by Lila Dubois
“Of course.” Alena smiled politely at him.
When he gestured to the door, she followed him out, only mildly surprised when he led her down the hallway to the private parlor where they’d met with Alexander.
The art world was incredibly diverse, however the higher up in the social structure the rarer the air got, and the more diversity was shed in favor of those types of people who best fit the archetypes of artists and art connoisseurs. Among the straight men, that usually boiled down to aggressively sexual artists who created a cult of personality, like Picasso, or romantics, who used art to express the depth of emotion that toxic masculinity normally demanded they hide.
Assuming Absolon was on the straight end of the Kinsey spectrum, she was guessing he was in that second category.
Which meant he was probably about to try and rescue her.
It was a move she’d foreseen and planned for. It also put his demand to be at the party in a new light. She hadn’t told Alexander that she’d prepared for this possibility, because in explaining it she would, by default, be labeling him someone she needed to be rescued from. She didn’t want to give him another reason to think of himself as, call himself, a monster.
“What’s your name?” Absolon asked her as he quietly closed the door.
“Alena Moreau,” she said softly. She was using her real last name in case any of the staff had heard the RTW people using it when they found her passport. Giving Absolon a fake last name, even if it was one with an excellent cover story, when he already had another name for her, would raise alarm bells. She tipped her chin down so she could watch him through her lashes.
Absolon put his hands in his pockets, and then took them out. He was nervous.
If he wasn’t a suspected terrorist she would have felt bad for him, would have admired him for doing something that was probably terrifying—he was defying his powerful employer to try to rescue a woman he’d never met.
Alena had been wrong before. She’d made mistakes before, but this one she didn’t see coming.
One moment Absolon was nervously standing by the door, and the next he’d lunged for her, shoving her back so hard that she tripped and fell, landing on her ass and the heels of her hands, pain shooting up from her wrists to elbows.
It also knocked the air out of her, so she didn’t have the breath to scream when Absolon knelt and flipped her over, onto her stomach, kneeling on her back and jerking her arms behind her.
“I know what you are,” his voice was soft, tender.
Alena sucked in air. “Get off me.”
A pitiful excuse for a spank landed on her ass. “Do not speak to me like that. You know your place.”
Alena opened her mouth to tell him to go fuck himself and maybe threaten him with creative ways either she or Alexander was going to remove his cock from his body, but she stopped, mouth open.
She couldn’t.
They’d done all this work to make Absolon think she and Alexander were in a BDSM relationship, the kind of relationship where the power exchange was so extreme that Alexander was going to sell her at auction.
Being a 24/7 BDSM slave did not mean that the slaves consented to be touched and used by anyone, but that was a subtlety that only people in the lifestyle might understand.
Alena had no idea what her next move should be, except that she was pretty sure that cursing him and then punching him in the face would risk everything they were trying to do here.
It was because of Alexander that she hadn’t considered this possibility. He was such a force of nature, such a dominant personality, that it had never occurred to her that someone like Absolon would dare to touch her.
“Most women don’t know their place. I suspect you tried to manipulate him. Tried to humble him when it is not his place or any man’s place to be humbled. That’s why he has to get rid of you.”
Well, that answered that question. Absolon held at least some of the same beliefs as the extremist group he was funding. In particular, he prized the misogyny and belief that women were inferior.
She hadn’t moved, which seemed to please him. Absolon took his knee off her back and rose, leaving her lying prone on the floor.
Alena gingerly got on her hands and knees. She could jump to her feet and make a run for it, she could school him in the finer points of D/s, or she could play along.
The first option risked the entire operation, because at the very least if Absolon thought that he’d fucked up, and maybe pissed off his employer, he might go on the run right after she did, to protect his own ass from Alexander’s wrath. The second option would be lost on him. Anyone who believed women were inferior, were incapable of understanding a D/s relationship.
That left play along.
Her stomach knotted and instead of rising to her feet, Alena sat back on her heels.
“I will not discuss Mr. Wagner’s personal affairs.”
Absolon frowned, looking a little uncertain and she realized she’d sounded too self-possessed. Alena added a little waver to her voice. “I’m not allowed to.”
“Ah.” Absolon grabbed a fistful of her hair, which she was wearing down, and dragged her to her feet.
Alena bit the inside of her lip to keep quiet as he dragged her over to the chair by the fire. When he took the one Alexander had been sitting in, she almost snorted.
“On your knees.” He released her hair with an added little shove that made her head hurt even more than having him yank on her hair had.
Alena knelt, hands trembling in rage, but also in fear. She was safe. She was. She was in Alexander’s house, there were a dozen people or more who, if not in earshot, would hear her screaming once she ran out of this room. She was safe. It was her choice to stay here, to at least temporarily subject herself to whatever bullshit Absolon had in store.
“How much?” he asked.
“How much?” Alena repeated, feeling scared and stupid.
He grabbed her wrist and twisted it painfully. Alena leaned to the side, trying to alleviate the pressure.
“How much is he selling you for?”
Alena tried to pry his fingers from her wrist, but he yanked her hand away.
“No.” Absolon’s voice was a pathetic imitation of Alexander’s infuriating one-word commands. “I will touch you how I want.”
“I belong to him,” Alena gasped. “I’m not allowed to let other men touch me.”
Absolon considered her, and then released her wrist. When he sat back he looked almost wistful. “What did he do to you, when you went away? I heard you threw a female fit because he wouldn’t marry you. The security system went off, and then he had to take you to correct your behavior.”
Marry her? The rumor mill among the staff was far more inventive than anyone had given them credit for, but now she had confirmation that the plan had worked. Absolon had no idea he was the reason she’d been here.
That felt like very cold comfort at the moment.
“Tell me. Tell me what he did to you.”
“My relationship with Mr. Wagner—”
He slapped her, a quick negligible cheek slap, but it shocked her. It had been a very long time since anyone had stuck her without it being part of a consensual relationship.
“That’s not what you call him, is it? I want to hear you say it.”
Alena licked her lip. There was no blood. He hadn’t hit her hard enough to do more than surprise and upset her.
“My relationship with my Master is private,” she said quietly. Her voice was shaking, but he wouldn’t know it was from rage. “I am not allowed to discuss it.”
Absolon’s sigh was satisfied. “How much is he selling you for?” Absolon cupped her cheek and turned her face to him. “I will buy you, now, before the gala.”
Alena lowered her eyes, stared at Absolon’s wrist. “I don’t know. It’s not about the money for him.”
“Of course not.” Absolon stroked her cheek and her skin crawled. “He’s showing you what you are worth. Reminding you
not to try and manipulate a man when it is not your place to do so.”
Absolon stood and walked away. She stayed on her knees, waiting to hear the door open and close as he left.
Instead she heard the delicate sound of chain rattling.
She whirled around on her knees, but Absolon managed to snag one arm, and before she could yank free he snapped the cuff around her wrist. It was a plain metal handcuff, the kind used by law enforcement the world over.
But the pair of cuffs was attached to a long, thin chain that was looped around the post for the ornamental fire screen. The post itself was embedded in the stone of the fireplace, the screen swinging open and closed to allow access to the fire.
He’d prepared this. He’d planned it.
Alena looked up, shock being replaced by an entirely different kind of fear. Mortal fear. The fear that she might not just lose a game she was playing, but her life.
Absolon undid his belt.
Alena jumped to her feet and screamed.
Please, please let someone be close enough to hear me. At this time of day would any of the household staff be in this suite? She hadn’t seen which way they’d gone when they left the meeting room.
She ran towards the door, but Absolon grabbed the chain and pulled. Her arm was yanked back, her shoulder joint shrieking in pain. She lost her balance, twisting as she fell. Her bad knee popped and she hit the ground hard, the pain in her knee all she could focus on for several seconds.
When Absolon crouched beside her and forced his scarf into her mouth, she tried to scream again, even as she reached back and raked him with her nails. He looped the scarf around her head, a second pass of it forced between her teeth, and then he tied it at the back of her head.
Just like Alexander had done with her stocking. He was mimicking what he’d seen Alexander do.
That realization did absolutely nothing to help her in this moment.
Except that…he didn’t respect her. But he did respect Alexander.
Alena twisted around to face Absolon and then shook her head slowly as she reached up to touch the pearl choker. She and Alexander hadn’t talked about it, but every time she went to take a shower or bath she’d gone to him and lifted up her hair, asking without words for him to take it off. Afterwards she’d do the same and he’d silently put it back on her.
“I understand,” Absolon said gently. “And if I could buy you for myself, I would. But if it’s an auction I won’t be able to compete.” He started to touch her cheek, but stopped himself. “I won’t touch you again, but I want to…I want to know what it feels like.”
He pushed to his feet and pulled his belt from the loops of his pants.
“You won’t tell him about this.” Absolon put the buckle in his hand, and then wrapped the leather of the belt once around his palm. “Because you know, deep inside, that he won’t believe you. I matter more to him. I’m his curator, an educated man who helps him. You are the woman who caused him pain and strife. A woman he intends to auction off in just a few days.”
Alena couldn’t look away from his belt. He hadn’t doubled it over, he was going to use the whole length, which would turn it into a whip. She kept her non-cuffed hand on her throat, tapping the pearl collar.
Absolon face twisted. “I just want to know what it feels like.”
Alena whimpered and scooted back, towards the fireplace.
Absolon watched her almost sadly, then seemed to gather himself. “I won’t remove your clothes. That wouldn’t be respectful to Alexander. Now, stand up, and bend over.”
Alena shook her head, and tried to talk. The sounds were nonsense, so she pointed from the belt to her collar and shook her head.
“I want to know!” Absolon swung his arm. The belt slashed through the air, wrapping around her forearms, which she’d raised to protect her face and head. The tip wrapped, cracking against her skin with a burn that made bile rise in her throat. Anyone who let the tip of a whip wrap at a club would immediately be thrown out. The speed the tip of a long tail whip could reach was fast enough to open flesh like a knife, or burn it.
The belt was wide and flat, which saved her somewhat, but it hurt more than anything she’d ever had before. Hurt more than even Alexander’s cruelest blows.
Those had been consensual, even when she’d been his “slave” in Moldova, the bargain had kept it in the mental realm of consensual.
Alena looked up at Absolon, and realized that the only way out of this situation was through it.
And the safest way through it was to play along. To obey.
Her stomach churned as she climbed to her feet, then slowly turned to face the mantle. She grabbed ahold of it, and bent at the waist. She stared at the spot on her forearm where a blood blister was forming. She focused on it as the first lash fell on her ass. He had no idea what he was doing; two and a half feet of leather was enough for even an imbecile to do some damage. Her thick silk skirt provided precious little protection, especially since he was hitting the wrong place, the top of her ass, almost to the point of being her lower back, rather than the fat-protected cheeks of her butt.
He got to twenty, and the pain was starting to make her feel lightheaded. She dropped her head, letting it hang between her arms, and whimpered as she swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.
That was when he stopped, and she realized he’d been waiting for her to show signs of how much he’d hurt her.
Absolon was panting as he came up beside her. She flinched away, but he’d grabbed the loose cuff, and used it to pull her hand towards him. He was careful not to touch her skin as he undid the cuff.
“Thank you, Alena. I look forward to seeing you at the gala.” She heard him buckle his belt. “I only wish I could have you for my own.”
His footsteps receded, the door opened, then closed.
Alena reached back and yanked at the knot of the scarf. Her hands were shaking too much to get it loose, so she yanked it down, then pressed her fist to her mouth to stifle the sound of her shocked sob.
Some part of her couldn’t believe it had just happened.
The other part of her, a much louder part, had only one thought. Go find Alexander. She wanted his arms around her. Needed his touch.
She needed the man she loved to make her feel like she wasn’t worthless.
Alena composed herself before walking out of the parlor. She didn’t run, mostly because her aching knee wouldn’t let her, but she moved faster and faster with each stair she climbed.
She was shaking as she entered the code and opened the door, and nearly lost it when she realized he wasn’t there. Alena stumbled to the kitchen, found a pair of scissors and cut the damned scarf from around her neck. She misjudged, and managed to cut through one of the strands of pearls. They were individually knotted, so only two fat, gorgeous pearls fell to the floor, but the sight of them on the floor broke her heart.
Alena fumbled with the clasp, leaving the pearl choker on the counter and ran for the bathroom. Ripping off her clothes, she sank into the nearly scalding water and let herself cry the tears of anger, frustration, and fear that she’d been holding in.
Chapter 12
Alexander walked through his front door later than he’d planned. His unscheduled trip had necessitated canceling several things, and rather than allow them to linger he’d decided to take care of all outstanding issues today.
It had been difficult not to start asking questions and demanding answers about the hand carry program, who had the ability to authorize shipments without needing to go through the normal channels, or demanding dossiers on the offices on the eastern edge of the Black Sea. The fact that he couldn’t do what he’d wanted had made his temper short, which actually served him well as it ensured that the meetings went faster than they otherwise might have.
Alena wasn’t in the living room, so he headed for the hall, his imagination already at work, planning what he would do too, and with her.
A flash of color in the kitchen caught
his eye. Alexander paused, then walked over and crouched to pick up bit of colorful fabric.
Under it was a single loose pearl.
He picked up all the bits of scarf, a second pearl, and then straightened.
His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt vaguely ill because he knew where those pearls had come from.
As soon as he was upright he saw it—her pearl collar on the counter, kitchen scissors beside it. One strand was broken, the bits of thread where the two pearls he held should have been exposed.
Alexander set everything down and turned to the hall.
Emotions hammered him with each step he took. Worry, because he knew something had happened that had made her cut the choker. Confusion, because he couldn’t understand why she’d both cut the necklace and then taken it off.
And maybe a bit of resentment. He was tired. It had been a long, frustrating day, and he would much prefer to spend some time pleasuring her, then himself, rather than dealing with whatever the latest crisis was.
Alena was in bed, asleep. It was late, but not so late that he’d expected she would have been in bed.
Lying on her stomach, he couldn’t see her face—her head was turned away from the door, but her hair looked a bit damp as if she’d gotten into bed directly from the shower. She had both the sheet and duvet over her, with just the top of what looked to be a gray t-shirt peeking out above it.
Alexander went to the wardrobe, taking the time to change from his suit into a pair of navy lounge pants. She hadn’t moved, so she was deeply asleep. He could slide into bed beside her, but though he was tired, he wasn’t sleepy, and seeing her in his bed was making him far less tired than he’d been a minute ago.
They’d have sex—something simple, maybe even vanilla—and then get dinner. Order in from one of his favorite restaurants rather than wake up Chef. Then maybe a simple scene before bed.
A nice, normal night.
Alexander planted one fist on the bed by her waist and ran the other hand up the back of her leg, from knee to ass, then gave her ass a friendly squeeze.
He wasn’t prepared for her reaction.