Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 1)

by Rose Devereux

“Let me in. You want everybody in the building to hear us? Because if you don’t open the door I’ll make sure they do.”

  I glared at him before standing aside wordlessly to let him pass. His suitcase bumped over the threshold. “You can’t be here.”

  “Why not? Because you’re already fucking somebody else and he wouldn’t like it?”

  I shut the door behind him and laughed hollowly. “What? You dare ask me that question?”

  He snorted. “We can talk about what happened later, when you’re not busy doing something unbelievably stupid. From what Julia told me, you’re in way over your head.”

  “What do you mean, from what Julia told you?” I thought of texting her from Marc’s bathroom and wanted to shoot myself. Of all the people I could have confided in, it had to be the woman who thought Trevor could do no wrong.

  “Stop pretending, Sophie. You’re letting a pervert you just met tie you up. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

  My stomach turned. She hadn’t just told him where I was, she’d told him every last gory detail. “You know nothing about it.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m here. To figure this out.”

  Was I having a nightmare or was this really happening? “Figure what out?”

  He dragged a hand over his crewcut. “Listen, if I hadn’t screwed up you wouldn’t be over here getting back at me with some French tool.”

  “First of all, don’t flatter yourself,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “This isn’t about you. Second of all, he’s English and he’s very successful. I mean, his mother was French, but…”

  Trevor squinted at me as if I were a rambling idiot. “Okay, so he’s a successful tool. I feel so much better.” He peered around the corner into the living room. Marc’s pants lay in a pile on the floor and my blouse dangled from the back of the couch. “This is his apartment?” he asked.

  “One of them.”

  “Not bad, if you don’t count the clothes all over the place. It looks like a frat house.”

  “You need to leave, Trevor. Now.”

  He snickered. “Why, so I won’t see what’s going on? Since when do you like kinky sex with strangers? We were together two years and you made me feel guilty for wanting a blow job once in a while.”

  “Me?” I jabbed myself in the chest. “You’re blaming our problems on me?”

  “It wasn’t all my fault, Sophie. I tried, you know. I used to ask what you wanted and you were too embarrassed to tell me. I guess I should have given up and handcuffed you to a chair. I mean, what kind of loser does that?”

  “Don’t talk that way about him. He’s a very intelligent person. We have a lot in common.”

  “Really? What else does he do besides tie you up? Oh, that’s right, there’s a blindfold in this story, too. How very European of him. Like a fucking arthouse movie.”

  I clenched my fists. “I’ll never speak to Julia again.”

  “Get over it. She was worried about your safety. You should be glad she’s looking out for you, because you’re sure not looking out for yourself.”

  “I don’t like being stalked,” I said, reaching for the doorknob. “You didn’t even tell me you were coming.”

  He gave me a mocking sneer. “Let me get this straight. You’re being kicked around by some dude but I’m the crazy stalker. Does that sound rational to you?”

  “I don’t care how it sounds,” I said. “I want you gone.”

  “I’m not leaving until you come home with me, whether we get back together or not.”

  Fury roared through my veins. “Get back together?” I said, laughing. “There isn’t a chance in hell.”

  “Really?” he scoffed. “A month ago you were a wreck over some meaningless fling. You didn’t eat or sleep for three days, and now I’m supposed to believe you’re just over it all of a sudden?”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Right. Can you even tell me what you see in this guy?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great. I’m listening.”

  I lifted my chin. It would sound romantic and ridiculous but I didn’t care. “He’s interested in what I think. He reads to me. He brings me breakfast in bed.”

  Slack-jawed, Trevor stared at me for several seconds before bursting into laughter. “Oh, this asshole reads to you, does he? Treats you like a queen right before he whips you like a worthless whore? What’s the matter with you, Sophie? Don’t you have any pride?”

  “Get out.” My voice cracked. I was dangerously close to tears.

  “No. Grow up and go pack your stuff. Right now.”

  “Why do you think you can control me?” I shouted. “You’ve always been this way! You even gave me a hard time for dropping out of law school. You said I’d regret not being in a prestigious field when all I wanted was your support!”

  “Oh, give me a break. Controlling is somebody who ties you up with rope.”

  “He didn’t make me do anything,” I said. “I wanted to do it. All of it.”

  “Uh huh. Let’s go. I’ve been on a plane all night and I need to get some sleep. I had to take a week’s vacation for this.”

  “You’re not listening, Trevor. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m staying here.”

  He frowned at me and shook his head. “What – you think you’re in love with this douchebag? Is that it?”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “After two whole days.”

  “It’s been longer than that. We met before my trip to Amsterdam.”

  “So…a week? Wow. You really know him well.” He walked past me, looking from left to right as he clomped through the apartment. “Where’s your suitcase?”

  I ran after him in bare feet, my robe slipping open. “You can’t come in here.”

  “Too late. You already let me in.”

  When I caught up to him, he was halfway down the hall. I stood at the entrance to the master bedroom, paltry cleavage showing, hands braced on either side of the door frame. “I said, I want you to leave.”

  Eyebrows lifting, he stared over my shoulder into the bedroom. I didn’t need to look to know what he was seeing: the disheveled bed, my skirt in a heap, the riding crop lying on the floor beside my crumpled panties.

  “What the fuck,” he said slowly. “This guy must have brainwashed you. You don’t even like sex that much.”

  “I don’t like sex with you,” I said, my eyes locked with his. “I never did.”

  Trevor smiled cruelly. “You know what? Maybe I came here for nothing. Maybe you deserve somebody who treats you like dirt. I bet he doesn’t have an ounce of respect for you.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Like you’d know anything about respect.”

  Still smiling, he turned and walked back toward the foyer. “I’ll be crashing with a college buddy until my flight next Monday,” he said. “If you come to your senses before then, give me a call. My cell number’s the same as always.”

  *

  By the time Eleanor picked me up, I was only a little calmer. For the past two hours, with every footstep and breath, Trevor’s words had rung in my ears. Worthless whore. Brainwashed. No pride left.

  Maybe all of it was true. Maybe I was so intoxicated by Marc that I couldn’t see it. Was it his approval I wanted? Did I need to punish myself for some reason? Was I trying to get back at Trevor by being as sexual as possible and making sure he found out about it?

  I had no idea. I didn’t know how to begin examining my attraction to Marc. All I knew was that it had consumed every thought, every minute since I’d met him.

  “Believe it or not, this was built to be a hunting lodge for Julien VII,” Eleanor said, walking beside me down a long stone passageway. “That was about nine hundred years ago, I think. I wouldn’t remember any of this if I didn’t have a relative who’d been locked up here.”

  “What an amazing history.” I was preoccupied and uninterested and it showed. I couldn’t even fake a decent smile.

  “You’d think the stai
rcases would be wider, wouldn’t you?” she said. “Considering that kings used them I find them very cramped.”

  “It was a different time, I guess.” I could think of nothing else to say. Luckily, my silence was disguised by the chattering voices of a Spanish tour group. Hanging back about twenty feet, we followed them toward the area that had become the prison, years after the royalty left and the grand furniture had been broken down and carted away. The rooms were small and cold, with thick stone walls and open slots for windows. Two sparrows fluttered at the high ceiling.

  Eleanor ran her fingers over a faded wall sketch of a church, large and detailed with beautiful arches. “Surprisingly talented for a prisoner, wasn’t he?” she said.

  “Yes. He was a real artist. I wonder who he was.” I took a photograph of a name etched on the wall in block letters, with the year 1871 carved underneath. “How long was Sade kept here?” I asked.

  “Seven years. Every time I visit I try to imagine spending that much time in these rooms. I’d have gone insane from claustrophobia.”

  “It must have been terrible in the winter,” I said, standing at the window. It had a deep sill, almost wide enough to sit on.

  “Yes, and so confining,” Eleanor said. “You can still feel the misery in the air, can’t you? I guess some things never really go away.”

  The last stragglers of the Spanish group left, leaving us alone. We stood together at the window, looking down into a courtyard dotted with milling tourists. Heavy clouds rolled across the sky, threatening to block out the sun.

  “I hope you’ve been comfortable at my brother’s apartment,” she said in a deceptively light voice. “I used to stay there with my family, before we bought a place of our own.”

  “It’s much nicer than a hotel,” I said.

  “Yes, it is. I hope –” She stopped. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “What?” I asked, turning to look at her.

  A smile flickered on her lips and disappeared. “Marc’s quite taken with you, though of course he hasn’t said anything to me.”

  My face drained. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Eleanor.”

  “I heard about your dinner at the chateau from my father. Marc’s attraction was as obvious to Dad as it is to me.”

  I laughed, flattered but embarrassed. I’d flirted brazenly with Marc and everyone at the table had noticed. “Your father might be exaggerating a little,” I said.

  “Is he? I can tell when someone interests my brother. He’s a very intense person, in business and everything else.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “My point is, he has a way of drawing women in. He’s very good-looking and charming, and it’s always been easy for him. He doesn’t know this, but about eight years ago one of his girlfriends called me asking for advice. She was absolutely obsessed with him. For a while Marc thought he was destined for unhappiness because of the family he was born into. I know it still bothers him because he mentioned it to my father when you were at the house. I say this because you should know – he’s more complicated than he appears to be.”

  I searched her eyes for evidence that she knew of Marc’s deeper secrets, but saw only sisterly concern. The girlfriend might have been the same one who’d written the note I’d found, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t dare ask.

  “He’s very attractive, Eleanor, but I don’t plan to get involved with him. I leave for New York in a few days.”

  She patted my arm. “Of course, and you seem like a lovely person. I’m just…concerned about him, that’s all.”

  “Well, both you and Marc have been very kind, and I appreciate it.”

  Yes, Marc was heartbreakingly kind. His kindness was always followed by a sensual cruelty I’d begun to crave. It seemed that Eleanor should be able to see it just by looking at me.

  Couldn’t she tell that Marc had chosen my dress and panties? That yesterday he’d spanked me repeatedly while fucking me to a frenzy on the floor? Wasn’t it obvious that my ass was covered with burning red welts? That every joint was sore from being twisted and turned and spread apart by the man I couldn’t get enough of?

  She stood looking at the vaulted ceiling, her mouth slightly open. She seemed so normal, so easy to shock. If she only knew what Marc and I had been doing to each other. I could imagine her expression of disbelief as she tried to push the lewd images from her mind. But all she did was smile at me and move on to the next room. I followed her out, my stomach in knots. I wasn’t a lovely person at all. I was an imposter, once a prude and now a glutton for the perverse pleasure I got from submitting to her brother.

  Before leaving, we stopped in an ancient boudoir with tall narrow fireplaces at each end. I trailed my hand along a bit of wood molding, its rough surface still speckled with gold paint.

  “A little remnant of the royals, long before it became a prison,” Eleanor said. “Just think of the fabulous parties they must have thrown.”

  I imagined the people who’d lived here, the women in opulent silk dresses and powdered wigs. Everyone who had ever slept in this room had been dead for centuries, and someday I would join them. Why should I give up a few days of happiness because of guilt? It wouldn’t bring back either of my parents, or make me feel more virtuous. Did it matter why I wanted Marc, or what someone like Trevor thought of me? Why should Eleanor care what her brother and I did together?

  At that moment, leading a dull existence seemed like a terrible waste. I’d done it for a long time and it hadn’t made me happy. Why should I waste one more minute questioning myself, or denying myself whatever joy I could find?

  While Eleanor and I were driving back to the city in a light drizzle, a text came in from my editor.

  While you’re in the most beautiful city in the world writing fabulous articles, can I twist your arm to write another? Seven new restaurants in various neighborhoods, traditional bistro food to wildly creative. Would love to be the first to review these – stay an extra week?

  I turned my head toward the window and took a long breath. It wasn’t the first time Katherine had asked me to extend a trip, but I took it as a sign.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “No argument,” Marc said that night over dinner. “Of course you’ll stay with me while you’re here.”

  In his black suit and dark blue shirt, he had never looked so hot. We were sitting at a window table in a lavish restaurant on the Champs-Élysées, two white candles flickering between us. Underneath a form-fitting gray silk dress, I wore my second set of lingerie that day: a stunning white satin corset, matching panties with a row of tiny gold hooks running from waistband to crotch, and sheer thigh-high stockings. I couldn’t breathe or cross my legs without a shiver of anticipation.

  Every day the lingerie got sexier and more confining, as if Marc were sending me a message written in lace. I had no idea what he’d planned for later tonight, I only knew the decision was up to him.

  “I haven’t even decided if I’ll take the assignment,” I said.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” he asked.

  I had no answer. Actually, my answer had nothing to do with the assignment, and everything to do with Marc.

  Knowing that our time together was short had made me feel safer, as if I’d temporarily stepped into someone else’s life and could easily step out again. But now the days stretched in front of me, another week with Marc during which anything could happen. And probably would.

  “I have to think about it,” I said. “There’s more to staying than just reviewing restaurants.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as…this. Us. It’s confusing, Marc.” Just a few hours ago I’d felt so sure of my decision to stay in Paris and indulge every fantasy without a second thought. But doubt was already creeping in, making me wonder if I’d really thought it through.

  He frowned. “What brought this on? Did something happen with Eleanor today?”

  I didn’t want to complicate things by mentioning my conversation wi
th her, or the unwelcome appearance of Trevor. “No, of course not.”

  “Was last night too much for you?”

  I paused, trying to separate my own feelings from what Trevor had said. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “I mean, isn’t it degrading to let a man hit me with a crop?” I asked in a half-whisper.

  Marc shrugged, but his gaze was focused and intense. “Is it? That’s up to you to decide.”

  “I think most people would say it is.”

  “Most people don’t matter in this situation,” he said. “Only we do.”

  “That sounds like a platitude.”

  He swept his thick hair back from his forehead in an impatient gesture. “Do you feel degraded by what we did? That’s the question you should be asking.”

  Though I stayed silent, I knew the answer. Somehow, when Marc struck me, it didn’t occur to me to feel degraded. During those moments, I felt I was the only thing that mattered to him. I was special, the one woman he shared all of himself with. Only I got to see that side of him.

  “It’s hard not to imagine what my friends would say.”

  “If it’s too much for you we’ll stop. If it interferes with your work or you don’t want to continue, tell me.”

  We’ll stop. It seemed so easy for him to say. “Is that what you want?”

  “If it were, I’d have said so. I wouldn’t have brought you here tonight.”

  When he took my hand across the table, every cell in my body yearned toward him. One touch and I was done, after just a few days together. I had to be careful. No matter what I’d said to Trevor in anger, I would not fall in love with Marc. I couldn’t imagine what might happen if I gave him power over all of me.

  Actually, I could.

  The frantic urge to be with him every minute. The need for his approval of what I thought, wore, and said. A longing to please so great I would do anything – grovel, beg, leave my country and everything familiar so I could follow his orders until he grew tired of me. That’s how these things usually went, didn’t they?

  I’d looked online this afternoon and what I’d found had frightened me. Sad-looking women posting pictures of themselves with bruised skin and nipple clamps. The slippery emotional slope between pleasure and humiliation. Some of the photographs had been beautiful and artistic, others so raw that I cringed just thinking of them. If Marc wanted to try one fetish, how could I know there wouldn’t be others? That it wouldn’t get more and more extreme?