Then she was there, storming along beside him, a bag slung over her shoulder. She took off her collar and flung it at the biggest man’s face, along with a stream of furious words. The man yelled back at her, a heated exchange that probably included both the words “I quit” and “You’re fired.” After the doormen extracted payment for Jason’s drinks, he and his waitress were forced out the door.
Fucking hell. It was cold outside, and she stood in nothing but a bra, garter skirt, and stockings. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her until she could pull some jeans and a sweater from her bag. People hurried by, minding their own business. Nothing to see here. Just got kicked out of a fetish club.
“That was fucking ridiculous.” Jason fumed when she handed his jacket back. “Is that true what you said? That they were trying to get me drunk?”
“They do it all the time, to all the tourists who wander in there.”
She’d almost said stupid tourists. He was glad she stopped herself, because he already felt humiliated enough. “We should go to the police.”
“The police won’t do anything.” Her gaze darkened, her blue eyes snapping in anger. “And I won’t get my money. All that work, three weeks, for nothing.”
“I’m sorry. I guess that was my fault.”
She gave him a look of exasperation and walked away.
“Hey.” He shrugged into his jacket and followed her. “Let me make it up to you. How much money were you due?”
She put her head down, walking faster. “I don’t want your money. It wasn’t your fault, not really. And I hated that job.”
“I owe you. You saved my ass in there with that horror or whatever it was called.”
“Har.”
“Will you stop a minute?”
She halted and turned to him, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Inside, he’d sensed some chemistry between them, but now…
He broke out his most charming, seductive smile. “You can tell me your name now, can’t you?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Would you like to get something to eat? I want to make this up to you but I don’t know how.” I’d like to fuck you too, and explore your beautiful body, and kiss those pouting lips. “There’s a place at my hotel, a restaurant with a bar. It’s not too far from here.” He was propositioning her. They both knew it.
She studied him in silence. What did she see? A stupid American? Some businessman looking for a one-night stand? “I’m not hungry,” she said in a flat voice.
“How about some coffee then? We should hang out for a while.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Because my boss told me I had to sample the pleasures of Mongolia. But that wasn’t why. There was something else in play here, some weird, aching attraction that wouldn’t go away. “Because you helped me,” he finally said. “Because I’m a flailing, clueless American in Ulaanbaatar and I just got you fired, and I’d like to make it up to you, if there’s any way.”
“There’s no way. You can’t make it up to me.”
She took off again. He lunged and grabbed her elbow. “Please, wait.”
She angled herself away from him, but she didn’t go. He stared down at her, wondering why he was doing this hard sell. He didn’t usually have to. Women threw themselves at him in Paris, due to his reputation as a skilled Dom. Women liked his body, his build. He was tall and muscular, and exceptionally fit from his background in acrobatics. How long since he’d petitioned a woman like this, begged for sex? He hadn’t begged yet, but he might if it came to that, if that’s what it took to possess this lovely creature just once. One time, that was all he needed, or he’d spend his whole life wishing she hadn’t gotten away.
“Do you have to leave right now?” he asked. “Where are you going?”
“Home. It’s late.”
“It’s not that late.”
“It’s cold and I just got fired.”
“I can warm you up.” He didn’t mean the words to sound sleazy. Oh wait, yes, he did.
She shook her head. “You’re a tourist. You’re going to leave. I don’t have time for this.”
She set her jaw, her lips pursed into a heart shape he wanted to kiss. She wanted him. He knew it, but she wouldn’t have him. She was too angry, too conflicted. And he would leave in a few days, as she said. She didn’t want a hook-up, and that was all he could offer her.
“Okay then.” He gave up, because he believed in control, even control of his own passionate urges. “Let me give you some money and find you a cab.”
“No.”
He let out a huff of frustration. “Tell me your name, at least.”
“No.”
“You’re full of nos. To be honest, I preferred the Yes, Masters. They were pretty great.” He put a thumb under her chin and tilted her face to his. “Are you okay? Have those guys roughed you up before? Was it a…a bad place to work?”
She swallowed hard, her gaze flitting away. “It was an awful place to work. This is an awful place to live. You’re lucky you get to leave.”
Surely she would fit in his suitcase. He could take her home, put a collar around her neck. “My name’s Jason,” he said, taking out his wallet for a business card. “Jason Beck. If you ever need anything, I live in Pari—”
She pushed his hand down before he could give it to her. “Please, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
* * * * *
For a moment, he looked so angry she thought he might slap her. But no, he wasn’t that type of man. He was civilized, disciplined. Controlled. He returned the card to his wallet as she saved his name in her memory. Jason. Jason Beck.
When things got bleak—and they were always bleak—she would repeat it to herself and remember there were men like Jason Beck in the world, men with big, graceful bodies and kind eyes.
But to go with him to his hotel, to accept the one-night stand he was offering, that would only bring regret.
Push and pull. She’d always liked that English phrase, and now she understood it. Jason Beck was like some physical force of nature. The harder she pushed him away, the more she felt pulled to him. He had pushed and pulled at the club, pushed away Tomor when he tried to silence her. He’d tried to protect her.
That was an entirely new thing.
“If you’re going to leave me with nothing,” he said, pocketing his wallet, “at least give me a name. Any name. Otherwise I’ll make up something ridiculous to remember you by, like Fantasia Dee-lite, or Cinnamon Buns.”
A sense of humor too. She let out a sigh. “I suppose you could call me...Sara.”
“Sara? That’s an English name.”
“If you wish.”
His eyes narrowed and his lips turned down at the corners, not in a scary way, but enough to see the dominant personality there. She was certain he was dominant. His posture, his questions, the way he’d defended her at the club, even his persistence in the face of her refusals, all of it communicated dominance and power. This man was used to being obeyed. She wondered what it would be like to do a BDSM scene with him. She could find out if she wanted to, if she wasn’t so tired of loss, of hurting.
“Silly Sara,” he said. He slid a hand across her cheek, then cupped her face. She studied his Western features in the dim glow of the surrounding shop lights. Wide-set, long-lashed blue eyes, a straight, handsome nose, and full lips that curved in the most seductive way. His shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back, but some stray strands escaped. Under the streetlight she could see other colors reflected in them. Gold, mahogany, brass.
“Why did you call me silly?” she asked.
“Because you won’t come to the hotel with me. You want to. You just won’t.”
“I can’t.” A stupid, vague excuse, but she couldn’t be more specific. She couldn’t confess that one night with him would probably destroy her, because nothing afterward could ever live up to it. She hated this sexy, powerful, enthralling, foreign man. She also wanted him more th
an she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
“I’m very kinky,” he said. “You would have a lot of fun with me, because I think you’re very kinky too.”
She looked around self-consciously. There were people everywhere, coming and going from the clubs. “That’s good to know. Let go of me, please.”
He didn’t let go of her. “Do you have a lover here, Sara? Someone who satisfies your needs? I hope so. I hope that’s why you’re turning me down.”
“I’m turning you down because you’re leaving.” To her horror, she felt tears glossing over her eyes. That was all she needed, to start bawling in front of him.
“I’m not leaving yet.” His fingers trailed over her jaw line. “I have three days. Maybe four.”
“One night,” she heard herself say. “One time.”
Really, Sara? After all that, she was going to give in? But the pull…the pull was so strong.
He let go of her face and touched her arm. “If you like, it can just be a scene. No sex. It can be anything you want it to be.”
She gave a short, fluttery laugh. “No sex?”
“Or sex. Lots of sex. Either way.”
She hugged her bag closer. “This is a horrible idea.”
“We’ll probably have a horrible time, but as you said, it’s just one night.”
She ignored his teasing, his beguiling smile, and spoke with intensity. “I meant what I said. One night, because you’re leaving and I don’t want to get attached to you only to say goodbye. I don’t want you trying to talk me into anything else. Not two nights. Not three nights. One night together. That’s all.”
“Okay. One night.”
“You promise? Say it to me. ‘I won’t try to talk you into anything else.’” She stared at him so he would understand how serious she was.
“One night,” he said after a moment. “I won’t try to talk you into anything else.” Again, the teasing edges of his mouth turned up. “You’re awfully demanding for a slave type.”
“I’m not making demands. I’m negotiating.”
He threw his head back and laughed. It was such a rich, surprising sound that she couldn’t hold back an answering smile. She hadn’t smiled in so long.
One night. She’d earned it this last couple years. She would deal with the loss of him later. She told herself it was better than dealing with the loss of him now.
He slid a hand around her waist and placed another on her neck. He squeezed, not hard, but hard enough to make her tremble. “Do you like it rough or gentle, Sara? Playful or intense?”
She should lie and say gentle. Playful. He was a stranger, someone she hadn’t known a couple hours ago.
But he would know if she lied. He stared at her as if he was analyzing every feature, every whisper of emotion on her face. In the end she gave him truth, because they only had this one time. “I like it intense, Master. I like it to hurt.” His fingers tightened against her pulse, prompting deeper confessions. “I like it to feel real.”
His lips closed a moment, then opened. She could feel his cock against her front, a large, hard warning of things to come. What are you getting yourself into? He’s a huge guy. He could take you somewhere and beat you to death.
But he wouldn’t. She knew with some inborn, animal sense that this man preferred to nurture, not destroy. She could see in his eyes that he understood her—and even better, that he knew how to meet her needs. “Where can I get something hurty in this city?” he asked. “A whip? A cane? I find myself suddenly in need of one.”
She shivered, holding his gaze for long seconds. “There’s a shop around the corner.”
What are you doing, Sara?
But it was out of her hands now. It was force, magnetism drawing them together. Push and pull.
Chapter Two: Eternal Eyes
At the sex shop, Jason selected a slim rattan cane from a corner case, and a pair of wide leather cuffs. With Sara there to haggle for him, he avoided paying a tourist tax. Even better, he found the items to be of exceptional quality. The cuffs weren’t pleather, but real, fur-lined leather in caramel brown. As for the cane, rattan was rattan, but it was finely turned and polished. Sara swallowed hard when he picked it out. The shopkeeper slid the items into a discreet black bag Jason carried under his arm until they could hail a cab.
Now he faced her across a quiet, dim hotel room, raging with lust for her. What had become of his self-discipline? His control? One night. He had one night and he wanted to make it good for her, make it a night she’d remember her entire life.
“Undress,” he said, pitching his voice low and firm.
She complied at once, slipping gracefully into her role. No bratting, thank God. No nonsense, no games. She stopped when she stood in her lingerie from the club, her pretty bra and garter skirt. “Do you want me to leave these on?” she asked.
“What did I tell you?”
Jason wasn’t a yeller. He wasn’t a scolder. He said it to her matter-of-factly. It was his gaze that made her cringe and blush.
“You said to undress, Master,” she said, bowing her head.
“Did I instruct you to leave anything on?”
“No, Master.”
“Does that answer your question?”
There, that was a good beginning. Establish authority and strict boundaries. Instill a little fear. It was his own playbook, one he’d developed over years in the lifestyle. He was a hardass. She might as well know.
She peeled off her lingerie, eyeing the cane as he tested it in his hands. The hotel room was large but austere. Not very classy, but his soft-voiced slave girl lent a sensual beauty to the stark space. When she stood before him, vulnerable and naked, he laid the cane on the bed and approached her. He loved being clothed when his slaves were naked…a delicious imbalance of power. He stroked her cheek, brushed a hand over her soft black locks. Only then did he shed his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. His tie came next, then he started flicking open buttons.
“I want to touch you,” she said in the barest whisper as he shrugged off his shirt.
He didn’t answer, only pulled her close against his front, so he could feel the press of her firm breasts and the hardness of her nipples. As he did so, he drew her hands behind her back and held them there for ten seconds. Fifteen maybe. Just enough to make her shake, and then he let them go. “You can touch me if you like. For a moment. Then I’m going to be doing the touching.”
She reached out to him, gingerly at first. She stroked his chest and shoulders, and his abs, down to the waistband of his jeans. She wasn’t only touching him, although that would have been stimulant enough. She was admiring him. His cock pulsed and his muscles jumped to life under her hands. He was stiff and sore from a fourteen-hour plane trip, so her squeezing, massaging exploration felt like heaven. He groaned and flexed as she applied pressure in all the right spots. Every so often she made little approving sounds, as she outlined his abs or measured the width of his shoulders with her palms.
When she caressed lower, holding his gaze, he let her undo his belt, flick open the button of his pants and draw down the zipper. She slipped a hand inside his boxer briefs, peeking up at him from beneath her lashes. His cock bucked against her fingers and his whole body tensed. The way she explored him, like he was some wonderland she’d discovered…
Next thing he knew, she was falling to her knees, tugging down his waistband. He arrested her wrists with a sharp sound. “Naughty girl. Slaves don’t take whatever they want. Not my slaves, anyway.”
She stared at him a moment, then crumpled into a ball, pressing her forehead to the back of his hand. “Master, I’m so sorry. I beg your forgiveness. How forward I’ve been!”
Jason loved begging, especially from naked, pretty girls. He let her go on for a while, about what a shamed, worthless slave she was, about how she ought to be punished, and then he grasped a handful of her hair. She looked up at him, real anguish in her features. Ah, she was so good at this. His fist tightened and
curled into the silken strands.
“Of course I’ll punish you. That’s how you learn, yes?”
“Yes, Master.”
He heard true submission, true feeling in her response, even though they both knew he wasn’t really her Master. She was trying so hard to make this good for him, and he was bound and determined to do the same. He went for the cuffs, buckling them around her wrists with a grim, stern expression.
“You need control, yes?” he asked. “You need to be put in your place.”
“Yes, Master.”
He clipped the cuffs together in front of her, then held them in one hand. “You’re very quick with the Yes, Masters. I hope you mean them.”
“I do,” she cried. “I want to serve you.”
Goddamn her, his cock was about to explode. His fingers tightened around her bound wrists. “Let’s see if that’s really true.”
He guided her, face down, to the carpeted floor, until she was propped on her elbows and knees, then he placed a hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her lower. He said “Stay,” and then he grasped and lifted her hips.
What a view. This was worth it, all that begging, all that pleading and fighting for his needs. She was smooth all over, delicate and feminine. He couldn’t resist assessing her as a scout, a coach. She had a beautiful, proportionate body and long smooth muscles that hinted at hidden strength. At his lightest guiding touch, she arched her back and pressed her knees together, her forehead resting on the floor and her bound hands curled into fists above her head.
“I want you to stay this way,” he warned. “No matter what I do to you.”
In answer, she uncurled her fists and spread her fingers wide against the rough carpet. Lovely, obedient girl. He went to the bed to pick up the cane, letting her worry and shake for a bit. They’d done no bargaining, no real negotiating aside from her insistence that they play only this one night. How trusting she was to follow him here and let him bind her hands. To let him use a cane on her. He wanted to punish her for her recklessness more than anything.
Bound in Blue Page 2