by Kim Black
“Another,” I yell back at him, and he nods.
Glancing at my watch, I realize that Derrick should already be here, but I don’t bother turning around and scanning the crowd for him. He knows where to find me.
The collared man slides another drink in front of me and I immediately throw this one back too. I don’t wince this time, but I feel the burn of it as it travels down my throat as I place the now empty glass down on the marble-topped bar.
My eyes close for just a second and that’s when I hear it.
That sound. God, I’ve missed that sound.
I don’t open my eyes just yet, instead I try to focus on the sounds in the room. My hands twitch when I hear it again, and I spin my stool around and begin to scan the room.
Has that vixen decided to play with my mind again tonight? I wonder, remembering how she’d visited me on the nights following our initial meeting.
I look at each exhibit, my eyes first scanning along the outer walls looking for the curves of her body, the cascading softness of her hair, and her temptress eyes, but I don’t see her. Normally, she’d visit each exhibit, looking at whatever piqued her interest and then she’d move on if she found herself bored. She’d feel my eyes on her and then disappear into thin air just as our eyes first meet. It’s always the same, and yet also somehow different each time.
I hear it again. A soft moan pierces the slow rhythm of the music, and I crane my neck to look deeper into the crowd. I know she’s here, just like before, but for some reason she isn’t making herself known.
The Dungeon is packed tonight, with most of its patrons gathered at the center of the room, which is odd since the center stage exhibit is only used for special occasions.
I’m too far away, and at the wrong angle to see which guests occupy the stage, so I push myself off the stool. Wending my way through the sea of mingled hands, grinding bodies and soft, guttural murmurs, I make my way to the front of the center stage.
Is that the cracking of a whip? A flogger? I’m not sure, but the sound of it striking naked flesh vibrates through the air, emanating from the stage set before an audience of at least one hundred people.
And then I hear it again. It’s her.
So soft a sound, yet deafening to my ears, it freezes me just a few feet away.
There’s a St. Andrew’s Cross before me, and I stop dead in my tracks with only one thought in my head.
Mine.
Alyson.
ALYSON
Holy shit. That hurts!
My clit throbs deliciously in the wake of Derrick’s assault, but I can’t focus on it. I can’t enjoy the burn or the pleasure that flogger gives me as Derrick again cracks that freaking flogger against my core.
Where is he?
Is he coming?
Fuck, that really hurt.
Why do I like it so much?
Is this what Blake has been holding back from me?
I am distracted. My mind races, even as Derrick wields that fucking beautiful flogger against me again and again.
I cry out in sweet agony, scorching pleasure and worry. I feel my body’s reaction to his assault trickling down my legs.
God, this is so wrong! Lane, what the fuck are you doing?
I am panicking, my heart is racing, my breathing is erratic, yet still Derrick doesn’t yield. Grabbing my hair with one of his strong hands, he pulls it to the side, exposing my neck to him and he lowers his head. The scents of his soap and woodsy cologne tease my nose and I can’t help but tense up when he licks the base of my throat.
He shouldn’t be the one doing this to me.
I close my eyes and repeat these words over and over to myself. Pretend it’s Blake. Pretend it’s Blake. Pretend it’s Blake.
Derrick bites down hard on my shoulder. I scream, long and loud even as he laps up the stinging sensation with his tongue.
Fuck.
Tears stream down my face, but I can do nothing to wipe them away. My hands are still tied down and I can barely move them an inch in their restraints.
Derrick doesn’t let up. His tongue moves across my shoulder to my collarbone. I shudder at the feel of it and I fear that he truly believes I want this from him. My body is betraying me.
I do want this, but not with him. He’s what’s wrong in this erotic scene. I’ve dreamed of this countless times since meeting Blake and it's always beautiful, and so incredibly erotic. But, Derrick… he doesn’t belong here in this scene with me.
Why the hell did I ever agree to this?
Fear still grips me and I am quivering against him by the time Derrick rises.
Blake isn’t coming. I’ve made a terrible mistake and I now fear that Derrick may have lied to me all along.
He stops, brings his mouth to my ear and whispers softly, “It’s show time.”
And then I feel it.
The hairs on my arms stand at attention, my nipples become engorged into sharp peaks and the electric charge in the room suddenly shifts. I should feel relieved. I should feel joyful that he’s arrived before Derrick and I took things too far, but I feel none of that.
Only one emotion courses through me, even as Derrick is suddenly yanked away from me by brute force and punched in the face.
There is one feeling I can’t run away from. Looking at the square, rigid set of Blake’s jaw, his scolding gaze and his fisted hands, it feels as though a heavy weight has been laid upon my chest. It’s so heavy, and I want so badly to push it off of me, but I know I can’t, neither physically nor mentally.
One look at Blake’s hard, clenched jaw proves that what I am feeling is not irrational at all. His dark, primal scrutiny of me now affirms the feeling within me and even amplifies it.
I’m scared.
Shit. What the fuck did you do, Lane?
So much emotion flashes through his beautiful grey eyes, but one emotion is far more prominent than the rest.
Anger.
“Blake,” I whisper softly, my eyes imploring him to understand. I have never before seen such ferocity in Blake’s eyes. His gaze bores into me, ignoring the disappointed sounds of the viewers who were enjoying the scene. Blake doesn’t care at all whether or not they want the scene to continue.
It feels as though the room and its occupants fall away in that moment and it’s just the two of us, and I’m now the sole the focus of all his anger.
Should I bother explaining?
Will Derrick explain on my behalf?
The sound of Derrick groaning somewhere to the left of me momentarily draws my attention away from Blake. Hunched over and cradling his face, Derrick manages to glance my way and I feel horrible that he’s hurting.
A beautiful, petite woman walks up behind him and crouches down. She pulls him to her, gives him a kiss, then looks up at me and winks.
Ah. His girlfriend. Lucky gal.
Had this entire situation not become so fucked up I might have laughed, but there is nothing remotely funny about it right now.
When Blake steps forward, close enough to block my view of Derrick and his girlfriend, my breath hitches. Without saying a word, he unties my hands, first the left and then the right. I awkwardly bring them down, rubbing my wrists where the bindings cut into my flesh. As Blake then bends down to release my feet from their restraints, I don’t move a muscle. Even after he’s done freeing me, I’m not sure what I should do.
When he picks up my dress and places it in my hands, I want to think that he understands what Derrick and I were up to, but the look in his eyes as I take back my dress is cold and vacant of emotion.
“Blake,” I begin to attempt an explanation, but, in that instant his lips crash down on mine in a bruising, scorching kiss. His hands grip my hair and cradle my neck, and we’re nothing but tongues and teeth at the moment. This kiss feels different. It’s not romantic in any way. It’s almost desperate, both pleading and fucking hot at the same time. I can feel his anger as his hands drift down from my hair and he begins to tug, pull and squeeze the
flesh of my hips, thighs and ass.
He grunts into my mouth as my tongue explores him. My mouth is begging in the only way it can, at this moment, for him to understand what’s going on, but his caress is punishing, unyielding and purely animalistic.
He then pushes away from me, leaving me reeling from our kiss. “Blake, it’s not what you think,” I start to say, but his darkened eyes arrest me into silence. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t say a word. His breaths are now coming out in short pants, filled with drunken lust.
I want to pull him close, kiss him again and make him see that I only want him, but he doesn’t give me a chance. Before I can contemplate uttering a single word, he turns and stalks away, the onlookers parting like the Red Sea as he leaves me there, alone on the platform, both confused and deeply ashamed. I can only stare after him, his strides unhurried, yet strong and powerful.
“Go,” Derrick manages to grunt at me, and I can see that his beautiful face is already bruising. “Upstairs. Now.”
Blinking a few times, it is only then that I grasp what Derrick is telling me and I quickly pull on my dress. I don’t even answer him. Instead, I leap off the platform and push past the gawking patrons.
I have to explain. He needs to understand.
“Blake! Wait!” I call after him, but he doesn’t slow or turn to face me. His hands are balled into tight fists by the time I reach him and grab his arm.
“Please,” is all I manage to say, but Blake brushes me off. He doesn’t look at me as he steps into the elevator, nor does he even turn around to face me once he’s inside. Instead, he keeps his back to me even as the doors close behind him.
What have I done?
BLAKE
Fuck!
It’s completely insane, I know that, but even though she’s practically whored herself out to my brother just to make me jealous, I can’t deny that seeing her up there—panting, moaning and taking all the punishment that my brother meted out to her turned me on.
She isn’t as fragile as she seems.
Still, I am furious with her and Derrick. It didn’t take me long to figure out what game they’d been playing up on that stage. One look at the expression on her face as I manhandled Derrick, told me everything I need to know.
The duality of her emotions was evident. She loved every bit of what Derrick did to her, but she didn’t want to enjoy it quite as much as she actually did. I don’t know if her uncertainties were because it was been Derrick up there with her instead of me, or if it was the public nature of the act itself. Nonetheless, it had been a trick all along. That much is clear. They wanted to get my attention.
They’d succeeded.
“Please,” Alyson begs when she reaches me, gasping and tugging on my arm. Her touch, though deceptively gentle, is electric, and I can’t allow myself to fall under her spell. I brush her off and step into the elevator. I knew she would run after me, and as she stands there behind me, imploring me to listen to her, I formulate a plan of my own. She’ll soon see that I am not a man to be toyed with, not a man to be made a fool of, but that lesson won’t happen tonight.
If she wants to play games, then play them we shall, but I will be the one pulling the strings and making the rules.
The elevator chimes its arrival at the lobby and I quickly shoot off a text to Jaxon. Luckily for me, Jaxon always stays close by.
Five minutes later, he pulls up in front of The Dungeon with a knowing look on his face. I don’t engage him, even as I climb inside and pull the door closed. Nothing has gone right today and I am too pissed off to go back and forth with the old man now.
Flashes of Alyson up on that stage play over and over again in my mind, and try as I might, I can’t stop my dick from twitching at the thought. Concurrent images of Alyson on my spanking bench with her soft, plump, ass in the air while I brand her butt red with my trustee flogger cause me to groan aloud. The need to bend her over my lap and spank her soundly for allowing another man to touch what only belongs to me is strong. I want to fuck her hard and fast. I want to punish her for her behavior tonight until she is writhing beneath me, but I need to do it right.
Now that I know that she is interested in taking whatever this is between us even further, I can plan my next move.
As far as Derrick is concerned, he will regret meddling in my business. I will never let it slide that he laid so much as one finger on someone who belongs to me. She may not know it yet, especially after I walked away from her tonight, but Alyson is mine. And I don’t share what’s mine with anyone.
ALYSON
No, go back to sleep, I order myself as I toss and turn in my bed, willing the morning to go away. Groaning, I pull my pillow from under my head and pull it over my face to try to muffle the banging sounds in my head. No such luck.
I don’t even remember coming home last night, but somehow I’d managed to get here and climb into bed fully dressed. I can feel the dress now bunched up around my hips and my shoes are still on my feet. It was a very long and trying night indeed.
He walked away.
I completely blew it with Blake last night. There is no way he will ever forgive me—not that I’ll even attempt to try to gain his forgiveness. After what I did, well, really after what Derrick and I did, there is no way I can ever face Blake again. At least Derrick shares his DNA, he’ll get a chance to apologize and make up with his brother. Me? I am screwed. It’s just as well.
Last night’s events sealed it for me. I have to get over Blake. Somewhere between my fifth and ninth drink, I made up my mind. We are not meant to be together. The sooner I accept it, the better everyone will be.
I reluctantly push aside the pillow and crawl out of bed. The pounding in my head isn’t going to go away on its own. I might as well get up and start my search for work.
Work. I need to find a job soon or I’ll end up sleeping on the streets.
Darn hangover! I curse as I kick off my shoes and wince at the sound of the thud each one makes as it hits the floor.
Ambling to the bathroom, I barely recognize myself in the mirror. My makeup is smeared, my hair is a tangled, mangled mess. My eyes are glazed over and bagged underneath. I look like hell.
Well, what did you expect to look like after drinking all night?
I shrug at my reflection and then roll my eyes. Turning, I quickly turn the water on in the shower and rid myself of last night’s clothes.
Hopefully, I’ll feel better after a nice, long, hot shower.
***
Thirty minutes later I feel a little better, but the pounding in my head continues, although now it’s more of a light thumping than the full hammering it was earlier. I pull on an oversized sweatshirt and underwear and plod my way to the kitchen, my hands cradling my aching head. A healthy dose of caffeine is what I need right now.
I am never drinking again, I silently vow, even though I know that I have no real intention to keep that promise to myself.
“You’re up.”
I stop, startled, and gasp aloud in surprise, clutching my chest as my heart beats frantically.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Alyson. I didn’t mean to scare you, I swear,” Derrick says, putting down the mug he’d been holding and walking towards me. “You okay?” he asks.
“No,” I rasp, still trying to calm my breathing. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches over to the counter and hands me my own miracle in a mug, coffee. “Just making sure you’re all right, duh!” He grins his sexy, dangerous, grin and I can only smile and shake my head at him.
“Actually, I was just making you some breakfast. So off you go. Back to bed young lady,” he shoos me away with a flick of his hand.
I’m not going to argue with him, not when whatever he’s cooking smells so good.
Climbing back into my bed, I contemplate calling Blake, but really, what could I possibly say to him? ‘I’m sorry,’ just doesn’t seem to be enough. I’ve never seen him so upset and who could really bla
me him? If the situation had been reversed and it was me who’d walked in and found him up on that stage, I’d be livid too. So, of course he’s angry.
There is definitely no undoing or unseeing that.
“Here you go,” Derrick says, as he enters my bedroom carrying a breakfast tray.
I smile and take the tray from him, my mouth watering at the sight of eggs, bacon, toast and what the heck is that?
“Grits. They’re good. Eat up,” he says, reading my mind and the look on my face.
“Okay. Thanks, for everything. I’m sorry I got you punched in the face.” His eye was now a deep shade of purple compared to the bright red it had been last night.
“Ah, it’s nothing. I’ve been through worse,” he murmurs, as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
I want to ask him if he’s spoken to Blake since last night, but I can’t bring myself to ask. I bite down on my lips as I push the food on my plate around with my fork, feeling lost.
“He’s not answering my calls,” Derrick offers and I only give him a weak smile. “Look, I’m sorry my plan didn’t work. I probably should have just stayed out of it. It’s just…” he trails off, turning away from me.
“It’s just what?” I encourage, wanting him to finish his thought. I’m not going to lie and pretend I haven’t wondered why Derrick seemed so insistent that Blake and I get together. It’s obvious that he cares for his brother, sure, but there has to be more to it than that.
“Nothing…” He’s just been through a lot these past few years. He deserves to be happy.”
After I finish eating my breakfast, Derrick takes my plate and heads out. He promises me that he will call and check up on me later and I mumble something incoherent as I snuggle back into bed. As I drift off to sleep, all I can think about is what Derrick said.
What hardship could Blake have gone through that would cause his brother to worry about him so much?
BLAKE
“You want to explain to me what the fuck you were thinking?” I practically growl at Derrick the second he steps off the elevator.