The Queen of Dauphine Street

by Thea de Salle

  “Are you sure? Do you have your medication, have you eaten?” Patrice asked.

  Maddy rolled her eyes. “My God. You sound like Richter talking to Capulet. Yes, yes. I’m fine. Get yourself a room, go enjoy New Orleans. Flash your boobies at unsuspecting tourists. Join an orgy. Whatever makes you happy, dove. You do you, but I’m fine.”

  Patrice frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Patrice, darling, I’ll handle everything, I promise,” Sol said. “Tell Dora I said to set you up on the third floor. We just redecorated. The rooms are lovely.”

  Patrice eyed him, clearly unconvinced of Sol’s aptitude, but she sighed and tromped off all the same, her purple wheeled suitcase dragging behind her. The bellhops appeared to unload Maddy’s and Darren’s luggage a minute later, likely at Patrice’s behest, piling the cart high and pulling it inside.

  Still they waited in the limousine. Darren wasn’t about to complain—he’d rather be safe than sorry, and maybe he’d be less apt to think about Kelly knowing a team of professionals was working to ensure his safety. Besides, Rain and Sol kept them company, with Sol relating the hotel’s history as a Confederate hospital, and Rain mentioning the antiques she’d bought to spruce up the rooms.

  “It’s hard to tell you two haven’t been together for very long,” Maddy mused. “You play house like old pros.”

  Rain tilted her chin so she could gaze up at Sol, her adoration written all over her face. Sol returned it in kind, his long, slender fingers brushing over her cheekbone.

  “Kitten was made for me, I think, and I was made for her,” Sol said. “No insult intended, Madeline. We were fabulous, but this is different.”

  Maddy snorted. “Fabulous for about six seconds. If we’d been meant to last, we would have lasted. Don’t worry about me, dove. You’re my dearest friend, and seeing you two together . . . it’s like living, breathing relationship goals, mmm?”

  Darren didn’t say anything, but he did file that sentiment away. Were “relationship goals” the sub-dom thing, with Rain wearing the collar? Did Maddy want someone on her tether forever? Or did she mean the raw affection between the two?

  Or maybe it’s not either-or, but both.

  Not that it matters—we’re just keeping company.

  Except it totally matters, because I like her and I’m worried she’s going to get sick of me. Not yet, but soon if I’m too vanilla for her. We’ll have the talk eventually. Not now, but soon enough, and hopefully I can entertain her.

  She looks pretty happy, though.

  A few minutes later, Julio called the all clear. The doorman held open the door for them, his arm outstretched in invitation. Sol and Rain climbed out of the limo and waltzed in without a second glance, but Maddy pretty much had to drag Darren inside. He kept stopping every few feet to admire a new detail in the architecture he hadn’t noticed before—the stonework, the molding inside the front foyer, the paint effects. The floor was black-and-white checkered tile and it was covered with red Oriental rugs. Overstuffed leather couches were carefully positioned to look haphazard, creating warm vignette seating areas where guests had an illusion of privacy in the big room. Along the back wall was a glass elevator, guests riding up and down from floor to floor with a perfect view of the lobby. To the left was a wide, curving staircase that climbed to the second story for the less lazy.

  Or less adventurous. The elevator looked fun.

  Sol approached the front desk. Standing behind it were two people, one a tall, thin blond woman with very large hair and very red lips. Her name tag read Dora.

  “Dora, my dear. Maddy needs a penthouse suite. Two key cards, if you would.”

  “I’m not ‘your dear,’ ” Dora said sourly, but she softened it with a tight smile, typing into the computer. “You’ll want to watch this, Michael.”

  The man beside her, wearing a uniform matching Dora’s of a white shirt, brocade teal vest, and black slacks, leaned over her shoulder. He was in his midthirties, with tan skin, dark hair that slanted red in the overhead lighting, glasses, and a trimmed goatee.

  Sol whirled back around to Maddy and Darren, his hands spread wide. “This is our front desk manager, Dora—newly promoted, might I add. She’s terrifying but remarkable. And this is Mr. Kell, our new night manager in training. Dora, you know Maddy, and this is her friend Darren. Michael, whenever Maddy is here, she is to be put on the top floor with family.”

  “Got it,” Michael replied.

  “Her guests change a lot,” Dora said, eyeballing Darren. “But her accommodations are always suite three.”

  “Dora! Are you judging me, you tart?” Maddy’s nose crinkled when she smiled, which Darren liked so much he ran his hand over the small of her back in appreciation.

  And then down to her ass, giving it an affectionate pat.

  This thing is damned near perfect.

  Squeeze. Squeeeeeze.

  Dora just cast her eyes up, offered another tight smile, and went back to typing.

  “Nice to meet you,” Darren said, managing not to laugh despite Dora’s flinty demeanor.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Room key cards were issued; luggage was brought upstairs. Dora and Michael chatted, all too happy to get back to ignoring them. Sol led Maddy and Darren to the glass elevator, all six of them—dogs included—traveling to the fourth floor. They were unleashed on a long, beautiful hallway not unlike the one outside Alex’s apartments at The Diamond, with fine art inside glass cases, book cases, Tiffany lamps, leather chairs, and hand-knotted runners over hardwood floors. There were doors every fifteen or twenty feet with numbers and beneath them were mail slots with embossed golden nameplates: Nash DuMont, Alex DuMont, Brutus Hammerford, Cylan Powell. They stopped outside Serena DuMont’s door, Maddy fussing with the key card.

  “How tired are you two?” Sol asked. “We’ve eaten, have you?”

  “We had brunch, but we’ll need lunch at some point I think.” Maddy glanced back at Darren.

  “Mmm.” Darren was eyeballing Rain, or more specifically, Rain’s collar. She was oblivious, which was probably good, because his mind had begun to . . . drift. The implications of the collar thing fascinated him. Did you hold it during sex? Was it a before-sex thing? And was that what Maddy was attaching to those loops on her bedposts? It had to be, because if you had a double-ended leash with clips on either end—like the one he’d packed when he’d raided Maddy’s sex drawers—that could keep you immobile for a really good pounding.

  Okay, I need to try this. Seeing a collar on one attractive female can only be bettered by seeing a collar on the attractive female I happen to be fucking lately.

  I shouldn’t have grabbed her ass downstairs. It’s a gateway drug.

  He snaked his arm over Maddy’s shoulders and hauled her close, his lips pressing to her ear. “Let’s take a break, meet up again in a few hours?”

  She nodded. “We’re going to settle in awhile, I think. If I need food I can call down to Gustav’s. Why don’t you have Julio talk to your team about safety in the meantime?”

  “Excellent idea.” Sol planted a chaste kiss to Maddy’s forehead and stepped back. “Text me when you want company. I’ll plan on dinner—say six? Maybe I’ll even invite Sir Cranky the Accountant and his idiot sidekick, Security Man. Enjoy my hotel, Mr. Sanders, and enjoy my ex-wife. She’s a treasure.”

  “I have every intention of doing both of those things. Nice to meet you,” Darren said, and he shoved Maddy into the room and shut the door.

  NINETEEN

  DARREN WAS HUNGRY. Not in the “give me more sandwiches and I’ll be gross eating them” sort of way, but for her. He had a look. She knew the look, had worn it herself many times. What she didn’t know was how, or why, he’d escalated so quickly. She wasn’t sure she cared, either. As soon as the door closed, Darren was loosening his sling and throwing it onto the floor. The T-shirt came
off with a single pull, revealing that broad chest with the sculpted muscles. He even flexed, doing that thing that made his pecs bounce left then right, and she kind of wanted to worship him with her mouth forever.

  Obscene things. That body deserves obscene things.

  “C’mere,” he said, grinning.

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing. But I’m going to get into you.” The half promise, half threat was immediately followed by him stalking her through the room. She knew how to play the game, so she backed away, letting him chase. He was like Capulet when she was hunting, which maybe wasn’t the best analogy, because the mysticism of the stalking tiger was lost when you considered that she was effectively eating packaged food out of Richter’s hands, but Darren was all predator, and he was looking for prey. She knew that mind-set, had been the hunter before, and so she adapted to the circumstance despite never, ever allowing herself to play bunny.

  He’s practically twitching.

  Is he going to pounce?

  Better yet, can I make him?

  It wasn’t the kind of power she was used to wielding, but it was power nonetheless, and that was the thing many people didn’t realize about BDSM, or erotic play. Submissives, though chased or tethered or paddled or any other thing, had a lot of control. A good dominant worked within the sub’s boundaries, which meant the rules of the playground, as it were, were dictated not by the one on top, but by the one on the bottom; by the one being hunted, not by the hunter. Trust was the most sacred tenet, and putting your body and soul in someone else’s hands required ultimate trust. Betraying that by rampaging all over boundaries was toxic.

  Darren might not have been consciously thinking about that stuff, but Maddy was. His body language said he wanted to chase, but he only got to do that if she fled.

  All right, I’ll play.

  She grinned at him and backed farther away, putting the coffee table between them.

  “I feel like you want something from me . . .” she taunted.

  He circled, advancing, his hand moving to his belt. He didn’t pull it off, just opened it so the ends dangled down over the front of his jeans. It was tantalizing, but he meant it to be—Darren had said he’d stripped years ago. He was, in his own fashion, performing for her, and it was working quite nicely. Her body tingled; the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Her mouth was bone dry.

  Looking at him is wanting him. How do I even deserve this?

  “Does this mean you don’t want to come here?” he asked, walking around the table.

  “Well, I do, but doesn’t this build anticipation?”

  “It does. But if you’re going to insist on running—” He turned away from her. She worried she’d misread the situation, that it hadn’t been a game after all, except he walked over to her suitcase and hauled it up onto the bed. It was a nice bed, king-sized, with a cherry headboard, four carved posters, a white coverlet with hand-embroidered roses, and a mountain of fluffy pillows. He unzipped the case and rummaged through. She watched, her head cocked to the side as he pulled out her stacks of underwear and tank tops and pajamas until he found what he was looking for.

  The purple bag.

  He shook it at her, grinned, and tossed the bag aside. The clothes were thrown back into the suitcase, the suitcase was abandoned on the floor. Maddy held her position across the room, her arms across her chest, eyeing first the bag, and then the man holding it.

  Her brow arched.

  “It looked so good on her,” he said, pulling out a red leather collar with rhinestones and a loop on the front. It buckled at the back with six notches, which she knew only because she used to put it on one of her ex-girlfriends regularly. “I figured it had to look better on the most beautiful woman in the world. But only if she wanted to wear it.”

  “You mean you won’t wear it?” She winked at him. He responded by retrieving the matching red leather lead and clipping it to the collar. And then he went back to stalking her. She circled, he followed, his steps measured but intent.

  “So will you? Wear it for me?” he asked, closing in. She glanced behind her. Bureau. Desk. Bathroom door. Rocking chair on the left. Book case on the right.

  I’m cornered.

  Oh my God. I’m cornered.

  Yesssssss.

  “Only if you promise to be rough with me.” She retreated until she was pressed against the wall, her hands looping in her skirt and hiking it up, slowly. It was an indecent crawl of fabric over skin, Maddy first exposing her knees, then her midthighs, and finally her black lace panties with the bows cresting each hip bone. His eyes fixed on her, not her top half, but her bottom, relishing every inch of bared flesh. She rolled the skirt up, was going to hike her dress over her head, but he waved her off.

  “No. Leave it on. I like how it looks on you.”

  She let it drop, the hem swishing around her knees. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  He was near, so near, just eight feet separating their bodies. She gazed at his chest and down, to the trail of dark hair starting at his navel and disappearing into his jeans.

  “So you want me to be rough with you?” he asked.

  Yes. Oh yes. I don’t need to walk tomorrow.

  “I’ll beg. Do you want me to beg?” She flashed him a grin. Five feet between them. Three feet.

  And he was there. He moved fast, dashing to her, his hard body pressing against hers, trapping her against the wall. She expected a kiss, but instead got a bite to the side of her neck, his teeth digging in hard enough she flinched, but the pain gave way to pleasure when he sucked on the tender spot. She groaned and let her head fall to the side, granting him access to her. He lapped at her skin, he nibbled, he sucked, from her pulse over her shoulder and up again, to her sensitive ear. He had the leash in hand when he started to touch her, raking both the leather and his fingers along the outside of her bare thigh. When he hit the lace band of her panties, she shuddered.

  He skimmed his lips along her jaw and captured her mouth. The hand climbed higher, past her hip, to her waist and over her breast, the dangling leash tap-tap-tapping against her bare leg as he roughly groped her, his fingers finding her nipple beneath the dress and pinching. She moaned, and he took advantage, his tongue sweeping inside to claim hers. He kissed her and kissed her, until she was breathless. Until the room spun. Her arms wrapped around him, her fingertips gliding over his hot skin and dancing along his spine. The muscles in his back flexed, and she practically cooed. He was such a finely made thing, a work of art, like God himself had molded a pile of flesh into something perfect and then somehow saw fit to send it her way.

  He humped against her. She wanted to reach down, to touch him and feel his cock and see how hard he was, but he was so close she couldn’t get her hand wedged between their bodies. More kisses, Darren mouth-fucking her until she burned for him, like he’d doused her in gasoline and struck a match. His hand left her nipple and dipped down, grabbing her thigh and lifting it, forcing her to stand on one leg. She balanced as he looped her leg around his waist and rocked at her, hard, repeatedly. He was grinding her into the wall, until she swam in sensation. Wetness pooled between her legs, dampening her panties, her cunt throbbing with need. His hand marauded over her, finding her ass and slapping it so hard she yelped.

  That’ll leave a mark.

  Goooood. I’ll wear him with pride.

  He lifted his head to look at her. His pupils were huge against his irises, his mouth swollen from their kisses.

  “You going to put it on?” he rasped. “For me?”

  She nodded, incapable of speech. She was so full of wanting, so pregnant with desire, it suffocated her words.

  He wants me so much. Look at him. He’s flushed. His pulse is pounding. There’s sweat at his hairline.

  When he lifted the collar before her nose, she pulled it from him, relishing the slow sli
ther of the leather leaving his grasp. The buckle was cold against her fingers. It was colder against her throat; she wrapped it around her neck, her fingers adroit as she snapped it not on the fourth buckle, which would have given her room to grow, but the third, so it pinched.

  She didn’t mind a bit of breath play.

  “How’s this work?” He nuzzled her along the edge of the collar, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin there. “I want it to be fun. Good.”

  “Everyone has different rules of play.” She let her head thunk back against the wall, gazing at him. He was so close, so hot and solid, and she lifted her leg higher on his ass, like she could reel him in with it. He responded by pressing against her. “My rule, when I’m holding the leash, is whoever holds the lead is in charge. Completely. I have to do what you want. Anything you want. I’m yours. I belong to you. I’m your fuckable property.” She reached for him, her fingers cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing along the hollow below. “The collar is symbolic of my place in our relationship right now. Take that as you will. Take me as you will.”

  She could practically see the wheels spinning inside his head. He lifted his hand and wound the leash around his fist, tight enough so there was no slack. “So if I told you to suck my cock . . .”

  “I’d get down on my knees right now.” Her hands swept over his broad shoulders and then over his chest, palms circling his nipples. “Gladly. Eagerly. Because you own me right now. If I don’t want something, I’ll tell you outright, and you’ll stop.”

  “Of course I will. But for right now, do it. Suck my cock.

  “Do it.” He jerked on the leash, rough, and she nearly creamed herself when he stepped back so she could collapse in front of him. He kept the line taut, limiting her movement, and she liked it. She liked that he was exploring his boundaries with her. Even if that meant she had to assume the role she was far less used to, she liked the idea of him choosing her to test his limits with.