by Roxy Harte
The spinning room indicates I am drunk on my ass.
Matilda laughs again, swelling the room. Four deadbolts slide home… Matilda left? Liam stayed? Is it still Christmas?
Dark room, still night at least.
I drift between wake and sleep, remembering another night, too drunk then too, when Matilda’s laughter filled another room, drawing even more men to our position bar-side…
* * * * *
She laughed just before she turned to me and whispered in her deadly serious tone, “Are you sure about this?” Her laugh, always memorable, all-feminine, drew attention. Every man at the bar was watching us.
Looking at my lips in the small mirror of my compact, I applied fresh lipstick—Bubble Gum Pink. Over the rim of tortoiseshell plastic, I smiled at her, sensing her fear, hoping my own ease would rub off, thinking, are you nuts? Of course, we have to do this!
I felt it in my soul—it was my destiny to be there in this place—on this night.
The bartender set a fresh Screaming Orgasm in front of me with a wink in response to my grateful smile. Matilda had yet to finish her first White Russian.
“Look, it was your idea to come here,” I reminded her, clicking the lid of the compact closed loudly before tossing both compact and lipstick into my bag with purposeful force, wanting her to feel my agitation. I’d been flirting subtly all night with a man I’d caught, early in the evening, watching me from the shadows. I got the definite impression he’d felt hidden from view, my direct wink surprised him.
Later, dancing, I’d managed to get close enough to make sure when I exited the dance floor, I could rub between him and the woman he was dancing with, making sure no doubt was left in his mind my tits were the real thing when they pressed against him, accidentally of course. He’d provided the last round of drinks from across the room with a message, an invitation to join him in the Dungeon. He was currently waiting for us to make a decision. I say us, because another man stood ready, willing and able at his side to entertain Matilda. The dark one I would come to know as Luka nodded to let me know he was still waiting. Thank God. His too-tan, too-blond friend, introduced as Hans, feigned boredom.
“It’s your birthday and I wanted to dance!” Matilda insisted. “Whips seemed exotic, a really cool place to bring you to celebrate! And when you got so excited about it…” Her voice trailed off, I assumed she was searching for the right words but was in no mood for another lengthy conversation. At The Agency we’d been paired as partners—she a profiler, me a tracker, two decidedly different personalities, hers analytical, mine action first, consequences second.
“Mattie, I’m going to the Dungeon with that very hot man over there. That is my birthday present to myself. Stay or go, I won’t be mad, I won’t feel abandoned. But if he leaves this room with someone other than me, I will never, ever, forgive you.”
“Please!” Matilda whispered frantically, her eyes darting to the two incredibly sexy men who were waiting. “What if they tie you up?”
I’m out of patience, the subtle change in the two men’s bodies making it paramount I go with them now.
“Look, Mattie, there’s nothing I would ever do to hurt our friendship, but I’m not walking away from this. You know what I do for a living, being tied up by a really hot guy and spanked—that’s my ticket from reality. So go home. Okay?”
“I’m not leaving you!” she exclaimed too loudly, drawing a glance from the guys, causing the blond to panic.
“Go! This isn’t your thing, I get it. I’ll make the excuse you got a migraine from the loud music, or you started your period and were just terribly embarrassed and had to go.”
“Scared yet, ladies? We’re off to the Dungeon,” Luka announced, interrupting us with his exuberance.
Without waiting for a response, his arm circled my waist and he was leading me to the Dungeon entrance. As he walked us along, he made idle pleasantries and my knees grew weaker with each word spoken in his heavy Mediterranean accent. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Hans with Matilda similarly in tow.
“I’m scared,” Matilda whined as the two lured her in.
“You should be.” Luka laughed, overhearing. “Isn’t that why you’re here, to be scared out of your mind, little girl?”
“No way, Luka, this little girl’s mine and she’s been very naughty, but a spanking will right your world, won’t it, darlin’?” Hans chimed in, smiling for the first time all night, his blue eyes dancing mischievously.
Darkness enveloped us as soon as the heavy dungeon doors closed. Hidden lights along the floor blazed a red, eerie runway along the strange corridor, music threaded with soft moans and the occasional scream heightened the drama. Flaming torches mounted in wrought iron sconces added to the effect we had truly entered a medieval dungeon.
In the semidarkness, it was easy to sneak peeks at Luka. He really was wonderful to look at. His deep brown eyes glowed back at me from beneath hooded lids, not seeming to mind my silent appraisal. His confidence was devastating, shaking me to the core.
His smile was equally overwhelming. In one word, he was charming, in two words, charming and feral.
He stopped beside a glass window, voyeurism at its finest, and I found myself speechless, perhaps for the first time in my life as we watched through the soundproof glass. A man wearing a leather hood poured melted wax onto his tethered victim. Spread eagle, she tossed her head back and forth but didn’t make a sound. Her eyes closed, opening only when the man leaned over to kiss her lips. It seemed to be a signal between the two. Was that the end of it then, I wondered? No, a signal that the tempo of the scene was changing, evidenced when he lifted a black candle and poured a stream of wax that would become a necklace. The woman’s eyes closed and her entire body tensed.
“Does it hurt?” I whispered.
“It can,” Luka answered. “It depends on the height of the candle. Distance allows the wax to cool a little. Color too makes a difference, the lighter the wax, the cooler the melted wax, except beeswax. Never underestimate beeswax, it melts as hot, if not hotter, than the black.”
“But is he hurting her now?” My voice cracked, watching the woman’s face, and it irritated me I had so little control over my emotions. What was happening to me?
The woman seemed to be trying so hard to remain still, to remain silent.
“She isn’t…comfortable,” he answered slowly, something different, changed, in both voice and demeanor. No longer smiling, his eyes glowed wolflike in the blazing red corridor. The scene we’d been watching wasn’t over, but it seemed obvious we weren’t going to stay for the completion. His hand closed around the nape of my neck but I wasn’t afraid.
“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he whispered.
A loud, resounding bell clanged then.
“It’s the midnight hour,” Luka offered in explanation.
In my mind, I visualized a large, heavy church bell hidden somewhere in the building with a choir boy pulling on a thick rope, the rope lifting him off the ground as the bell rang out over and over again. It felt ominous, the reverberation filling my chest, then the music changed to the solemn chants of Benedictine monks and a misty fog started to rise from the floor. Dry ice, its scent unmistakable, and even knowing its man-made origins, I still sensed a feeling of apprehension and fear in the space.
A final glance through the observation window revealed the woman tethered to the table obviously in too much pain to continue lying still. Her mouth stretched open, I couldn’t hear her scream, but knew she was. It suddenly seemed too real, too strange, yet Luka’s hand remained a firm constant on the back of my neck, a tether to my own reality as our eyes locked. “They’ve been playing together for years. He knows to what limits he can safely take her. I didn’t want you to see her get that deep into her headspace.”
“She was screaming.”
“Not so much from pain, but inner demons.”
“She was in pain.”
“Someday, I’ll let you experien
ce the wax and you can argue the point with me from inner perspective.”
“Auh.” An unintelligent syllable choked back anything further I might have said. I was left feeling so…naïve. I consciously forced my eyes to be less wide, willed my lips silent.
His kiss took me by surprise.
The force of his hand behind my neck held me steady, forcing my lips to stay connected as I initially resisted, but then I tasted him, smelled his scent and relaxed into his hold. Only then did his mouth fully possess me, tongue probing, exploring, promising. When the kiss ended, I wanted more and I tried to go in for another but his hand, still in control of my neck, kept that from happening.
“Tell me what you want,” he commanded sternly.
“You,” I whispered, barely breathing. I couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to say, seeming to be caught in a spell. I couldn’t break free from his grasp, not from his soul-delving eyes or his molten-lava voice. I whispered the secret desire, “Tie me up.”
He smiled a small smile of agreement and there was something so incredibly sensual in the moment, an electric field building between us, binding us, drawing us closer together. It seemed we were no longer strangers but soul mates linked by our darkest secrets, our most dangerous desires.
Arousal thrashed uninhibited through my veins, making me feel languid but not drugged, though it was his hand on my elbow, navigating the corridor, leading me to the next playroom, because I could barely walk on my own.
He closed leather cuffs around my wrists before stretching my arms high above my head, my limbs at the mercy of a motorized heavy chain. Nothing breaks, I am relieved when the motor stops humming. I am stretched uncomfortably taut but not broken.
I am aware I am naked, but have little recollection of coming into that state of being.
Luka must have helped me remove the dress, I don’t remember.
I remember the electric current binding us, the heat of him, like flames, searing me even though his body wasn’t touching mine. He was being very careful not to touch me and I ached for that touch, needed to feel his searing hands blaze against my skin.
Our soundproof room had an observation window just like the one we had watched the other couple through and I caught a glimpse of Matilda standing outside, watching. I felt safer, knowing someone was indeed watching. Ridiculously, she smiled and waved.
Naked, bound and stretched notwithstanding, I smiled in return, not the slightest bit embarrassed but thinking I should be embarrassed.
So surrounded as I was by the intensity of him, there was no room for embarrassment. All I felt was him, his presence, his heat coursing through me, around me. I could tell where his chest, his arms, his legs were just by the heat of him moving around me, close but not touching heat.
From behind, I felt the brush of his knuckles along the back of my shoulder, felt his breath on the back of my neck. My entire body ached, begging for his touch. As if reading my mind, he stood before me, tilted his head as if to kiss me, so close but not touching. My lips suddenly so needy, so desperate to feel his, I arched and made a small mewling sound. My loss of control became an aphrodisiac, shooting a body-spasming shiver down my spine, through my soul and straight to my groin. I was so wet, I felt it happen, it was almost as though I’d pissed myself a little, the inside of my thighs were so wet.
I was desperate for his lips to close over mine but I didn’t beg.
My body spasmed again, jerking a little in my chains, so desperate my flesh had become to feel his touch. It seemed too much to bear, the aching need painful, the mental burden of wanting him to be strong enough to control me, not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well, that I began shaking uncontrollably. Closing my eyes, I stepped inside myself, willing myself to disconnect from his heat before I agreed to something I would regret.
Yes, I was thinking too much then. Worrying I’d jeopardized my nation’s security. After all, I didn’t know this man and I was privy to national security secrets. I was a fool.
“Let me go!” I panicked, my heart feeling as if it would explode.
“Relax,” his deep, heavily accented voice commanded me. Are you joking, my brain screamed back. Then his lips were on mine, softly brushing skin to skin, just barely so I had to open my eyes to make sure he really was touching his lips to mine. His eyes comforted mine as he promised, “You are safe, safe with me.”
My panicked brain screeched to a sudden halt, acknowledging this was what it felt like to be alive.
“Tell me what you want.” With deft skill, Luka pulled me back into the moment.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, but I lied, knowing exactly what I wanted to do next and, as if he’d read my mind, he complied. My skin sighed as he fanned the thongs of a suede flogger over my shoulders. The suede cascaded over my sensitive flesh as softly as silk. He trailed the flogger with delicate skill, my skin was rewarded with a featherlight caress. Shoulders, back, arms, shoulder to wrist, followed by teasing my nipples to tight painful buds. His lips trailed the suede caress, not to kiss or lick each nipple but to bite down, sucking hard, while his teeth jerked out a very real moan.
Something fierce and primal exploded behind my eyes, then and I tucked myself tighter into my mind, seeking escape from the discomfort, finding relief in the pulse of my blood whooshing through my brain, but as his teeth twisted and pulled, I heard myself begging, “Please. Please whip me.” But the voice didn’t seem to belong to me at all, and I was powerless to stop that other part of me.
“Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet.”
I closed my eyes against the agony of his refusal, needing more, hating the soft whimpers coming from deep inside my throat, but I was no longer in control, base need was. I’d never felt anything so all-consuming as the need to feel more pain. “Please.”
“Not yet,” he mumbled around a nipple. The suede thongs teased down my back and over my hips, a barely there swat, swat, did-I-imagine-it-I-wanted-it-so-bad swats, taunting with their featherlight touch. His lips sucking, teasing, no longer inflicting pain.
“Kiss me.”
“No.”
I opened my eyes to find smoldering embers reading my soul. Turning my head, I saw Matilda, confirming she still watched, then my vision blurred as the flogger bit into my back.
* * * * *
I awake from the dream with a sigh on my lips. Considering Liam’s mouth is closed over my left nipple, I assume he credits the sound of pleasure to his ministrations. He would be sorely disappointed to learn that the ghost of one long dead was the true benefactor. Luka never fails to join me in my dreams, my one escape in a life I have so little control over, my ghost responsible for my rest, for my sanity.
Did I love Luka? You would think by my loneliness I did, but who knows. I stopped equating sex with love a long time ago, even before Luka. In my business, one never knows which enemy will be tomorrow’s bedfellow, best to not fall in love. Yes, the sex was great with Luka, but there have been other men I’ve cared for. I don’t remember them so well. Luka, I can’t forget.
For a day, I respected Liam. Okay, maybe more than a day, probably closer to a week, but then I started reading more into subtle timing coincidences. Liam always being at the scene of the crime, for example. Just a little too convenient for my blood, even though The Agency wasn’t blinking an eye, but by the time I suspected him, I’d slept with him. A lot. Sex helps relieve job stress. I’m not making an excuse for my promiscuity, just a simple truth. When I have so much adrenaline running through my veins I feel like I’m going to explode from the inside out, there are few better choices. It comes down to drugs, alcohol, sex. Sex is my mind-numbing drug of choice.
I had thought my involvement with Liam very discreet, low key; I should not have been surprised my superiors knew all along. With a relationship already in place, they saw no reason Liam shouldn’t go along with an operation involving marriage—his and mine to be more precise.
I recognize a boon when I see one. I need to g
et closer to Liam, I need a reason to keep tabs on him without seeming suspicious. Yes, it’s questionable I can pull off the role of besotted, concerned wife. For Daniel, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
I fear for Liam’s heart. He may actually love me, and although my heart lies with my beloved, six feet beneath frozen earth, my body still insists on being alive. Very alive, Liam proves, as his hand travels along the inside of my thigh.
I am in bed and must assume Liam got me here. In the dark room, his silhouette reveals a perfect body, thanks in part to hours spent in a gym and more hours on a bicycle. It is nothing for him to ride fifty miles after a long day before coming home. Riding is his personal way of escaping the demons so much a part of our daily existence.
Stretching against his warm flesh, I embrace sex as my own escape.
I may not respect him, I’ll fuck him.
“I see you’re still alive,” Liam whispers. “Much warmer too.”
Alive but not living, I’d jokingly told him the last time we’d fought, a stupid argument concerning The Agency and selling my soul to save the world, and he’d been forced to remind me I always survived the missions, no matter how great the projected fatality rate. It was fact. I always survived, no matter how many bullets I jumped in front of. God only knew exactly how hard I’d tried to die the first year after Luka’s death.
Absently, I rub the small line of dots that run just above my right pelvic bone. Four bullets, perfect round scars purchased at an open-air market in Istanbul two summers earlier. Funny I’d gone there for legumes, limes and garlic, and returned with bone fragments and a perforated colon.
Following my train of thought, Liam runs his tongue over the long, wide scar on my right shoulder, earned in Bolivia, gift of a savage hunter’s knife aimed at my jugular. Quick reflexes saved my life.
“Headache?” he asks, pressing kisses up the side of my face to my temple.
“No. I’m fine. Booze stopped giving me headaches eons ago.”
“You drink too much.” Liam ruffles into my hair, trying to ease the sting of his words with a quick thrust between my open thighs. Neither wide nor lengthy, his penis slides in with ease. He compensates well enough for his lack of endowment, hands roaming over ribs to find the sweet spot and managing to angle himself just right while crushing most of the air out of my lungs. Quick, rabbit-fucking thrusts bring me to a quick orgasm.