by Sara Fawkes
Kate obeyed immediately although it took her a moment to find a comfortable position. Her cheek and chest lay against the smooth stone while her hands pressed tight against his buttoned shirt. His belly was as hard as the rest of the man, and Kate’s fingers dug into the muscles she found. Alexander’s deep voice crooned its approval. Then his hips plunged forward, and Kate gave a small cry as he pushed hard inside her.
Alexander sank low, pulling himself out and down, then surged up again, piercing Kate and burying himself to the hilt. There was no gentleness here, the hard wall offering no soft cushion, but the fire within her body trebled, building toward a quick release. Her hands fisted in the material of Alexander’s shirt, hanging on as she was plowed, the strokes inside sure and hard.
“Come for me, little cat.”
That deep, accented voice roared through her, this command no less imperative than the rest, and all of a sudden the pleasure crested and exploded over Kate’s body. She shuddered, breath coming out in sobbing pants as the orgasm shook her, wringing the last of her emotions to the surface. All of the frustration and pain of the last week came forth, adding to the experience in a cathartic release.
Somewhere beyond the darkness, the blonde woman’s vocalizations reached a crescendo, then tapered off into low moans. Kate rested her cheek against the wall, not realizing immediately when Alexander pulled out of her. Her legs felt like jelly, as if she’d been running a marathon, and she appreciated the support that heavy body continued to provide. The sound of applause and wolf whistles came from nearby, and only then did Kate snap out of her stupor.
The stark reality of what she’d just done hit Kate with all the force of a freight train. Fumbling blindly, she pushed against the wall to get away and, when the weight was lifted, staggered sideways. She caught herself on a nearby pillar, then fumbled for her pants and underwear as she glanced wildly around.
“Wait.”
That same sensual voice flowed over her, but the humiliation of what she’d just allowed herself to do was too much. “Stop,” she whispered, putting up a hand to keep him away. Somewhat to her surprise, he obeyed, staying where he was as she fumbled to get dressed.
Nobody was within sight, and as she moved out from the dark alcove beside the door, she saw that the blonde and her companions had drawn an appreciative crowd. The woman seemed replete and happy with the attention, giving both of the men with her hugs before stepping, still naked, out of the tub and accepting a towel from a nearby spectator.
Everyone seemed distracted by the hot-tub occupants, but the idea that someone could have seen . . . could have . . . Her brain couldn’t even bear that possibility, and she turned toward the door.
“Kate, please.” Alexander’s voice implored her attention, and she paused and looked at him. He very obviously had not finished with her, and that only compounded the guilt she felt. Even standing with his pants around his ankles, erection still straining from his groin, he looked too damned sexy to be real. Mortification prevented Kate, however, from being able to appreciate the view or that, however briefly, he’d been hers.
“I have to go,” she whispered. Not allowing him another word, she turned and fled into the resort, wanting only to go and hide in her room.
Chapter Three
THE ROOM-SERVICE MENU, Kate found out, was just as stunning as the rest of the hotel.
Kate licked the last of the cheesecake from her spoon as she lazily browsed around the computer, surfing the Web. I could do this for a week, she reasoned, glancing up and out the bedroom window to watch the colors fade across the twilight sky. I don’t need to leave this room until it’s time to leave.
That would serve her purposes nicely.
She hadn’t stepped foot out the door since the previous evening and didn’t plan on doing so anytime soon. Sure, she was missing out on the many amenities promised in the brochures atop the coffee table in the living room, but she could manage just fine without the activities. Staying inside and doing nothing was a novel experience for Kate; she didn’t even check her e-mails, choosing instead to do some research instead.
It was amazing how much information was on the Internet regarding BDSM. Before her introduction to Mistress Francesca at the orientation, she’d never even thought to look it up. Sure, she knew what it was, or at least what the acronym stood for, but until today she hadn’t understood just how wide a variety of activities the lifestyle encompassed.
Some of the pictures Kate found online left her blushing, but awakened a fascination inside her she couldn’t deny. Women and men tied up, being spanked, forced to act as furniture—the list of actions was endless. Not everything interested Kate, and she found quickly that this was okay; just because one person liked something didn’t mean it was wrong that another person didn’t. Kate herself found she preferred the bondage and domination side, less so the pain and humiliation some chose to endure, but she did wonder how a person derived pleasure from that.
There was also a lot of talk about the close-knit BDSM community, how they were often discriminated against for their practices, and Kate began to understand the risk Alexander took allowing her to stay there at the resort. All it could take was for a picture or video to make it out online, and the life of that person could be ruined. For instance, Kate thought she’d seen the singer Ariel Monroe in the lobby the previous evening. Imagine if that news made it to the tabloids . . . although, for the singer at least, that kind of story probably would only add to her already notorious reputation.
Kate was sipping on a glass of wine, flipping through a BDSM e-book she’d downloaded, when there was a knock at the door. She frowned and set the glass aside, padding quietly to the door. Nobody was due at her room as she hadn’t ordered room service since a couple hours prior. Kate peeked through the peephole to see who it could be. Surprise jolted through her as she unlocked the dead bolt and cracked open the door. “Mistress Francesca?” she said, puzzled by the Italian woman’s presence.
“Miss Swansea,” came the cool greeting in return. “May I come inside?”
“Um, yes.” Flustered, Kate nevertheless stepped aside and gave the tall woman space to come inside. Glancing back, Kate grimaced at the clothes and room-service dishes littering the room, but her impromptu guest didn’t seem to mind. “Was there something I can help you with?” Kate asked haltingly.
“I came by to see if there were any questions I could answer for you.” The Domme gave Kate a quick look before moving into the main sitting area. “I also wanted to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”
“Um,” Kate stuttered, unsure what a woman like this would want to know about her, “sure? How can I help you?”
Francesca had a haughty air about her, the kind that came with the assumption of authority. Tall and thin, the dark-haired woman reminded Kate of Angelica Huston in The Addams Family. The Domme took a seat in one of the chairs, sitting straight up as if she was wearing a corset beneath her dress suit. She probably is, Kate thought as she took a seat across from the austere woman.
“What do you know,” Francesca stated, folding her hands in her lap, “about BDSM?”
Kate blinked in surprise, mouth opening and closing. “Were you guys monitoring my Internet usage?”
Francesca’s eyebrows rose at the question, and her lips pursed. “We do not spy on our guests,” she replied in a frosty tone, then sat back. “But I take this to mean you have done your own research.”
It felt strange admitting the deed, but Kate nodded. An approving look came over the older woman’s face although she had yet to crack a smile. Tough crowd, Kate mused silently, impressed by the woman nevertheless. I could never pull that kind of condescension. “Yes, I’ve been researching,” she said carefully. “The orientation downstairs made me curious.”
Francesca nodded. “Do you have any questions you wish to ask?”
Apparently, the Italian woman didn’t find the situation the least bit awkward, but Kate shifted in her chair. There were thi
ngs she wanted to ask, but she didn’t know where to begin. “Is this what you do for a living?” she finally asked, gesturing around the room.
The Italian woman’s eyebrows lifted again, and a small smile finally graced her red lips. “Are you speaking of the Domme lifestyle?” Francesca asked, and when Kate nodded, she continued. “No, I’m a Chief of Operations for a global marketing firm. I was asked by the owner of the Mancusi Resort if I would help facilitate this week alongside Alexander. This is, essentially, my vacation for the year.”
“You work on your vacation?”
Bloodred lips curved into a secret smile. “There is still some pleasure. I helped organize the details, but I also get to partake of the fruits as well.”
The answer brought up interesting images, and Kate changed the subject. “So Alexander, is he also a . . .”
“A Dom, yes. Once upon a time, he was professional and had a list of clients that spanned the globe, but he has since moved on from that after the death of his longtime submissive five years ago.”
Kate took a moment to digest that. “He also manages the hotel?”
“Alexander manages the hotel but also owns and controls commercial properties. He is a wealthy man, Ms. Swansea, but being a Dom is not his profession.”
Kate tried to think of another question she could ask, but all she wanted to know was about the Greek man himself. Just two minutes ago, all I wanted to do was forget he ever existed. Not so much any longer, apparently. “How long have you known him?”
“Over a decade. I was one of the first he met within the lifestyle; I also was the one who introduced him to his former sub.”
This time it was Kate who raised her eyebrows, trying to make the mental math work for the image before her. Francesca was obviously older than Kate had first thought, but it was impossible to tell. “So he hasn’t had another full-time sub since his last partner’s death?”
“Not until you.”
Kate was not sure how to respond to the statement. She cleared her throat. “You said you had some questions for me?”
Francesca nodded. “How much do you know about the D/s relationship?”
A bit taken aback by the question, Kate peered at the woman. “You mean personally?”
Francesca didn’t answer, just waited patiently, so Kate added, “I only know about it from what I’ve read. The sub gives the Dom full control of his or her sex life. They’re there for whatever the dominant half wants to do to them.”
“Partly correct,” Francesca said. “Let me ask you this: Who retains the power in the relationship?”
The question confused Kate. “The Dom?” she replied hesitantly, her confusion growing when Francesca shook her head. “But they’re the ones calling the shots.”
“The submissive can stop the play at any time, using what we call a safe word. While the dominant partner may hold the physical advantage, the submissive is ultimately the one in charge of what is allowed to happen and what is not. One word, and the scene is finished.”
“Really.” Now that she thought about it, Kate realized that had been something she’d read earlier. Still . . . “How does the Dom know what’s off-limits?”
“Both parties negotiate in the beginning, often with the submissive completing a questionnaire.” She reached inside her jacket and pulled out a form, handing it to Kate. “Like this one.”
Mouth working silently, Kate reached over and took the paperwork from the other woman. Unfolding it, she started reading, and her jaw dropped. Some of the items on the sheet were things she’d never consider, like blood or knife play. Some things she had no clue what they meant. What are watersports anyway? “What if I don’t like something on this list?”
Francesca cocked her head to the side, and although her face was like granite, Kate had the feeling the woman was pleased by the answer. “Don’t be afraid to tick off items to which you know you are opposed. Keep an open mind about things, but let the dominant know what your boundaries are.”
“Mistress Francesca, why are you here?” The question erupted from Kate’s mouth before she thought too hard about how it sounded. “Is this about Alexander? Does he want me . . . does he want to . . . ?”
The tall woman laid an expensive-looking pen on the glass coffee table, then stood, peering down at Kate. “Alexander will be working on the main floor tonight,” she said. “If you wish to speak with him, I’m certain he will make time for you. Thank you for speaking with me.”
Kate watched, nonplussed, as the tall woman casually made her way across the suite and let herself out the door. The redhead’s eyes again fell to the paperwork in her hand, then at the pen the Domme had left behind. Hesitantly, she reached out and picked up the cool writing utensil, then, slowly, she began thumbing through the paperwork.
TWO HOURS LATER, Kate peeked out of the elevator doors, making sure the coast was clear. The lobby was deserted save for the clerks up at the front counters; one couple strolled by, leaving the dining room, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Kate pursed her lips, clutched the folded questionnaire to her hip, then quickly crossed the lobby toward the front desk.
“Where would I find Alexander Stavros?” she asked the woman behind the desk, praying they wouldn’t know.
No such luck. “He’s in charge of our dungeons tonight,” came the heavily accented reply. The woman pointed down an adjacent hallway. “Third door on your right.”
Kate weakly thanked the woman, then crept down the hallway toward the room. A rhythmic snapping sound grew louder as she approached the room, then she heard the moans of a woman. Kate’s hand hovered over the door handle, afraid of what she would find inside the room, then, steeling herself, she turned the knob and pushed her way inside.
The room had the look of a normal conference area, but all the tables and chairs had been removed. People lined the walls, all watching the spectacle on the other end of the long room. A woman stood face-first against a black structure, completely naked and chained spread-eagle to the cross. Red welts covered her back and buttocks, and gut-wrenching sobs came from her hidden face. The blows were being delivered by a man holding a thick, many-tasseled whip, and, to Kate’s horror, the man was Alexander. Muscles flexed in his arm as the whip came down again, eliciting another round of sobs from the woman, and Kate’s shock quickly turned to indignation. Nobody else in the room was making a move to help the woman. Kate was horrified by the display and took a step forward to try to end it when Alexander dropped his arm and stepped back, signaling to a man waiting anxiously on the other side of the woman.
The smaller man leaped onto the stage, quickly unfastening the black-leather cuffs and supporting the woman as she sagged against him. Streaks of mascara marred her pretty face, but she gave Alexander a small smile. “Thank you, sir,” she said softly, but still loud enough for Kate to hear.
Her accent was thick, and it seemed as though she struggled for the words, then the man spoke up. “I thank you, señor, for your help,” he said, accent only slightly better. The words sounded oddly formal, but the relief on his face said much. “Muchisimas gracias.”
“Attend to your wife, Señor Gomez.” Alexander watched the couple limp away, then his eyes met Kate’s. He held the gaze for a long moment, then turned to the crowd. “Master Raoul will take over the dungeon,” he stated, and stepped off the stage as a large black man took his place.
As Alexander headed straight for her, Kate retreated a step, suddenly not sure whether to stay or flee. He was shirtless, and a thin sheen of sweat allowed the light to outline the thick muscles of his torso. Oh man, I’m in so far over my head, she thought desperately, as he came abreast of her.
His eyes fell to the now-crinkled questionnaire in her hand. “Is this for me?” he asked, but all Kate could do was swallow.
THE LITTLE SUB’S discomfort amused Alexander although not for the reasons she might think. Her cheeks were flushed, and he’d seen her confused reaction as she walked through the door. Her misguided
attempt to protect the woman had warmed his soul, and, for a split second, he wondered if she’d ever be as protective of him.
Alexander held his hand out in a silent command, and, after a long pause, Kate handed him the paperwork. She looked nervous, which was understandable; if she was as vanilla as he believed, many of the questions on the forms probably sounded strange and dangerous. A quick check through the list told him a lot; she’d indicated she wasn’t into other women, didn’t want any pain, and wasn’t into knife or blood play, but she was interested in domination and, if he read between the lines, bondage. It also seemed that, according to her answers, she had exhibitionist and voyeuristic tendencies. Given her response the previous evening outside the hot tub, he’d already inferred that, but it was nice to see the subtle confirmation within the questionnaire.
Hopefully, she would eventually trust him enough to allow him to introduce her to delights outside her parameters.
“Come, walk with me,” he said, as another couple, a woman and her female slave, moved onto the stage and began setting up the next scene. Kate watched the two ladies, staring at the women in silent admiration, and Alexander made a note to reevaluate the same-sex stipulation down the road.
Tastes did change with experience, after all.
He walked out to the hallway, and Kate fell into step behind him. “Do you have any questions?” Alexander asked, glancing back.
Kate’s mouth opened, then shut it, and a delightful flush radiated over her white skin. Alexander kept his smile to himself, but he hoped this bashfulness would never change. He liked seeing her flushed and nervous; she would be fun to play with.
When she didn’t answer immediately, he asked another question. “You spoke with Mistress Francesca?” He held up the questionnaire. “She explained what this means?”