Bound by Desire: King of Diamonds (Wonderland Book 3)

by Jaymie Holland

  Annie tilted her head back as she continued to play with her nipples. Her braid fell and swung across her skin, a teasing caress against her naked back. No one would believe her fantasies. She was the boring, staid college professor who never had time to date, and wasn’t considered a worthy selection. But her fantasies… She had often imagined what it would feel like to have a man between her thighs, to have him sliding in and out of her core.

  And in her most secret fantasies, she had two men pleasuring her at once.

  Shame on me.

  Annie grinned at her own brazen thoughts. Until she was eighteen, she had been raised as a Southern lady. She learned that sex was something you didn’t do until you were married. Real ladies certainly never talked about sex. Anything other than the missionary position with a spouse was considered evil as far as her sanctimonious mother had been concerned.

  After leaving home and going to college, Annie’s mind had opened, freeing her to all the possibilities a woman could enjoy.

  If only she could find the right man to enjoy them with.

  The ache was growing stronger and stronger, a tight spiral connecting from her nipples to her belly to her folds. She moved her hips faster so the jeans rubbed her clit even harder until she reached that special place.

  She gave a small cry as a series of mini-orgasms rippled through her, the heavy denim of her jeans growing damp. Warmth flushed over her skin and her core pulsed as though milking a cock and drawing out her mystery man’s semen.

  What would a man’s come smell like, taste like? Brie and salty tapioca pudding, that’s what Awai said once. Just a casual comment, driving home to Annie how little first-hand information she had about intimacy. Her knowledge was confined to what she learned from literature and the few naughty websites she had dared to visit.

  “Brie and tapioca. Well, y’all, Annie likes both.”

  She lifted her eyelids and stared again at the blank canvas as she let her hands slide from her breasts and down her full waist. She felt more relaxed, her mind cleared of stress and ready to open up to her artistic imagination.

  With renewed determination, Annie raised her head and pushed away thoughts of her missing cousins. Her braid fell forward over her shoulder as she attacked her canvas, losing herself in swirls of blues and grays. When she worked on a landscape, she tended to block out the rest of the world and to get lost in thoughts and feelings of the moment. She truly was in her own little world.

  Persistent knocking at the front door jarred Annie from her artistic trance. She blinked the fog of colors and shapes from her mind, slowly returning to reality. A glance to the window told her that hours had fled by rather than minutes since she’d started working on her painting. The sun now hung low over the ocean, its golden ripples leading from the glowing orb across the water to the shore. A spectacular sunset in shades of orange, blue, and pink streaked the horizon.

  More knocks, and Annie frowned as she eyed the door. Should she answer, or hope whomever it was went away?

  “Annie. I know you’re in there.” Awai’s no-nonsense voice sliced through the door like a diamond saw. “Stop moping and open up.”

  “I’m not moping,” Annie grumbled under her breath. She dropped her brush into her waiting container of turpentine, climbed off the stool, and stretched her cramped muscles. The movement caused cool air to rush over her nipples, and they stood out hard and tight. Heat flushed over Annie as she realized she was still naked from the waist up. She quickly grabbed her T-shirt, and yanked it over her head.

  “Annie.” Awai’s tone notched up to her I’m-gonna-huff-and-puff-and-blow-your-house-down voice.

  “Hold on to your britches.” Annie pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, threw her braid over her shoulder, and padded barefoot across the worn carpet to the door. Abra blinked green eyes and watched from her perch on the back of the couch. The cat had her little chin up high, doing her best to show she was queen of Annie’s realm.

  “What, are you naked or something?” Awai said from outside, and Annie’s cheeks heated even more. “Open the damn door already.”

  “You have about as much patience as a hurricane.” Annie reached the door and wiped her sweating palms on her black jeans. She didn’t bother to look through the peephole—no doubt at all it was Awai, the human whirlwind. She unlatched the chain lock, and then opened the door.

  As always, Awai was sheer elegance with her black hair in a neat chignon at her nape and wearing one of her usual designer outfits. This one had a black skirt and matching mandarin-collared jacket, her blouse a splash of amethyst in a vivid but gorgeous contrast.

  Awai held two paper bags, one in each arm. “Took you long enough,” she said before Annie had a chance to greet her. “Damn Southerners. Everything’s slow and easy.”

  Awai blew through the doorway and Annie was left looking out into the late-afternoon sunshine instead of at her aunt. “Uh, hello?”

  The warm smell of fresh baked bread and something spicy drifted behind Awai as she headed straight into the apartment’s kitchenette. Annie’s stomach growled.

  “I heard that,” Awai said as she plopped the bags onto the counter. Without pause, she went to the oven, and turned it on. “I knew you’d be painting and moping.”

  “I told you already—I wasn’t moping.” Annie shut the front door and followed Awai into the tiny kitchen, the linoleum cool beneath her feet. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

  “Making us dinner.” Awai smiled as her dark eyes met Annie’s. “I figured you’d need more than just Abra for company this evening.”

  Annie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t cook.”

  “Ah, but I make one hell of a mean warmed-up lasagna.” Awai reached for one of the shopping bags and pulled out a loaf of French bread, a packaged salad with packets of Italian dressing, a bottle of Annie’s favorite brand of merlot, and an aluminum pan with MAMA MIA’S ITALIAN GRILL stamped across the cardboard top.

  “Mmmmm. My favorite.” Annie peeked in the other bag. “Oooh, and you brought spumoni, too. I’ll put it in the freezer, Auntie.”

  Awai gave Annie “the look.” Awai narrowed her brows, even though she wasn’t totally serious. “I’ve told you not to call me that. I’m only a few years older than you.”

  With a grin, Annie replied, “Oh, but it’s so much fun to get you good and riled.”

  Awai sniffed and turned back to the lasagna.

  Annie had to admit it was fun chatting with Awai, and it helped to not be alone while she was thinking about her missing cousins. Awai was their aunt by marriage, not blood, and she only had a few years on Annie, who had just passed her thirtieth birthday.

  Awai’s being there to help her through this tough day reminded Annie of that night a year ago when she’d taken Alexi out for drinks and dinner to help get her mind off of Alice.

  The night she disappeared. Some idea that was, getting her drunk.

  With everything already mostly prepared, it wasn’t long before dinner was served. Annie and Awai sat at the small oak table in the kitchen nook and Abra rubbed her head against Annie’s feet beneath the table. Awai chatted about the latest account she’d won over to her advertising firm, and of the gorgeous blond man she’d just met at the club last night.

  “Which club?” Annie asked before taking a sip of her merlot.

  As her eyes met Annie’s, Awai gave a small shrug. “A BDSM club.”

  Annie choked on her wine and it shot up her nose. She grabbed her napkin and managed to cover her mouth before she spewed merlot everywhere.

  “Are you all right, sweets?” Awai asked the question as if she’d just said she’d found toilet paper on sale at the grocery store instead of announcing she’d gone to a BDSM club.

  When Annie had sufficiently recovered, she patted her mouth with the napkin then set it on her empty plate. “That’s why you were wearing that tight leather dress and those thigh-high boots when I came by to ask you to go with me to Alexi’s last y
ear. You weren’t off to a masquerade party. You were going to a BDSM club.”

  Awai smiled and raised her glass. “Does it bother you that I’m a Dominatrix? That’s Domme for short.”

  Annie almost choked again as she visualized Awai wearing that black leather number and whipping a submissive male. “Um, no. Not at all.”

  Cocking her head to one side, Awai said, “You should come with me sometime and find a good Dom. You’re a born submissive, you know.”

  “I don’t think so.” Annie shook her head. “I’m not into, ah, floggers and handcuffs.”

  “It’s not all about whips, chains, and pain, Annie.” Awai pushed her plate aside and folded her arms on the table as she gave Annie that penetrating look of hers that was sure to have won over plenty of accounts. Probably submissives, too. “For a sub, giving up control is more than bondage, more than pleasure and pain. It’s power. You have total control over your Master’s pleasure. You hold all the cards.”

  Meeting Awai’s gaze head-on, Annie asked, “Why are you a Domme?”

  With a shrug, Awai leaned back in her chair. “I enjoy having men obey my every whim.”

  “Like they do at the agency?” Annie asked as she arched one brow.

  Awai’s mouth curved into a half smile. “Something like that.”

  Annie pulled her braid over her shoulder and absently played with the end. “If the submissive has all the control, then why aren’t you a sub?”

  For a moment Awai was silent. When she finally spoke she said, “Until I truly learned the concept behind BDSM, I always thought the Domme had the power.” She brushed imaginary lint off her black skirt. “By the time I figured out otherwise, I had learned all about being a Domme—and now, I enjoy it too much to switch.” But something in Awai’s eyes held just a tinge of regret.

  Before Annie could respond, Awai said, “How about I come over in the morning, and we’ll head over to Macy’s? They have a big sale going on, and I could use a new suit.”

  No doubt Awai had changed the subject because the reason she’d become a Domme was something she didn’t want to talk about. Perhaps she even regretted being a Domme instead of a submissive. It would take a hell of a man to dominate Awai, though. Annie didn’t think men like that existed on Earth.

  Even though Awai lived in San Francisco, she always insisted on driving to Pacifica and picking up Annie to go into the city. Awai had a sleek red Mercedes convertible Roadster, and she loved to drive it every chance she had.

  “I could use a few things, too.” Annie smiled and gave a slow nod. “Why don’t you drop by around ten?”

  “Ten sharp.” Awai pushed her chair back, gracefully stood, and headed toward the easel in the living room. “So, what are you working on? Something depressing, right?”

  Annie rolled her eyes, but then she realized she had no idea what she’d done during those hours of painting today. With Abra at her heels, Annie followed Awai to the easel.

  Awai pushed the stool out of the way, then folded her arms and pursed her lips as she studied the painting. “Oh, definitely morbid, but I like it.”

  Annie’s frown deepened, but when she reached the easel and stopped in front of the canvas, her jaw dropped.

  Cocking one eyebrow, Awai cut Annie a questioning glance. “Looks like it came right out of Wuthering Heights.”

  “Yeah, it does.” Annie’s practiced eye scanned her work. It wasn’t quite finished, but it was damn good if not murky and mysterious. Maybe it was a sign she was more down about her cousins’ disappearances than she’d thought.

  A sprawling but gloomy mansion stood dark and foreboding in the background with only a single window dimly lit from within, as if by candlelight. Lightning illuminated the scene just enough that the viewer could see skeleton trees bowing close to the ground from raging winds. In the distance whitecaps dotted a body of water below sheer black cliffs. In the lower right-hand corner was a single magnolia bloom lying on the ground, its petals pure cream beside a shadow.

  She narrowed her gaze. A man’s shadow. How odd.

  “Well, this is interesting,” Awai said, breaking into Annie’s thoughts. “How did you come up with it?”

  Annie shook her head. “I have no idea. The twins still missing—maybe it’s bothering me more than I thought.”

  Unable to bear the sheer strangeness of seeing a painting she had obviously created without remembering a damned thing about it, Annie turned away from the canvas. She forced a smile for Awai’s benefit and tried to ignore a creeping sense that the painting was somehow staring at her.

  “Well, come on,” Awai said. “Chop, chop. We’ve got spumoni waiting.”

  Relieved, Annie followed Awai away from the mystery on the canvas. She’d deal with it later—probably with scissors.

  Awai stayed for a while longer, long enough to share the spumoni and polish off the bottle of wine. Annie wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight she’d had two glasses of merlot. She felt mellow and relaxed, and definitely ready for bed.

  Once Awai had left for her San Francisco apartment, Annie tried to stay away from the painting. She had decided to deal with it in the morning. In the sunshine, if there was any.

  And yet, the painting pulled at her.

  Mumbling a few wine-enhanced curses, she finally gave up and moved the easel in front of her overstuffed armchair. Still feeling the merlot, she sat and studied her day’s work, her elbow resting on her knee, her chin in her hand. Her braid fell over her opposite shoulder as she tried to interpret her own work. Abra bounded onto the armrest and started batting the end of Annie’s braid.

  Where the heck did this come from?

  The picture had a brooding, Gothic feel to it. It was unlike her usual landscapes and seascapes, but was still in her distinctive style. The painting was fascinating, really. She rarely had dwellings in her work, and this mausoleum of a mansion was beyond anything she thought herself capable of. Perhaps it was so captivating because it reminded her of the Gothic romance novels her grandmother was always reading when she was young and still lived in Tennessee.

  At least it’s not giving me the creeps anymore. Who cares where it came from? It’s good. That’s what matters. For a moment, she smiled, studying the mysterious lines and shadows.

  “Maybe I have a dark, wild side after all.” Stifling a yawn, Annie rose and turned away from the painting. “Wild. Yeah, right.”

  She heard the crack of thunder. Abra hissed and arched her back, then darted under the end table. Lights in the apartment flickered.

  Everything went dark.

  Annie frowned. They never had thunderstorms in the Bay Area because of the cool onshore flow of air from the Pacific. She started to go to the window when a flash lit her dark apartment for a moment. Thunder boomed again, rattling her windows.

  But the lightning flash hadn’t come from outside.

  It had come from her painting.

  A strange buzzing started in Annie’s ears as she moved back toward the painting.

  Her heart started pounding like mad.

  She saw the same scene she had painted, only now it looked like a very tall and wide TV screen rather than a canvas. It was raining in the picture and trees swayed in fierce gusts of wind. She could even hear the haunting sound of whistling wind and could feel wet air blowing from the painting. It rushed across her face and misted her glasses. Something that looked like a very large cat stalked across the picture. A white tiger with black stripes.

  Abra hissed again from beneath the end table, this time louder and much fiercer.

  Goose bumps prickled Annie’s skin and her nipples pebbled beneath her white T-shirt.

  “Too much wine, sugar,” she murmured as she pulled off her glasses that were now too fogged to see through. “This is why you rarely drink.”

  Although hallucinating after only two glasses of wine was mighty strange.

  Lightning flashed in the picture again and Annie jumped. In the brief illumination, she saw the magnolia bloo
m—only this time a man was holding it.

  A man. In the picture. Looking directly at her.

  He moved closer so he filled the scene and she could hardly see anything around him. Wind tugged at his black hair and his equally black shirt and pants, all soaked from the rain. He was too close to see what he wore on his feet. His eyes were black, too. Dark and haunting.

  The man held his free hand out to her, and she took an automatic step back.

  “Come, Annie,” he said in a deep, husky voice that caused a strange thrill to zip from her belly to straight between her thighs. “It is time.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  A PECULIAR SENSATION SWEPT OVER ANNIE. It was the most surreal moment of her life, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was dreaming.

  No way had her painting come alive, and no way was a man holding out his hand to her and telling her to come with him.

  Thunder boomed and Abra gave a loud “Yerow!” from her hiding place.

  “Come, Annie.” The sexy timbre of his voice and the sound of his unusual accent caused a sensual shiver to trail down her spine. “The path will soon close.”

  Path. The path will soon close.

  The message from her cousins. On parchment and written with a quill or something. The note was real—she had just read it. Could what was happening be related? They’d mentioned a path opening.

  “Alice and Alexi.” Annie clenched her hand around her glasses as she spoke to the man in the picture. “You know them?”

  He gave a slow nod. “They are in Tarok.”

  Annie took a deep breath. This was bizarre enough that it could really be happening.

  That or she’d passed out on her living room floor and was dreaming it all.

  “Now, Annie.” His voice had a harder edge to it, a dominating command that brought her to attention immediately.

  His voice was so compelling that she found herself stepping forward. She put her hand up to the painting to touch it.