Enthrall Him (Enthrall Sessions Book 3)

by Fewings, Vanessa

  I circled my finger upon that little nub, sending a shock of pleasure.

  His hand lifted away. “Slower.”

  I moaned.

  “Obey.”

  Languidly, I pleasured myself, lulled by his fierceness. His presence brought an exquisite erotic tension, the way his eyes moved up and down my body, devouring me.

  My hips bucked, but his hand reached out to rest upon my belly and he lowered me. “Bring your legs up.”

  Following his command, I did, feeling this relaxation wash over me, this sense of belonging, and I closed my eyes and pretended this was his finger.

  “There,” he said. “Is that nice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sir,” he corrected.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “During this trip, you will obey me at all times. Do you understand, Mia?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There will be no more disobedience.”

  I gave a nod, slipping into this imminent climax.

  “Do you promise to be a good girl?”

  “I promise, sir.”

  “It’s time to acclimate you back to your master. From now on, you will only come when granted permission. Do you understand?”

  Just how Richard liked it.

  My breasts rose and fell sharply. Pert nipples were desperate for his caress. My head swam with a mixture of confusion and want, and this pain in my heart was soothed only by my finger strumming faster than permitted, bringing me closer.

  “I told you slower. You dare to disobey?” Cameron’s eyelids became heavy, his irises dark. “Both your hands above your head. Now.”

  Thrilled with the idea his hand would replace mine, my arms flew up above my head. My wrists were held together and pinned by his strong hand.

  “This is how I deal with disobedience.” His glare held mine.

  Sucking my bottom lip, tingles in my chest increasing, I waited.

  Cameron let my wrists go, lifted off the bed, and headed for the door. “Get some sleep.”

  Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I stared at him quizzically. Desire between my thighs burned brightly.

  Cameron looked severe. “Only good girls get to come.”

  He left.

  My head crashed down onto the pillow. I’d never survive him.

  CHAPTER 3

  WE LANDED AT HEATHROW Airport in the early hours of the morning.

  Hand in hand, Cameron and I walked through the airport. We were escorted by an immigration officer and guided past the long line of travelers all waiting their turn to show their passports and be allowed into the country.

  We ended up in a small office where an enthusiastic, if not a tired looking, officer checked our passports. He mostly made small talk with Cameron, revealing his intrigue at dealing with an American VIP. Cameron’s influence stretched over continents, apparently.

  I leaned against Cameron’s arm, my hand still firmly in his grip as I only half listened to the chatter between him and the officer.

  I was glad to be off that plane and stretching my legs. In usual Cameron style, he’d insisted I stay strapped in for the entire flight in case of turbulence. The only concession was Larissa’s blouse had its top button done up again and her behavior had returned to professional. It made me wonder if Cameron had said something to her.

  His desire to choose my food off the in-flight menu and his monitoring of my alcohol intake were reminders he believed himself still very much in charge of me. He’d taken his time over the menu, choosing for us the lobster bisque soup, and for our entrée chicken breast with apple fig compote. To complement our meal, Cameron paired dinner with an Eden Fountain Chardonnay Medici white wine. The food was delicious, and after two bites of ice cream I was stuffed. Cameron had passed on dessert, preferring coffee.

  Even now, the decadence of a fine meal still moved me. I’d never take for granted all this finery, all this luxury, and I made a point of letting Cameron know by thanking him. His frown had been hard to interpret. I had again highlighted the fact I wasn’t from his world. His attempt at suppressing a grin failed.

  Back in our seats, he’d given me a mid-air foot rub, which had been enough to forgive him for leaving me wanting in that bedroom. I’d leaned back, my fingers clutching the armrests in response to the power of his fingers on the arch of my foot. He’d pampered me despite the intimacy ban.

  Watching his nimble fingers move over my toes, this need for him grew, as did my rebellion. “I finished myself off and came hard.” My chin raised defiantly. “It was amazeballs.”

  Cameron’s eyebrows shot up. “What kind of language is that?”

  “Modern,” I said. “Looks like I know something you don’t.”

  “And another kitten dies.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Looks like I know something you don’t.”

  I threw my head back, acting out my orgasm, pouting in ecstasy, letting out a soft moan of pleasure.

  “You will be disciplined for your insolence,” he said sternly, his thumb digging into the ball of my left foot. “I’ll just have to be creative.”

  I slid down the chair, lulled by this shudder and wooed by his touch.

  He mouthed amazeballs like it was some grand new word, followed by a frown of disapproval.

  His upper classiness really did get the better of him sometimes, yet it did have its benefits. We were through customs in minutes. The proceedings expedited with remarkable efficiency.

  He tucked our passports into his coat pocket.

  Upon leaving the airport, we were met by freezing cold weather and drizzle. Trevor, our chirpy English driver who met us curbside, showed surprise for our lack of luggage, but quickly moved to open the rear door of the Rolls Royce.

  Judging from Cameron’s face, this was all business as usual, but I’d yet to adjust to such extraordinary luxury. The car really was a thing of beauty. Low flying planes roared above as we climbed in.

  It was no surprise to find on the backseat a long woolen coat for Cameron and a belted trench coat for me.

  “Do you always think of everything?” I said.

  Cameron helped me with my coat and then pulled his on. “They would have been waiting for us on the plane if I did.” He rubbed his hands together. “Bloody freezing.”

  The way he beamed showed he was just as happy to be here as I was.

  I scooted over to his side and snuggled against him, the cold literally soaking into my bones. This was a matter of survival. His body warmth was a necessity.

  Although reassured Cameron’s moodiness had lifted with his cheerfulness returning, I now had to face the new terror of the traffic coming the wrong way. And way too close. These roads we ridiculously narrow.

  Trevor sat behind the wheel on the right. His initial friendly chat with Cameron revealed he’d been born and raised in London, and he went on to offer us a tour off the beaten track, should we be interested.

  Cameron explained our trip was short, but thanked him anyway.

  When Trevor called me Mrs. Cole, Cameron didn’t correct him. He merely became quiet and stared out the window, seemingly distracted by the endless grey tinged landscape with rain smearing the view.

  As we drove into the heart of the city, I scurried over to my side, mesmerized by the mixture of old buildings and new. I buzzed down the window to clear the rain, waiting for Cameron to object, but he didn’t. I blinked up at the architecture, finding the droplets of rain refreshing. Taking everything in, all the modern structures nestled in-between the dramatic buildings, I squealed when I caught sight of my first red telephone box. A rare sight these days apparently. More giggling came when Big Ben appeared on the skyline.

  Richard was meant to be here. And even though he promised to follow us, I felt the worst kind of guilt. He’d promised to bring me here from the first day we’d become a couple. For goodness sake, he was a descendant of Winston Churchill, his relatives having been born here and later emigrated to the States. He, more th
an us, deserved to be here.

  I didn’t like the idea he’d been left behind ,and thoughts of the kind of pressure he was under with Lance wracked my soul. Here we were about to have fun, and he was left to deal with the fallout of the auction gone wrong. I knew he felt responsible. But Lance was a cruel man. I hated him for ruining everything.

  “You okay, Mia?” asked Cameron.

  “It’s a lot to take in.” I peered out at the River Thames and beyond that at the Houses of Parliament.

  “Your body clock is messed up,” he said. “You’re jet lagged.”

  “Yes.”

  “Richard will be here soon,” he whispered.

  I spun round to look at him.

  He reached over and pulled me into a hug. “It’s my job to know.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “It’s of my own making, Mia.”

  Looking up at him, at his beautiful face, my guilt flipped and I feared hurting Cameron. We’d shared so much, our intimacy intense, our passion mutual, and despite his reassurance these were his wishes and we were all merely cogs in Cameron’s genius plan of him training me into the perfect sub, our connection felt deeper than ever.

  I needed to see I was more than a plaything, an amusement to pass the time with.

  Was Cameron even capable of love?

  Richard had told me no, Cameron wasn’t, and this was the very reason he was a safe master to train with. He always kept his emotions in check. Could our prolonged eye contact, like we shared now, come from a man who didn’t care about the girl in his arms?

  Cameron’s eyelids became heavy. His chestnut irises darkened with that fierce look of arousal I knew so well. His hands fisted into my scalp as he grabbed my hair, bringing my head close. The sting from his hold was only just bearable. Cameron’s lips hovered close to mine, threatening to kiss. His breath on my mouth alighted every nerve in my body.

  Lifting my chin, I brought my lips closer to his, needing that which I’d been starved of.

  Cameron’s expression became serene again and he brought my head down and pressed it into his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a hug. “We’ll be at the hotel soon. When London wakes, I’ll show you the city.”

  “I’d like that.” I crooked my neck to better see his face. “Cameron—”

  He pressed his fingertips against my lips. “Hush, now.” His other hand caressed my locks, bringing a tingling. “Relax.”

  Melting against his firm chest, burying my face against him, I surrendered. His strong arms found their way around me and held me to him possessively. Even halfway across the world, I felt safe with him.

  Cameron continued to make polite conversation with Trevor and was seemingly unaffected by the endless questioning about himself, such as his profession, and what state we were from, or what our plans were. Cameron made an art out of being vague. He handled it all with his usual grace and actually turned the questioning around, preferring to ask Trevor about himself and gain insight into the man who drove us.

  Peering out at the well lit streets, I caught glimpses of late night party goers wandering home, or perhaps onto the next party. Christmas decorations were strewn everywhere. It really did look beautiful with all these multi-colored holiday lights.

  Old buildings with their upmarket shop fronts showcased the latest fashions. Others offered up everything from luxury furniture to household appliances, and there were the occasional quaint bookstores speckled here and there. The variety of old and new was extraordinary.

  London seemed very much awake, despite the hour.

  We arrived at the Savoy.

  For a girl used to being invisible the majority of the time, arriving at this luxury hotel amongst all the fuss of staff doting over us became a little disconcerting. Trying to suppress my awe of the place and pretend I wasn’t foreign to all this luxury, I casually took in the foyer as Cameron spoke with the concierge.

  The checkered flooring reminded me of Cameron’s home. Grand marble pillars rose up along the foyer, accented by matching oak walls and low hanging lights. If perfect had a name, it would be called the Savoy.

  Needing to visit the restroom, I excused myself and scurried off in the direction of the ladies, declining the embarrassment of being personally escorted by the concierge.

  Within minutes of trying to avoid the mirrors, I caught a glimpse of the frail, tired and mascara smudged girl I’d become. Then I headed on out to rejoin Cameron.

  He was nowhere to be seen.

  A sign announcing the guest business office caught my attention. Peeking in at the continued theme of dark wood and comfortable chairs, I caught sight of the line of swanky Apple computers. Intrigue got the better of me and I hurried over. I plopped down into the seat before one of them and shook the mouse, waking the screen and going straight for the browser. I only had a minute or two, but that’s all it would take.

  Quickly, I entered my code and shot off an email to Bailey. I’d never want her to worry and she deserved to know I was in London at least. And that I was safe. I sent my love to Tara.

  Next I Googled Lance Merrill.

  Ever filled your car up at a Merrill gas station? The New York Times article began. Why yes, I mused, and almost bit through my lip when I read on. Ironically right through the bruise Lance had given me.

  Dread welled in my gut.

  Lance was not merely a businessman, as Cameron had suggested, he was fricken oil barren and owned numerous refineries in Abu Dhabi.

  “Jesus, he’s in bed with the Arabs.”

  This rugged, salt and peppered haired forty-something tycoon was apparently one of the richest men in America, and over the last few years he’d entered politics. There were several links to interviews he’d conducted on the campaign trail. Though I had no time to watch them now. Having never had any interest in politics, I’d never seen his face before. From the images that came up, there was quite a lot to go on. Lance had a beautiful wife, with whom he’d had two beautiful daughters. According to the L.A. Times article, he was a hard-nosed Republican and firm on issues that had moral implications. He was pro-gay rights, but seriously anti-Medicare. Lance’s membership of Chrysalis’s Lion’s Den was extraordinary risqué.

  “This is bad,” I whispered, glancing around to check I was still alone.

  With a flick of my wrist, I deleted my search and closed the browser. Trying to put my calm face on, I made my way back to the foyer.

  Cameron talked to the concierge. He tilted his head when he saw me. “Ready to go up?”

  “Yes,” I said, brushing a loose strand of hair that wasn’t there out of my face.

  That internet search caused a wave of dizziness.

  We soon reached the seventh floor and made our way down the sweeping hallway. With a swipe of the keycard, we were in.

  Lingering in the center of the lavishly decorated room, I took a minute to calm myself. All this decadence unsettled me, along with my new discovery about Lance. Cameron wasn’t telling me the entire truth.

  “Bit small?” he said, trying to read me. “Sorry, Mia, but the Monet Suite was booked.” He stood behind me and eased off my coat.

  “This is a house in a hotel,” I said. “It’s amazing. I’m scared to touch anything.” Which was pretty much how I felt when I’d first seen Richard’s home in Malibu, and it paled in comparison to Cameron’s palatial Beverly Hills mansion.

  These men thought nothing of luxury.

  “So it will do?” said an amused Cameron, as he threw his coat atop mine.

  Holding back a squeal, I managed to nod.

  “We could have a butler,” he said. “But I prefer the privacy. You okay with that?”

  “Yes, of course. I mean, thank you. Whatever you think.”

  Fearing how much all of this cost, and trying to reassure myself that tiredness had gotten the better of me, I wandered over to the window. “There’s the London Eye.” I pointed to the giant Ferris wheel at the edge of the Thames.

  “Oh yeah.”
Cameron joined me. “Look, you can see where Monet got his inspiration. Monet stayed here in the 1890s and painted some of his most beautiful pieces of London.”

  If Cameron had intended on sucking all the feistiness out of me, then mission accomplished. I was speechless.

  He looked so peaceful as he stared out, so at home, and it made me realize there was so much more to this man than I’d realized. I was seeing him in a new light. Of course, I knew he was a renaissance man, a lord of the BDSM community, but there was an introspection to him, a serenity.

  “Let’s visit the Tate tomorrow.” He glanced at his watch and grinned. “I mean today.”

  Despite not knowing what or where that was, I wanted to go. I truly knew the privilege of being with him.

  “I’m going to take a shower.” He placed his phone on the coffee table. “Check out the wardrobe. We have a change of clothes waiting for us. Let me know if you approve.” He headed off.

  I stood there stunned.

  It was like I’d fallen asleep and woken up in someone else’s life.

  There, in the wardrobe that was bigger than my old studio living room, was a selection of jeans, dresses, and even a long black evening gown. It made me wonder what kind of plans Cameron had for us. They were all my size. Upon the central console sat several boxes, all of different sizes, containing boots and strappy evening shoes as well a flat box that held a blue woolen hat and leather gloves. Cameron had a good selection of clothes here too. Again, a variety of casual and formal wear, and shoes to match. It made me wonder who had shopped for him. I’d have to ask.

  The sound of a shower snapped me out of my awe.

  Hurrying over to the writing desk, and wondering who else might have sat right where I was now, I scribbled a note of thanks to Cameron. He’d cut me off halfway through my thanking him and I needed him to know how grateful I was.

  This was a life changing experience.

  A ping came from the living room.

  Cameron’s phone lit up and I peered at the screen and read the text.

  Shay: “Call me.”

  The message was from Cameron’s fencing partner, Shay Gardner. He was also a senior dominant at Chrysalis. My thoughts returned to the water room back at Chrysalis that he and Cameron had trapped me in a few days ago.