Sacred Revelations

by Roxy Harte

  I’d needed something more, but did I need to go to Lord Fyre to get it? Could Garrett have filled me with completeness if I’d only given him the chance? I didn’t even let him try. Right or wrong, I can at least let him know that I want him to try now.

  Dropping to my knees, I crawl as seductively as I know how across the carpeted square between us, stopping before the elevator controls, where I push the emergency stop. Ignoring the alarming jangle that ensues, I crawl to Garrett, rubbing his pants leg with my body.

  “What are you doing, Kitten?”

  “Meow.” I rub his leg again, purring loudly.

  He sighs, sounding aggravated, and takes the two steps to repress the button for the third floor.

  I crawl between his legs, rubbing, hitting the emergency stop again from a position between his legs. He looks down at me, amazement crossing his features. I look up with what I hope is a challenge, then to make sure it is received as a challenge, I stand, blocking the buttons with my body.

  Garrett reaches for the elevator control panel, but I move to block his hand with my shoulder.

  He growls, “Kitten, knock it off.”

  A deep voice comes over the intercom, “Everything okay?”

  Garrett glances up and nods. Reaching over my shoulder, he hits the intercom button. “We’re fine.”

  The alarm stops and the elevator starts its ascent without either of us pushing a button. I look to where he looks, seeing for the first time a small security camera. I stick out my tongue to whoever watches and push the emergency stop a third time. The elevator stops, the alarm sounds. Garrett looks at the camera and gives a slight nod, the alarm stops sounding, I assume in response to the nod. I wait for the elevator to go back in motion, but it doesn’t.

  He leans against the wall, arms crossed, waiting. “What’s up?”

  “You, Master, I hope,” I answer, sounding sarcastic, angry, not seductive. Kneeling in front of him, my hand goes to his waistband and I loosen his pants, feeling him, soft inside his silk underwear. I try to tease seductively, “Darn, not hard—yet,” but it comes out flat. What is wrong with me?

  His hand touches my hair softly. “Kitten, you don’t have to do this.”

  “I want to. I want to make things right between us.” I start to push down the elastic band to expose his penis but he stills my hand.

  “This isn’t going to make things right.”

  “It will,” I promise. “You are my Master and it’s time for me to start acting like you are.”

  Taking my hand, he pulls me to my feet, his gaze harsh, stern, and his words don’t make me feel any better as he zips his pants. “I want you to believe with all your heart that I am your Master. That is what is going to make things right between us, not a collar, not a blowjob. What’s in your heart? What’s in your soul?”

  My hand shakes as I lift the glass tumbler of Glenlivet to my lips. Though Scotch wouldn’t be my first choice, it will do. Abandoned in Garrett’s office, at least for the moment, the Scotch was easily available, second drawer, right side of his desk. Yeah, I snooped. I remember the first time I snooped, the morning after the auction, sipping coffee without permission, and the result, my first spanking from my new Master.

  Will drinking his whiskey get me a similar response?

  What’s in my heart?

  What’s in my soul?

  I catch my reflection in a mirror behind his desk above a wide credenza. My reflection draws me to the mirror, my fingers grazing the smooth surface, touching the reflected woman, wide blue-green eyes, exaggerated by fake eyelashes, heavy eye makeup, and surrounded by white PVC eyeholes. I don’t recognize myself. This woman is theatrical, magical, sensual.

  Pulling off the mask, I try to find me.

  How can he own my heart, my soul, if I can’t even find it? I close my eyes against the image. Where am I? I was pure with Lord Fyre. With him, I recognized myself. I found my soul. Does being with Garrett mean that I have to go into hiding again? That it’s all pretend? Make-believe?

  His voice carries from the hallway, making me quickly glance into the mirror, seeking his image in the doorway. He isn’t there, his voice still not as close as it seemed.

  I guess I’m glad we’re here at the club, I don’t know what I thought he would do, but bringing me here was a relief—less personal—and although I need the buffer zone, can I live with just role-playing, now that I’ve experienced the real thing?

  I don’t want to even consider that and, if nothing else, the Oasis lounge of Lewd Larry’s is a marvelous distraction. I look forward to resuming my role as Kitten; however, we’re early and, although the doors will open any minute to let in the public, it is still hours before the regulars start to arrive. I look forward to seeing Garrett’s friends. I’ve missed them. I also dread seeing them.

  Who do I dread seeing most? Jackie? George? Such a toss up at this point and I know Garrett’s friends will be at the club in force, a united front of moral support for their hero, and I so not the heroine of this story. I could hope for understanding, they work at a BDSM fetish fantasy nightclub, for crying out loud. It’s not like they expect complete monogamy in any of their relationships—they dominate people for a living. Well, not Jackie, I’m not sure what she does for a living…but she’s around the scene enough that my hooking up with Lord Fyre for a few months shouldn’t cause a fuss.

  I am tucking my hair beneath the mask when he finally enters; once again I’m the exotic woman I don’t recognize. In the mirror, I see his reflection. He’s watching me, seeming to be waiting. I can tell by the look on his face that he lusts for me. It seems strange that now, after everything else, I want more. In the beginning, lust was enough. Now, a married man tells me he loves me and all of a sudden, I think I need love. Who am I kidding? Girls like me don’t get love. I am a stupid girl. Lust is enough. If Garrett still wants me, he can have me. Gulping The Glenlivet, I hope it will numb my brain if not my heart. Lord Fyre isn’t coming back.

  I feel his eyes watching me as I walk, not crawl, to the couch against the opposite wall. I try to make it a very enticing walk. I’ve never been very good at games, but if he is going to lust after me, I want him to lust hard after me. Being a very naughty slave, I sit, then recline, not caring, caring too much, needing a reaction from him. I need his touch and whether it is a hug or a beating, at this point I’ll take it, anything to help me put Lord Fyre in the past and Garrett as Master in my future.

  My mind feels numb and out of control at the same time. God, it hurts. All of it. Lord Fyre. Garrett. When am I going to stop aching?

  “Comfortable?” he asks sarcastically from the doorway.

  “Almost.” I sprawl deeper into the couch, sipping The Glenlivet with grand aplomb, hoping for a spanking.

  “Let’s get this over with. Our table is ready, we can be finished eating before the regulars arrive.”

  I stifle a laugh, trying to look serious. “Are you dreading this, too?” I hold out the tumbler and am surprised when he comes toward me to take it, tilting his head back to down the contents in one swallow. He left the door to his office open and from the hallway I hear several voices, but see it is just his handlers as they pass one after the other, going down to the main levels. Showtime.

  “I am,” he admits, lifting my legs to sit on the couch then lowering my legs so that they drape over his lap. He hands me the empty tumbler. I lift the bottle, asking with a silent lift of my eyebrows if he wants me to refill it. “Please.”

  With only a small green-shaded desk lamp and a small table lamp beside the couch glowing, his office isn’t dark, but it isn’t bright either. Mood lighting, although I’m not sure what mood he was striving for in his office. There are overhead fluorescents available, but they aren’t turned on. I watch him lean his head back against the sofa, slouching into its comfort after he takes a swallow from the fresh glass of Scotch. He balances the glass on his chest.

  “I really don’t want to go to the Oasis tonight,” he admits
.

  “Then why are we going?” I ask softly.

  “I really don’t want to go home.”

  I rub my bare cheeks with my palms, digging my fingers into my PVC-covered forehead as I rub to try to relieve the headache I realize just formed. “At least you’re honest.”

  “All we have is honesty, Kitten. If we blow that we’re screwed.”

  I nod, not liking it much, but it’s truth.

  “So honestly, are you attracted to me still—now?” I ask, trying to not sound as pathetic as I feel.

  He rolls his eyes to look at me, shifting his gaze without moving his head. “You’re serious?”

  I nod.

  He scoots and pulls me so that I am farther onto his lap but still laying back against the couch. Unsnapping one strap that barely covers my nipple and then the other, he lets my breasts spill completely out, then lightly strokes the nipples, making them pebble hard. “Being attracted to you isn’t the problem, Kitten. You are incredibly beautiful. Being Lord Fyre’s plaything for three months didn’t change your beauty. If anything, your beauty has increased with your self-confidence. Lord Fyre turned you into quite the slut.”

  I jump at his crude honesty. He pinches my right nipple and I close my eyes, enjoying the quick jolt. He pinches the left nipple too, harder, and I moan.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you making that sound for him. I can’t stop thinking about all of your sounds, your sighs, your growls, your scream. Those were the sounds you made for me, and now you’ve made them for him, too.”

  “But I…”

  “Sh-h, Kitten, let me finish,” he says, “I thought for a moment that I was just feeling jealousy, but I’ve never been jealous—ever. Though once, with Tony, I made him give up a lover, but only because of time, too much time with the other man, not enough with me, but it wasn’t jealousy…it was scheduling—and sadly, that decision cost me Tony’s life and almost yours.”

  I don’t want to think about what he is saying about the man who kidnapped me and killed Tony, my dead boss, Mr. Bosko. I shudder and he pulls me close, kissing my temple, saying, “Sorry,” before he continues, “I’m just trying to say that I’m not jealous.”

  He laughs at the face I make, affronted.

  “Wait,” he cautions, seeing I’m about to speak. “I don’t have to be jealous to prove I love you. The thing is, although Lord Fyre played a very big part in creating in me the dominant I am today, we’re very different in our Mastering styles. It doesn’t make one better than the other, just different and if I am insistent that before we go any further than we have, it is because you do have to be sure this time. The next commanding Dom who looks your way and makes you feel you have more darkness to discover—well, let’s just say that’s not happening. It has nothing to do with jealousy but it has a lot to do with possessiveness and that, too, is a new feeling for me. I don’t want to share you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I nod, but I’m unable to stay silent, promising, “I never stopped wanting you.”

  “I know,” he answers quietly and reaches for me. “Come here.”

  I climb completely into his lap, looping my arms around his neck. He unzips the small zipper over my neck that holds the PVC mask, complete with kitty ears, to my face and head. Pushing the hood off, he ruffles my damp bangs and wipes the sweat off my forehead.

  “These damn suits are too hot to be completely enjoyable,” he comments, unzipping the back of the suit as well, exposing my back. Cool air floods my skin and I feel several big wet drops of perspiration roll down my skin. Garrett is suddenly close, too close. I’ve been sprawled mostly over his legs, but until this moment, he wasn’t really there. Or maybe I wasn’t really here. It seems I am seeing him for first time and he is incredible to look upon. Sensual. Intense. Holding himself in check, like a high-tension coil ready to spring.

  “I like the catsuit, it’s beautiful,” I assure him. As quickly as I say it, I realize just how uncomfortable I am in the PVC, the row of thin welts covering my back itchy and stingy at the same time. I wiggle and arch, trying to get relief from the discomfort.

  “Beautifully uncomfortable.” He chuckles softly, running his hand down my bare back and I find myself willing my body to not move.

  “Relax,” he demands softly with an eerie calmness that makes my insides quake. I feel my eyes drop, my cheeks heating.

  His fingers trace each welt, drawing my attention back to the sting, making me remember how I received each one. I close my eyes, embarrassed. How did I ever think I could return to Garrett and it would be magically okay?

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, not regretting what I did with Lord Fyre, but feeling like I owe Garrett an apology. For a second, I wonder where Lord Fyre is, if he has joined his wife and children yet…if he’s thought about me as often since he left as I thought about him. I open my eyes to find Garrett watching me and know my face is drooped with sadness because the gaze he reflects back is one of empathy. It kills me that he knows I am hurting this much.

  “For what?” he asks softly.

  Shrugging my shoulders, I reply, “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Reaching around me, he tilts my chin toward him, so that I have to look over my shoulder to his face. Caressing my cheek, he draws me back against his chest so that our faces are almost touching. To look at him, eyes slanted, head lying tilted against the sofa, he is relaxed, but the energy simmering from his body is all but relaxed.

  I shiver nervously against him, and even though I am leaning into him, I am wired tight. Something glints beneath his own hooded lids, he is projecting comfort, ease, so hard, but there is nothing comfortable or easy about the energy passing between us.

  “There is nothing to be sorry about,” he says, leather sofa squeaking as he pivots me, slowly, carefully, so that I am bent over his elbow, my back completely exposed to him.

  I swallow hard, not believing him. My heart speeds to triple time, sounding like thunder in my head. Carefully, slowly, he peels open the back of my suit, exposing more flesh. I feel myself tense, I can’t help it as he arranges me. His hands move to my shoulders in a flash of heat and silkiness, pushing the PVC over the sides of my arms.

  His hands are so soft and gentle, though he touches me deliberately, willing me to relax with silent strokes and gentle squeezes, no longer focused on the welts and bruises but focused on tense muscles. Loosening bits of me I wasn’t even aware were tight. He draws his fingers down my spine, tickling, teasing, waking me up on the inside.

  Stroking me in a way that makes my skin melt and my brain mushy, he whispers, “I need you to talk to me about it, so I’ll know what you’re feeling.”

  Every nerve ending jumps in response to the demand in his voice, even though he whispered, maybe because he whispered. I had forgotten his feral intensity, so much a part of him that it is forgotten until he makes me remember.

  “Tell me about your time with Lord Fyre,” he says, turning my shoulders and leaning me back into the crook of his elbow. “Tell me what you are thinking, what you are feeling now that you are back here…with me.”

  I squirm in his lap, trying to escape, uncomfortable beyond belief, trapped by the PVC holding my elbows against my body, held by him.

  “Do you think you’re going somewhere, Kitten? No, I don’t think so. You’re uncomfortable, and I understand that, what you shared with Lord Fyre was intimate, mentally, physically, emotionally, but if you are mine, the only way this will work is if you submit completely. You will share all of the intimate details of every moment, of every scene.”

  What is it about sadists and their insistence on submission? If I am truly a masochist, and judging by the amount of chaos I’ve caused myself, it’s true, then I should want this. I should want to totally submit to Garrett all things, even this. But I sit, silent, not willing to share what I haven’t even had time to digest myself. I am saved by a knock on the doorframe, calling my attention to one of his men in black. I cover my breasts, wrapping myse
lf in my arms, hiding. Garrett doesn’t allow me the luxury of modesty, pulling my arms down to my sides, exposing my breasts, holding my wrists until he feels me relax, resigning myself to this forced exposure.

  His man in black asks from the hallway, “The package is here. Where do you want it?”

  “Here is fine.”

  Two more men appear, maneuvering a dolly, I turn to look at the wall behind Garrett, flustered, embarrassed, trying to figure out what to say, what not to say while the men shuffle about in the room. Finally, I hear their footsteps retreating, a man asking, “Would you like the door open or shut?”

  “Open is fine.”

  Garrett chuckles, turning my face to look at him, I feel my blush rise. “What is this? You’re embarrassed, honestly embarrassed?”

  I shrug.

  “Why?” he asks, sounding incredulous. “I saw the pictures highlighted in Inappropriate Voices from your Lost Kitten tour and I can honestly say, you were more exposed then than now. What happened?”

  I shrug again, my voice lost. He shakes his head. “Fine, let’s break this down and make this very simple for you. Tell me about that.” He nods his head toward the spot on the floor where his men left his delivery, I turn my head just enough to see what he is taking about and my mouth drops. My cat cage.

  Everything unravels at once, my brain, my body, my heart, emotions I haven’t felt in years as the cat cage recedes behind a blur of tears. I will not cry. I will not!

  Suddenly, I am buried against him, sobbing, saying things I never meant to say aloud, declaring my love, admitting how much I miss my mother, wishing I’d lost my virginity to anyone besides Lion, hating my father, blaming God, and then the tirade stopper, because after I say it I can’t say anything else, “I miss Fyre.”

  He lets me cry, holding me, waiting for my sobbed litany to stop and then waiting for the pathetic hiccupped sobs to cease. Waiting, patiently, until I can look at him.