Thoroughly Whipped
Page 9
“But to answer your question, I like rugby, lacrosse. And I ride horses.” My head immediately went to the man dressed as a pony last night in NOX. I snorted a laugh at the thought of tearing the equine mask off his head, Scooby-Doo style, and finding Harry neighing underneath.
“You normally find things of the equestrian persuasion so amusing?”
I waved my hand in front of my face in an attempt to calm down. “Sorry. No. It just reminded me of something funny.”
“Clearly.” Harry checked his watch. His cheek twitched as though in irritation. “And you? What are your hobbies?” he said absently.
Well, Harry. As of last night, I am a member of NOX, you know the infamous sex club? I guess you could say my hobbies are heading in the delightful direction of orgasming, nipple-play, and giving really good head.
In reality, I said, “Are drinking vodka and judging cooking shows from my couch considered hobbies?”
“One could argue the point, I suppose.”
Conversation faded, yet I felt Harry’s gaze on me. He was probably wondering what demon was punishing him by trapping him in this elevator with me. I checked my watch again and hope drained from me. I had the sneaking suspicion that Maître Auguste would see lateness as a final strike against me and swiftly revoke my membership from his club.
Just as my hope had begun to run out, the elevator rattled, the main lights lit up the place like a Christmas tree, and it began to move down—thankfully not at a breakneck speed.
“Thank God!” I cried and jumped to my feet. Harry slowly got up too, taking his jacket off the floor and tossing it over his shoulder like a Burberry catwalk model. When the doors opened, a man in a boiler suit was waiting for us.
“All fixed,” he said.
“I could fucking kiss you!” I said, patting him on the arm; then I raced toward the entrance.
“Then why didn’t you?” he shouted after me.
Rain thrashed against the glass windows. Screw the subway tonight; I’d be splurging on a cab. Just as I burst through the doors, a sheet of rain slapped me in my face. “Shit!” I shouted, running toward the road in the freak tsunami that seemed to have hit New York in the last few hours.
Trying to keep my list dry, I tucked it in my jacket pocket, and I threw my other arm into the air to hail a cab. Ten minutes and a thousand full cabs later, I felt like crying. No one would see me in the rain anyway, and if someone did see me and ask me what was wrong (which they wouldn’t, of course—we were in New York), I would simply tell them that I was a voluntary sexual submissive in training and was about to miss my chance with a French master because I got stuck in an elevator with my boss, who I was pretty sure hated me.
A car suddenly stopped and I exhaled in relief. When the window wound down, I saw it was Harry Sinclair. “Why are you standing in the rain?”
“Water is out at home.” I pointed to the sky. “Thought I’d use nature’s own source as my shower tonight.”
“Are you joking?” he asked, eyebrows pulled down.
“Of course I’m joking!” I shouted back, water soaking through my pale-pink shirt, likely giving everyone in New York a peep show. “I’m trying to hail a cab, but seemingly every taxi in Manhattan is being used tonight.”
“Get in the car, Miss Parisi.”
“No. It’s okay,” I snapped, done with every part of today, especially taking orders from an Englishman with a strong sense of his own superiority.
I moved away from Harry’s car to finally flag a damn cab. But life, wanting to keep me firmly locked into the disastrous theme for the day, saw to it that my heel slipped into a crack in the pavement and I swiftly tumbled on my ass. My jacket, purse, and list went sprawling on the sidewalk.
“Why!” I screamed at the sky, only to be rewarded with a mouthful of rainwater, which I swiftly deep throated, choking and spluttering within an inch of my life. As I coughed like a Dickensian street orphan with tuberculosis, a large hand wrapped around my upper arm and lifted me to my feet.
“I said get in the bloody car, Faith, before we both catch our deaths.” Harry’s familiar voice cut through the car horn-filled symphony of Eighth Avenue, and his impressive strength deposited me onto a warm leather seat. The passenger-side door to whatever stupidly expensive designer car this was slammed shut.
Harry rushed around the hood and slipped into the driver’s side, holding my things. “Are you forever this stubborn?” he bit out, and his usual shitty and cold attitude erased any glimmer of warmth I had felt in the elevator. “Just when I think…” He shook his head, cutting himself off. I was glad. I couldn’t be bothered to hear what his highness wanted to say.
Harry placed my sodden jacket and purse in the back seat. Just as he started his ignition to get us the hell out of here, the list fell out of my jacket pocket and landed straight into his lap.
I prayed to whoever might be listening that the rain had ruined it, smudged the ink at least. But when the car plunged into a heavy silence and I looked over to see Harry reading the list on his lap, I knew it was bone dry and I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
Harry’s long, dark eyelashes glistened with raindrops as he scanned the list. His nostrils flared and he raised his head. Handing me the list, he quickly pulled the car out into traffic.
“Brooklyn, you said? That’s where you live? Whereabouts?”
I begrudgingly reeled off the address, and Harry punched it into his GPS. The air between us crackled with tension. What had he read? More than that, what the hell must he think? Why hadn’t he said something? Did he think me a freak? And why the fuck did I care? I hated him. Okay, not hated, but severely disliked him. I didn’t care to be in his good graces.
Thought after thought raced through my head at such an overwhelming speed I became dizzy. When it all became too much to stand, I blurted, “I don’t want to be pissed on!”
Harry didn’t take his eyes off the road, didn’t even show the slightest reaction to my outburst. “Fortunately, I used the bathroom before I left the office.”
“No, I didn’t mean I thought you would piss on me. In fact, out of everyone I know, you would be the last person I’d expect to do that.” We stopped in a line of traffic and I rued the day that I found out what uro-fucking-philia was.
Harry rubbed his forehead, clearly affected by the direction of this evening too. “Miss Parisi, can we please stop talking about urine. I feel it is never an appropriate topic for civilized conversation.”
I quickly scanned the list, wondering what else he may have seen. I groaned at the fifth from the top. “Fisting. Did you see the line about fisting, rough or otherwise? It’s a list of what I wouldn’t do. Not a bucket list.”
Harry blew out a long breath. “Miss Parisi. Please. Stop.”
“I saw you read it. And just wanted you to know that I don’t want to be spit-roasted.”
“Spit-roasted?” he asked in clear exasperation.
“Double penetrated. One in the front, one in the ass. Double stuffed, you know?”
“Not intimately.”
I realized my index fingers were pointed toward each other, acting out exactly what double penetration was.
Lowering my hands to my lap, I closed my eyes and tried to think of a lie that would make sense to explain my having such a list. Sally had told me none of the top bosses could know about NOX. Harry was the CEO. I didn’t want him to pull my feature, when I’d barely started, to avoid upsetting his high-flying, powerful friends who lived under the many unusual masks I’d seen.
My eyes opened. “It’s for my column,” I said. “I’ve been compiling a list of preferences that are a little out there. You know, things I may discuss on the column at some point, that people might find interesting.”
Harry sighed. “You certainly live an interesting life, Miss Parisi. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”
I stared straight ahead, unsure if I’d just been slighted in a polite, gentle way. “You call
ed me Faith,” I blurted. I had no idea why that was the prominent thought in my head right now. Harry had never called me by my name before. And he had lifted me off the ground. Carried me in his arms and against his chest to his car. A car that had seat warmers.
His jaw clenched. “Slip of the tongue. It was unprofessional of me.”
“As unprofessional as seeing ‘large anal plugs’ on an employee’s private list?”
With that the car came to an abrupt stop. “Is this your building?” Harry asked. The rain had lightened from torrential to a hazy mist.
“Yes. This is my place.”
Harry reached for my jacket and purse. Just as he did, my cell chimed. I immediately checked my purse and read the text.
A car will pick you up. Don’t be late.
It was from a number I knew belonged to NOX. Harry’s car’s incredibly complex dashboard clock told me I had to move my ass. “Shit,” I said and dove from the car. Harry walked around the hood and handed me my now heel-less shoe. “Thank you. And thank you for the ride home.”
“Let me see you to your door.”
“No! That’s okay,” I said, waving my hand in an awkward kind of goodbye as I reached the handrail of the stoop.
“Faith?” I turned around and saw Sage coming up the street.
“Sage!” I said in relief.
Sage walked past Harry, eyes widening when he met my gaze. Harry Sinclair? he mouthed and I smiled tightly at Harry over Sage’s shoulder. Harry’s face was as hard as stone as he watched us. “Faith, you have no shoes on.”
“Carry me,” I whispered. Sage frowned in confusion but did as I asked. He swept me up into his arms, heading for the door.
Harry was a statue on the sidewalk, muscled arms folded over his chest. “Good day, Miss Parisi,” he said neutrally and got back into his car.
“He thinks I’m a fucking moron,” I said to Sage when we were safely inside our foyer and Harry was gone.
“What do you care? You hate the guy, right?”
“Right,” I said. “Of course.” I pointed to the elevator. “Quick smart, my good man. Maître is waiting, and his private car is picking me up any minute.”
The elevator closed and took us to our floor. “Why was your boss here anyway?” Sage asked. “That was him, right? I recognized him from all the pictures online.”
“Yes, but it’s a long story, and right now I have to prepare to potentially get my ass spanked by a sexy Frenchman.”
“Just another ordinary day then,” Sage said, shaking his head in amusement.
“Just another ordinary day.”
Faith, I heard Harry’s voice circle in my head as I undressed. Not Miss Parisi, but Faith. As I plunged myself under the hot shower stream, the sound of his voice only got louder.
Then I remembered when, in the elevator, he’d smiled. That goddamned dimpled smile. That weird fluttering underneath my sternum came back again. I closed my eyes. Those canes Maître had on his wall seemed more appealing to me by the minute.
As I heard Harry shout a worried Faith one more time in my stupid head, I prayed that Maître flogged the living hell out of me tonight.
I didn’t like Viscount Harry. He was a pompous and prideful ass…I just needed to keep reminding myself of that fact.
Chapter Nine
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m body confident,” I said as I stared at my reflection in my private changing room in NOX. Bunny had told me last night that the outfits in my closet had been chosen for Maître’s specific preferences. It seemed Maître Auguste liked leather, but also very little of it.
I wore a bra and panties set, but the cups of the bra were conveniently absent, exposing my bare breasts to the world. To compliment this look, the crotch of the panties was missing. Everywhere else, I was completely naked. I slipped my veil over my hair, which I had worn down as instructed, and over my face, anonymity firmly in place.
With a fortifying breath I made my way to the private elevator, holding my list of limits in my hand. As the elevator doors shut, I laughed in mortification thinking back to Harry reading it in his car. If I’d told him I was coming here, then at least I would have had a reason for clutching a list of sexually deviant activities like I was safeguarding the Holy Grail. I wasn’t sure if he’d bought the excuse I had given him and, honestly, I shouldn’t really care if he thought I was a more than adventurous nympho. He was my boss. And that was that.
The elevator opened and butterflies began to flutter in my stomach. I turned the doorknob and it opened, revealing to me the chambre. Lowering to my knees, hands on my thighs and head down, I waited.
Several minutes passed before I heard a door opening and, through my peripheral vision, saw Maître’s bare feet and black-silk-clad legs as he made his way to his throne. Looking up from the safety of my veil, I saw his cloak around him and the Phantom mask on his face.
“Bonne nuit, mon petit chaton.” His deep and gravelly voice exuded pure sex. My nipples hardened just at the sound of his voice.
Maître was quiet as he regarded me. When I flicked a glance up at him, I saw him watching me with his finger resting on his mask’s cheek. “Do you have the list I asked for?”
“Yes, Maître Auguste.”
“I do like hearing my name from your mouth.” I didn’t know why, but I beamed at that.
“Now, crawl to me, mon petit chaton. Crawl to me and leave your list at my feet.” I knew I should have been offended by the degrading command. But instead my breathing quickened, and my skin grew hotter at the level of dominance in his voice.
Slowly, I moved to a crawling stance. Maître waited silently for me to do his bidding. On all fours, I moved, trying to keep in time to the music. It sounded like Wagner. When I arrived at his feet, I laid the list down.
“Give it to me.” I handed it to Maître. “Now kneel and wait.” I did as he said.
An attack of nerves assaulted me as he read the list. Would he think me unsuitable for the club? Last night had already given him doubts. My list of hard limits was extensive.
“Bon,” Maître said neutrally and walked past me. I heard the clanking of metal behind me, and it took all that I had not to turn around.
After about five minutes, he ordered, “Come here.” I walked to his shadowed figure, in a darker part of the room. I stopped before the medieval wooden stocks. My eyes widened.
“Put your arms and head inside.” Swallowing hard, I obeyed. Maître closed the stocks around me. “Now lift your legs to the benches.” I did as instructed, and Maître tied my ankles down with the cuffs. With my legs spread wide on the benches, my ass pointed up toward the gods, I tried to move my arms and head and found that I was trapped. I tried to fight back my rising panic at being so restrained.
“Stop trying to move. The point is to be restrained.” Maître moved to the wall, in my line of sight, and retrieved something from the rack. When he turned, it looked scarily like a bat with metal spikes on the end. He leaned over and rubbed my ass with his hand. I could barely breathe. What the hell was he planning to do with that bat?
He must have read the fear in my taut body as he said, “This was not on your list, mon petit chaton. If it is not on the list, then everything else is bon. Do you not remember what I told you last night?”
“Yes, Maître. But I didn’t see anything like that in my research.” I felt his hand skim among my lower back and drop to my right ass cheek.
“Ready?” he said.
I was frozen. I wanted to open my mouth to say something, but I couldn’t move my lips. I was too out of my depth in this place. I breathed hard, bracing for pain.
Suddenly, Maître’s hand left me and he was in front of me. He bent down until I was staring cautiously into his silver eyes. The corner of his lips hooked up in amusement. I frowned in confusion. “Mon petit chaton,” he said and ran his hand through my hair. “Your list was the most amusing thing I have seen in a very long time.”
“I…w-what?” I stuttered.
“There were people downstairs…”
“Role-play.” He shrugged. “Some light bondage and flogging, but none to cause real pain. Being flogged or caned doesn’t have to be a painful experience, rather one to set your senses on fire and bring your pleasure to new heights. Some of the people you saw downstairs were my employees. Ma chérie, they are here to arouse the crowd, to help members feel safe to let go and give themselves over to their carnal needs and wants. Tell me, did they arouse you? Did you get wet watching them scream?”
“It was…intriguing. I suppose it would all depend on the person doing it to me.”
Maître tilted his head to the side. “What about me?” he said and ran the tip of his finger over my erect nipple. I gasped, cold shivers shaking my body at that miniscule touch of affection.
“Yes, Maître.” And it was true. I was so attracted to this mysterious man, I would gladly take it.
He lifted the list. “I shall keep this as a souvenir. Some activities to investigate, I think.”
His smirk dropped, the serious Maître resuming control, and he placed the torture device back on the wall. “My intention with you, mon petit chaton, is to have you screaming through the night because I am fucking you, or licking you, or making you fall apart. I have no desire to permanently mark this beautiful olive skin.” Maître came to me, and I couldn’t help staring at his huge length underneath his silk pajamas.
I jumped, gasping, when Maître’s hands smoothed over my behind, one hand on each cheek. “This leather lingerie on you…” He trailed off, his voice dropping an octave. I bit my lip so I didn’t moan out loud when he traced every inch of my cheeks and upper thighs with his skillful, yet gentle, hands.
“If it makes you feel better about things, you can have a safe word, mon petit chaton.” I felt him move between my spread legs, legs that were wide open for his viewing.