Pierced (Tall, Dark, and Handsome Book 2)

by JA Huss

  He opens his mouth to say something. Probably something snarky and rude. But then he just runs his fingers through his hair and sighs.

  “Good choice,” I say, circling him. He spins with me, half looking over his shoulder where Betty and Dave are both now sitting. Watching.

  “So you’re what? A lion tamer? What the hell is up with the cats?”

  “Not cats,” I say, slowly stalking toward him. I crack the whip again, and this time it catches the edge of his leg.

  He hops back a step. “Jesus! Stop doing that!”

  I continue circling, the heels of my thigh-high latex boots clicking on the floor. “We need a safe word before we get started. Because if you tell me to stop again, I’ll stop. And then this will be over and the deal is off.”

  “I think the deal is off,” he says, trying to side-eye me, Betty, and Dave at the same time.

  “Does it scare you, Pierce? Or just make you uncomfortable?”

  “Uh… Yeah. Everything about this is making me uncomfortable. The gate, the house, the… where does one even buy a whip like that?”

  I look at the whip in my hand. I have gloves on, so I can’t feel the well-worn leather handle, but I don’t need to feel it to know what it feels like. “This,” I say, “is actually a family heirloom.”

  Pierce just looks at me. “Who are you?”

  I smile and walk forward. Get close to him, still circling. He stays still now, because I’m pressing my lips up to the back of his neck. I breathe softly on his skin and feel a thrill when it prickles up with chills. “You’re about to find out.”

  He shrugs his shoulders up to his ears like he’s trying to make that chill go away, and then steps back. “You’re crazy. I mean, everyone knows you’re weird. Your little act you put on at work—”

  I snap the whip again and his words fall away. “Is it an act?” I ask.

  He points his finger in my face. “I knew you had a secret fetish side.”

  I turn my back to him and walk across the room. “Follow me. Or don’t. Up to you.”

  I catch Katherine staring at me from around a corner. She smiles one of those big, fat smiles that are nothing but teeth and then turns away to hide the laughing fit that is surely coming.

  Katherine has been the manager out here at the sanctuary since I moved in. We’re not what you’d call friends, or anything. We don’t go out for drinks. We’re more like sisters. She lives here on the property. And when she saw me come down the stairs to wait for Pierce all dressed up like Mistress Myrtle, she made it very clear she wasn’t walking down the hill to her little carriage house until she saw his reaction.

  “Shoo,” I whisper in her direction. And she’s just about to protest when we both hear the clicking of Pierce’s shoes as he crosses the living room.

  Following, just the way he was meant to.

  She ducks away and disappears.

  I lead him through the mansion, taking the long way to the basement on purpose, to confuse him. Make him second- and third-guess his decision to come tonight. Make him question everything he thought he knew about me. And when we finally stop in front of the door that leads down into the basement, I can tell he’s breathing hard.

  Poor, poor Pierce. He has no idea what he’s getting into.

  Ten minutes from now he’ll be in his car driving away as fast as his McLaren can take him.

  Then I’ll have gotten my revenge, have had a good laugh, and be let off the hook for this stupid romantic weekend idea he pulled out of nowhere this morning. I might even grab a bottle of wine and trot down to Katherine’s house so we can giggle over it.

  I pull the basement door open slowly. It squeaks. Loudly. Like a door in a creepy movie.

  And then I turn to him. “Are you ready?” I purr.

  He swallows. Looks down the dark steps. Then at me. “It’s down there, huh? In the basement?”

  “That’s where most dungeons live.”

  He hesitates.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Losing interest in my secret fetish side?”

  “You know… we could just… do this another way?”

  “Another way?”

  “Yeah, you know.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, trying to pretend he’s cool. Like he’s in control here. Like this is just some fantastic joke. “My way.”

  If I wasn’t in character, and if I didn’t take this character seriously, I’d laugh. “I’m going to punish you for that.”

  “For what?”

  “Every moment of my time that you waste comes with consequences.” He squints his eyes at me. “Every time you make me say something twice, I will punish you twice as hard.”

  “Fuck it,” he huffs. “Fine. I’m going. See?” He starts down the stairs. Quick, at first. Then slower. “Are there lights? Or is me breaking my neck just part of being dominated?”

  “I’m going to gag you first,” I say. “To make you stop asking questions.” Which makes him hesitate, but he recovers and continues until he’s at the bottom looking up at me.

  I flash him one last smile and then I close the door and the darkness is complete.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he says. “Could you be any more dramatic?”

  Oh, yes. Yes, I can. Just give me a moment.

  My heels click on the stairs. One. At. A. Time as I descend. When I get to the bottom I lean into him, so close I press my lips to the outer shell of his ear, and say, “Come with me.”

  “Lights? This isn’t a haunted house… is it?”

  I take his hand in mine and walk forward, weaving through the various contraptions that have been placed throughout the room, and ignore him.

  “In due time, my little pet,” I say.

  He mutters curse words under his breath and I’m glad it’s dark. Because I can’t stop the smile.

  “How can you even see where you’re going?” he asks.

  I don’t answer this time. I just drop his hand and walk away.

  The only sound in the room are my heels on the bare concrete and his long, tired sigh.

  “Stay where you are,” I say. “Something might jump out and bite you.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Before we go any further, I want you to pick a safe word. A word you can use if things go too far, too fast, or get too uncomfortable for you. Pick.”

  “Any word?”

  “Any word.”

  “And if I say it—?”

  “I stop whatever I’m doing.”

  He’s silent for a moment. I can almost hear him thinking. Then, finally, he says…

  “Sacrebleu.”

  “Sacrebleu?”

  “Yeah. It’s a French expression.”

  “I know. Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I think so. No. Wait. I’m not sure. It could be good or bad. I don’t want to accidentally shout it out if I like something and have you stop inadvertently.”

  I’m starting to get the feeling he’s stalling. “Pierce—”

  “Sacapuntas!” he exclaims.

  “Saca… what?”

  “Sacapuntas. It’s Spanish for ‘pencil sharpener.’ That’s my safe word.”

  Well… I don’t suppose there’s any chance he’ll shout that by accident.

  “But I doubt I’ll use it,” he goes on, adding, arrogantly, “I can take whatever you dish out.”

  And that’s when the growling starts. It’s low, throaty, and even though I’m the one who set this all up, I get the chills too.

  “Sacrebleu!” he shouts. Unbelievable. “Please tell me that was a recording.”

  “Don’t move,” I say. “Or you’ll find out.”

  “Myrtle?”

  I walk over to the cage, feel around until I find the lock, pull the pin out of the safety and open the door.

  It creaks. Just like the door to the basement.

  The growling gets louder.

  “Myrtle? What the fuck is that?”

  “Shhh,” I say. “Just take off your clothes.”

&
nbsp; “What? No fucking way. Is there an animal in here? Turn the damn lights on!”

  The roaring gets louder and I sense Pierce go utterly still. Three seconds pass. “Myrtle?” he whispers.

  I say nothing.

  “Myrtle!” He whisper-screams it this time. “That isn’t real! I’m not falling for your scare tactics and woe be unto you when I get out of this crazy-ass haunted house fake dungeon—”

  The growling settles down to a low, threatening rumble.

  “Turn the lights on.”

  “Take off your clothes, crawl over here on your hands and knees, and get in the cage.”

  “Fuck that!”

  I crack the whip.

  “No. I’m not doing it. Not until you turn the lights on.”

  “You don’t make the rules, I do. That’s the whole reason you came over here tonight.”

  “So you can put me in a cage?”

  “Would you rather go on the rack? I can handcuff you to the wall and spank you until your pretty ass is bright red.”

  He laughs.

  “That’s OK,” I say. “You can laugh. But I’m dead serious.”

  “OK, hold on. Because some of that sounds… fun, but—”

  I crack the whip again. “Do it. Or leave. Those are your choices.”

  “Is there a goddamn tiger in here?”

  I start walking toward him, the sound of my heels on the floor too loud in the silence. When I reach him, I slide my hands inside his suit coat and press my whole body up to his. “Do you think there’s a tiger in here?”

  His head turns, like maybe his eyes have adjusted to the darkness and he can see shadows. “Why wouldn’t I? You have two cheetahs so—”

  “Servals,” I say. “They’re servals. And they’re not down here. Do you want me to help you?” I ask, pulling his suit coat down his arms.

  “Myrtle—”

  “Shhh,” I say, dropping the coat on the floor and starting on his shirt buttons. “The first lesson you need to learn is trust,” I purr. “Tonight is all about trust.”

  He stammers out a few unintelligible words but when I reach the bottom button on his shirt, he sucks in a breath.

  I really didn’t think he’d get this far, so when my fingertips brush up against the bare skin of his stomach as I remove his shirt, I have to wonder how far I’ll go.

  Am I really going to strip my boss naked and put him in a cage?

  Oh, you betcha.

  I might not have a job tomorrow, but one thing’s for sure. Pierce Chevalier will never humiliate me again.

  “Myrtle,” he says, hands gripping mine when I reach for his belt.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “There isn’t actually a tiger in here, right?”

  “Where would I get a tiger?”

  “Fuck if I know. You have those… cats upstairs. And the gate. The security. And—”

  “Do you want me to stop?” I ask. “All you have to say is…”

  “Sacapuntas?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  But before he has a chance to say anything more, I drag my fingernails down his chest, making chills run through his body.

  “Because I will. Stop. If you want. And you can walk out of here and pretend this never happened.”

  “No. No,” he says, breathy, the feel of my nails on his skin given voice by the sound of his languid protest. “No. I don’t wanna stop.”

  The growling starts again.

  “OK. Fuck. Seriously? I think you have a tiger in here.”

  “Maybe it’s a recording?”

  “Maybe it’s not.”

  I unbuckle his belt. Release his trouser button. Pull his zipper down. “Take them off,” I say.

  I have no idea what’s going through his head right now. I can’t even begin to imagine. But I don’t have time to wonder because he kicks off his shoes and drops his pants.

  “This isn’t fair,” he says.

  “Now get down,” I say. “And crawl. I’ll lead you over to the cage, don’t worry.”

  “Ten minutes,” he says. “I’m staying ten minutes and then this is over.”

  “This is over whenever you want it to be.”

  I know how frustrating it is. Believe me, I get it. There is nothing worse than being in charge of your own submission. Being the one who has all the power but gives it up willingly.

  It’s hard.

  But Pierce doubles down. He drops to the floor and my fingertips thread through his hair. I fist it, gripping tight, and then pull him along as I walk over to the cage. “It’s directly in front of you,” I say. “Just crawl in and wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “Oh,” I say. “Hold on. I almost forgot the gag.”

  CHAPTER TEN - ANASTASIA

  Good morning, Pierce. What did you do last night?

  It doesn’t matter who asks that question tomorrow. Nobody is getting a fucking answer.

  The most unpleasant thing for me at the moment is how cold the floor is. My boxer briefs are thin and this concrete and metal is goddamn chilly. But all of the sudden, out of seemingly nowhere, I am struck with this thought: I’m not going to complain.

  I’m not going to whine. I’m not going to bitch. I’m going to take everything that’s coming my way. Because allowing Myrtle to get her wrong-headed revenge is one thing, but taking it on as my own servility is something else entirely.

  So when she comes at me with the ball gag, which I can barely see in the dimness of the room, I don’t protest or balk at it. I simply open my mouth as wide as I can.

  “Aim for the teeth,” I tell her. “I just had them whitened.”

  And then I champ them together in a flashy grin and once again open wide. She hitches back for a second. My guess is that my apparent and fresh eagerness is throwing her off guard. Good.

  She places the gag in my mouth and her breasts are suddenly dangerously close to my face. They’ve never been this close before. She smells pretty wonderful. I don’t know how a person can smell like beauty and punishment, but Myrtle does.

  Once she has the gag securely placed in my mouth, I ask, “Cooiguadrnkowtrfust?”

  “What?”

  “Cooiguadrnkowtrfust?”

  “Jesus,” she says as she unfastens the strap, pulling the gag free. “What?” she asks again.

  I spit a couple of pieces of plastic-y tasting ball gag from my lips. “I said, ‘Could I get a drink of water first?’ I’m thirsty and I don’t know how long we’ll be down here.”

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  “No.” I grin. Then I open my mouth again and say, “Proceed.”

  I can’t see well enough to actually observe her frustration with me, but I can feel it.

  “Pierce?” she whispers into my ear, leaning in close.

  “Yeah?”

  “This is not a game.”

  “Oh, really? It’s not? Then what the fuck do you call it?”

  “I call it retribution. I call it an agreement. I call it punishment. And right now, you need to shut the fuck up and take it.”

  And at that, she slaps me across the face.

  There’s a tense moment in which the air seems to stop moving. I can feel her holding her breath. I know I’m holding mine. The only sound is the low growl and padding steps of what is either an actual tiger somewhere down here, or an exceptionally realistic sound system.

  I continue to have a lot of questions.

  And then the most unexpected thing happens…

  I feel the lingering burn of her hand across my cheek. The sting of her fingers making contact with my six-thirty shadow. The jolt of adrenaline that came of being touched so violently, from out of nowhere, and the flush of blood that accompanied it.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been hit before. Ever. In my life. This is the first time I’ve ever been struck. By anyone. Ever.

  I think I love it.

  “Again,” I say, the heavy breathing of either her or the phantom tiger the only sound other th
an my half-yearning voice requesting another smack.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Do it again.”

  “Pierce?”

  “Slap me. Again.”

  We look at each other for a moment. I can see the whites of her eyes, staring at me. I know she can see mine. I wonder if she can see the gleam in them. After several protracted breaths, she rears her hand back and does it again. She slaps me across the face. Harder this time.

  But it’s not enough.

  “Harder,” I say.

  “Pierce…”

  “Put the gag back in and do it harder.”

  Even in the dark with her dark clothes covering her, I can see her chest heaving.

  “Let’s go, Christian. Let’s do this shit.”

  And then the energy inside my little cage shifts. She no longer seems uncertain, like she just was, or playfully mistress-like, as she was before that. Her energy now is all business. Like she’s been challenged and she’s readying herself to respond to the challenge in front of her.

  She grabs me by the hair and yanks my head backward. With her other hand, she picks up the previously set-aside ball gag and places it in her own mouth. Then she squeezes my cheeks, hard, forcing my mouth to open like a fish’s might.

  And now she brings her mouth to mine and presses the ball into my open ‘O.’ Her lips touch mine. Our teeth grind against each other’s. And then, with her tongue, she forces the ball forward until it’s resting once again in my stretched maw, and she straddles me. Her skirt rises up her thighs and now she is pressing the warmth of her pussy into my hardening cock.

  And it is hardening. It is hardening at an alarming rate.

  The sticky warmth of her crotch against mine and the softness of her breasts against my chest as she fastens the gag tightly around the back of my head is making me throb.

  It seems to take her a bit off guard, because she draws back, lifts herself off me, crawls back out of the cage, stands, and straightens her dress down her hips. She stares at me. I don’t move. Just sit there in my underwear, ball gag in mouth, legs stretched out in front, waiting for whatever is going to happen next.

  I’m prepared. I’m prepared for anything. I am Pierce fuckin’ Chevalier and I can take whatever Myrtle goddamn Rothschild can dish out. She can spank me, whip me, burn me, choke me, I can take it all. And when she’s gotten whatever it is that she hopes to get from this experience, I will have my turn to show her who I really am. Because she thinks she knows me. But she doesn’t.