Against the Ropes

by Sarah Castille

  to be a monkey on a flying trapeze mood? I had other ideas about what

  might happen in here.”

  The sound of Max wheezing in a breath startles me. I spin around

  just as he doubles over with laughter and clutches his stomach. Yes. I

  pump my fist in the air. I cracked the uncrackable Max.

  “Stop looking at me,” he barks. “Go and hold onto the rail.”

  I grasp the bar overhead with two hands. “Like this?”

  “Take a few steps back so your weight is forward.”

  After I’m in proper trapeze position, Max tugs the rope and the

  rail lifts, pulling me up along with it until I am standing on the balls

  of my feet. I am stretched so high my stomach now forms a highly

  desirable concave, but my strapless dress is sliding down too far

  for comfort.

  “Um.” I manage to say before my breasts burst free. Classy. I am so

  cut out for high society.

  “Don’t let go.”

  “Is that ‘don’t let go in case you hurt yourself’ or ‘don’t let go or

  you’ll be sorry’?”

  Max comes up behind me and brushes his lips over my ear. “What

  do you think?” he purrs.

  “Not really thinking right now, which is my usual state around you.”

  Max chortles. “If you move, this…” he strokes the feather duster

  along my folds, “…will become this.” He smacks my bottom with his

  bare hand and shoots me into shocking arousal.

  “Not moving. Not moving.”

  With a gentle tap, the feather duster hits my bottom. Max brings

  it down again and again. Tap. Tap. Tap. How irritating. The impact

  is barely a whisper, a tease, an amuse bouche for my behind. I wiggle,

  seeking more sensation.

  “Do you want to be spanked, baby?” He brings the duster down

  harder and the tickle turns into an itch. Arrrgh. It makes me almost

  want to say yes. But I don’t. Never really having been spanked before, I

  have no frame of reference to answer his question.

  His hand slides over my bottom, and he brushes a finger through

  the crevice of my cheeks. I shudder at the intimate touch, but by the

  time I’ve recovered his finger has moved on, gliding into the wet center

  of my body. I moan, so ready for him, I can barely stand it.

  “Yes, you do,” he rasps.

  “Max! Please!” I rock my hips against his fingers as he teases me

  toward my peak.

  “No Max please,” he murmurs in my ear. “I want to hear ‘yes,

  Max,’ and nothing else.” He nibbles my earlobe and feather kisses along

  my neck.

  “Yes, Max.”

  “Good girl. You get a reward.” He kicks my legs apart and slides his

  erection, hot and heavy, along my folds.

  Jeez. When did he undress?

  The violent gesture combined with the erotic sensation of his hot,

  heavy shaft between my thighs sends a firestorm through my blood.

  My body trembles with need and the exertion of holding the rail and

  balancing on my toes. Too much. Too many things to think about. I

  whimper softly and moisture trickles down my thigh.

  “Hold on, baby.” He pulls away and I hear the crinkle of a condom

  wrapper. Then he is back, easing me open to accommodate his girth.

  “Yes, Max,” I groan.

  He laughs, low, deep, and sexy and then he fills me. Slowly this

  time. He eases himself into my body and sinks deep. I sigh, relieved to

  finally have him where I want him. Now, if he would only move.

  “I could stay here forever,” he rumbles. Not the words I want to hear.

  I angle my hips and push against his pelvis. I need him so badly I

  ache and throb inside.

  “Aaaaagh,” I groan my frustration.

  “So impatient,” he whispers. “I know what you want, but it’s better

  if you wait.”

  Better for whom?

  His hand slides over my hip, brushing over my mound, before set-

  tling on teasing circles around my sensitive nub. My core spasms. He

  drives and he strokes, building a rhythm, building my need.

  My body arches into the sensation, but it isn’t enough. I tighten

  my grip on the rail and push against his movement. “Harder,” the word

  comes out before I can stop it. “More.”

  He freezes and his voice sharpens with warning. “What did you say?”

  My pulse races. “Yes, Max.”

  He groans and pinches my sweet spot with firm, gentle pressure,

  the one touch I was waiting for. My release comes hard and fast, my

  sex convulsing around him as waves of sensation explode through me.

  Max slides his hands to my hips and grips them hard. He increases

  his pace, driving into me with such force, I can barely keep hold of the

  rail. My body tightens and I near the peak again. So good. “Yes, Max.

  Yes. Yes—”

  Just as I think my body can’t get any tighter, the sensations any

  stronger, Max angles himself to thrust against a spot so sensitive my eyes

  slit closed. My orgasm explodes from me, sending ripples of liquid heat

  through my body.

  With a shout, Max shudders and swells inside me, pumping hard

  and deep. When he finally stills, he pries my fingers from the rail and

  pulls me back into his chest. After a few minutes, he gently eases away

  and disposes of the condom. Then he returns to hold me some more.

  I melt into the warmth of his arms. “You’re very creative when it

  comes to sex.”

  Max chuckles. “I used to bartend at a sex club when I was younger.

  I was curious and wanted to check the scene out from a safe distance.

  They gave me a few ideas.”

  “Are you…into BDSM?”

  “I enjoy it as a game, especially the dominance aspect, but not as a

  lifestyle. I like to be in control in the bedroom and take it right to the

  edge. Just like in the ring.”

  My breath whooshes out of me and I swallow hard. What does that

  mean? Whips and chains and spankings? Oh my.

  We dress in silence and straighten the room. As I reach for the door,

  Max cups my face in his hands and kisses me, a long, soft, tender kiss. A

  kiss that says more than words.

  We make it back to the table just before dessert, a delightful combina-

  tion of cherries jubilee and chocolate cake. After dinner, music fills the

  tent and we follow a troupe of dancers into the hall for a Champagne

  Promenade, followed by a two-hour concert during which at least half

  the men fall asleep.

  By ten o’clock we are back in the tent for the after party. My head is

  spinning from the overload of sensation and way too much alcohol, but

  I manage to drag Max to the edge of the dance floor through the hoards

  of overbearing mothers and their undernourished daughters all trying to

  get a piece of what’s mine.

  “I like jealous Makayla,” Max whispers, when I scowl at another

  couture-clad matriarch desperately trying to get Max’s attention.

  “I’m not jealous.”

  “I think you’ve left fingerprints across my hip.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s hard to balance in these shoes.”

  “Those shoes put you at a perfect height.” His fingers brush under

  my skirt, and he pinches my cheek.

  “
Ow.”

  “Max, darling, are you bothering this girl?”

  One of the grand dames of the gala kisses Max firmly on both

  cheeks and then turns her gaze to me. She holds up a thick pair of glasses

  on a stick and peers at me through at least three thick inches of lens.

  I shudder under the scrutiny of monster-size eyes and return her stare.

  She drops the glasses and huffs her derision with an inelegant snort.

  “Really, Max. This? Instead of my Tootles?”

  “Tootles?” I have to ask.

  “My granddaughter. She was with Max for—” She cocks her head

  to the side and her eyes narrow. “How long was it?”

  “I can’t recall, Moira,” Max’s voice is cold and stiff.

  “Longer than anyone else. I do remember that.” She peers at me

  again through her enormous lenses. “They were engaged. Did he tell

  you that?”

  “Engaged? You were engaged? To Tootles?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t be shy, Max.” The grand dame’s voice becomes decidedly

  cold. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. There aren’t many men the

  family would even allow near Tootles. She has one of the finest pedi-

  grees on the West Coast.”

  A giggle escapes me. I imagine Tootles as a pedigreed poodle

  prancing around at a dog show. I should be upset at the revelation,

  but instead I am amused at the thought of Max with a woman named

  Tootles. Maybe I’ve had too much to drink.

  “Enough, Moria.” Max grabs my arm and pulls me away, but curi-

  osity holds my feet to the ground.

  “What happened to Tootles?”

  “The same thing that will happen to you,” she sniffs. “He’ll have

  his fun with you in the storage room, just like he had with every other

  girl he’s brought to the gala, but in the end, he’ll leave you and marry

  his own kind.”

  My mouth drops open and my heart drops to the floor. My good

  humor dies a thousand deaths.

  “Makayla.” Max touches my arm and I yank it away.

  “Look around this room, girl,” she continues. “This is Society with

  a capital S. These are his people. He can have his pick of any of these

  women. I can tell by looking at you that you don’t belong. Why would

  he want you except to have a bit of fun?”

  Blood thunders through my ears, the rush so loud I can barely hear.

  For the first time in my life, I have nothing to say—no jokes or quips,

  sarcastic comments or smart remarks. All that I am has been sucked into

  the black hole in my chest.

  “MOIRA!” Max’s fists clench and his shout attracts all sorts of un-

  wanted attention. He turns on the grand dame and gives her a piece of

  his mind. But I’m not interested in what he has to say. I slip through the

  crowd and out the door, just as the clock chimes twelve.

  ....

  Makayla, where are you?

  Just let me know you’re safe

  I’ve checked with Amanda, your parents, your doorman, and your housemates

  Where are you?

  You don’t have to tell me where you are. Just tell me you’re okay

  I’m worried about you, baby

  I should have told you

  I’m sorry

  Chapter 20

  Come With Me

  Friday night. Fight night at Redemption. If Amanda had not

  offered to come with me, I would never have been able to step foot

  through the door. She stands guard outside the first aid office with the

  sole purpose of warning me when Max arrives.

  My first patient walks in before I even put down my purse. He

  introduces himself as Obsidian. His voice is so low he should be narrat-

  ing the introduction of every Hollywood film. I run my hands over his

  delicious, dark skin to check for broken ribs. He is broad and heavily

  muscled and I regret he has not pulled a muscle in his groin. Guilt does

  not nag me while I indulge in lustful thoughts about Obsidian. He is no

  rich, society playboy. He would know how to treat a woman.

  Unfortunately, he also knows how to treat a man.

  He confides in me about his problems with his boyfriend, Raoul,

  and his bit on the side, Bulldog. He shares very intimate confidences.

  Too intimate. I recommend toys without sharp edges. After he leaves, I

  want to grab the bleach and give my ears a good scrub.

  Amanda flits in and out, oblivious to the trail of panting men behind

  her. In a white sheath dress and sparkly gold stilettos, her golden curls

  tumbling down her back, she looks like a goddess. In my functional

  stretchy pants and pink Lycra tank, I look like I’m going to yoga class.

  The constant stream of patients keeps me busy until an hour before

  closing time. I have just finished treating Jeff “Jackhammer” Jones for a

  twisted ankle when Max appears in the doorway. My heart sinks. What

  happened to my bodyguard? I had an escape route all planned.

  Max leans against the doorframe until Jackhammer limps away. He

  steps inside and closes the door behind him.

  I jam my hands into my armpits and back up against the wall.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmurs.

  I tighten my lips and stare at the ceiling.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I have patients waiting outside. This isn’t the time.”

  Max frowns. “You work for me, Makayla. If I say it’s time, then

  it’s time.”

  “I have an ethical duty to help people in need. It overrides anything

  a dishonest, playboy boss wants.”

  “She was lying,” he says, his voice strained. “That is how high

  society works. Everyone watches everyone else. Someone saw us come

  out of the storage room and gave the information to the person they

  thought was in a position to do them the biggest favor. In this case,

  Moira. These are people who will befriend you one minute and then

  turn around and stab you in the back the next. It’s why I want nothing

  to do with them and part of the reason why I left all that in my past.”

  “I might have believed you if I hadn’t heard something similar from

  Sandy. Go away.”

  Max takes a step toward me. “I understand you’re angry, baby.

  What she said was hurtful, cruel, and directed at me. She hasn’t forgiven

  me for splitting with her granddaughter.”

  I frown. “Sandy is Tootles.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were engaged to her.”

  “Not exactly.”

  I tap my foot on the tiled floor. “What does that mean? You either

  asked her to marry you or you didn’t.”

  Max sighs and leans against my examination table. “She only knew

  me as Torment. We pretended to be engaged so she could get a break

  from things. I went along because she was my girl. Neither of us real-

  ized her family would check into my background and uncover a family

  history I had gone to great lengths to hide.”

  His words are like a slap across my face. Sandy, the society darling,

  was his girl. Makayla, the poor admin clerk, is not even in his league. A

  bruise of sadness forms in my chest.

  “Get out.”

  “Baby—”

  “Don’t call me that. I don’t belong in your world. Money was tight

  when I was a
kid and it was tighter when I went to college. I never

  even rode a horse much less had four horses, and we never even had a

  house until Mom met Steve. I’m not telling you that so you feel sorry

  for me. I want you to understand we are different—too different. I had

  deluded myself into thinking you were a regular guy. You’re not. You

  need someone like Sandy. Not someone like me.”

  The skin around Max’s eyes bunches and his face softens. “What’s

  really bothering you? It isn’t finding out about my society ties.”

  “You lied to me.”

  He shakes his head. “I never lied to you. I didn’t think it

  was important.”

  “It’s important to me. Ex-society fiancées who hug and kiss you

  and party with your friends and tweet my bottom around the world

  are important to me. Your background, understanding who you are

  and where you’re from, is important to me.” I take a deep breath and

  continue. I am on a roll. “We have great sex and fun together, but you

  never talk about yourself. It hurts to find out from a stranger you were

  engaged to Sandy. It hurts to know you were keeping secrets from me.

  I thought we were close. I thought we shared something special. I was

  wrong.” I am righteous in my fury and drowning in hypocrisy.

  A solemn expression crosses his face. “You mean more to me than

  you could possibly imagine. You want to know who I am, I’ll show

  you.” He holds out his hand. “Come with me.”

  “No. It’s too late. It won’t change anything.”

  He gives me an impatient look. “Come.”

  “No.” My bottom lip trembles. “Just leave me alone.”

  “I won’t take no for an answer.” His voice breaks. “I’m not losing

  you over this.” He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.

  “Put me down,” I screech.

  “Not until you see what I want you to see.”

  “You can’t leave the first aid office unattended. What if the regula-

  tors show up? They will shut you down for good.”

  “I’ll ask Rampage to find someone to fill in.”

  Tears spill from my eyes. “Stop, Max. I don’t want this. It’s not funny.”

  He ignores me and strides toward the door.

  “Please Max.” I choke back a sob. This is worse than hearing about

  Tootles and the storage room, worse than knowing I don’t fit in. He is