Ruby

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Here?” He acted shocked. “In my place of business? I don’t think so. Besides—” he pretended to look thoughtful, “—you haven’t earned it yet.”

  She groaned. “What do I have to do?”

  His eyes gleamed. “I’ll think of something. How tired are you?”

  “I’m not,” she answered instantly, surprised to find it was true.

  “Excellent news. I have just the thing in mind.”

  Chapter Nine

  To her relief, he took her home. To his home. They rode in a sweet little Alfa Romeo with supple leather upholstery.

  “Are you rich?” she wondered aloud, settling herself into the seat, which cupped her like a warm hand.

  He threw her an opaque glance, snapping off the radio, which had been tuned to late night jazz. “Does that matter?”

  “Just curious. I’m guessing family money, young as you are. Buying a restaurant isn’t cheap.”

  “So now I’m spoiled?”

  “You do like things exactly your way.”

  “True.” His face was shadowed between the streetlights, but she thought his jaw clenched. Something there. “And you, chère—do you come from money?”

  That snapped her off cold. “I’d rather not discuss my family.”

  “No? I thought we were being chummy. Trading secrets.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  He grinned at her, a piratical baring of teeth behind the black beard. “Yes, you did. You just thought you could do it on your terms. You don’t get it both ways, Mysterious Ruby. Either we keep this a casual fuckfest between strangers or we get to know each other. Which will it be?”

  She flinched a little, less at the crude language than the lashing tone. “Maybe you should take me home,” she replied, feeling a little unsteady.

  He shook his head slowly, eyes on the pedestrians drunkenly weaving in front of the car. “Oh no. You won’t escape what’s coming so easily. Not unless you use your safe word.”

  Biting down on her reply, lest she say it in a fit of temper, she stayed quiet until he pulled the car into an old carriage house. A length of chain hung from the heavy rafters. Prejean followed her gaze.

  “I once suspended a girl in here for three days. Gagged, so she wouldn’t bother the neighbors when I came out to whip her.”

  “She wanted that?”

  He shrugged, his mouth twisting a little. “Nagged me for weeks to do it. Not that fun for me, really, but one tries to accommodate other kinks.”

  “Do you still see her?” Maybe she was one of the bedroom denizens.

  “No. She was a pain slut—went looking for someone who would treat her worse.”

  He took her hand and led her through a locked door into a back courtyard where a potted night-blooming jasmine poured over one wall, filling the air with its heavy scent. A fountain graced the middle—standard equipment, it seemed. This one shone under careful lighting. A pair of lovers stood in the topmost basin, her legs wrapped around him, him pinning her wrists to the small of her back while she rode him, her head thrown back in ecstasy. The water trickled over them, her streaming stone hair, the devil’s horns sprouting from his forehead.

  A pair of glossy white Adirondack chairs flanked a copper fire pit, all screened by an arbor of what looked like grapevines. A large magnolia spread over the other side of the courtyard, creating a private alcove within the high walls.

  They entered another locked door in the back wall of the townhouse, and walked down a narrow passage to enter his vestibule from the other side. He gave her a stern and expectant stare.

  Hastily, she took the collar and buckled it on, arranging it so the chain fell down in front. With a sharp nod of approval, he pulled the wrist cuffs out of the drawer, locked them onto her and efficiently stretched her arms over the hook on the closet door. With the stiletto heels of the boots, she could reach better, until he nudged her legs wide apart.

  He pulled off her mask, tossing it aside, untied the halter top and unzipped the back of the waist, letting the crimson silk dress pool around her spread ankles, leaving her naked except for the gloves and boots. His hands spanned her rib cage, just under her full breasts with the nipples swollen from the clamps, the bright red jewels dangling, pulling on her.

  She hissed in pain when he rolled her turgid nipples between thumb and forefinger. He observed her carefully, watching every nuance of expression.

  “Do you remember how it hurt, when the loops came off last night?”

  She nodded, wanting to bite her lip, to keep from tearing up.

  “These will be that much more painful. How do you feel about that?”

  “It frightens me.” It felt like a confession and he nodded.

  “Yes,” he mused. “You don’t like the pain. Not really. But something in you wants it. I wonder why?”

  He released her, smoothing hands over her body, up over the tender undersides of her arms, down her flanks and over her bottom, sensual and slow.

  “Now you tell me one.”

  “One what?” She tried to focus, caught sight of the enormous dildo on the table behind him.

  “I told you one of mine. It’s a trade.” He grinned, all Cajun charm. “Tell me one of your exes, or I’ll wedge yon dildo up your tight little pussy and leave you here all night.”

  “It won’t fit!”

  “Oh, it will fit,” he assured her. “It just might take a bit of doing.”

  “I’d safe word before I let you do that.”

  “Would you?” He looked genuinely interested. “I’ve started to wonder what it would take. Let’s experiment.” He reached back for it.

  “Wait.” She wriggled, trying to think. “I’ll tell you one.”

  He went back to caressing her, attentively listening. Which one to tell him? None of them really meant anything, except the one. And she really didn’t want to mention him.

  Prejean frowned and reached for the dildo again.

  “I was almost engaged,” she confessed in a rush. “I said no and it was over. The end. Boring story.”

  “The way you told it was boring, yes. Try again.” He slid a long finger inside her and pressed his thumb down on her clit. She squirmed, but he didn’t move. “What was his name?”

  “You didn’t tell me her name.”

  “I never knew it. She wanted everyone to call her Cunt.” He curled his finger inside her, his knuckle knocking against the plug.

  “Oh.”

  “It’s how some in the scene can be. Tell me your story.”

  “His name was Chris. We dated for three years and he was perfect for me. Everyone expected us to get married, which is why my mother had the surprise engagement party all planned. No one thought I’d say no, least of all Chris. Or maybe least of all me. My mother cried.”

  “I’m sorry, chère.” He kissed her on the cheek, leaving her tormented pussy alone for a bit, stroking her waist. “Why did you say no?”

  “I wish I could say because he was a pain slut.” She tried a smile. “But it was really just because I’m a bitch and it turned out I actually didn’t like him all that much. I didn’t appreciate him.”

  He regarded her gravely. “Who told you that?”

  “Nobody had to. Although plenty lined up to say it. I broke his heart and I don’t much like myself for it.” She moved irritably. “Can we be done now?”

  Reaching between her spread thighs, he pushed up against the plug inside
her, rocking it so that she cried out against the intensity of it.

  “How about less thinking and more feeling, hmm?”

  “Yes, please,” she replied fervently.

  He let her down and prodded her to climb up the stairs, bringing the cursed enormous dildo with him. She climbed quickly, crawling onto a furry rug in front of the fireplace. He clicked on the gas fire, warming her skin, and set a wooden ladder-back chair in front of her. Laying a wooden paddle on the seat of the chair, he bade her to bend over the high back. Making quick work, he roped her ankles to the outsides of the chair legs, the leash to a hook under the seat, and then her wrists to the front legs, so she stretched across it, the jeweled clamps tugging her sore nipples in a new direction. She gazed down at the paddle, wondering how much it would hurt.

  Prejean stripped, tossing his clothes aside with uncharacteristic sloppiness. The crinkle of a condom packet warned her and soon he pressed his cock into her slick passage, surprising her, tightening the grip of the plug. The pleasure coursed through her, but the paddle inches from her nose distracted her.

  Surely this wasn’t all he had planned.

  He pumped into her, artfully working his hips to hit her sweet spot, reaching beneath to reach her clit, rubbing it in the perfect way to make her come fast. Which was what she was about to do.

  “Please, sir, may I come?” She hoped it was okay to ask.

  “No.” His voice sounded smug and he pulled out of her, leaving her gaping open, needing him and shivering with it. “Though it was nicely asked. Now ask me to paddle you.”

  This then. The moment she’d anticipated since he’d first given her that look and used the word punishment. She hadn’t thought he’d make her ask for it, but then he never did what she expected. Something she loved about him and he seemed to know it.

  Just say it.

  “Please, sir,” she repeated, her face hot, body tense, “would you paddle me?”

  “Why yes.” He slipped the paddle off the chair and stood behind her. “I do believe I will.”

  She held her breath. Waiting. Blew it out again when nothing happened.

  She wriggled.

  “Impatient?” he drawled and she knew better than to answer that one. Stilling herself, she tried to find that accepting place where she let him decide.

  A stinging smack landed on her right cheek. More shocking than painful. Before she assimilated it, another landed on her left cheek. A flurry of strokes followed, the stinging accumulating, each building on the last. They weren’t that bad on their own, but something about the increasing pace, the relentless rain of them, made her frantic.

  She tried to hold still but couldn’t, finding herself trying to shrink away. Ridiculous, since she couldn’t, and the paddle found her time and time again, driving her to desperately pull on her wrist bindings. Incoherent whimpers and pleas spilled from her lips, the feeling of vulnerability overwhelming her.

  When the paddling stopped, she sobbed out her relief, absurdly grateful for his soft hands stroking her hot skin. Then his mouth was on her, tongue flicking her clit, and she screamed out the shocking pleasure, as if the pain of the paddling had somehow amped up every nerve ending to unbearable sensitivity.

  He pulled away before she had to stop herself from coming, a small mercy that she found herself thanking him for. Paddling her lightly, he quickly brought her to that overwrought state again, where she was incapable of thought. Except for the image of the woman being whipped in the courtyard, the transcendent ecstasy on her face.

  She understood it now.

  When he cast the paddle aside and thrust into her again, the sensation devastated her. She felt capable of anything at all. Eternally receptive. Not even protesting when he stopped and took up paddling her again.

  He alternated like that—tonguing her, spanking, fucking—until it all began to seem like the same thing. All faces of the same acute emotion, ruthlessly extracted from her most primal self.

  She became aware that he’d moved away from her, leaving her suspended in that wordless, mindless state. But then he was there again, setting something heavy on the floor, untying her bonds, in front of her, stroking the sweaty hair from her face.

  “Are you with me, Ruby?” he asked and she nearly corrected him. Who was Ruby?

  Oh yes.

  “Yes, sir.” The words came easily, honey falling from her tongue. He kissed her, brushing her lips with sweet affection and dark desire, and she accepted it, drinking him in. Helping her to stand, he turned her to see a full-length mirror reflecting the firelight from inside the antique oak frame. Her body gleamed, too, flushed and wet with sweat, her eyes enormous in her face.

  He coaxed her onto all fours on the furry rug, adjusting her knees and giving her a little red velvet pillow to lay her cheek on. Rubbing oil over her skin, he dribbled it liberally where the plug penetrated her. Then, one hand bracing on her fiery bottom, he worked it out, sliding it from her easily.

  She pressed her cheek into the soft pillow, open, languid, loving the sensation as he eased his cock into her. Not as wide as the plug had been, but longer, warmer. More. His groan of satisfaction, like a man completed, sent a shiver through her.

  “Yes?” he asked her. A surprise, since he didn’t need to ask. He was a puzzle, so dominating in some ways, the artistic diva, then the considerate, sweet man who paid so much attention to everything about her.

  “Yes,” she sighed, meaning it.

  With warm hands on her shoulders, he urged her up, staying buried inside her, so she sat back on his lap, braced against his naked chest, his knees holding hers widely spread so her swollen pussy showed clearly.

  “Watch.” He moved her hair aside and kissed her neck, then laid his cheek along hers and wrapped an arm around her waist. The jewels dangling from her throbbing nipples danced as he stroked her clit and she shuddered, helpless against the onslaught of pleasure. He slid two fingers inside her, working her clit with his thumb in a relentless rhythm, his brown hand stark against her white thighs, his cock hard inside her.

  “I love to watch you like this. You are indescribably beautiful in this moment. Beyond perfect.”

  The intimacy of it dissolved her and she watched as he told her to, saw how her body moved in waves with his touch, the pleasure building and building toward an explosion that would surely rip her apart.

  “Bobby,” she pleaded and he kissed her cheek, not correcting her, but gathering the dangling jewels of the clamps in one hand, the other working her in that awful rhythm that threatened to tear her apart.

  “I’m going to count to three.” His eyes were fiercely dark. “When I get to three, you will come. Come hard for me, yes?”

  “Yes yes yes,” she chanted.

  “One.”

  He stroked her faster, pulling the jewels out straight, so her nipples stretched.

  “Two.”

  She panted, rapid, on the edge. Waiting for the word.

  “Three,” he shouted, ripping the clamps from her nipples and sending her into a blinding, churning whirlpool of agony and ecstasy. She writhed on the fur rug, wave after wave of orgasm purging through her, while he pounded in and out of her most private self.

  With an animal cry, he followed her over the edge, strong arms collapsing and dropping his weight onto her. She moaned with him, still rattling with convulsions.

  After a moment or three, he turned onto his side, withdrawing from her and, after tossing the co
ndom in the fire, pulled her close against the curve of his body, his breathing slowing, his erection still hard against her sensitized skin.

  “You didn’t come?” she asked, hesitant to invite more, but feeling suddenly selfish.

  He chuckled, lazily, splaying his hand over her belly. “I did, several times while you were tied to the chair and too in the zone to notice. This is the final hard-on that lasts for your pleasure—I’m done in.”

  “Oh.” She blinked at the fire, unable to keep her eyes open, as if that unbelievable climax had emptied her of any ability to stay awake, her body limp as a wilted flower.

  “Sleep, chère.” He murmured. “We’ve earned that much.”

  Chapter Ten

  Something indefinable had changed between them. Dani couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but the difference resonated like the lingering hum of a single note in a space with perfect acoustics.

  She awoke in his big bed, half-remembering him coaxing her along while she stumbled down the hall. Sunlight streamed in the floor-to-ceiling windows, filtered through the filmy curtains. Panicking, she looked at his bedside clock, then remembered she’d called for an eight-thirty shoot down by the docks. She still had an hour and a half to get there.

  Prejean slept soundly next to her, one leg thrown over hers. His enviably long black lashes brushed his high golden cheekbones, making him look young and angelic. Gary slept at the end of the bed, twisted into an utterly abandoned position of curly cat yoga.

  Carefully, she eased out from under Prejean. A caution that turned out to be unnecessary, because he continued sleeping without a flicker of wakefulness. Gary opened yellow eyes to watch her but didn’t move. Her collar lay on the bedside table so hopefully that meant it was okay to leave it off for now. She padded naked into the bathroom, her deliciously aching body coming to life. He’d left the nipple cream on the counter for her and she applied it gingerly, thankful for the soothing relief. She felt bruised, inside and out.