by Lauren Smith
Vain took pity on her and smiled. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m a member of the Gilded Cuff. I’m sure Wes has mentioned it.”
“Yes.” She nodded, cleared her throat, and continued. “You’re a member?”
“I am. Wes was my sponsor membership. He provided my recommendation when I submitted an application a few years back. It’s also why I know the significance of your necklace. It’s a collar with his family crest. A claim that runs very deep for a dominant. He must really care about you to collar you.”
His words made her blush furiously, but she didn’t dare ask him more about how much Wes might care about her.
“So you’re a dom like Wes?” She couldn’t picture it. Vain had such an easygoing smile, none of the brooding seductiveness that Wes had, which frightened and excited her in all the right ways.
Vain grinned. “I am. But I keep that part of myself hidden. Wes loves to flaunt that side much more than me. I like my secrets to be kept secret.” He winked at her. An irresistible giggle escaped her.
“Well, I’ve bothered you enough for the evening. I wouldn’t want to make Wes jealous. Maybe I’ll see you at the club soon. I hear Wes is finally going to show off his Monet in a few days. You should ask Wes to bring you.”
“I don’t think he’d take me to the club.” Callie sighed. Wes had been closed-lipped about the Gilded Cuff, but her curiosity was piqued.
“He’s a dom. All you have to do is act real sweet and beg him. No dom would be able to resist a lovely woman like you if you begged.” Vain snickered. “I’d pay good money to see Wes refuse anything you asked. I bet he couldn’t say no.”
“Bet?” a new voice said, interrupting. Royce joined them. “Vain, you’d better not be corrupting Wes’s sweet little cowgirl.” He shook Vain’s hand and turned to face Callie. “Wes is looking for you, sweetheart. He’s ready to leave.”
“Thanks, Royce.” Callie said good-bye to Vain and started weaving through the crowd of people. Once she’d gotten out of the ballroom, she went in search of her coat. A butler had taken it to a library near the front door and hung it on a portable rack. The hall was empty and the sounds of the gala were muted now that the doors had closed again. She didn’t have too much trouble locating the library. The door had been cracked open, and gold light spilled out in a bright slim shaft through the opening. She caught a glimpse of books just beyond it.
Gripping her skirts in one hand, she nudged the heavy oak door open and slipped inside. The library was lit with several lamps on reading tables, making the room warm and welcoming. Two long metal coat racks were at the back of the library near the stone fireplace. Callie hunted for her coat, searching through the expensive furs and designer-label jackets. She nearly laughed as she remembered her own coat was an expensive black velvet wrap.
Suddenly a hand brushed against her waist and the hiss of an angry breath caressed her ear. The thick cloying scent of brandy was overpowering.
“So you’re Thorne’s flavor of the month?” a man sneered and jerked her back against his body.
“Let go of me!” Callie dropped her coat and rammed an elbow into the man’s stomach on pure instinct.
“Why you little…”
Pain exploded against the back of her head as fingers dug into her hair and jerked. A scream worked its way to her lips, but he clasped a hand around her throat, squeezing that cry for help into a strangled whimper.
“Shut up, we’re just gonna have a little talk,” the man growled while keeping pressure on her throat hard enough that her vision began to spot. The strong alcoholic fumes suggested he was drunk.
She dug her nails into his arm, trying to claw and scratch but as her lungs burned, panic took over.
“Here’s what I want to know. How come Thorne always gets everything I want? My jobs, my school, anything I wanted, he took from me. I should be the premier art expert in North America, not him. It should have been me.” His grip squeezed tighter and her hands dropped as all fight in her began to die. She couldn’t breathe. She expected her life to flash before her eyes, but all she saw was Wes. A distant roar of rage chased her into the fast approaching blackness.
Callie hit the floor with a thud and air rushed into her. The world came back into focus. She was lying on the library floor in a crumpled heap, throat sharp with pain. Raising herself up on her hands she saw Wes grappling with a man, the one who’d been choking her.
“Stonecypher, you piece of shit!” Wes snarled so viciously that Callie tensed. Cool, calm Wes was gone. In his place was a warrior, a bloodthirsty creature who scared her, but he was fighting for her. Wes threw a punch. The other man flew back, hitting a table and crashing to the ground. He groaned but didn’t rise. Wes’s predatory gaze stayed on the fallen man a second longer before he looked about the room. When he caught sight of her, he rushed over, his breathing hard as he bent and scooped her up in his arms.
“Oh darling,” he murmured. He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closing briefly. “Are you all right?”
She managed a nod, then winced at the stab of pain in her throat.
“Who was that?” She croaked out.
“Thomas Stonecypher. An old schoolmate. Not a friend.” Wes’s menacing glare frightened her enough that she trembled in his arms, even though she knew logically it had nothing to do with her. Stonecypher stayed limp on the floor.
“Is he dead?”
“No. I just knocked him out. He’s got a thick skull. He’ll just have a headache when he wakes up.”
“That’s a pity,” she grumbled. Painful shards dug into her throat and she rubbed it. Wes’s necklace had pressed into her skin and left dents in the shape of chain links. He noticed, and with a gentle touch, he removed the necklace and slipped it into his coat pocket before his fingers returned to her neck and massaged gently.
“Let’s go home.” Wes lifted her up but she pressed against his chest.
“I can walk. I don’t want anyone to see you carrying me.”
“Very well, but once we’re home, it’s my rules and I’m going to make sure you’re okay.” Wes wrapped an arm about her waist and escorted her to the front door. After he handed a valet his card, he helped Callie into her coat.
“He just squeezed my throat a little and yanked my hair.” Her hand touched her scalp and the flash of pain made her cringe. Yikes. That’s going to hurt tomorrow.
When she glanced up at Wes, his face was stony, his lovely blue eyes full of winter fire.
“I’m so sorry.” He kissed her lips and rubbed her back with his hands, warming her up.
“It’s not your fault. That man’s insane.”
“Thomas is…well, he’s always been the jealous type. We were friends as boys, but he didn’t have as keen an eye as I do for art and didn’t handle it when I came out on top. Not every man can handle being second. Thomas is one of them.”
Callie didn’t speak for several long moments. She wanted to change the subject.
“Did you tell everyone about the Monet like you planned?”
Wes sighed. “Yes. All the prominent members know, even Thomas.”
“What?” Callie froze. “He’s a dom at the club, too?” Something about that bothered her.
“He is. He doesn’t come that often. Usually when I’m out of town. We tend to avoid each other.”
Wes led her down the steps as the valet pulled up in Wes’s Hennessey Venom GT. He slipped the valet a twenty dollar bill and then opened Callie’s door for her.
“You don’t think he’s the art thief, do you?” Callie asked. It made sense. The man who was jealous of Wes was the one who could do the most damage. She buckled herself in and waited for Wes to get inside the car.
“I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted. “You think he might be?”
Callie shrugged and then ticked off the evidence on her fingers.
“He’s an art specialist like you, he has a serious jealous streak, he has all the same connections as you do, and he’s
a dom at the club. Seems like he should be added to your list of suspects.”
“You could be right. I’ll call the FBI and have them alerted. They can probably dig into his financials and put a surveillance team on him. If he does go for the Monet, then he’ll get caught.”
“Good.” Callie settled back in her seat and neither of them said a word until they were back at his house.
“Wes, can I see the Monet?” she asked, tugging on his arm.
“I’d be happy to bring it tomorrow morning for you to look at while you work.”
“Why not now?” she demanded.
His eyes narrowed speculatively. “It’s somewhere safe and I don’t want to jeopardize its location.” He was shutting her out, closing down. The stab of pain at seeing him build barriers spurred her to action.
She reached her hand into his coat pocket, stealing back her collar and showed it to him.
“You claimed me as yours, Wes. If you ‘own’ me, then there can’t be any secrets, not between us. That’s a hard limit for me. I’ll walk away. Do you understand? Don’t shut me out.” Her edgy tone softened as she gripped his hands and squeezed.
“I want to belong to you, but secrets would wound me and I know you don’t want to hurt me.”
His eyes softened and he grasped her hands back, squeezing lightly as he leaned down to kiss her lips. The gentle pressure of his mouth against hers made her feel light enough that a spring breeze could have blown her away like the fluffy white seeds of a dandelion. She’d never understood how women could talk about a man sweeping them off their feet. Yet, now, with Wes’s gentle, sensual kiss, and the way it scattered her senses and destroyed her resistance, she knew what it meant to be swept away.
When he drew back from her, he nodded as though to himself.
“If you want no more secrets, then you need to trust me completely. There’s a part of me that’s dark, Callie. I can’t hide that once you’ve seen it.” He studied her face, apparently waiting for her to protest or turn back. But she wouldn’t. She loved him, all of him. Even his secrets.
Chapter 21
Very well.” He took her by the hand and led her down the hall. They stopped in front of a wall with a lovely painting of the Seine River. He used a small key from his pocket, not connected to his other keys, to unlock a hidden door behind the painting. Callie carefully memorized how he found the key hole and opened the door. As she followed him into the darkness behind the painting, she shivered. This must be what Royce had called the black room.
A sudden bloom of gold light filled the room and illuminated the black, sleek furniture. There was a black leather couch, a dark grenadilla wood desk, and a massive four-poster bed with a black silk comforter. The walls weren’t black but painted a storm-cloud gray and decorated with art. Her gaze jumped from piece to piece. A Monet, a Renoir, her sketch of him in bed asleep, the gypsy lovebirds, and her portrait that the artist had drawn of her in Montmartre.
There was nothing particularly shocking about the room, except for the deep sense that everything in this room was only for him, and he wouldn’t have to share it with the rest of the world. She understood that need for a private sacred place. This was his private world and he was sharing it with her, a room no one else¸ save Royce, had seen. In a way he was sharing himself with her.
“I was wondering where the sketches went.” She grinned at him. The tension in his body eased and his shoulders lowered.
“This is my black room.” He waved a hand around it. “Some of my most treasured possessions are kept here.”
“Why call it the black room?” Callie wondered if the name came from the decorations or for some other reason.
“It’s not a room listed on any blueprint. You can’t find it unless you know exactly where to look. No one else knows about it.”
Callie nearly confessed that Royce knew, but she kept her mouth shut. Somehow her gut told her that that wouldn’t be a good idea.
She lifted her skirts and walked over to the Monet. She got within a foot of it and the painting drew her in. The cool palette of blues, purples, and greens, not a hint of warm color was unique. The scene depicted the bank of a river, just after dawn when mist crept along the shore and clung to the thick copse of trees on the left side of the bank. The perfect brush strokes and the way the water and mist melded together was true mastery. It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. True art. Her throat worked and her nose burned as she tried not to cry. She never thought something could be so lovely.
The heat of Wes’s body warmed her from behind.
“This piece soothes me,” he whispered in her ear. His hands peeled her coat from her shoulders. “Ever since Emery and Fenn were kidnapped as children, something inside me has been…broken. No, that’s not the right word.” He let her coat drop to the floor.
Callie lifted her head and stared at him over her shoulder. He was gazing at her back and then reached for the zipper of her dress.
“Scarred. That is the right word. Everything about my life was shattered by their loss and when Emery was found, he wasn’t the same. Some bonds go soul deep. Royce and I…we took his pain into our hearts and his scars became our own.”
The zipper slid down to her lower back and she shivered as the cool air kissed the skin he bared as he parted her gown and let it fall to the ground in a pool of crimson at her ankles. She wore no bra and only a pair of red lacy bikini-cut panties. Not her usual style of sensible cottons, but the dress seemed to demand sexiness. Still, being bare, she had to fight the urge to cover her breasts, but she knew better now. Wes liked her body, especially when he was stripping her of expensive clothes.
“You are so lucky not to have scars.” He embraced her from behind, wrapping her arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck as he spoke. She tilted her head to the side, giving him more room to lick and nibble his way to her ear. The hard press of his erection against her bottom showed he was as turned on as she was. His hands slid up her stomach and cupped her breasts, kneading them. Wetness pooled between her thighs, and her clit pulsed to life. Callie squirmed against him unable to stop herself. He chuckled and stepped back, dropping his hands.
“You want me, Callie. All of me. Well, you’ve got me. Even the darkest parts.” He moved over to his desk and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out two leather cuffs lined with fur inside and a strip of black cloth. When he came toward her, Callie stared at the items in his hands and then with a slow breath held out her wrists.
“Good girl. From now until we leave this room, I am Master. You will call me that. Do you understand?”
Callie tried to swallow but her throat was dry, so she nodded. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, an approving gleam in his eyes. She leaned into his touch and he kissed her. The gentle claiming turned rough, the moist softness of his mouth turning wild, as it sent spirals of desire coiling deep into her belly, burning low and hungry.
Then he fastened the cuffs around her wrists. The leather was soft and the fur against her skin even more so. He slid a finger between her wrist and the cuff, testing to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Then he lifted the black cloth. She expected him to blindfold her, but instead he parted her lips and stretched the cloth across her mouth and tied it snuggly behind her head. It was an effective gag, but not one that affected her breathing in any way. Just like he promised when they’d talked about this in Paris.
Wes hooked her cuffs together with a small chain and then he hit a small red button on the wall by the foot of the bed and a silver hook lowered from the ceiling. He raised her arms and when her wrists were level with the hook, he secured the chain on the tip of the hook, and then raised the hook one inch. Just enough to keep her from standing on tiptoes to unhook herself.
Helpless. She was completely helpless, in a room that couldn’t be found with a man who warned her of his inner darkness. A little panicked whimper escaped her, muffled by the gag.
Wes walked around from behind her and cupped her chin, his
eyes fathomless, except for the heady lust gleaming there.
“Breathe, Callie. It’s just us. And pleasure, so much pleasure.” He leaned in and nuzzled her cheek. She jerked against the cuffs and chains, struggling to get closer to him, but couldn’t.
He was in complete control.
Wes tilted her chin back, exposing the column of her throat, and then he licked and nipped a path down to her collarbone, worshipping each inch of flesh he encountered. Each kiss and nip lit a fire in her blood and she prayed he wouldn’t stop this sweet torture. Callie dropped her head back. Every part of her was focused on his mouth. She panted against the gag and her back arched.
“So impatient,” he said and chuckled as he stepped back, his gaze raking down her naked body so heavily that she could feel invisible hands on her. She huffed against the gag as he walked over to the dresser by the bed. The rasp of wood opening and Wes’s broad back before he turned around to face her was all she could see. In his hand was a long leather-wrapped stick about two feet long with several ribbons of leather dangling from one end.
A flogger.
Every muscle in her body tensed and she gasped against the gag. He was going to flog her.
She tried to calm down, but fear and excitement chased each other through her veins until she was dizzy from the rushing blood.
“This is a light flogger,” Wes explained as he drew the ribbons along the palm of his left hand, and then with a quick flick of his right hand, he snapped the ribbons down over his left palm. No trace of pain crossed his features. Maybe it didn’t hurt…or he had a really high pain tolerance. Callie gulped.
“You remember in Paris, when we talked about this? How I can make you burn and your skin heat up, but without real pain?”
She managed a shaky nod. She did remember.
“We are going to try that.” He reached back into the drawer and pulled out a golf-ball-size silver bell. “This is what you will use to give me your safe word while you’re gagged. Clench it in your fist like this and the sound is muffled. I will know you are fine. If you need me to stop, open your palm more and shake the bell.” He approached her again and settled the bell in her right hand.