first time she’d seen it that she hadn’t begged him not to use it. He guessed she was in need of it today as much as he was.
Time to resume, Will drew his arm back and the black whip snapped through the air and hit her reddened backside with the talons striking her thighs and ass all at once. The longer talons wrapped about her side so that she felt their vile bite. The expression on her face morphed from pain to pleasure and back again a dozen times as the beating continued. Perhaps she was already orgasming, he thought. For a time they seemed to settle into a steady rhythm. But that changed as Will, ready for the punishment to end, laid on one especially vicious blow. With this last strike, he actually heard Alex wailing voice rise above the clamoring machines.
The implement fell to the cement floor as threw it off and he descended on her red ass with fingers probing deeply along the moist crack and her roughed up cunt. He felt her body tense, and then as powerful surges of sexual energy moved through her, attacking his own body. Her pleasure came in waves, crashing through her, and then like the tide easing off.
The Alexandra Series Page 51