One thing they hadn’t known too much about was the whole horse angle, putting women in bridles and so on. Busty told her it was called pony play, and it was kind of a subculture of the BDSM world. It wasn’t something she’d do herself, but she had no hang-ups about it. Currently she was living with a man named Sal, a male dominant who kept her naked and collared at home. Just talking about that made Busty get all flush and wet, although Andrea didn’t quite get it. She’d seen Sal; he was bony, a chain smoker, and a total computer geek.
Shade said you had to find your own master, suitable for your own particular needs. “You gotta be careful, though,” Shade told her, massaging her aching calf muscles, left leg thrown over the table one night after closing. “It’s hell being a submissive female in a world like this, let me tell you.”
When Andrea asked why that was, she replied, “Because men are natural assholes and being a dominant is just one more excuse for them to act like assholes and get away with it. You see this?”
Shade had showed her the scar, across her stomach where a man had lashed her with a bullwhip—which in the world of flagellants was like King Kong was to monkeys.
Andrea checked the dressing room and finding none of her friends, decided to sit and wait. It didn’t take long to attract attention. Unfortunately, it was of the wrong kind.
“Enjoying the show?”
Andrea bristled at the hot breath on the back of her neck. Accent aside, there was only one man she knew who would be this into her from behind. “Hello, Bosco,” she replied joylessly, not even bothering to look. “What a surprise.”
“The real surprise is seeing you, sunshine.” Lucas Petrocelli sat down heavily next to her, all business.
Andrea forced a smile. “You need to lighten up, Lucas. Life is short.”
“Yours could be real short.”
Andrea studied him. He wasn’t just being his usual dominant jackass self, he was mad. “Why’s that?” she asked, trying to feel him out.
“Cause I don’t like dick teases,” he said, laying his thick, ring covered fingers on the table.
Her a dick tease? That certainly wasn’t a fair charge. Not after what she’d put out for them already. Hell, she hadn’t been able to walk straight for twenty-four hours. The English prick had actually marked her up with one of his stupid whips. So what in blazes did the big lug mean, unless…
Andrea felt the blood drain from her face. What if they’d run into Ashley last night? Did she dare ask them directly and risk telling them she had a twin? No, not till she knew for sure exactly what their connection to her sister was. Clearing her throat, she decided on a more subtle, sexier approach. “Guys,” she sighed. “I know I owe you a big, big apology. But I can explain it, really”
Bosco swung himself onto one of the other chairs. “This should be good.”
Yes, it should, she thought, wondering what excuse she could make up for an offense she hadn’t committed. “I wasn’t myself last night,” she said coyly, playing for time.
“Bullshit,” Bosco countered. “You just saw a better deal that’s all. Left us bloody high and dry, didn’t you?”
A better deal. Andrea felt her heart skip a beat. What had Ashley gotten herself into?
“Depends what you consider a better deal,” she purred, running her finger down Bosco’s ubiquitous beer bottle.
It was Lucas who grabbed her hand. “We’re not playing games, lady,” he said, his eyes burning holes. “You disrespected us last night, and tonight you’re stupid enough to show up again. What am I supposed to do about that?”
Andrea felt the warmth spreading down her chest, even as her panic rose. Lucas was dangerous as hell, but he was also a strong, sexy man. And if she played her cards right, she could get everything she needed. “You’re supposed to punish me,” she replied, her voice husky.
“Now we’re talking!” Bosco nodded, running his hand up her unclad thigh, up under the hem of the black dress which was the duplicate of the one she’d bought for Ashley, the one that was supposed to make them perfect twins for a night out on the town.
Andrea ignored the boyish Australian and concentrated on Lucas, who was still clenching her hand, firmly but not painfully. He was the one she had to deal with. “Think how could it could be,” she offered. “Now that you’re pissed at me. Come on tell me about last night, every detail, get yourself real riled up, and then we’ll go in back. Like before. You, me, Bosco and Reed, too, if he’s around.”
“Reed bailed on us,” Lucas said, yanking her hand towards him, far enough to make her lean over the table. “Bosco, pinch the lady’s nipples for me.”
Bosco’s eyes lit up. Looking around a few times, to make sure no one was watching too closely, he licked his lips and slipped a hand down the bodice of her dress and under the silk bra. He gave the left nipple a good tweak, then grabbed the right while Lucas talked.
“Lady, do we look like idiots?” Lucas said, now that he had her full attention.
Andrea shook her head no, trying to mask the pain, block it out.
“Then why do you treat us that way? You think I’m buying word one of this bullshit story you’re spinning here?”
“No,” she winced.
He nodded, thrust out his lower lip. “Good. Now we’re starting to communicate. So here’s how it’s gonna work. You’re gonna tell us the truth, and then if it’s not something really impressive, like how you ran off last night to join a convent, we three are going in back and you’re gonna show us just how sorry you are.”
Bosco snickered. “A convent, that’s good, Lucas.”
“Shut up,” Petrocelli sneered, “and put an ice cube in her cunt.”
Bosco wrinkled his forehead. “What did you say, man?”
Lucas used his free hand to slide his mixed drink across the table to his friend. “A cube of ice,” he repeated, basic enough for Bosco to understand. “I want you to take one of these with your hand and put it inside the vagina of the little slut sitting across from me, capeesh?”
Bosco licked his lips as his pupils narrowed. Andrea could see the idea intrigued him in a sick sort of way.
“Lucas, please,” she cried, trying to free her hand. “I’ll tell you the truth!”
“I know that,” he agreed, tightening his grip. “But it’s a Roman thing, early cosa nostra. Never question slaves except under torture.”
Bosco was working on fishing out an ice cube.
“So, Andrea,” Lucas beamed. “Shall we start from the beginning?”
She nodded, her lower lip pressed between her top and bottom teeth as she imagined what an ice cube would feel like inside her. The truth, she had to tell the truth. She wanted above all to protect her sister, but this was a man’s world and she was the kind of woman who couldn’t help but belong to whatever man was strong enough to stake his claim. And at this moment that man was Lucas Petrocelli.
What a little fool she’d been trying to fool him earlier!
“I have a twin,” she blurted, trying to squirm into a comfortable position. “She was here last night, pretending to be me. I don’t know what happened, but now she’s gone. I came here to find her. It’s the truth, I swear it! Please, Lucas, let me go! I’ll do anything you say! I’ll be your slave!”
Lucas leaned forward, a thin, malevolent smile on his face. “What do you think you are now, Andrea? My accountant?”
Andrea put her head to the back of his hand, kissing it profusely. “I’m your slave now, yes, of course,” she agreed, realizing her mistake. “Please forgive me, master.”
“I know what happened to your sister,” he told her.
Andrea’s eyes watered. “Please, master, I need to know.”
“Punishment first, girl.”
“Yes, master,” she shuddered, anticipating a night of sweet, sweet torment. “Thank you, master.”
They made Andrea precede them to the rear door. She kept her eyes to the floor, Lucas having forbidden her to look anyone in the eye. At the entrance t
o the dungeons, the guard ignored her, letting the two men hustle her through as the property she was.
“We brought your sister here,” Bosco said, leaning over to talk directly in her ear as they grabbed her on either arm. Andrea nearly swooned from the mix of powerful emotions. Fear for her sister, guilt for herself, and above all a sick, sweet self loathing for what she was doing now—playing sex games with men who for all she knew had done something terrible to Ashley. It was the ultimate aphrodisiac: giving herself to men like this, throwing every caution to the wind. It made her dirt, lower than dirt.
“This time it’s no holds barred, sheila,” Bosco said, pushing her against the wall as soon as Lucas had closed the metal door to the room. Andrea put her hands to his chest, half-heartedly fending him off.
“I want a kiss this time,” he demanded, his pelvis thrusting hard against her, his eyes fixing her like steel. “No more holding out.”
Andrea’s resistance melted on the spot. So Bosco had gained the secret of dominating her as well, she thought, lowering her hands to her side and offering her lips, tenderly, meekly.
Bosco took her hard, seizing the breath from her mouth and pressing his knee between her thighs. “I’m going to take you in the ass tonight, too,” he said when he’d released her.
Andrea’s legs were like rubber. Unbidden, they gave way beneath her. Hearing Bosco demand yet a second pleasure she’d refused previously was too much for her. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, as she slid to the floor, the wall at her back. “I am yours.”
“Hey,” complained Lucas, who was watching events unfold, arms folded over his chest. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“Considering how flaccid you were with that little redhead in your office this morning, I was wondering that myself,” Bosco said.
Lucas threw up his hands. “Hey, I was on the phone to the boss in Chicago. You try concentrating on a blowjob doing that!”
As the men laughed and joked with one another Andrea took off every stitch of her clothes, so that when they finally turned their attention back to her they found her naked, kneeling, head to the floor, arms prostrate in front of her. When they are done with me, she thought, I will know where my sister is.
Chapter Six
“But Simon I do love you! Truly I do!”
Simon put Ashley’s hands at her sides for what felt like the millionth time, removing them, he hoped with finality from his chest. At the moment, they stood overlooking the city landscape in the midst of his rooftop hydroponic paradise, but she was ignoring the view and all he was trying to tell her about the growing techniques employed. This little nature tour had been Nigel’s idea, part of her gentle reconditioning as he put it. Frankly, he would as soon toss the girl out on her ear, send her packing in the foolish little car he’d been forced to hide in his own garage.
“Ashley, I must insist that you stop this foolishness. As Doctor Owens explained to you, what you are feeling is the residue of a particular trance that I employed upon you the other night. I did so carelessly, and for ignoble purposes. In the manner employed, it should have loosened you up for a night of passion. Instead, it seems to have unleashed something deep in your subconscious.”
She threw her arms around him. “That’s right. I am Tia and you are my lord, the Pirate Captain. You have not yet seen the truth of my visions, but it is only a matter of time.”
Rice clenched his fists, resolved to resist the soft, sweet presence before him, so full of life, so utterly confident of this magical concoction she’d spun from the Slaver’s Trance. Really, he’d never seen anything like this. Not even the Grand Masters who had taught it to him in their secret Tibetan temple had spoken of such a possibility as past life regression—her as a pirates’ whore, and him a swashbuckler. It was pure nonsense.
A good lesson, that’s what he’d learned. From now on, he’d stick to whores.
Ashley’s succulent, tiny mouth was at his ear lobe. “I beg you, rape me again, milord.”
“Ashley, do not try my patience this way, I’m warning you.”
Ashley was on her knees, working the clasp of his pants. “All this greenery,” she proclaimed, her voice a raspy chill down his spine. “It reminds me of our island where you made me your slave.”
Simon accepted the open-air caress because he was not that much of a gentleman. There was no one but his servants here, and as for his morality, it was of a different sort than that practiced by lesser men. A self made billionaire ten times over, a former street fighter and back alley boxer from Liverpool, who’d been nicknamed the Tiger for his cruel tenacity in both business and pleasure, Simon Rice was the kind despised and feared, but ultimately respected by his adversaries. As for women, he bought and sold them. Literally.
Grunting ever so slightly, Simon sent his seed shooting into the girl’s mouth. A nymph, fifteen years his junior. A child in all but legality. “Enough,” he declared as she had the audacity to kiss his feet. “This encounter is at an end. You will go home tomorrow.”
“Please, milord, no.” She wrapped her hands round his calves, preventing his escape. “Allow me to stay and serve you.”
Simon cursed himself. He should have put her in a hospital that very night, or at least sent her packing the next morning. What had possessed him anyway, to rescue her in the first place from those buffoons at the club? She’d have done well to taste the lash for real, so she could get this romantic slavery nonsense out of her brain.
“Very well, Ashley, if you are so hell bent on staying, there is something I would have you see this afternoon.”
“Yes, milord.”
He lifted her to her feet; she weighed nothing and she was maddeningly desirable in the shorts and t-shirt he had ordered his secretary to purchase for her as part of her temporary wardrobe. “It is not going to be pleasant, young lady,” he warned. “So you can wipe that smirk off your face.”
She lowered her head, the smirk firmly in place. “I shall take a nap, then,” she declared, “to prepare myself. And besides,” she added, a twinkle in her eye, “I must check in with my Captain.”
He scowled at the blatant reference to her recurring dream world. A dose of reality was what she needed, and she would get a large one today. Let her see what real slavery is like, he told himself, and then she will return to her senses and go back to her white bread world.
Simon considered the matter further, along with others as he leaned over the wall, fifty stories high. Perhaps he was growing soft, refusing the girl’s proffered virginity. Had he gotten so comfortable as to deny his basic needs? Why was he so attached, bothering to consult a battery of counselors and psychologists about her state of mind, the evident shock over losing a fiancée, the sudden adjustment to discovering a sibling, and the…
Simon jerked his arm at the sudden caress. It was Ashley, touching him gently with her delicate hand. “Will you rest with me,” she asked, eyes brimming with tender hope, “just for awhile, milord.”
He smiled in exasperation, running a finger over her cheek. What a strange effect the girl had! He would almost miss her come tomorrow when she was gone, safe in her mother’s house, hating him profusely as he knew she would by day’s end.
I should shatter her illusions myself, he thought grimly as he let the barefoot Ashley guide him reverently to his own bed. I should rape her myself. Then again, it was hardly her fault that her heart had been torn open, and not merely by one man, but by two. Yes, he decided, as he lay down and let the girl put her head gently on his chest, he was definitely getting soft.
***
Andrea checked the number on the door, matched it to the one scrawled on the piece of paper Lucas had given her. Adjusting her dark glasses—the ones she wore to cover her sleep deprived eyes—she tapped her small fist on the graffiti covered surface. To say she was nervous would be an understatement. Showing up in a neighborhood like this, in a short leather skirt and clingy blouse after a full night of sexual torture was risky enough. But when the person you were l
ooking for was someone even the likes of a Lucas Petrocelli said was a ‘mean hombre’, you were taking things to a whole new ‘edge’.
The risqué outfit was Lucas’ idea. “Don’t even go near the guy unless you’re dressed to play. If he finds out later you’re a sub and you held out on him he’ll do things that’d make me blush,” he’d said.
She knocked again. Why Lucas had sent her here, to a private investigator and one-time white slaver named John Falcon was beyond her. The man’s name and address, however, had been her reward for a night spent in chains, her body at the full and merciless disposal of he and Bosco. She never had made it to the pretty brass bed, although the two of them took turns sleeping on it while the other used her. The last hour she dozed a bit, still hanging from the ceiling, while both of them slept.
“Talk to this guy,” Lucas had said, dangling a business card at her once they’d let her down and allowed her to dress. “Tell him your sister caught the eye of the Tiger. He’ll understand what that means.” He held the card a moment longer, frustrating her attempt to take it. “And remember, Andrea, don’t even try to bullshit this one. It’s ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ all the way for you.”
Bosco had been waiting for her at the door. Taking her in his arms, he’d delivered a deep tongue kiss as he slid his hands up under her dress, taking a full proprietary squeeze of her inflamed buttocks. Still primed and needful, Andrea draped her hands onto his neck, giving him fuller access. She was a slut for wanting him to take her all over, she decided, especially when her sister needed her so bad.
“Christ,” Lucas had yelled at Bosco, “let her go already!”
“All right, all right. But you better tell her the one to watch out for is the Tiger. I’m serious, Andrea. He’s a bleeding one-man army. If we’d have known who he was in the first place, we’d never have messed with him. Lucas here is lucky to be alive, the way he went after him.”
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