by Brynley Bush
“Let’s go to the gym this morning,” he suggests. “After lunch, you can help me with some work I have to do, and then we can go watch a band tonight. I’ll see who’s playing around town.”
We work out together at the gym after breakfast, and I have to say the sight of Roman’s abs and that chest glistening with sweat makes the time fly. We go back to the suite to shower and then grab lunch at one of the Helix’s smaller restaurants before returning to our room. I’m curious as to what I could possibly help Roman with for work.
He grabs his laptop off the desk where he usually works and takes it into the bedroom, telling me to come with him. He moves a plushly upholstered armchair so it’s positioned facing the side of the bed and sets the laptop down on it. Then he turns to me, taking in the white tank top and silk shorts I’m wearing with sandals.
“Take off your shoes and your bra,” he commands.
I do as he says, wondering what this has to do with his work.
He eases me down onto the bed until I’m stretched out on my back.
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Give me your wrists.”
I hold them out to him tentatively, and he wraps a leather cuff snugly around each one and then lifts my arms over my head, securing the cuffs to a swiveling O-ring attached to the center of the headboard. Then he unceremoniously yanks my silk shorts and panties off so I’m completely naked except for the tank top.
“This isn’t exactly what I thought you meant by helping you with work,” I mutter.
“You’re going to be my inspiration today,” he says, his voice silky.
My heartbeat kicks up a notch as he goes over to the armoire and returns with a small black bullet-shaped object with a flared base. He unceremoniously flips me over onto my stomach.
“What are you doing?” I ask with an edge of panic.
“Getting you ready for Friday.”
His hands roughly massage my buttocks, and I’m embarrassed to find myself getting aroused. His fingers separate my cheeks, and there’s a trickle of something warm and wet, and then something presses against the tight little hole hidden there. I start to thrash about, trying to escape the unwanted intrusion. Roman easily pins my legs with his, holding me immobile as he presses harder. My ass begins to burn as the plug, hard and unyielding, breaches the muscles of my anus.
“Ow! Stop!” I protest, but the newly awakened wanton side of me is hoping he doesn’t. I’m not about to admit it to him, but some secret dark side of me craves anything he wants to do to me.
“Stop being so dramatic, Ava,” he says calmly, slowly working the plug into my burning ass. “You can thank me later for starting with a small one.”
I struggle slightly, but with my wrists cuffed to the bed and Roman’s body pinioning mine, I can barely move. He gently but firmly holds me still as the plug stretches and burns me until it reaches a point that my body seems to accept it and pulls it in, and it settles inside me with a plop.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Roman says.
I don’t answer. Easy for him to say; he doesn’t have a huge plug shoved up his ass. It feels enormous, and my ass is throbbing around the gigantic intrusion.
He flips me back over. The movement makes the plug shift inside me, and I moan. His eyes glint at the sound. He lifts the hem of my tank top and pulls it up to my neck, exposing my breasts. Somehow it’s more humiliating than if he’d taken the tank top off completely. He regards my position with satisfaction.
“Perfect. I’ve got to get to work now.”
“What? You’re just going to leave me like this?”
“Well, we’ve already established I can’t touch you. This should keep you aware of your body and your vulnerability, and it will be damn nice to watch you squirm while I work. Be quiet now so I can concentrate, or I’ll gag you too.”
He sits down in the chair he’d placed next to the bed so I’m displayed in full view in front of him, and casually opens his laptop. I stare at him incredulously. Is he fucking serious? I’m just supposed to lie here handcuffed to the bed with a throbbing ass and my breasts displayed like I’m some sex object while he works? Apparently so. But the thought of the gag is enough to keep me quiet, and I lie there silently while he works, although he looks up regularly to check on me, his gray eyes darkening to blue as he takes in my compromised and increasingly aroused state.
I have plenty of time to reflect on the sensation of the plug in my ass. I feel full and stretched, but not unpleasantly so. The initial sting has subsided, leaving a low, pulsing throbbing in its place. The pressure is strangely erotic, and the longer I lie there, the more my body responds. My nipples pucker into tight points as Roman’s gaze roves over me, and I can feel the inexplicable pool of moisture between my legs even though he hasn’t so much as touched me. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the need simmering in my belly.
I don’t know how long we’ve been there—whether it’s been minutes or hours—when there’s a knock at the suite door. Roman gets up to answer the door, and I listen intently, wondering who it is. He’s left the door to the bedroom open, but thank God the bed isn’t in the direct line of sight of the doorway.
It’s a masculine voice and one I don’t recognize, but whoever it is obviously works with Roman because they’re discussing a problem with a contract. After several minutes, I hear Roman say, “Let’s take a look at it. I have the contract up on my laptop.”
He wouldn’t!
I want to absolutely die of mortification as I hear the men’s voices get closer. I squeeze my eyes shut as they enter the bedroom, continuing their discussion without so much as a break in conversation, and I wonder with a surge of hope if somehow the other man hasn’t noticed me. I open one eye. No such luck. He’s staring at me, his eyes hot as they take in my breasts bared by the tugged-up tank top and my completely exposed sex. Never let them see your weakness. I return his stare defiantly.
The man laughs. “Looks like you’ve finally met your match, Roman.”
Roman just smiles and picks up his laptop. “Here’s the section I was talking about.”
The two men discuss the contract language, and I turn so my back is to them, relieved that Roman’s friend is apparently not going to be allowed to touch me. But I’m disturbed by the fact that I’m aroused by Roman allowing another man to see me like this, that his blatant assertion of his claim on me turns me on. I’m clearly going to need to go back to therapy after the games are over.
They wrap up their conversation, and as the man says good-bye, Roman’s hand roams possessively over my ass, wiggling the plug. I jolt, and the man laughs again. If the floor could open and suck me up right this minute, I swear I’d never ask for anything again.
“See you later, Roman.”
Roman sees him out and stays in the living area for what seems like an eternity before finally returning to the bedroom and sinking down on the bed next to me.
“Are you sufficiently turned on yet, Avalon?” he asks softly. He runs his hands across my breasts, and I stifle a moan. Somehow, I am ripe with need, and I want nothing more than his hands between my legs. He plays with me for a minute, stroking and pinching and twisting my nipples until I’m straining against the cuffs.
“God knows I am,” he grumbles. “I’ll have to tie you to the bed like this for an entire night when the orgasm restriction is lifted so I can take what I want from you whenever I want it, and you’ll be helpless to do anything but give in to my demands.”
I press my thighs together at the thought, trying to alleviate the pulsing need. He’s going to make me come with nothing but his words. He knows it too, and he chuckles as he rolls me over, pulls out the plug, slaps my bottom, and says, “Time for dinner.”
I feel restless and aching as I dress for dinner, but I know better than to touch myself or do anything that might bring me the relief I’m starting to crave. When Logan had announced the no-orgasm rule last night, I’d had no idea it would be this hard. At least I’ll be able to get my
mind off it tonight, since Roman and I are going to see a local band at a place called the Beauty Bar on Fremont Street. Of course I should have known better.
“Come here, Ava,” he calls to me as I’m standing in front of the closet in my bra and panties, trying to decide what to wear. I obediently come to stand in front of him, surprised at how accustomed I’m becoming to presenting my body to him when requested. Maybe there’s hope for me yet and we really could win, or at least come close.
He holds up three chains all connected to a central circular ring to form a Y. The two shorter chains at the top are tipped with clamps much like the ones Roman had attached to my nipples during our photo shoot in the Helix Room, with a tweezer-looking clamp attached to a longer chain forming the bottom of the Y.
“What’s that?” I ask suspiciously.
Instead of answering, he grasps one of my nipples between his finger and his thumb and gently rolls and twists it until it’s swollen and distended before attaching the clamp. His mouth absorbs my cry as the clamp bites into my tender nipple. Although the clamp isn’t as tight this time, he kisses me until the initial pain has subsided, leaving the duller throbbing sensation I remember from the photo shoot. He repeats the process with my other breast, toying with the nipple until it’s elongated and taut, then taking my mouth as he attaches the second clamp.
My breath is coming faster as he pulls away, picking up the longer chain that dangles down to my crotch. Oh no! I take a step back as I realize where he intends to put the last clamp, but Roman grabs the chain between my breasts and tugs me back. I gasp at the blissfully agonizing pressure as the clamps dig in, and desire flares through me, little flames of heat licking in my belly. Holding me still with the chain connecting the nipple clamps lightly gripped between his teeth, he opens me intimately as my face flushes. He places the clamp firmly over my clit, sliding a ring up to tighten the clamp so that my clit is trapped between the two sides of the tweezer-like clamp.
Holy fuck! I’m going to explode. This clamp isn’t nearly as intense as the nipple clamps, but the faint, constant pressure and tug every time I move is subtly stimulating. By the time we arrive at the club where the band is playing, I’m once again consumed by a vague but distracting ache.
The band is great, and Roman is good company—attentive, chivalrous, and surprisingly easy to be with. We talk in between sets, but he’s mostly content to sit beside me, his hand planted on my bare thigh in that possessive way of his, listening to the music. I’m completely absorbed, savoring the comfortingly familiar feel of the bass thumping through my veins, the music washing over me like a healing flood, soothing something inside me, although for the first time ever a part of me isn’t totally consumed by the music. That part is hyperaware of the faint tug of the clamps beneath my clothes and the brush of fabric over my now impossibly sensitive clit. At one point, I catch Roman staring at me. “What?” I ask self-consciously. “Do I have something on my face?” I reach for a napkin, but he catches my hand in his.
“No. You look perfect. I’ve just never seen you this unguarded before, other than when you come.”
I blush at his words, grateful for the darkened club.
When we get back to the hotel, it’s late, and he leaves the light off, leading me back to the bedroom where he tenderly undresses me and removes the clamps. I moan as the blood rushes back to my aching breasts and sensitized sex, and although he doesn’t touch me, he blows on my aroused flesh, his hot breath enough to have me clenching my thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the aching need. He lifts me into his arms and tucks me into bed, and I fall asleep wondering who Roman Castile really is.
We spend the next day much the same way—breakfast, gym, shower, and lunch, followed by me cuffed to the bed while Roman works. However, this time he substitutes a small, vibrating egg for the plug, which he slides erotically into my embarrassingly wet pussy before taking a seat across from me, his laptop in his lap. There’s no visitor today, and after a while Roman uncuffs me, running a finger down my jaw.
“How are you feeling, Avalon?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
“Aroused. Needy. Restless. Pissed,” I say grumpily.
He smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Good. I’m starting to thoroughly enjoy that little spark of sass you’ve got. Maybe I’ll give you a break tonight. We’ll go shopping for the group event tomorrow.”
Roman’s idea of shopping is him picking everything out and making me try it on for him, and he clearly enjoys watching me try on chaps without anything on underneath, making me model half a dozen pairs before deciding on one. He also buys me a leather bustier bra, a bolo tie, and a cowboy hat. When we get back to the suite, he tucks me into bed again without touching me other than to pull me to his chest as I drift off to sleep.
The following morning, I wake up to the sound of Roman singing in the shower, and I fight back a grin. My imposing, scary Dom definitely has a softer side. I glance over at the clock on the bedside table. Crap, how is it already eight forty-five? I’m supposed to be at the Helix Spa at nine. By the time Roman emerges from the shower, I’m just about to leave.
“Ava, come here,” he commands quietly.
I walk over to where he’s standing naked except for the towel that hangs loosely from his hips, his erection evident under the towel. His dark hair is damp and tousled, and a few water droplets cling to the hairs on his bare chest. I just barely stop myself from licking one. God, he’s gorgeous. I’ve gone from normal Ava to nympho Ava in the space of five seconds.
“I have to go. I have to be at the spa at nine,” I say breathlessly.
He nods. “Wait a second.” He goes to the armoire and returns with two small balls in his hand. He puts them in his mouth and then takes them out again.
“Spread your legs,” he commands.
I’m wearing a casual dress that grants him easy access, and he moves my panties aside as he pushes first one ball and then the other inside me. He lowers my dress.
“Keep those in until I see you this evening.”
The balls roll around enticingly inside me, keeping me on that needy edge of arousal as I get a manicure, a pedicure, and pick at the light lunch the spa has provided. Nerve endings I didn’t know I possessed are awakened as I get a massage, the calming music and sensuous strokes of the masseuse working with the subtle oscillation of the balls inside me to make me a bundle of sensation. My body’s been kept on the edge of arousal for two days, and it’s become almost painful. The masseuse is completely professional, carefully avoiding my breasts and mound, but she spends an inordinate amount of time massaging the area just above my pubic bone with deep, kneading strokes that cause the balls to churn and roll inside me, creating little waves of awareness. Damn Roman who undoubtedly gave her specific instructions designed to drive me crazy with need. And damn Logan for his stupid rule.
I’m sitting in the sauna alone, waiting for my final spa treatment—a seaweed wrap—when Emmett’s partner Rebecca walks in. We haven’t officially met, but I haven’t talked to Emmett in several days, and I’m dying to know how he’s doing.
“Hi,” I say with a smile as she sits down across from me, removing her towel so she’s completely naked. Unlike me, she obviously doesn’t have a modest bone in her perfectly toned, curvy body. “I’m Ava.”
“I know who you are,” she says coldly.
“Oh,” I say slowly. “Um, how’s Emmett doing? I haven’t seen him much lately, and I was just wondering—”
She cuts me off with an angry hiss. “Stay away from Emmett. Now that he’s paired with a real submissive, he might just be able to win, but not if you keep interfering and distracting him with your innocent little victim act. I don’t know how you managed to get your claws into Roman Castile, but stay away from Emmett or I promise I’ll make your life miserable.”
The door opens, and the aesthetician calls my name.
“Watch your back, little kitten,” Rebecca says snidely as I walk past her. “Unle
ss you want to tangle with a tiger.”
Chapter Twelve
Ava
Four hours later, I’m still a little shaken by Rebecca’s venomous threats as Roman and I walk down to the large ballroom of the Helix where the group event is being held tonight. For the first time since I’ve met him, Roman’s wearing jeans, and I’m practically salivating at the way his butt and muscular thighs fill out the faded denim. Like me, he’s dressed for the theme, but in cowboy boots and a fitted T-shirt that reveals his biceps. The ballroom itself has been turned into something straight out of the Old West. Enormous backdrops painted with realistic-looking western building fronts, soaring mountains, and a herd of longhorn cattle make the entire room look like the set of a movie. The sleek bar has been transformed into a saloon, and strewn hay covers the floor. The hotel has spared no expense, and an assortment of props—wagon wheels, barrels, cow skulls, and split-rail cedar fencing—lend authenticity to the huge space. There are even several tall wooden windmills and a full-size replica of a steer.
“They spent all this money for one night?” I ask Roman incredulously.
“I imagine they’ll make this an annual special event at the hotel after it opens, depending on how successful tonight is. In some ways, the games are a way to test what works so the hotel can build a calendar of special weekend events for guests in addition to the regular offerings of the hotel.”
That makes sense, and I nod as I look around, taking in the rest of the crowded room where the contestants and other people I don’t recognize are congregated in small groups. There’s a mechanical bull set up on a padded mat as well as several old-fashioned stockades that make my stomach drop with anxiety at the thought of what they’re here for—a blatant reminder that this isn’t your typical Western party.
“Would you like a drink?” Roman asks.
“Yes, please,” I say fervently.
“Just one tonight. Power Games rules as well as mine. Understand?”