Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  Jonathan’s deliberate tone stilled her heartbeat, stopped her breath. She got the distinct feeling he shared something important, and she didn’t want even the sound of her own inhalations to mask her hearing.

  She couldn’t make out the details of his face, but she knew he stood appraising her, only his determined eyes piercing the dark. He fingered a small remote and a length of black fabric. Would he blindfold her again?

  “Only seven know of the modifications of this house. That includes a master craftsman, an electrician, Blanca, Mark, and now you,” he said.

  He aimed the remote toward the ceiling. Two large panels recessed into the wall, revealing built-in drawers and cabinet doors. Instruments hung from brass pegs above them. Before her eyes and brain could interpret what she saw, whirring sounds tore her eyes upward from the secret closet.

  Panels above the bed pulled back, exposing a lattice of steel grids and tracks. Flecks of red light glinted off hooks and carabineers tethered to thin girders. Bunches of dark blue fabric unfurled around Christiana, and she jumped, shrinking into the pillows.

  “What is all this?” Her eyes darted back to Jonathan. “I-I don’t think I like this.”

  Jonathan came around to stand next to the bed. He beckoned to her. “You needn’t be scared. Nothing in this room is going to hurt you. I will never hurt you.”

  She took his hand and eased herself down, her shoulder brushing one of the swaths of silk that hung from the ceiling. As soon as her feet hit the floor, the smell of leather engulfed her senses.

  Jonathan’s hand released her trembling fingers. He spun her, so she faced the bed. He slipped the shirt off her shivering frame and whisked her panties down her hips. “Step out of them,” he directed.

  She obeyed.

  Jonathan’s warm arms encircled her body, holding her almost too tightly. But she didn’t want him to let go. She dug her fingernails into his forearms to feel his hardness and reconnect with his protective male presence. His familiar scent, coupled with honeysuckle and leather, permeated the room. Expensive leather, she corrected herself mentally. Like the tack room at the Washington Rosemont Country Club stables.

  Jonathan breathed heat on her neck. “Ever since I ran into you at the club that first time, I’ve wanted to share this with you, Christiana.”

  He held out the remote and pressed another button.

  Her brain couldn’t catch up with her eyes. A wide upholstered beam, suspended from four wires, lowered from the opening over the bed. Blood coursing through her ears shut out the electrical sounds of its descent. Finally the device hovered a few inches above the bed, revealing its true shape—an isosceles triangle, three feet on a side, covered in a deep blue suede.

  “The suspension bench is connected to the grid above, so it can be maneuvered around the bed. It even swivels 180 degrees for more access options.” Jonathan moved her toward it. With one arm, he pulled the triangular bench toward them, swinging it in front of her legs.

  “What?”

  “It’s a device to restrain you, make your body available to me.”

  Available?

  Jonathan released his hold and pulled her hands behind her back. Fabric swished as Jonathan wrapped something around her wrists, securing them together. She yanked at the binding, and he clucked. “I’m simply restraining your hands.”

  All the new sensations, the scent of leather mixed with Jonathan’s musk, the electrical sounds, the red lights, Jonathan’s voice, laden with intent, crammed in on her until she had to concentrate on breathing. Christiana was more than in over her head. She sat adrift in an ocean she didn’t know existed. The Internet hadn’t, couldn’t, prepare her for this.

  “What if I can’t, if I don’t want to?” She stared at the blue swing.

  His hands stopped and the fabric slipped away from her wrists. “Then you don’t have to,” he said softly behind her. “We can leave here.”

  Her hands fisted on either side of her legs. “Can we just be here without all this?”

  Jonathan stepped backward, his skin leaving her skin. “No.” The loss of his body was immediate and unbearable.

  She turned and looked Jonathan square in the face. His features stilled, as if waiting for her response. The pivotal moment hung heavy in the space between.

  “This is what I meant by sexual dominance, Christiana. This is part of who I am.”

  Jonathan’s gaze softened, as if understanding the weight of what he asked. But his features remained resolute. She knew he needed this—whatever it was—and he wouldn’t change his mind.

  The next thought nearly broke her heart. If I don’t do this, he’ll let me go.

  If she wasn’t brave enough to try whatever he had in mind, she’d return to her life, and he would return to his. Apart.

  Images of her world flipped through her mind, a deck of life cards showing her the same options over and over. She could go back to her old world. Relive the summer she’d had each of the last three years. Long weekends waitressing, afternoons by a county club pool with Avery, and events with her father to make sure he got home okay. Then she’d go back to school: classes, exams and the occasional frat party with drunken boys ogling her breasts, sending beer breath over her face as they swayed in house hallways. More Jeffrey Daniels clones.

  It wasn’t what she wanted. What did she want?

  Jonathan took her hand, the only contact he allowed. His thumb brushed over her knuckles and with that touch, a simple truth surfaced. Nothing else mattered but Jonathan.

  She could not unknow Jonathan Brond. He would forever be a presence—a model of what she would crave. A primal need to please him rose up. She would deny this man nothing.

  Christiana turned back to face the bed, crossing her wrists behind her back.

  “Good girl.” Jonathan’s breath wafted over her neck as he wound silky fabric around her arms, binding her hands, one crossed over the other. “I’m just asking you to try. Remember, you can quit at any time.”

  She knew she wouldn’t.

  Jonathan placed his hands on the back of her thighs. She parted her feet, giving him access without thought. She pushed her ass against his crotch, his hardening manhood.

  “You’re more than ready. You need to trust yourself . . . and me.”

  He swung the wider end of the upholstered bench seat so it connected with her skin.

  “I’ll help you lower yourself.” His hand pressed her bound hands into the small of her back while his other arm circled her chest.

  She settled face down on the bench, the soft suede connecting with her quivering torso. The beam’s length ran from above her sternum to her pelvic bone, leaving her head to hang over the blunted, narrower end. Her breasts hung down on either side of the board, her hips on the wider part of the bench, leaving her legs to dangle off the base. A notch in the wider end ensured her pussy would be as exposed as possible. She flushed at what he could see. What he’s already seen.

  Jonathan’s hands gently lifted each breast to check if they were caught, grazing her nipples against the silk. She wiggled. Her heartbeat punched at the light padding under her chest, and her harsh pants rasped.

  “I had this bench made specifically for your body length. It should support you well.” He reached under the bench, and with a sound of Velcro separating, he pulled two large straps from underneath.

  “These will hold you on more securely.” One thick soft strap went round her lower back. The other secured her to the bench under her bra-line, if she’d been wearing one. She did feel more stable, as the bench was not as wide as she originally thought.

  “The bench covering and fastenings are made of the softest materials available. Your skin is so delicate, any marks will come from my own hand and nothing else.”

  Next, he wound a loop of midnight-blue silk fabric around one thigh, tugged, and suspended her leg outward, frog-like. He did the same with her other one. More adjustments drew the fabric even tauter.

  “Is that too much, Chris
tiana?” He caressed her ass as he spoke. “You need to have good circulation. You’re going to be here a while. Anything pinching? Any numbness?”

  “No, it’s fine.” Fine?

  “Good. This is parachute silk like they use in Cirque du Soleil. It’ll burn if rubbed too harshly. You tell me if that begins to happen.”

  She nodded, her ability to speak departed. Her mind offered images of circus performers nimbly flipping over hoops and adroitly gliding through the air. Those images did little to make her feel graceful.

  Another whooshing sound and her body spilled forward so her head hung lower than her ass. Her pussy lay bared for observation. She blushed anew.

  “You’re beautiful. Glistening with need already.” His breathing grew raspier.

  She couldn’t suppress a faint moan when he ran a finger up her inner folds.

  The bench suddenly pivoted, and her head faced his crotch, bulging with an erection. Thin straps were drawn over her forehead and across her chin, lifting and supporting her head. “We don’t want your neck to strain. Good?”

  “It’s . . . good.” She surprised herself she could speak that much.

  He made more adjustments, checking the silk fabric. She hung semi-suspended, bound and helpless, open to anything he wanted to do to her.

  Jonathan pulled fabric over her head, covering her eyes, though he secured the blindfold with a gentle touch. Her descent into blackness nearly swamped her with panic. But then his hand lay lightly on her head, and she tuned into his presence. An odd calmness settled over her as a peculiar arousal surfaced. The desire to resist faded.

  “I’m going to lift you a little higher, lovely.” Another whirring sound and the bench rose a few inches. It spun. His hand disconnected from her skin. Where was she facing?

  She lost her orientation until Jonathan’s rich voice filled the room. With no other distraction, her attention narrowed on him with the total dedication a hunting dog gave to a fox. Maybe that was the whole point?

  “Now, I’m going to reiterate our agreement.”

  He let silence settle between them, ostensibly giving her time to catch up to his words.

  “When we are here, you will surrender the control of your body to me. I will take you, hard and often. You will come only with my permission. You will not protest. If you do, there will be discipline. If you accept, I will service you well.”

  His voice circled. He must be pacing.

  “You will not be hurt or harmed in any way that is permanent. The most you’ll suffer is discomfort and sore muscles.”

  She felt his hot breath near her face. “You’ll also find ecstasy.” His hand connected with her cheek. “Do you accept?”

  “Y-yes, Jonathan.” Her ability to say “no” had long left.

  “You will address me as ‘sir’ and nothing else while we’re here.”

  She nodded as well as she could with her head restrained.

  “Let me hear you say it, Christiana.”

  She swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  A lump of fabric settled into the open palm of her bound hands. “These are your panties, the ones you gave me the first night I picked you up at The Oak.”

  She fingered the wad of cotton in her hand. “Oh.”

  “Hang on to them. If anything gets too much, drop them. I’ll stop everything and get you out and in my arms within seconds. Do you understand?” His voice had softened, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t last.

  “Yes . . . sir.”

  A motor sound engaged and vibrations coursed through her limbs, now strung tight from the bonds. The bench moved. She flinched, instantly disoriented.

  “You’re safe. I’m moving you further onto the bed.”

  The movement stopped. Jonathan ran his fingers through her hair and began twisting it, as if putting her hair into a braid. A moan escaped her lips. The pulls on her scalp felt too good.

  “What have you liked about our time together so far?” he asked softly.

  Christiana knew what he sought. He wasn’t talking about dining al fresco on his deck, waking up in his arms, or even the pounding sex that made her climax within minutes. He wanted to know what she would allow and might like right now. Did she have a choice?

  A shameful tear slid from her eye, escaping from the blindfold.

  “You can tell me,” Jonathan said.

  “I like it when you pull my hair,” she whispered.

  “What else?”

  “And when you slapped . . . .”

  “Your ass?”

  “Yes.”

  His hands left one plait against her back. “Never be ashamed of how you like to be pleasured, Christiana.”

  Long minutes passed of trialing kisses along her back. His chest hair tickled her bottom as he bent over her bound and helpless body. Her shame quieted. He ran his hand down the length of her spine to rest on a bare ass cheek.

  “Tell me, right now, what is exciting you?” he asked. “What is making you wet?”

  “You.” She shocked herself with her own honesty.

  The mattress dipped, and her nipples brushed the bed. His hand palmed her breast. He must be lying next to her.

  “You like being bound? Knowing I can do anything I want to your succulent pussy, your mouth or your ass?”

  The effect of his words bewildered her for a second. But then her arousal spiked as his hands ran down the length of her body. She should be scared. Terrified. She’d never relinquished control of her life to anyone. So why was she doing so now, being restrained so completely and thoroughly, and why was it making her whole body quake with need? She could barely understand who she was at that moment.

  She heard denim rustling, then the clink of a belt hitting the floor. His strong quads leaned into her, hairs prickling the small patches of skin exposed between the parachute silks. His thick cock lay nestled up her butt crack.

  His voice came close to her ear. “I’m going to help you let go. To bring down that carefully constructed wall you’ve built. Tonight you will come hard and often, on my command.”

  Christiana couldn’t suppress a whimper of indignity—or was that hunger?

  “Now, open up lovely.” His hand cupped her jaw, and his index finger slipped between her lips. She opened up her mouth, and a long thick cylinder covered in terrycloth fabric slid between her teeth. She bit down, testing the give of the rubbery interior.

  “This will muffle your screams,” he said. “Now you know you can let go completely, not feel inhibited in any way. When you do, I’ll remove it.”

  “Mmmnnnn…” She shook her head.

  “Shhh, yes, Christiana. Relax into it.”

  She settled her lips over the cloth. It instantly moistened with saliva. She pulled more air through her nose, willing herself to calm, sending her awareness through each part of her body. Long seconds passed as he rubbed her lower back, as if lulling a baby to sleep.

  “You ache for my command, don’t you? Your need to accept my control is as strong as my need to deliver it.”

  Jonathan’s voice wound inside her, and she trembled at his words. She didn’t want to accept his words as true. What did that say about her? Yet her grip on her panties hardened.

  His torso left her back. Then his hands wrapped around either side of her inner thighs. Her whole body jumped when his thumbs reached her swollen lower lips, spreading them open more. Warm, firm lips closed over her needy slit. She shook as his tongue trailed up one of her inner lips and down the other. She moaned into the gag.

  His breath caressed her splayed-out pussy. “You’re delicious. I’m going to savor the taste of you with my tongue, before letting you fall to pieces.”

  Air rushed through her nose as her heart accelerated. Her legs wobbled in the silk bindings, and Jonathan steadied her with his hands. She tried to be still but his mouth joined her clit, his tongue working her like a juicy delicacy. Her whole world shrank to that contact. She careened off a cliff into wild pleasure in seconds. She screamed her orgasm into
the gag, bright lights dancing behind the blindfold. A rustle of fabric mixed with her moans. Her back strained against the straps and bindings, as tremors rocked her inside and out. Jonathan’s arms circled her legs and held them as he lapped at her juices like a starving man, making no effort to hide the wet sucking sounds.

  His wicked tongue brought her body back up. A desperate sound erupted from her throat. Jonathan stopped his assault on her overwrought nerves. She teetered on a climactic precipice. A strong breeze would tip her over the edge.

  His moist kisses left a damp trail as he worked his way up her bound limb. He smacked her ass with a chuckle. The suspended bench swung forward, her nipples brushing the bedcover.

  “God, you come like a lioness. But next time, lovely, you’ll wait for my permission. No matter what I’m doing to you.”

  His permission? Was he kidding?

  “Yes, only by my command,” he said.

  Mind reader.

  Jonathan released the mouth gag. It hit the bed with a soft plunk.

  His voice grew clipped. “You’ll learn to obey my every demand, no matter how slight, won’t you, little one?”

  He reached around to her breast and pinched one of the rosebuds. She captured her bottom lip in her teeth as a cry broke from her throat. “Y-yes, sir.”

  Without warning, Jonathan slipped his cock into her wet opening, sending her forward a few inches. She groaned as her nipples reacted to the subtle scratch across the duvet.

  He stayed inside her, unmoving, for several minutes, even when she began whimpering like a lost puppy.

  She clenched her internal muscles, trying to create friction. “J-Jon . . . Please. Please, sir.”

  “You didn’t wait for consent, so you earned a punishment. What is your favorite number?”

  “W-what?” Was this a distraction technique?

  His hand slapped her ass once.

  “Forty-two,” she said quickly.

  “Very good. You will count each of my strokes. You aren’t to come until we reach forty-two.”

  He had to be joking. She would explode at any moment. He withdrew and pushed back in slowly.