by Renee Rose
Her expression sharpened with interest. “You do?”
“Yes. As you know, this ball is a fundraiser to benefit Democratic presidential hopeful Jesse Thomas. We’ve already had trouble with someone trying to steal from our VIP guests”—he kept a totally straight face saying this—“and I will need someone like you on my team to keep an eye on things.”
Her eyes narrowed, considering him. “Are you serious?”
He met the gaze. “Yes.”
The corners of her mouth lifted. “Cool.”
He grinned. “So you’ll cooperate, little ninja?”
She held her arms out to make room for Kathleen’s tape measure to wrap around her bust.
“Shoe size?” Kathleen asked.
“Eight.”
“So do I understand correctly that you need a dress you can fight or run in but still looks like a ball gown?”
“Exactly.”
Kathleen smiled, clearly enjoying the project. She moved to measure Skye’s waist, hips, and inseam. “I’ll come up with something perfect. Any need to conceal a weapon?”
He shook his head quickly. Not that he didn’t think Skye could handle herself with a gun, but he wasn’t going to put her in that position. “No.”
After Kathleen left, he twisted a lock of Skye’s hair between his fingers. “All right, little slave. I have work to do, and Joe is tied up, too. Can I trust you not to bolt if we leave you to your own devices for a few hours?”
She nodded, but he thought he caught disappointment in her expression.
He took her hand and led her toward the door. “Or do you want to help me with my business duties?”
“Sure.” The enthusiasm in her voice wrenched his heart. Was their little cat burglar so lonely? Or just adrift after they’d demanded her surrender? Either way, he was ready to slay dragons to keep her safe and happy.
He smiled down at her. “Great. Come on.”
~~*~~
Alex took her everywhere with him over the next two hours, introducing her as an employee. They handled the fallout from a skirmish down on the floor, the interrogation of a croupier accused of stealing from the house, and briefing his staff on the security plan for the ball. During the latter conversation, he introduced her as his chief assistant for security and outfitted her with an earpiece and comms unit.
He handled everything with ease, using his arsenal of confidence, charm, or stern demeanor, according to what was needed in the moment. With each passing moment, she fell more in love with the man, especially when he gripped her hand or touched her back or held the door for her.
But that was stupid because they weren’t dating. They were having an experience together—one which would end in less than twenty-four hours’ time.
He took her to his office and made her kneel on the floor beside him, absently shoving a hand down the front of her shirt and tweaking her nipples while he reviewed some reports on his computer. By the time Joe stopped in to collect her, she was creaming for both of them again, never mind that both her pussy and her anus were sore from earlier.
“Hi, little ninja,” Joe said, leaning in the doorway, melting her panties with his debonair good looks. “It’s time for your spanking.”
She didn’t move from her kneeling position beside Alex. He had mentioned caning earlier, and while she didn’t mind the hand spanking, or even the belt, she wasn’t so sure how she’d feel about a cane slicing across her bare ass.
Joe sauntered over and hooked a finger through the metal ring on her collar, tugging her to stand. Alex had insisted she wear it, despite her concern about what his employees would think. As it turned out, no one blinked an eye. Apparently fetish wear was just fashion in Vegas.
“Yes, sir is the only correct reply, ninja girl.” He smacked her ass. “Are you forgetting your manners?”
“Yes, sir.”
He smirked. “Yes, you’re forgetting your manners or yes, sir, you understand your ass belongs to me now?”
She flushed and stared at the top of his collar, not wanting to answer.
He grasped her hand. “Let’s go, ninja. I have a cane with your name on it.”
She made him tug her along, a half-step behind him. He dragged her to the elevator, helped her inside, and put his key in to activate the button for their private floor. Nerves sent tingles up and down her spine. Her skin practically crawled with anticipation. She closed her eyes, imagining what a cane stroke would feel like. Her bottom clenched.
As if he knew her thoughts—or, God forbid, had noticed her butt clench—Joe’s lips quirked up for a moment. The smile disappeared, though, replaced by a cool demeanor—a punisher persona, she supposed. It had its intended effect, sending her pussy into spasms of excitement, while her belly knotted in fear.
But that was silly—she could take pain. She had mastered discomfort in the early years of her training—way back when she still was in boarding school and her father thought he was paying for ballet lessons.
When they entered Joe’s side of the penthouse floor, he led her to the bedroom. On the dresser stood a vase with two dozen red roses. “Those are for you, since it’s Valentine’s day. I’m going to whip you with the thorny canes later.”
Her eyes traveled to the bed, where a thin rattan cane lay, its handle wrapped in leather. A large round bolster lay near the edge of the bed.
“Take off your clothes, slave.”
Her eyes darted to the cane and bolster then back to Joe. She didn’t like blindly obeying. She preferred when they took charge and forced her to do things, took away all her control.
What would he do if she refused? Force her? No, she had a safe word, after all. But the contract didn’t exactly say it would bring everything to a halt. Just that he would listen to her concerns.
“I’m not the brother who chases when you run,” he said, once again reading her mind. “I’m the one who asks you to obey because you have this spanking coming. And because you know you need it, and on some level, you want it.” He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirtsleeve and started to roll it up.
She took a step backward.
He gave a slight shake of his head, the corners of his mouth turning down in disapproval.
Her insides turned to liquid, and a shiver ran through her. Yes, he was right. She didn’t want to be let off the hook on this, no matter how humiliating it might be to take her clothes off and offer her bare ass up for his discipline.
Still, she didn’t move.
“Now, Skye.” Definite annoyance now.
Her fingers flew to the hem of her shirt, and she peeled it off and tossed it on the floor.
“No.”
She looked over, confused.
He arched his brows at the shirt on the floor. “This space is sacred, slave. Don’t throw your laundry around like there’s someone else around here to pick it up.”
Okay, she literally had grown up with servants who picked up after her, but she had learned better self-discipline in her years since. The Zen master washes his own cup, as they say. Blushing, she snatched the shirt up, folded it neatly, and set it on the dresser. Her pants followed then bra.
Joe finished rolling up his sleeves and stood with his arms folded across his chest, watching her squirm over the final task of removing her underwear.
She’d once read that torturers had discovered that, for women, it’s more humiliating to be forced to remove their own clothes and, for men, having them removed forcibly was worse. She didn’t know how men felt, but she definitely found stripping in this context to be awkward as hell.
“If I have to remove those panties myself, you’ll be plugged for your caning, and I’m guessing, after this morning, you’re not up for that.”
She yanked off her panties with a huff, ignoring the way her pussy leaked at his words.
“Lie over the bolster with your head that way,” he said, pointing toward the headboard.
Once more, she stalled, hating—despising—the weakness she felt at obeying his eve
ry instruction.
“Don’t worry, ninja girl. I will restrain you once you get yourself there. I know you can’t stand going consensually.”
Just his acknowledgement of her struggle helped. She forced her feet to move and crawled up on the bed, awkwardly placing herself over the bolster so her bare ass was lifted in the air.
As promised, cuffs appeared, which he attached to her wrists and used to pull her arms taut. Her ankles received similar restraint. He attached another leather strap around her thighs, just below her ass, which tied them together, and—she realized with a blush—lifted and plumped her ass as a target.
It was both horrible and arousing. Her breasts, which were small by any standard, felt heavy, nipples sensitive to the expensive silk comforter. She whimpered.
Joe picked up the cane and swished it through the air, demonstrating its whippy sound. She’d like to say it didn’t make her cringe, but she embarrassed herself by tensing her shoulders in a classic flinch.
He tapped her ass with the slender reed. “Why do you require punishment, Skye?”
She wasn’t sure what kind of answer he wanted from that question, so she went with the obvious one. “Because I stole from your casino guests.”
The cane whipped through the air and met its mark, sending a line of pure fire across her ass.
She gasped, choking and spluttering on her breath, yanking against the restraints.
“You’ve been very naughty.” He whipped her again.
She bit back a scream, squeezing her buns together so tightly, she thought she’d get a cramp.
“Were you punishing your stepmother, Skye?”
She didn’t like the mention of Savannah. The familiar ick filled her stomach. “Yes,” she answered sullenly.
He whipped her again. “Does it make you whole?”
Tears smarted her eyes—genuine pain tears. She definitely wasn’t crying over Savannah. Did it make her whole? What kind of question was that? She clamped her jaws together. She didn’t have to answer this line of questioning.
He delivered three—yes, three—hard strokes in a row without letting her catch her breath in between.
Her thighs trembled, and she let out a low, keening sob. Her entire body felt hot, like she was running a fever.
“I asked you a question, little girl.”
“No,” she snapped. “Of course it doesn’t make me whole.”
“What would make you whole?” He didn’t punctuate this question with another stripe, thank God.
Everything trembled now—her arms, lips, knees, belly. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. At first, she didn’t process his words, but when she realized he waited for an answer, she focused on the question. What would make her whole?
“Do you need something from Savannah Duke to make you whole?” His voice was kind—sympathetic, even. It nearly broke her.
What did she want from Savannah? Jesus. Suddenly she was that twelve-year-old girl again. The one who had been so thrilled to have a new mother, especially a glamorous, beautiful, famous movie star mother.
While she’d been doting during the dating phase, once she married Skye’s father, Savannah had unilaterally rejected her. Relegated her to annoyance status. She’d seen her as competition for her father’s affection and attention and had made sure to divert all of that generosity in her own direction.
Skye had desperately wanted female attention. She’d been just at the age where she wanted to impress boys, wear the right clothes, and rise in her social circle. She’d imagined Savannah would solve all those puzzles for her. But, no, instead, her new mother had mocked her, ignored her, and insisted on gallivanting around the world on her father’s arm. Without her. Then she’d declared Skye needed boarding school to round her out, and what little had been left of Skye’s old life had disappeared.
When her father got sick, Savannah kept it from her. Well, her father had, too, but she blamed Savannah. Skye’d had a right to know. She would’ve dropped out of her last semester of school and come home. Instead, she got the phone call after finals that her father had died two days—yeah, two days earlier. “I didn’t want to mess up your finals,” her stepmother had said.
“Skye.”
Damn that cane! She flinched as a fresh lick of pain scorched her ass.
“I asked you a question. Do you need something from your stepmother to make you whole?”
What did she want from her? An apology? Affection? Approval? Would she even accept those now? Would they give her the validation she’d lacked?
The cane whisked through the air again, and this time she almost welcomed the pain, needing it to burn away all the rotten feelings stored inside her.
As usual, Joe instinctively knew what she needed. He stopped questioning her and whipped her with the cane, again and again, reducing her to a sobbing, wet mess. The edges of her world bled out into nothingness, and she escaped it all, cast out into a void of no thought, no feeling. She didn’t know how long she floated like that.
Fingers buried in her hair, massaging her scalp, eventually brought her back. The whipping had ended. She hadn’t died. Joe sat on the mattress beside her.
“I don’t need anything from her,” she whispered. It seemed important to answer his question. It was time to stop defining herself by who she was in relation to Savannah Duke. Or her father, even. She was a grown woman. She had money, which offered her infinite possibilities for her life. Why would she choose a path of destruction?
Joe said nothing, but kissed the back of her head. He brushed her hair away from her and kissed a line from her neck to her shoulder. When she turned her face toward him, he wiped her tears with his thumb and held a tissue to her nose.
She pulled at the cuffs, wanting to hold the tissue herself, but he made a noise of impatience and she blew. Jesus, how embarrassing. What kind of man was okay with a snuffling, bawling woman?
The kind who liked to make women cry, she supposed.
“Are you going to fuck me?” she asked in a small voice.
His movements stilled.
She rolled her throbbing ass around on the bolster. It seemed three sizes too big, swollen and blazing.
“Did you want me to?”
“Yes.” It came out like a whimper. She knew it would hurt, but she wanted that, too. She wanted him to fuck her the way she was—strung up on his bed, with her welted ass in the air.
He ran a warm palm down her spine and across one of her quivering cheeks.
She flinched at the contact, but the sound from her lips sounded like a wanton moan. “Please?”
Joe stood up and walked out of her line of sight. The loop of leather around her upper thighs came off, then one ankle cuff. “Spread your legs wide.”
She rubbed her clit over the bolster, his command thrilling her.
This time, he didn’t wait for her to comply. He dragged her ankle to open her legs, forcing her the way she liked it. Securing the free ankle to the opposite bedpost, she now lay with her dripping pussy on full display.
She squirmed, raking her bare nipples across the fabric on the bed, sorry for the silken comforter. She heard the rustle of clothing, a zipper, the snap of a foil packet. Her pelvis undulated over the bolster.
“You want me to take your naughty ass?”
“My pussy...please, Master, just my pussy.”
He chuckled, crawling up over her. A sharp slap between her legs made her squeal. “This pussy?”
Her inner thighs shook. “Yes, Master.” It was odd how easily that word slipped out. When she’d signed the contract, it had seemed foreign and ridiculous. But trussed up like a chicken and punished with her most intimate parts on display certainly made her feel owned.
His fingers disciplined her pussy again. It made a slick slapping sound from all the wetness.
“Please…”
He didn’t make her wait any longer. His cock slid in—more easily this time. Her sex opened to him, petals parting.
She felt like w
eeping again from the sheer satisfaction, the rightness of his cock wedged inside her. “Yesss...oh!”
He rocked his pelvis, angling deep inside her. As he pushed in and out, his loins pressed against her punished flesh and rubbed in the pain with each glorious stroke. Somehow his fingers found her nipple and pinched it, tugging. It was already too much, but never enough.
“Please,” she cried hoarsely.
“Harder?” he asked, sounding incredulous.
“Oh God, yes.”
He slammed into her, backing out and pounding her pussy and her poor welted bottom.
“Owwwwwoooooooh, oh God, oh God.”
“Not God, Master.” Joe dominated her so easily. He’d become her entire world.
“Master, yes, Master, Please, oh, oh, oh, yes!” she screamed through clenched teeth.
He plowed into her twice more and buried his cock to the hilt, groaning as he came. Her walls contracted around it, squeezing and milking, fluttering until she collapsed in a boneless heap.
Joe covered her body with his and reached up to release her wrist cuffs. He pulled her arms down under so they hugged her torso and wrapped his own around the top.
Safe and cared for, protected, pleasured, and punished. She’d never felt such bliss.
Chapter Five
Joe couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful blonde on his arm. Kathleen had purchased a slinky, ankle-length dress in coral, which set off Skye’s skin, hair, and eyes perfectly. The women at the spa had pinned her blonde tresses in a stunning up-do, with one long piece that swept along the left side of her face, framing it.
It wasn’t just for fashion—she wore an ear-piece in that ear, and her eyes swept the place, alert to danger.
Alex’s recruitment of her for the security team had been a stroke of pure genius. Not just because they could use someone of her skill set, but mostly because he wanted her distracted from her stepmother or feeling awkward.
“If it looks like she’s having a terrible time, take her out of here,” Alex had warned him before they went in. Both of them gave her state of mind more importance than the ball. He’d shared with Alex the content of their discussion during the whipping, and, during dinner, she’d opened up about her tumultuous relationship with her stepmother, recounting the rejection and disappointment she’d felt as a child. She’d seemed ready to move past it, but they still agreed to keep her away from Savannah, if possible.