Amethyst and Gail laughed, then helped Elizabeth through the broken door. Gail clung to her hand for a moment, then came back.
Ratty held the jagged edges away from the bruised girl, then followed both Amethyst and Elizabeth.
Gail glared at Kartane. “I’m staying.”
“So am I,” said another of the slave girls.
“And me.” The red silk-clad woman had her hands on her hips. She smiled at Kartane. It wasn’t a submissive smile.
Kartane looked up at Talia. “Talia? You, too? I demand that you assist me!”
She shook her head, but after a moment, a look of sadness crumpled her face. Her shoulders slumped, as if Kartane’s predicament stole her strength. “A weak master is a sad thing. But I cannot hurt you.” She turned her back on all of them, followed the others through the door.
Martin and Charlotte rose. He addressed Peter. “This”—he indicated Kartane’s undertunnel den—“is emphatically not part of Subspace. Subspace is only about consensual play. I want you to know I had nothing whatsoever to do with Kartane’s illegal activities here, and no knowledge of it.”
“Then you probably don’t want to know what’s about to happen here.” Peter didn’t take his eyes off Kartane, who rubbed his head where Ratty’s stone had landed. “You both probably should leave. Now.”
Martin nodded, but Charlotte balked. She spoke to Peter. “Promise you won’t kill him. He wasn’t always this way. I can’t allow . . . he doesn’t deserve to die, is all. I’m calling the cops, you know. They’ll lock you up if you kill him. Gail, you too.”
“Spoilsport.” Gail bared her teeth at Kartane, who shuddered.
“I wouldn’t dream of murdering him.” Peter looked a great deal less desperate and more purposeful now that he’d achieved his goal of finding his daughter. He looked powerful and almost handsome. “I won’t do anything to him that he hasn’t done to my daughter.”
Gail looked at Peter approvingly.
Kartane paled.
Charlotte nodded. She looked from Gail to Peter, then back again, suddenly distracted. “Oh.”
Of all times for it to happen. Of all the impossible times. Charlotte nearly laughed as the film in her mind rolled. The X-rated movies, finally playing for Gail.
Fit and frisky, a nude Peter embraced Gail. He didn’t use a condom, Charlotte noticed. Gail might actually get the baby she craved, as well as the partner.
“Gail,” she began, her voice choked up. “You won’t believe what I’ve just seen.”
But Gail still glared at Kartane.
Charlotte swallowed her emotions. Time enough to tell her later. If it proved necessary. “Just don’t kill anyone,” she repeated, talking to the air between them both. “Either of you. You’ll be glad you didn’t.” She edged toward the broken door. “Good-bye, Kartane. Don’t ever contact me again. Assuming they leave you in any condition to do so.”
“Charlotte, don’t go! Please!”
Martin propelled her firmly away when she wavered. She was grateful for his strength, as her own seemed to have temporarily deserted her. She had the shakes again.
“I just can’t believe it. He’d whipped Gail, hitting her and hurting all of them. Like he did to me when we were married. He was going to do it to me again.”
“Shh. It’ll be okay. You’re with me now, and you’re safe. Everything is as it’s supposed to be, now.” Martin spoke in a deep, reassuring voice. They climbed into the Blood Orange room, and it was as if they’d entered another dimension. The rust, dust, and wet rot of the undertunnels gave way to faint smoke and sweat scent that tickled her nostrils. The music throbbed underfoot, smoothing Charlotte’s pulse to a more regular beat in time to it.
It seemed impossible that she should feel better so quickly.
And yet she did. Not perfect, but better.
She clung to Martin, relishing his muscles, remembering his strength. Savoring his faith in her. Appreciating his patience. He’d led the rescue. Without him she’d be lost.
She gazed up at him, all her love and lust offered up to him, if he wanted it. “Almost everything’s as it’s supposed to be,” she finally corrected. “There’s one small thing still missing.”
He stopped. He raised his eyebrows, then gave her a speculative look. “I see. In that case, three things must occur. First, we call the police, get that mess in the undertunnels dealt with. But not yet. I believe the victims will benefit from the catharsis of some minor vengeance. I figure we can give them”—he indicated the shattered door and those on its other side—“an hour of time. Or, two hours? Will that be enough to do what they need to do?”
He was actually asking her? She nodded slowly, the weight of judgment making her limbs heavy even as the fairness of such rough justice caused an aesthetic and cathartic shiver of appreciation.
Of course Martin was asking her. She’d been a victim once. Of Kartane. “Yes. Two hours.”
“Second, you let me give you a luxurious bath in back.”
Her entire body clenched with pleasure at the thought, and she all but moaned. “Yes!” She snuggled more deeply against him, breathing him in. Her savior.
“Third. Third . . .” He held her away from him. He bestowed a look of such knowing sternness, her knees weakened and her insides fluttered. “Third, we conclude our own unfinished business, Charlotte. In the same room, where the walls are padded. I’m going to give you some new bruises inside and out, my sweet. I’m going to terrify you in the best possible way, and I promise you’ll remember every moment of it for the rest of your life.”
She looked into his dark eyes. She believed him.
She nodded, a formal agreement.
They both ignored the revelers swirling around them, the laughter and the violence both. He nodded, contemplative. “Be sure. Be sure I’m the one you want.”
“Are you kidding? I just need to know if you’re willing to do the dirty deed.”
He smiled his answer. It was a happy smile and a cruel smile, and her muscles twitched pleasurably and her nipples hardened at the sight of it.
“Very well, Charlotte. Let’s begin soon so I can hear you scream just for me.”
28
Martin would soon tear her panties off again.
Charlotte’s belly plunged in excitement.
A warmer, more tender feeling snaked through her as well. She let her fingers trail over the padded wall of the room, remembering the bath. It went faster than ideal, since they both had other things on their minds.
Even so, Martin’s hands as he’d bathed her had touched her skin and scalp with reverent gentleness. As if he couldn’t bear to press too hard or accidentally pull her long hair. He’d acted as if she were made of fragile glass.
His soft touch had caused the tender warmth to bloom inside her.
Such gentleness from Martin was a little funny when she thought about it.
She whirled around, carefree, laughing. Her hair streamed out, mostly dry, and the scent of flowers filled the air around her. She probably glowed with the delightful emotions. Plug her in, she’d light up the entire club. Martin commanded her heart as well as her body. She knew the signs, having seen them in her clients often enough. Infatuation.
Maybe even love.
Certainly lust.
The thought of Martin’s imminent “home break-in” had her almost painfully excited.
She mentally blessed whatever detail-oriented decorator saw fit to fill the games room cabinet with ladies dresses.
Jeans were problematic for the game they were about to play even if she had been willing to put on the filthy things. The time in the cell had rendered them unpleasant.
Charlotte smoothed her hands over the unfamiliar garment, glad the flowing ivory selection fit her as well as it did. After Martin had deposited her into the room wearing only her towel, then left, she’d pulled the dress out from the cabinet. It had to be a hundred years old. A miracle it fit and that the fragile fabric didn’t fall apart.
<
br /> She felt the lacy edging at the wrists and neck prickle her flesh. The mild discomfort stimulated her. Everything stimulated her. Where did all this energy come from? Was it as simple as Martin’s delicate, healing touch?
She stared in the mirror. The dress would be nothing but rags when Martin was through.
She smiled.
She watched a woman from another century smiling back, seated there before her boudoir, gazing into the ornate gilded mirror. Surrounded by delicate things like perfume bottles, with a silver brush in her hand, Charlotte felt as if she’d stepped into another body. A newer, braver one.
A vulnerable, innocent-looking one.
A happy one.
What does such a woman do at such a time? Why, she brushes her hair, of course.
Charlotte brushed her hair.
Martin walked in without knocking and the noise of Subspace intruded. He eyed her dress. He slowly closed the door behind him.
With the door shut, her own fast breathing was all she could hear. He looked serious. His face was that of a stranger.
Pleasure spiked in her. A stranger had broken into her home.
She dropped the brush, which clattered on the marble tabletop of the dresser. She stood up while backing away, so that the chair she’d sat in fell over. “I don’t . . .”
“Shut up.” Martin took in the way she clasped her arms around her body protectively. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt. His hand traveled down, hooked into the pocket of his black pants. “Aren’t you a sight in your pretty dress.”
Her expression of dread must’ve pleased him. He gave her a coldly lecherous smile. “Take it off.”
She moved slightly, in preparation for a mad dash.
He raised a blocking arm. “Sorry. You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished with you.”
“Please leave.” She tried to stare him down, intimidate him. It failed utterly. To her surprise, real tears sprang into her eyes, blurring him to a stranger. She tingled with fear and anticipation. “You can’t.”
“Watch me.” He crossed to her, fought for control of her arms, finally lifting them above her head. He kissed her, and his lips were unfamiliar. His scent reassured her even as the hungry disregard of his mouth made her heart lurch wildly in a panic.
“Stop!” She struggled, turning her head away.
Instead of answering, he pushed her to the padded floor, then fell atop her. It knocked the breath out of her.
She tried to wriggle away, but he pulled her back, ripping her dress and baring her breasts. “Very nice.” When she tried to buck him off, he wrapped one hand around her neck. “No.” With the other, he explored her body, ripping cloth as he traveled down her body.
He tweaked one nipple, then the other. When she whimpered, he grinned and moved his hand from her neck to her mouth. “Go ahead. Scream if you want.”
She bit his hand instead.
He pressed harder in response. “You’re going to pay for that.” He sounded happy.
She could relate. His rough treatment had her on the verge of orgasm, but as he twisted one nipple punishingly, she did scream. He gave her the beatific grin of a sadist.
Then he ripped her panties—they came off only after he pulled hard enough to bruise, making her yelp again. He fumbled at his pants as she bucked frantically.
He pushed her down brutally, using his weight to keep her legs pinned as he fumbled between her thighs and his. Then she felt his warmth and heft and hardness, and she panicked anew, twisting in desperation, trying to keep her legs sealed shut against him.
He thrust once. The feel of his head bruised her sensitive swollen flesh, the crown parting her. He thrust again, forcing himself in, penetrating her defenses. Her walls stretched as he filled her. He pushed his cock into her.
She screamed at the invasion. Then again as it dug even deeper, seemingly splitting her apart. He was in her to the hilt, and she could feel the hard muscles all up and down his body dominating her, trapping her. He forced himself in again and his balls pushed against her spread inner thighs and ass as he pounded into her very center. The hardness of him bruised and stretched her further, pinching and hurting, and she screamed against his hand.
He thrust again and again. After a time all she could manage was a moaning grunt in time with his thrusts.
The friction of his brutal movements ignited her. The unspeakable pleasure at what he did to her, at his domination and his contemptuous use of her body, spiraled up and up. All she could feel was him.
“You’re all mine, aren’t you.”
She looked at him and saw the bestial pleasure on his face as he used her. It matched the movie visions perfectly, and she knew he was about to come.
Her pleasure swelled ever higher. Against his rutting thrusts, she shook her head. She had to be defiled this way. She embraced her fear as she tried frantically to buck him off. She failed to budge him even slightly. Her body began to tremble with the uncontrollable onset of orgasm.
“That’s what I thought,” he told her with gentle scorn even as animal lust contorted his features.
He increased his rhythm to please himself.
It sent an enormous, shuddery wave of pleasure through her, tipping her over the edge.
When she screamed against his hand, it was in mindless ecstasy.
“You’re going to have bruises,” he said, cuddling her afterward. “Here, and here. And here. Oh, and here.” He touched her gently, reverently. “Let me kiss each of them. And all the new ones I’ll be giving you.”
“Can I give you some, too?” She snuggled into him, covered only in a welcome cooling sweat and his large, protective body. Her body tingled and throbbed with a pleasurable sensation of sated lust and a deep contentment. She was well used, she thought with satisfaction. She’d never felt so at peace. “I mean, fair’s fair.”
“If you want.” He gave her a lazy smile. “Could be fun, once you learn how to do it properly. And if you promise not to abandon me again in the middle of a session.” He looked at her with the stern look that turned her insides to jelly.
“Okay. I promise.” She kissed him on his stubble-covered jaw. He’d forgotten to shave. He’d been worried about her.
She settled deeper into his comforting embrace. Martin was right. Everything was as it was supposed to be.
She was crazy about him. She traced Martin’s muscled chest with one investigating fingertip. Martin was nothing like Kartane.
Which reminded her. “What about the police? It’s probably time to call them. Do you think Kartane’s okay?” She fretted. “I wonder what they’re doing to him.”
“Nothing he doesn’t deserve, I’m sure. They’ll keep him busy for a few more minutes.” He held her close, nuzzling her hair with his chin. “Are you really worried about him?”
She thought of the past week, and all it had revealed. “Not too much. He hurt a lot of people. Badly.”
“Including you,” Martin reminded her.
“I’m all better now, thanks to you. You know who I’m worried about? Hoagie.”
She tilted her head up for a moment to watch Martin’s forehead crease into a small frown. “Hoagie. Not the sandwich, one presumes. The name sounds familiar, but I don’t remember a Hoagie. Is it a club name?”
She giggled, still a little high from their violent lovemaking. “Not exactly. Hoagie’s my dog. My adorable mutt, raised from a puppy, living with my ex because my little apartment doesn’t come with a backyard. I should go check on him. Kartane has a nice house, but he’s shown enough lack of empathy that I’m a bit worried about Hoagie.”
“Charlotte.”
The seriousness in his voice stilled her, made her look up again at him curiously. “Yes?”
“I have a backyard. And a very nice house. Would you and your dog like to share it with me? I can keep Hoagie in more dog toys than he’ll ever need.” Martin’s light tone didn’t match the steady intensity of his gaze. His fingertips grazed the flesh of her arm, then s
houlder, raising delightful shivers. It was his most gentle touch, again. He had so many touches to offer her.
They had so many to offer each other. “You’re serious. Move in with you?” She checked his face again. “You’re really serious.”
He nodded. “With the Subspace sale proceeds plus turning my share of Pavlov’s Pet Joy into big cash, even after my mom’s bills I’ll be doing quite well. Plenty well enough to make investments. I’ll take care of overhead while you ramp up your matchmaking business. The western wing of the house can be my office. The eastern wing can be your office. You have a gift and passions that should be used. We both do. Don’t you agree?”
Eastern wing? Did she agree. What a foolish question. Visions of a house so big it had wings danced in her head, making her feel giddy. She could live and work in such a house. With Martin! Her naughty matchmaking movies could play every day and night, and not just for others anymore. “Yes. Okay. I’d love to.”
The force of his arms clamping around her conveyed the depth of his relief, as did his low voice growling in her ear. “Good. You won’t regret it. I’ll help you move tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“You say ‘okay’ a lot. Did you know that?” The smile in his voice when he spoke brought an answering one to her lips.
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
She pondered, then turned a cheeky grin on him. “Does it bug you? Okay, okay, okay. Okay?”
He chafed her hand with the gentleness that thrilled, and the promise of roughness that thrilled even more. “I believe that is what they call ‘playing with fire.’ ” He dumped her off his lap.
“Okay,” she taunted.
He ignored it. “And you’re going to get burned. Again and again. I hope that’s okay.” He returned her cheeky grin. Only his was decidedly sadistic.
“With you, yes.” When his hands grew much less gentle, she shuddered with pleasure. “It is definitely okay.”
29
Gregory guided the enormous Halloween tour down into the farthest reaches of the Riverport undertunnels.
He’d forgotten the superstitious nonsense of the last tour days ago, and tonight’s festive crowd—many in costumes, many who’d begun drinking early during the holiday evening—helped keep the heebie-jeebies away. With such a record-breaking crowd, he’d make enough money to advertise nationally. Business would boom. Maybe he’d complain again about the fetish club next door, get that seedy place shut down. Their goings-on were an offense against decent society, he thought indignantly.
Rough Play Page 24