by A. J. Downey
I smiled; we hadn’t been back to Indigo Nights since the first time, but I was looking forward to a return trip and seeing what he had in store for us.
“When are we going, now?” I asked, and he laughed.
“No, tonight, after dark. I have other plans for us today.”
“Like what?” I asked simply, but genuinely curious.
“Like I thought we could go for a ride.”
“It’s raining!”
“A short thunderstorm. I checked the forecast.”
“Hmm, where are we going?”
“Well,” he moved the box off of my lap and drew me in for a kiss. Resting his forehead against mine, he murmured softly, “I figured we could spend the morning in bed, then we’d go for a ride and get some lunch.”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmured happily.
“Then we could come back here and get ready, head down to the sex club, and go from there.”
“Sounds like a perfect day.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” he growled, and covered more than my mouth with his. He nipped the side of my neck with a growl and I yipped, laughing, which quickly turned into a desire-filled little moan as he pressed me back into the bed and ripped the blankets from my naked body.
It was a most excellent start to my birthday, but I was really curious about how it would end and what he had planned for that ending. I could barely contain myself. The ride was freeing and only slightly damp. He took us across the bridge towards Baltimore and a restaurant that served some of the best crab bombs in Maryland. We had lunch, laughed, talked, and even did some dreaming for the future.
“If you could have anything, what would you want?” he asked softly.
“Nothing, I have you, which means I have it all.”
“Surely, you don’t want to work at the café for the rest of your life.” He seemed surprised by my answer.
“I like the café, but no, you’re right. I guess some day I would like to, hopefully, open a funky little boutique with mine and Dawnie’s creations. Maybe co-op with some other local artisans. Some jewelry makers and artists. You know, a little gift shop in Old Town or along Bayside Park.”
He nodded slowly. “How long would you need to get enough things together to make a go of such a venture? Like, how much stuff would you need to make?”
“Wait, you think we should do it?”
He shrugged, “Why not? Save all your money you make from the café; you have all the money from selling off your furniture and from selling your grandmother’s recipes. Keep saving; it could be your startup money.”
“You’re serious,” I said, shocked.
“I said I would take care of you, Bright Eyes. I meant it; and while we’re on the subject, there’s no reason why, if I’m taking care of you, you can’t put your own money into this.”
I sat back in my seat, my crab bomb forgotten. “You’re really serious.”
“Have you ever known me not to be?” he asked, levelly.
“Oh, my god…” I felt tears start in my eyes and had to sniff them back. It was like my whole narrow world just suddenly opened up wide in front of me.
"It’s going to get really crowded in the apartment,” I said softly, “with all of the things I am going to make.”
“You have the whole spare bedroom; we’ll cross those bridges when we come to them.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
“You’re dead serious right now,” I said in disbelief, and he laughed and shook his head.
“Yeah, beautiful, I am.”
All I could ask myself was how did I get so lucky? It was the best birthday present I’d ever gotten.
“Finish your lunch,” he reminded me and I did, though I was so excited I could barely eat.
We rode back across the bridge and took the scenic route through the city, looping back in on our route on our way back to the Calvert building; back home, I reminded myself.
It was still hard for me to reconcile the new digs as home. Home had always been where my grandmother was, and though we’d received her urn of ashes and she sat alongside my grandfather in one of the rich wooden nooks around the television, the built-in light shining down above them, it was still a far cry, you know? I was still trying to come to grips with all of the abrupt changes.
Damien was amazing, patient and kind through all of it, and I didn’t let on that there was still discord within me. I didn’t want him, for even a single moment, to think it was him. It wasn’t. It was me, and possibly just the need for more time. I honestly didn’t know.
I got ready as dusk fell, standing in front of the bathroom mirror in my stockings and garter, matching panties in place until Damien walked into the bathroom, lavishing me with his dark gaze in a strong, slow look from head to toe. I paused, recognizing immediately his displeasure.
“What?”
“Those weren’t in the box,” he said simply.
Oh, no, it would seem I had mis-stepped. I smiled faintly and said, “My apologies, sir. I will get rid of them.”
He nodded, buttoning the cuffs on his crisp, white shirt. “Do that,” he said directly and with a check in the mirror, tied the deep indigo silk tie that matched the dress waiting, lying on the bed, to perfection. I got rid of the stockings, garter, and was half-tempted to leave the panties on, to test him. He’d never punished me before; of course, I never defied him. Not when we played and I could feel we were sliding into that dominant-and-submissive power dynamic, even now.
I knew where the lines were. It wasn’t something we had ever overtly discussed, but all the same, we were in tune with one another that way. I instinctively knew and so did he. It just worked for us, and if it wasn’t broken…
I put the things I had on back and felt a certain arousal and thrill as I slipped the satin lining of the gown over my skin. It was a long, tight affair. Backless, the front tapered up into a high collar around my throat, buttoned with three shank buttons at the back that could very well have been black pearls.
It covered my front, tight to my body, flaring slightly at the waist and dropping into a floor length skirt with a few inches of train. I looked elegant and sophisticated, especially with how I had curled and artfully piled my hair into an up-do with my grandmother’s silver and freshwater-pearl combs.
I smoothed my hands over the bodice of the dress and smiled. I was beautiful, he made me feel beautiful with his thoughtful gifts. He came up behind me and put his hands on my waist, kissing the back of my shoulder reverently. I closed my eyes and sighed contentedly, and he murmured, “I can’t wait to get this off you and fuck you in front of everyone.” I shivered with anticipation and he smiled against my skin.
He helped me put the mask on, carefully and securely tying the ribbon behind my head. We stared at each other in the mirror for a long minute, and I felt he was committing this to memory, every fine detail, as much as I was.
The drive to the club was peaceful, despite the anticipation. Damien wore a laser-cut, black-metal skull mask with deep, dark blue stones littered across its surface like dark stars. He pulled up to the stairwell to the club’s basement door and a man in tails with a simple leather black mask came to take the car, getting my door for me.
Damien and I went inside and he lifted my cloak from my shoulders and handed it to the man behind the cash wrap, taking the ticket and waving off a locker key. “No need tonight,” he said and the man behind the black, solid, blank face mask said, “Of course, Mr. Silver. You and Angel enjoy your evening.”
“Thank you,” I said softly and the man’s glittering brown eyes flicked to my masked face. I couldn’t tell if he smiled or not behind the blank, expressionless black mask, but the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes where I could see them through the cut eye holes suggested that he did.
“Come on, Angel, with me,” Damien corrected gently.
“Yes, sir.” I followed along at his side, into what I knew was likely a den of wolves.
He murmured, “You’re too sweet sometimes.”
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“Would you like me to change?” I asked, and he chuckled.
“Not for the world, love. That’s why you have me.” I smiled as we swept back into the bar and masked faces turned to us, some nodding in greeting. He took me over to the bar and ordered two glasses of champagne before we retired over to the same seating area, where he took up a seat in a black velvet wing-back chair, pulling the ottoman to his side and gesturing I should take a seat on it to protect my dress but still remain at his feet.
I could feel the power exchange, the shift in dynamic, as an almost palpable thing between us as his hand drifted to the back of my hair, resting on it lightly. He sipped his champagne, and I sipped mine while he made light conversation with some of the other men in the room.
“May I address your girl?” one of them, a man in a stylized big bad wolf’s mask asked, and Damien’s lips twisted in a cruel smile.
“I would rather you didn’t.”
“Ah, understood. Disappointing to be sure, but I look forward to the show nevertheless.”
Damien inclined his head and the man in the wolf’s mask made his way elsewhere. I gave Damien a questioning look but he simply saved his genuine smile for me and I trusted he knew best. I’d gotten a slimy feeling from the man in the wolf’s mask anyway.
We finished our drinks and he had me take the glasses to the bar, then met me in the hall between it and the seating area. He took my hand and led me toward the stage. It was different from last time, in that there were already people taking their seats. Still, I was confident, having him there and having already done this once before.
Instead of a chair and the high hanging hook, there was a small table with lengths of rope neatly arranged on its top and a sparkling steel ring spinning lazily under the stage lights. The same chair was there too, but mostly, I think, as a place to set our clothes, like last time.
Damien smiled at me and came to me, kissing me as his hands smoothed over my body through the velvet of the dress. I let my hands sneak around his neck and kissed him back and he drew back and said, “Palms together, behind your back like this,” and he showed me what he wanted. I nodded and did as he asked, and he selected some of the rope, dyed to match my dress, off of the table.
I closed my eyes and let out a breath as he walked around me, contemplating his next move. Finally, he came to me and re-positioned my hands so that I was gripping each opposite forearm, up near the elbow, my chest thrust out. He bound my arms and took his time. The rope sliding against my skin a sensual thing. I could feel the heavy press of the small, but increasing crowd’s gaze and felt the heat build between my legs. Heat that only increased when his fingers went for the shank buttons at the back of the collar holding my dress up.
He peeled the velvet off my body, the cooler basement air of the club caressing my skin and sending my want into overdrive. I stepped out of the pool of the dress at his command, and he took my shoes, low velvet pumps that matched the dress, from my feet and left me standing there with just the mask and rope between me and their eyes while he set things over the chair and on the floor beside it.
He walked around me slowly, loosening his tie, and I could see the critical thinking going on in his eyes behind the mask as he swept me with his gaze, considered the rope on his table, and did what looked like mental math when he looked at the slowly-spinning ring above us. A thrill went through my veins when I realized what he might do with that ring.
He selected more rope after he took off his tie and rolled back his sleeves. He faced me towards the audience by my shoulders, and, starting at my bound arms, began making a chest harness with the new length of rope. Lashing between and under my breasts, the rope lifted them slightly for better display as he went around me, making decorative angles, a sensual web to accentuate my curves. I felt myself begin to slide back into that warm, pleasurable space where I gave myself over to him completely, and I sighed in contentment.
He slid a mat out from under the table and positioned it under the ring, and snapped his fingers, pointing.
“Come kneel,” he ordered and I did as he asked, facing the crowd. He selected more rope and knelt beside me, parting my thighs with a gentle touch, bringing me into a more upright position with a gentle pat on the ass. He began winding the rope carefully around one thigh and asked me, “Do you love me, Angel?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Would you commit to me?” he asked cinching the rope down.
“I already have,” I answered him and turned my head to meet his eyes.
“I was thinking something a little more permanent, something with a little more meaning.”
“Are you asking me to marry you, sir?”
Light tittering laughter swept through the audience.
“I am asking you to be my submissive, formally, of course. Though, yes, at some point I will ask you to be my wife,” he said. I closed my eyes and smiled as he cinched the rope around my other thigh and guided me down to my stomach. I lay on the mat and let him continue his elaborate work, excitement burning in the middle of my body, turning my heart to a ball of flame as it beat, a small sun in the center of my chest, filling me with warmth and light.
“What do you say?” he asked me, and I smiled at the floor, unable to turn my head far enough to see him.
“I say I was already yours; it’s a little silly to be asking now.” I yipped at the sharp slap that landed on my bare ass.
“Don’t be pert,” he ordered, and before I could be a smart-alec again, he hoisted on the ropes which strained against my body, uncomfortable at first. I gasped, but it was too late; I was airborne and rising as he hoisted me up, tying things off efficiently, bracing me against his thigh and body with a practiced ease.
Endorphins and adrenaline raced through my veins and I swallowed hard. He chuckled darkly and said, “So, is that a yes, Angel?”
“Yes, that’s a yes,” I murmured, and he came around in front of me, bent down and kissed me sweetly.
“Good girl,” he breathed against my lips, and then I let out a shriek of surprise as he sent me spinning.
The room passed in a blur of dark and light, dizzying as I spun wildly in one direction, slowed and then picked up speed the other direction.
“Oh, my god!” I cried, and I couldn’t help the crazy laughter bubbling out of me. It was fun, stupidly, obnoxiously fun and my heart was so light I couldn’t stop giggling even if I wanted to.
When he stopped me, he was nude, and he knelt to meet my eyes, a metal collar, beautiful silver scroll-work, like lace made from metal, rested in his hands. The bright gleaming metal was studded with sapphire cabochons. He flexed it open and pressed it to the front of my throat.
“Bow your head, that’s it.” I complied as he threaded black ribbon back and forth like a corset through the loops and tightened it ‒ snug, but not choking ‒ tying it off into a neat bow.
“Good girl,” he breathed again, and, running his fingertips along my body, raising goose bumps on my skin, went around behind me, stepping between my open legs. I heard the crinkle of a wrapper and closed my eyes, bowing my head, waiting for him, breathless with anticipation.
He took me roughly, plunging into my wet and ready cunt, balls-deep. I cried out, breathless, passionate, and did the only thing I could do, trussed and dangling like I was. I squeezed down around him. He gripped the rope at my thighs and used it as leverage to fuck me in front of our audience.
I let him; I wanted to show these people, shout it from the roof tops; tell the whole world that he was mine as much as I was his. I loved him, I loved being with him, and I reveled in our mutual darkness. Even depravity could be beautiful, if done right and from a place of love.
THE END
Also by A. J. Downey
The Sacred Hearts MC
1. Shattered & Scarred
2. Broken & Burned
3. Cracked & Crushed
3.5 Masked &
Miserable (a novella)
4. Tattered & Torn
5. Fractured & Formidable
6. Damaged & Dangerous
The Virtues
1. Cutter’s Hope
2. Marlin’s Faith
3. Charity for Nothing
The Sacred Brotherhood
1. Brother to Brother
2. Her Brother’s Keeper
3. Brother In Arms
4. Between Brothers
5. A Brother’s Secret
Indigo Knights
1. Her Thin Blue Lifeline
Paranormal Romance (with Ryan Kills)
1. I Am The Alpha
2. Omega’s Run
3. Hunter’s End
About the Author
A. J. Downey is the international bestselling author of The Sacred Hearts Motorcycle Club romance series. She is a born and raised Seattle, WA Native. She finds inspiration from her surroundings, through the people she meets and likely as a byproduct of way too much caffeine.
She has lived many places and done many things, though mostly through her own imagination…An avid reader all of her life, it’s now her turn to try and give back a little, entertaining as she has been entertained.
Stalking Links
www.ajdowney.com
[email protected]