by Ashlee Price
Slapping my forehead, I lie on top of the bed, pouting as I stare at the ceiling.
How on earth did things lead to that? And why did I let it happen? How could I let it happen?
Still, I think as I run my fingers over my protruding lower lip, my cheeks growing warm at the memory, I have to admit it felt good.
I sit up, shaking my head.
What am I thinking? What am I doing?
I can’t kiss Conner. I can’t…
Ugh. Just think of work, Ingrid. Think of your story.
Taking a deep breath, I get out of the room. I find Conner in the kitchen, sitting at the counter drinking coffee.
I lean on the counter. “Do you think the others already have their stories?”
He lifts his cup to his lips. “You mean Ed and Tiffany?”
I nod.
“I don’t know, but I’ve talked to a few friends,” he says. “They’ll tell me if they hear anything about what those two are up to, Ed especially.”
“Oh.”
I should have known.
As I go around the counter to grab my own cup of coffee, a phone rings—Conner’s. Setting down his cup and getting off his stool, he goes into Alexa’s bedroom. Through the open door, I hear him talking on the phone, but not clearly. Two minutes later, he comes out, laptop under his arm.
“That your story?” I ask him.
“Nope. But that was one of those friends I mentioned. They said Ed has an appointment at The Weeping Rose.”
He sets his laptop on the coffee table, opening the lid.
I sit beside him, looking at his screen just as the search results come up. Conner clicks on the first one, which lists Weeping Rose as an exclusive club for art enthusiasts, a mansion located right at the foot of the Rockies.
“Do you think Ed is interviewing the owner of the club?” I ask. “Or maybe a client? It does seem like a fancy, romantic place.”
“That it does,” Conner agrees. “Do you want to find out?”
~
I thought I did.
Now that we’re here at the place, though, now that the car has stopped in front of the massive, by no means welcoming cast iron gates, I’m starting to have second thoughts.
“Maybe we should turn back,” I whisper to Conner, who’s in the passenger seat.
“But we’re already here,” he says. “Why the cold feet?”
I shrug. “Maybe because I suddenly think it’s not a good idea to spy on the others, after all? I mean, they might think we’re trying to steal their stories.”
“But we’re not. We’re just checking out the competition so we can stay ahead, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“Relax.” He squeezes my arm. “Everything will be fine.”
The guard approaches the car and Conner spends a few minutes convincing the man to let us in, resorting to bribery when persuasion won’t work. Moments later, the gates open and I drive in, parking in the slot from which I think we can most easily make our getaway if needed. After killing the engine, I glance at my watch.
“You said the appointment is at nine?”
“Yeah.” Conner consults his own watch. “And we’re right on time.”
I take off my seatbelt. “Do you think Ed is already there?”
He grabs the door handle. “There’s only one way to find out, honey.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Honey?”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that we’re posing as a couple? Because apparently, most of those who come here are.”
“No,” I tell him furiously, now wishing that I had turned back.
But it’s too late. This time, we really are already here, with the gates already closed behind us.
I frown. “I wish you had told me.”
“Sorry. It slipped my mind.”
Yeah, right.
He circles around the car, offering me his arm as I get out.
“Do I have to?”
He grins. “Yes.”
Clearly, he’s enjoying this.
Rolling my eyes, I grab his arm. “You better not try anything funny.”
“Oh, I don’t have that much of a sense of humor.”
“And we’re not staying long,” I add. “As soon as we find out who Ed is interviewing, we get out.”
“Sure, honey.”
He really is enjoying this.
We head to the mansion, a pair of butlers in coattails greeting us at the entrance. As soon as we step inside, a waiter in a similar tuxedo, but without the coattails, offers us hors d’oeuvres and champagne. I try an oyster, a stuffed olive and a tomato bruschetta. Conner samples the goat’s cheese crostini and the stuffed jalapeno before grabbing two glasses of the sparkling, golden liquid—one for him and one for me.
Walking down the corridor, we see works of art lining the walls—ancient Egyptian drawings on papyrus, Renaissance pieces, Japanese paintings, modern sketches. They all seem to depict naked women, though, or men, making me slightly uncomfortable.
I shrug it off, taking a sip of champagne and telling myself that this is art and a fascination with the human body is common among artists. Besides, the works of art are probably arranged by theme. Maybe these were put here as conversation starters?
We reach the great room, which has a high, vaulted ceiling and a spiral staircase leading to the second floor. Chairs and tables from the Victorian Era are scattered throughout, making the room resemble a 19th century parlor. At the same time, there are life-sized Roman and Greek marble sculptures in between them, lending the atmosphere of a history museum. Like the men and women in the paintings, these, too, are naked.
I take a bigger sip of champagne, swallowing hard.
Okay. Maybe this is a continuation of the theme. Or maybe this is simply the classical section. God knows the Greeks and Romans liked their men and women naked.
Even so, that bad feeling in the pit of my stomach is rebelling.
“I wonder where everyone is,” Conner voices out my other observation.
Indeed, the room is empty and quiet, although I can hear music coming from somewhere.
“Maybe they’re all in another room,” I say.
Conner approaches the doors hidden by a red velvet curtain at the end of the room, where the music seems to be coming from.
“They’re here.”
He opens the door and we step inside a larger room, my heart stopping the moment I realize what it is.
An exclusive club for art enthusiasts my ass. It’s a BDSM club.
Unlike Damien Shore’s ‘club’, this one doesn’t have men and women tied to the walls and ceilings or dancing on poles, which is good, but there are men and women in skimpy leather clothes and collars crawling across the floor on all fours, led on leashes just like dogs, some gagged and others blindfolded. Some of them are sitting between their ‘master’s’ legs, heads bobbing up and down, while others are on their laps, moaning as they are stroked. One ‘couple’ is on the stage, the man whipping a naked woman in a collar. behind him, there is a large emblem, one depicting a thorny rose in tears and a whip.
The Weeping Rose. Or is it actually the Whipping Rose?
At any rate, I’ve seen more than enough. Finishing my champagne in one gulp, I set it down on a table and grab Conner’s arm.
“Let’s go,” I whisper. “I don’t see Ed, and I doubt he’ll be here.”
Conner nods and we turn around, but suddenly someone calls our attention.
“Wait! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”
Shit.
My face pale, I turn back around, facing a muscular, dark-skinned man with long hair wearing multiple earrings, a fishnet shirt and leather pants.
I feel even more blood drain from my face.
“Yes, we’re new,” Conner says with a grin. “We thought we’d just check out the place for now.”
“Did you? But you’ve barely been here a minute.”
My hear
t pounds. Has he been watching us this whole time?
“We’ll come back some other time,” Conner says.
“I think not.” The man places his hands on his hips as two shirtless men with larger builds walk towards him.
Silence falls over the crowd and I grip Conner’s arm tighter, trying to keep myself from shaking.
“Are you really enthusiasts of this art or have you just come here to snoop— or worse, to make fun of us? Are you reporters trying to take pictures for all the world to see so they can ridicule us, too?”
The crowd gasps.
“No.” Conner waves his hand. “You’re mistaken. Of course we’re not reporters. We really are eager… enthusiasts.”
“Prove it,” the man challenges.
My heart clenches. Who does this man think he is? What is this? Some prank?
“If this is a prank, it isn’t funny,” I say, summoning every bit of my courage as I hold my head high.
The man doesn’t laugh.
“You heard my husband.” I step forward, letting go of his arm. “We’re leaving. We have a right to.”
“And you heard me.” The man steps forward as well, towering over me. “You’re not.”
The men behind him step beside him and I step back, glancing at Conner.
What are we going to do now?
“I think your wife needs a little discipline,” the man in the fishnet shirt says. “Why don’t you punish her on the stage right now and prove to us all that you’re not intruders? Or should I punish you instead for your intrusion?”
His hand goes to his hip, where a whip hangs. One of the men beside him cracks his knuckles.
Punish us?
“I’ll do it.” Conner grabs my arm.
The man steps aside, gesturing to the stage.
Conner drags me to the front of the room.
No way.
“Conner,” I whisper, trying to wriggle free.
“Sorry,” he whispers back. “But if we don’t do this, we’re dead.”
My heart beats faster. I know he’s probably right, but surely there must be some other way. What is he planning on doing to me?
As soon as we reach the stage, someone offers Conner a collar with a leash, cuffs and a gag. He takes them and then, facing me, he kisses me hard before whispering in my ear.
“Trust me.”
I give him a look of disbelief. Trust him? How can I trust him after all he’s done, after what he’s doing?
I know I have no choice, though, so I don’t fight back. I let him place the leather collar around my neck and cuff my hands behind me. Next, he ties the gag over my mouth, silencing me.
Looking into Conner’s narrow brown eyes, I see the spark of intensity in them, the unmistakable lust, and my heart flips, a lump forming in my throat.
He is enjoying this.
And something tells me he’s not going to be the only one.
Chapter Nine
Conner
Staring at Ingrid standing there in the dress I bought her, her hands bound and her mouth gagged, my breath leaves my lungs and my heart hammers in my chest. My cock throbs, swelling against my briefs.
It’s just like that night at Damien Shore’s house.
Except this time, after all this time, I want her more.
“Here.” The man in the fishnet shirt offers me a whip.
I glance at it, then at Ingrid, and seeing her eyes wide and her cheeks suddenly pale, I shake my head.
“I’ll do this my way.”
Pulling her arm, I sit on a chair and bend her over my knee, her shoes falling off. I grab the hem of her dress, pulling it all the way to her waist to expose her black underwear. With one of my hands keeping her dress in place, I lift the other and let it fall, the crack of my palm against her skin through the thin lace barrier echoing throughout the room, breaking the silence.
Ingrid makes no sound, staying still on my lap, though I can feel her chest heaving against my thighs, her heart pounding.
I spank her again. And again. And again.
With each blow, I try to ignore her nipples rubbing against my thigh and how her body jerks across my lap. The image reminds me of what I did to her the last time I had her bent over. The memory makes my cock harder.
I want to fuck her. Now.
But not yet.
After that fourth blow, she moans, hands clenching in the cuffs.
Making sure not to hit her too hard, I let my open hand fall for the fifth time. She keeps moaning, her moans becoming louder with the succeeding blows. I finally understand why as I feel something wet beneath my fingertips.
I stop, pushing her off my lap as I get on my feet. Ingrid falls on her knees, too weak to stand, one of her cheeks stained with the trail of a tear.
“Why stop?” the man in the fishnet shirt asks.
“I’d like to perform the rest of the punishment in private,” I tell him. “If you’ll allow me.”
The man scratches his chin as he toys with the notion. Then he turns to the man to his right.
“Take them to a room and stay by the door.”
The man nods and walks off, glancing at me. Scooping Ingrid in my arms and picking up her shoes, I follow him inside a room with velvet-lined walls and a ceiling covered in mirrors. I set her down on the Victorian-style chaise in the middle, stroking her hair as I lean over her, gazing into her tear-filled, half-lidded cerulean eyes.
My heart clenches, guilt bursting in my chest.
I press my lips against those quivering lids and the corners, kissing her tears away in quiet apology.
Afterwards, I gaze into her eyes again. They’re still moist, but this time there’s a plea in them, a plea that tugs at my heart and at my cock.
Something tells me I’m not going to last even twelve minutes this time.
As soon as the man leaves us and the door falls shut, I remove her gag and without giving her a chance to speak or draw a breath, I let my lips crash down on hers and stick my tongue in her mouth, cupping her breast through her dress. She kisses me back, her tongue, tasting of champagne and something even more intoxicating, mingling with mine.
My fingers find her stiff nipple through the knitted fabric and her body trembles as she arches against me, moaning into my mouth.
I swallow up the sweet sound, letting it turn to heat as it ripples through my body. I move my hand lower, sliding it between her thighs and brushing against the stain in her panties.
She pulls away, eyes and mouth wide open, a loud gasp escaping from her wet, swollen lips.
I slip my hand beneath the black lace, finding her nub.
She shivers, squeezing her eyes shut as she throws her head back, gasping.
I stroke that bud of flesh, my fingers circling it and rubbing against it, coaxing it into full bloom. Then I place my mouth against her ear.
“Tell me you want me.”
She nods.
“Tell me,” I urge her impatiently, stroking her faster.
Her hips jerk. “I… want… you.”
“Say please.”
She trembles and moans, unable to speak.
“Say it.”
“Please.”
The word comes out as a gasp, but I hear it and I stop stroking her, sliding a finger inside her instead. Her slick, velvety skin clings to mine as she lets out a loud moan.
I put another finger in, stretching her.
She moans even louder. Then, with her gaze holding mine, she starts moving her hips.
I withdraw my fingers and she whimpers.
I take my belt off in record time and pull my zipper down even faster. My pants hanging on my hips, I let my cock spring free before climbing onto the chaise and kneeling between Ingrid’s legs.
She cranes her head to take a peek at my cock, eyes wide.
I plant a hasty kiss on her lips before gripping her thighs and pushing in slowly, inch by inch.
“So tight,” I murmur, more to myself than to her.
With her
soft skin wrapped around me, her heat and her wetness swallowing me up, I can barely hold on, but I somehow manage, my cock throbbing inside her as soon as I’ve filled her to the hilt.
I pause just a moment to catch my breath and savor the sensation I’ve missed beyond words, then I gaze on her as I start jerking my hips.
Last time, I didn’t have the chance to watch her while I pounded into her. Now, I do.
Seeing strands of her ash-blonde hair scattered across her forehead, her turquoise eyes glistening with tears and burning with lust, her lips parted as she forces air into her lungs only to have it escape in gasps, I almost come then and there.
I gather all my self-control as I bend her nearly in half and move in and out of her, the slurping sound and the slapping of skin against skin filling the room.
My cock grows numb from the friction. My knees dig into the velvet. Sweat breaks out on my back, the smell of it mingling with the scent of Ingrid’s arousal and mine.
I reach between us, stroking that nub of hers once more as I continue moving in and out of her.
Suddenly she cries out, her body shaking as her eyes fall shut.
I manage a few more thrusts as her passage becomes tighter, then when I can’t contain myself any longer, I empty myself deep inside her, grunting as my body grows taut.
The release leaves me completely satisfied and breathless.
Lifting a limp Ingrid, I lie down on the chaise, letting her rest on top of me. I stroke her hair as I chase after my breath, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
I plant a kiss on the top of her head, and drawing a deep breath, I slide out from under her to put my pants back on. Opening the door, I ask the man who’s still outside for the key to her cuffs. After he gives it, I free her wrists.
She rubs them, sitting up.
I take off her collar, tossing it aside, then help her put her underwear and her shoes back on, kneeling in front of her as I do. After that, I pull her arm and hook it around my shoulder while I wrap mine around her waist, supporting her to her feet.
“Let’s go home, shall we, honey?”
Chapter Ten
Ingrid
Staring at the bathroom mirror as I grip the edges of the sink, I see cobalt pools of dismay and regret gaze back at me, lips pursed tight.