Fleur de Nuit: Bourbon Street Bondage, Book 1

by Cat Montmorency

  “Well, that’s what we’re working on, remember? Getting you out of your comfort zone, so you can have a life now. So that the past can be past. But it doesn’t happen if you hide.”

  “I haven’t been hiding.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Moira groaned. “Fine, I’ve been hiding.”

  “Thank you. You know they say admitting you have a problem is the first step,” Kara added with a laugh.

  “Right. My name is Moira D’Arcangelis, and I’m a closet nutcase.”

  “Oh God, I just realized. Does that mean I’m a nutcase too, for hanging out with you?”

  Moira gave a small laugh and hugged her knees. “You were already a nutcase. And there’s nothing ‘closet’ about you. I don’t think there ever has been.”

  “Well that’s certainly true. Now spill.” Kara’s voice became serious again as she changed gears. “What did you do tonight that triggered your nightmare?”

  Moira’s mouth went dry. “I really don’t want to talk about it.” Talking only brought up memories, and she’d had enough for tonight.

  She tried so hard to scream. The pain pierced her side again, but his hand practically choked her, making it almost impossible to breathe…

  “Moira.”

  She shook her head and took in a ragged breath, pushing the memory away again. Her free hand wrapped around her side, holding her in, and holding her scars.

  “Hang in there, hon. I’m almost there.”

  The concern in Kara’s voice jolted her back firmly into reality. “No, I’m fine. I’m fine.” I am.

  “Talk to me then, hon. I know you don’t want to, but we both know it’s the only way to get through it. What did you guys do tonight? Besides have fabulous sex, I hope.”

  That got a laugh, almost a hiccup. “Adrian, um. We, uh…”

  Kara waited patiently while she took a deep breath.

  “Shit.” Moira dropped her face on her bent knees. “He wanted me to know how it, I mean… Fuck. I let him flog me.”

  Kara’s silence changed, gave her the distinct impression she was counting to ten. Sure enough, as Moira hit ten in her own mind, Kara finally spoke.

  “I’ll kill him. Do I need to kill him?”

  Moira laughed softly, not because it was funny, but because it was such a typically Kara reaction. “No. He was good. He wanted me to understand how the, um, toys, I guess, felt. And it was fine. He didn’t tie me down or anything, and he was really gentle, but…”

  “But?”

  “But I had a few flashbacks. During. It was fine, I worked through them.”

  “Except it’s four a.m. and you’re awake with the nightmare.”

  Moira sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Coming up,” Kara said, waving from the street below. Moira waved back. She hung up her phone as the deadbolt unlocked and her front door pushed open.

  Kara didn’t say anything, simply shut the door and wrapped her up in a hug.

  “Thank you.”

  “Always, bestie. Now let me look at your back. I’ll be the judge of whether or not Adrian needs killing.”

  Moira rolled her eyes, but pulled up the tank she’d tossed on to sleep in. “It was fine, really. He put stuff on it, and I get why he wanted me to feel it.”

  Kara ran her hand down her only slightly sore back and made a noise. “Fine, you’re right. So why do you think he had you do it?”

  Moira rolled her eyes. “So I could understand that it could be pleasurable.”

  Kara smiled. “There’s my girl. And was it?”

  “Until he got harder than I liked, and I had to use my safe word.”

  “Well. I already knew you weren’t a sub. But I’m proud of you for doing it. Not too long ago, you’d have been a mess at the idea.”

  Moira shrugged. “I’m still a bit of a mess. Nightmare, remember?”

  Kara flicked the statement away with a wave of her hand. “But you’re not a sobbing mess on the floor. So. Win.”

  Moira had to give her that one.

  “How bad was the nightmare?”

  Moira took a shuddering breath. “Bad.”

  “You’re holding your scars, so it must’ve been. It was the whole thing, wasn’t it? The whole memory?”

  Moira nodded, feeling tears prick at her eyes.

  “God, hon. I’m sorry.” Kara pulled her into a hug again. “Are you going to back out?”

  Moira wrapped her arms around her best friend and took another deep breath. “No.” She shook her head and pulled back enough to look Kara in the face. “No. I’m not. It may be crazy, I may be crazy for saying it, but I think it’s helping.”

  Kara smiled. “So you’re not going to safe-out yet?”

  Moira gave a half smile back. “No. Not safing-out yet.”

  “Good! Now, come to bed. I’m exhausted, and you need someone to hold you, so you’re stuck sleeping with me.” Kara grabbed her hand and dragged her back to the bedroom.

  “Hon, we’ve been sleeping in each other’s beds since we were twelve. Why would I start objecting now?”

  “Only making sure. Come on, we both need sleep. You have school in the morning.”

  Moira groaned, which turned into a yawn as Kara dragged her back to bed.

  Chapter Seven

  Moira’s phone vibrated as the final bell rang, releasing her students. She had barely enough time to shout, “Remember your papers on Jean Lafitte are due Friday!” before they all tore out the door. She shook her head and yawned while erasing the whiteboard. Even after Kara had shown up, it had taken her a while to get back to sleep, as remnants of memories continued to eat at her. She’d barely made it through the day, and only with generous amounts of coffee.

  Her phone vibrated again.

  She waved away another yawn and yanked open her desk drawer, expecting to see Kara’s name on the screen. Instead, she found Adrian’s. Surprised, Moira reached for it too late, but a moment later it started up again.

  “How did you get my number? More importantly, how did it get programed into my phone with a picture of you straightening your tie?”

  Adrian laughed, presumably at her lack of preamble. “Ah, Moira, ma chère, mon ange noir. I think I’ll call you that. Mon ange noir. I’m a man of many talents, you should know this by now. You’re finishing school now, yes? I expect you here in an hour, mon ange. I do like the sound of that—”

  “Adrian! God, take a breath and tell me what the hell you’re talking about. I’m too tired to decipher your ramblings. It sounded like you said you wanted me there in an hour.”

  “I did indeed. The bar, one hour.”

  “Adrian, no. It’s a school day, and I was so tired today I almost fell asleep in the middle of third block.”

  “Mon ange.” His tone had an edge to it, one that said he refused to argue. “I had lunch with our Kara today. You and I are gonna have a nice dinner, and a little vay-yay.”

  “Dammit, Adrian—”

  “Moira. One hour.”

  The line went dead. Moira stared at her phone, wondering how in the hell the conversation had gotten away from her before it had even started. She glanced at the clock. One hour? What the hell?

  Moira sighed and grabbed her things. She’d go. Of course she would. Adrian or Kara would simply hound her until she did.

  But his words permeated through her confusion, sending a trickle of dread down her back. If he’d been talking to Kara, and now wanted to talk to her, it could only be about one thing. Her nightmares.

  Moira hopped on the streetcar with her mind miles away, and her body on autopilot. She couldn’t argue that the nightmares were back, and the introduction to Adrian’s world was why. Really, it wasn’t a surprise. And yet, she didn’t want to run. Moira hung onto that thought for a moment.

  She didn’t want to run. Even with the resurgence in the nightmares, the memories she’d tried so hard to keep away.

  Interesting.

  The truth was, something in what Adrian offered, someth
ing about his little underground kink kingdom, called to her. It spoke to a part of her deep down that she had been previously unaware of, like the last tumbler of a lock falling into place. A lock that could either release her from her internal prison, trapped with her past, or let her finally lock the memories and the fear away.

  It was both a frightening and elating realization.

  The streetcar lurched, pitching Moira forward and startling her out of her thoughts in time to realize she could see the Canal Street Streetcar passing as they turned.

  “Shit.” Her hand shot up, pulling the cord above the window, and the streetcar came to a slow halt again. Moira shot the driver an apologetic look as she rushed past to step down, but he only laughed.

  “It’s Monday, chère. Don’t worry ’bout it.”

  The streetcar left her behind on the neutral ground, still trying to collect the thoughts that swirled around her head. It was insane, really. The idea that a victim—

  Stop that.

  Moira mentally shook herself. One of the first things she’d learned in therapy was that she couldn’t think of herself as a victim.

  I am not a victim.

  She sighed. But I’ve been living like one. Scared and alone and too worried about it happening again to trust anyone.

  And what Adrian offered…

  Yes, it was insane. That someone who had gone through what she had, kidnapped and beaten and raped, would even think about turning to kink.

  But Adrian had made his point too. His world was all about consent and safety before anything else. In some ways, that was a safer world than the one she walked in every day.

  After all, Justin belonged to the normal world.

  Moira shuddered. Justin had blamed her, claimed she pushed him to do what he did, that she’d wanted it.

  Was he right? Did she want it?

  Moira shook her head furiously. That was victim talk. And from what she’d seen of kink, it wasn’t like that. What had Adrian said? Rape was about taking what wasn’t being offered, about taking power and inflicting harm.

  There was no way she’d wanted that. Justin had, though. He’d wanted all of it, wanted everything he couldn’t have.

  “Miss Moira?”

  She jumped, startled from her internal arguments. Standing in front of her with a worried expression was the owner of the clothing shop below her apartment. “Tony.” She breathed his name, half surprise, half question, and looked around. When had she gotten home?

  “You all right, chère?”

  Moira nodded, trying to shake off the disorientation. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I got lost in my head.”

  Tony nodded his understanding. “Don’t spend too much time in your own headspace. It ain’t healthy. Pretty girl like you, somebody’ll take advantage of your distraction.”

  Moira laughed at the implication. Wasn’t that what she was so lost thinking about? “You trying to tell me you’re not really gay, Tony?”

  “That’s funny, chère, but I’m serious. You need to be more careful, this far into Mardi Gras. Tourists aren’t as nice as us Nawlins’ sons.” His tone was dour, but he winked and smiled. “Now tell me all about whoever’s got you so distracted, because honey, I know that look. Some man’s got you all twisted up.”

  Moira shook her head and smiled. “It’s not like that, just a friend of Kara’s. He gave me some things to think about, is all.”

  “Well, when you’re ready to spill the dirty details, I want to hear all about it.”

  “Sure, Tony.” Not likely. Her phone chose that moment to inform her she had a text. Moira blushed and fished it out of her bag while Tony gave her a look.

  Twenty minutes, mon ange noir. Don’t be late.

  She swore under her breath. Damn Adrian and his demands.

  “Just a friend, is it?”

  Moira gave Tony a glare and then a secretive smile. “Well, it might be sex too.” Let him stew on that. She waggled her fingers and ran for the stairs. “Later, Tony!”

  “You owe me details, Moira D’Arcangelis!”

  Ten minutes later, Moira ran out of her apartment feeling rushed. Her thoughtful meander home had left her running late. She’d barely had a chance to throw on a change of clothes, and as it was, she still might not make it on time.

  She walked quickly uptown, focusing on nothing more than weaving in and out of the heavy pedestrian traffic and the occasional car or carriage. Even in late afternoon, the crowds were thick. The noise from the parades on Canal Street and the parties already in full swing on Bourbon Street assaulted the quarter, mingling with the storefront traffic and street performers.

  Moira allowed herself a momentary smile. New Orleans was never quiet. It was one of the things she loved about it. There was an incredible vibrancy here that caught her body and soul. Not so much the stench of stale beer and puke around Bourbon Street, but she’d deal with that for the rest of the city. Even with the crowds that were about to make her late.

  Sure enough, as she reached the bar, Adrian stepped out. He looked immaculate in black and dark gray. Charcoal silk shirt, black suit, black tie, black fedora with a black ribbon. Hair worn loose and grazing the tops of his shoulders. His long fingers adjusted his cufflinks as he searched for her. His eyes burned as he found her, and he smiled. Smirked, really. “Mon ange. Right on time. You look good.”

  Moira blushed. She felt out of place next to him, in a simple gray pencil skirt and pale blue blouse. The strappy heels she’d grabbed at the last minute made up for it a little, though. “I can’t be out late tonight, Adrian. I need time to prep for tomorrow’s lessons and I need to be able to stay awake—”

  Adrian reached a finger out, placing it across her lips and silencing her. “Ma chère, why do you think I wanted you here so early?” He smiled again with laughter in his eyes, and offered his arm. “Shall we? Susan will insist they hold my reservation as long as I need, but I hate to put her out.”

  Moira sighed and took his arm. “I hate it when you get all in charge like this.”

  “Oui, I know. It rubs you wrong. You want to be the one running things. I’ve no doubt you can manage.”

  Moira rolled her eyes, but let him lead her through the crowds as they crossed Bourbon Street, and turned down Dauphine. “Where are we going?”

  “I thought a nice slow meal would be good for our vay-yay, and the atmosphere at Bayona is perfect, I think.”

  Moira choked. “I hope you’re paying.”

  “Mon ange, you wound me.”

  She laughed. “So this is a date? I didn’t think this was that kind of relationship.”

  “Call it a working dinner, then. Or whatever makes you feel better.”

  Moira gave him a confused look, but he only grinned and guided her down the street.

  Bayona was located in an unassuming little red cottage, one of several on Dauphine Street. From the outside, there was little to recommend it, but Moira had learned not to judge anything in New Orleans by what the exterior looked like. Inside was clean and bright, matching red walls with white trim. But the hostess smiled at Adrian and led them through the dining area and out back to the open patio that was one of the restaurant’s major selling points.

  Adrian held out her seat at the table the hostess pointed them to. Moira sat and admired her surroundings. The patio had a tall red brick wall that surrounded it and wrought iron furniture. For all that it was an upscale, expensive restaurant, Moira felt instantly comfortable.

  When the waitress had come and gone, Adrian fixed her with a loaded look. Moira swallowed.

  “Tell me about the nightmares, mon ange.”

  She sipped her wine to cover a grimace. “I’d really rather not.”

  “Tell me anyways.”

  Moira took another sip and closed her eyes. He was right. Talking would help. She was not a victim. When she opened her eyes, Adrian had settled back into his chair with a patient look on his face.

  She took a deep breath and set her wineglass down. “They’
re not so much nightmares, as flashbacks. It’s always the same memory. I… He…” She ducked her head and scowled. Even now, she could think his name, but saying it was so much harder. “Justin—” she forced his name out with a cringe, “—has me tied down, he’s beating me, r-raping me.” Moira clenched her fists in her lap and stared a hole through the table. Even in therapy, this had been hard to share. “And then he grabs his knife, and…” She gestured to her side. Adrian had seen her naked. He’d seen the scars. “He was still in me, still fucking me, when he cut me.” Tears ran down her face, and she reached out with a trembling hand to brush them away. Her body shuddered violently. Moira gripped the table, then reached out and took a long drink.

  “I remember every minute, every hit, every bit of pain. It’s reliving it, and I’m as powerless to stop it in my dreams as I was when it happened.” She stared at the empty glass in her hand and sighed. “And this is why I don’t drink. Because I won’t stop until I can forget. And I can’t ever forget.”

  “Some memories are impossible to forget. Kara tells me you’re having the nightmares again because of this?”

  Moira shrugged. “It’s triggered them, yeah. But it’s not really like they need an excuse.” She wiped her face again and sat back, trying to force the tension out of her body. “And I don’t know if putting a crop or a whip in my hand is going to change that.”

  “I think it might, mon ange.”

  She looked at Adrian for a moment, letting the silence stretch out between them before she finally spoke again. “You might be right. And even if it doesn’t…”

  He looked at her, waiting for her to finish the thought.

  “I think I want it. I think I may need it.”

  “What exactly are you saying, Moira? You need to be very clear with what you’re asking for.”

  Moira took a deep breath and looked him solidly in the eyes. “I want you to train me.”

  The smile that lit Adrian’s face was pure joy. The look in his eyes, though, was pure wickedness. “I can’t tell you how pleased that makes me. Mon ange noir, you’ll make a fabulous Domme.”

  Moira gave a hesitant smile. She felt lighter already, for having gotten the confession off her chest. “You think so?”