by Lauren Smith
“Go ahead, shake it for practice.”
The bell jingled as she shook it. There was plenty of wrist flexibility for her to easily shake it. That made her relax. She had part of her control back. He’d respect her if she used that. She trusted her feelings for him and relied on that to feel safe with him.
“Remember, Callie,” Wes spoke softly in her ear as he settled one hand on her waist. “Trust me. I will stop if you use the bell, but know that my goal is not to hurt, only to arouse you. Do you trust me?”
She nodded. As insane as it was, she did trust him. The initial wave of panic had faded and she was calm again, as calm as she could be considering that she was chained and strung up for Wes’s pleasure. A little thrill rippled through her.
Wes set the flogger down and he plucked the silver cuff links out of his dress shirt and set them on the dresser. Then he removed his expensive suit coat. As he rolled up his shirt sleeves he exposed his muscled forearms. There was something disturbingly beautiful about the way Wes looked half-undressed. His dark red hair fell across his eyes and he brushed it back with one hand before he retrieved the flogger and walked behind her.
“Relax into the blows,” he instructed. It was her only warning.
The first blow landed on her upper back. She gasped loudly, but more from shock than pain. She had a few seconds to realize it didn’t hurt. More like a slightly heated stroke of leather upon skin. How many times had she smacked a set of leather reins against her thigh while riding? This was exactly the same sensation. No pain. Another strike hit her lower back, then her ass. Her body, once a little chilly, heated up beneath the flogger’s caress.
It seemed to go on for hours, the light blows, the delicate slaps of soft leather to bare flesh. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the anticipation and the following release of tension after each strike. She clutched the bell, loosely, no need to shake it. She was safe here in this blackness, with Wes, her dark protector, setting her free with each delicious kiss of leather to hot skin. Her mind slipped into a strange place, half euphoria, half heighted awareness.
The touch of the flogger disappeared, and strong hands clutched her hips. The gag was tugged down from her mouth and suddenly Wes was embracing her. She still hung from the hook, but he’d opened his trousers and freed his cock, clearly intending to make love to her standing. His hands cupped her ass, lifted, and her legs curled around his hips. He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her hard while he positioned himself to enter her with his other hand.
Then he thrust up, hard and fast, but she was so wet that he entered smoothly. Callie cried out at the feel of him filling her, stretching her to the point of almost painful tightness. He could fuck her like this, pulling her down on his shaft as hard and fast as he liked. An orgasm exploded through her. The flogging had primed her so well that she hadn’t been aware of how on edge she’d been until he’d pushed into her.
Wes’s lips claimed hers as he rocked against her body. Her nipples, so achingly sensitive, scraped against his fine dress shirt and Callie moaned. A second orgasm rolled through her, so brutal it left her shaking and struggling to breathe. She was limp and boneless but Wes kept driving into her, seeking his own pleasure. There was something wild and raw about him, the way he stared into her eyes as he pumped into her over and over. One of his hands held her up by her ass, and the other still held the back of her neck, keeping her still. When he finally came, he shouted, hoarse and guttural.
Her skin burned lightly as he stroked her back, up and down with one hand. He wrapped one arm around her waist and his other hand slid down to caress her bottom. The touch almost hurt, in a good kind of way, like after a hard day’s work on the ranch, when every muscle was exhausted, and she collapsed into bed. Two mind-numbing body-exploding orgasms at Wes’s hands had that same effect on her.
“How do you feel, darling?” he asked in a faint whisper against her ear. His warm breath made her shiver and the light sheen of sweat from their lovemaking cooled her skin.
“Like I died and went to heaven.” Her words were almost slurred with exhaustion and she dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. It was hard to think beyond the fuzzy sense of safety and the warmth of his touch.
“Stay strong enough for a moment longer.” He released her body and she sagged in her restraints. The faint whir of chains from the ceiling lasted a few seconds before she slumped. His strong arms caught her, like a ragdoll. She let him unhook her and remove her cuffs. Then he lifted her into the cradle of his arms and carried her over to the king-size bed.
She used the last bit of her energy to crawl beneath the blankets and snuggle into the pillow. Her entire body was sensitive at his touch, but she had no energy left to show it.
“Wes, you won’t leave me?” She yawned and tried to open her eyes. When she managed to find him, he was stripping out of his clothes. The sight of his sun-kissed muscular body sent little aftershocks through her. Her inner walls fluttered in an echo of an orgasm as he climbed into bed beside her and curled his body around her. The lights dimmed and she let herself drift away. Her last memory of that night was the ghostly faint murmur of his response.
“God help me, Callie. I can’t ever let you go.”
* * *
It took only a few minutes for Callie to fall asleep in Wes’s arms. He held his breath, counting the seconds before he left the bed and quickly returned with a small lotion bottle. She snuggled right up against him again and he warmed a drop of lotion on his palm before he slipped it beneath the sheets and rubbed it over her back in slow circles. It would help her skin to soften and heal. Not that he’d marked her, a few red lines that would fade in a day. No welts, no pain. That was what she needed, just a hint of darkness, a hint of something close to the edge. And giving it to her had been euphoric. She had given him what no other woman had been able to give him before. Complete trust and surrender.
He’d done much harsher things to other submissives depending on their needs, but nothing had fulfilled him like tonight with Callie. That shadow in his soul, the scars he hid from the world, seemed to burn away whenever he touched her. She was a light, shining clear through him and obliterating that darkness he warned her about. It scared the fucking hell out of him. She had the power to save him. He didn’t want someone to have that strength over him, but he couldn’t pull back. He was in too deep. Callie belonged to him, and he wouldn’t give her up, even if it meant losing himself to her in return.
A soft sigh whispered against his bare chest as her lips parted and she murmured his name. He tightened his hold on her. Was she dreaming about him? The thought made his lips curve into a genuine smile. Dreams were a sacred realm, and if he owned her there, she was his. Forever.
Chapter 22
Callie had lied to Wes. And she hated it. But something in her gut told her it was necessary. He’d given her access to the Monet painting and in the last two days she’d done as he asked and forged the painting. Stroke for stroke. It was perfect. Even she, someone who was constantly doubting her own skill, had to admit it was a remarkable replica. She’d made the piece Wes needed and it would be bait for the art thief. But that wasn’t what made her tense with shame.
Her secret wasn’t technically a lie, not really. The guilt at concealing something from him was strong. If she dared to share it with Wes, it might jeopardize her own plan to catch the thief. She knew Wes was doing what he thought was best, but Callie had ranch instincts. That sense of when a storm is coming, even if you can’t see a cloud for miles. She was convinced the thief was still one step ahead of Wes and the FBI, as sure as she could smell rain on the horizon.
After Thomas Stonecypher’s attack on her in the library, Callie was convinced he was the thief. He’d snuck up on her and she wasn’t going to let him do that again. If he had some scheme to steal the Monet, she was going to do everything in her power to stop him.
“Callie?” Wes stood in the doorway of the studio, dressed in dark brown riding pants and a navy blue
polo shirt. His riding boots gleamed from fresh polish and looked new except for the slight scuffing on the toes. His red hair was swept back carelessly as though he’d combed it with his fingers. The man looked like a walking personification of sin. Why did he have to look so good? She swallowed her guilt and smiled. It was only temporary. She’d be able to tell him everything once all of this was over.
“Is it time?” She glanced at the small delicate wristwatch with a mother-of-pearl face and a brown leather band on her left wrist. Wes had bought it for her in Paris after he’d taken one look at her old digital watch. She’d lost track of time this morning, but painting seemed to have that effect on her. His lips twitched as he walked over to her and reached for her.
“No! I’m covered in paint. You’ll ruin your clothes.” She protested, but couldn’t escape when he captured her in his arms. His soft lips brushed against her cheek and everything inside her warmed up and she wanted to purr like a contented cat. Every time he held her, it was like coming home, taking that first step inside her front door after a long day’s hard work.
“I’d much rather ride you than any polo pony today, but it’s important to go. Agent Kostova will see that the forgery makes it to the Gilded Cuff tonight.”
She stiffened in his arms and raised her head to meet his eyes. “You’re not going with them to make sure it’s secured there?”
Wes shook his head. “Jax will be there to make sure it’s handled, and Stephen Vain said he’d help out. He heard we were featuring the Monet at the upcoming party and as a curator he makes art preservation his priority.”
“Mr. Vain?” She remembered him from the gala. Another dom.
“Yes. Good man, Vain. He used to be on the Camden Auction House Board, but Camden underwent a few board changes in the last year and he resigned two months ago. I helped him secure the curator position he has now.”
Callie didn’t know anything about auction houses or boards. “Why would someone resign from a board position? Isn’t that supposed to be a good job to have?”
Wes curled an arm around her waist as they left the art studio and walked back to her room where she could change for the polo match.
“He and the newly elected board chairman, Peter Wells, didn’t see eye to eye on pretty much everything. I’d never tell Stephen, but Wells might be the better choice. He’s all about trimming costs and maximizing auction efficiency so Camden can sell more pieces a day than it has been doing in the last few years. Several of the current board members came to me and asked me about adding Wells to the board, and I agreed that he would be a good choice.” Wes leaned one shoulder against the bedpost while she dug through her clothes in the walk-in closet, trying to figure out what she would wear.
“So when Wells took over, how did he make Vain resign?” Callie plucked a rose-red dress with a flowing skirt that reached the tops of her knees and held it out so Wes could see. His gaze drifted over the dress and he nodded, an approving light in his blue eyes that made her flush.
“From what I heard”—Wes’s voice grew louder and she turned to see him walking into the closet with her—“Wells waged a bit of a campaign against Vain. It got nasty. Vain bowed out within just a few months of Wells starting.” Wes watched as she unbuttoned the large paint-covered dress shirt and let it drop to the floor. He made no move to help her undress, and she knew why. He loved to watch her strip. She had figured out that in Paris. He would order her in that deep dom voice and she’d peel off one article of clothing at a time, letting his gaze devour her.
When she stripped out of her pants and threw them at him, he caught the jeans, dropped them to the floor, and then lunged for her. Callie shrieked and darted out of the closet, laughing as she evaded Wes. The low, playful growl behind her made her shiver and then gasp as he pinned her to the side of her bed. She bent over, and he followed her, whispering in her ear.
“After the polo match, you and I will have a little time to ourselves.” He rubbed one palm over her ass and smacked it lightly. Heat flared in the wake of his touch and she let out a throaty purr.
The erection pressing into her bottom was a clear sign she wasn’t the only one affected by their position and her reaction.
“You are killing me, Callie.” He kissed her cheek, and with a reluctant sigh, let her go. “Get dressed before I change my mind and make us late to the match.”
After flashing him what she hoped was a saucy grin, to which he rolled his eyes, she ran back to the closet and got dressed. When she came back out, she noticed the tip of a canvas tucked under her bed close to Wes’s boots. She forced her gaze up to his, hoping he wouldn’t notice where her eyes had focused seconds before. The lie, the deception ate away at her stomach again, and she prayed he wouldn’t sense anything was amiss.
“You ready?” He held out a hand and she took it, grateful to have a reason to touch him.
“Ready.” She smiled and followed him to the door. She didn’t dare cast a glance at the bed and what she’d hidden underneath. One lie. That was it, but God it felt so huge. She never wanted to hide anything from Wes, but she had to go with her gut.
* * *
Wes mounted his polo pony named Vengeance and trotted behind Royce, Emery, and Fenn. As a team of four, they were perfect to go up against the opposing team of four players. Stephen Vain III, Thomas Stonecypher, Gerald Parker, and Samuel Cross were on the opposing team, all men his age who he’d grown up with. Whenever a charity needed money, polo was an easy way to raise support. The ladies dressed in their best clothes and mingled by the field, drinking mimosas while the players waged war on the turf. Gossip ran rampant among the tents, which was just what the FBI needed for the plan to work. The unveiling of the Monet would be quite a topic for the members of the Gilded Cuff who would be attending the match.
“Ready for some fun?” Royce nudged Fenn in the ribs and their horses nipped at each other as the two men bumped shoulders. Fenn chuckled and slapped the neck of his horse.
“I haven’t played since I was eight. What do you think?” Fenn retorted.
“I think,” Emery said as he joined his brother, “it’s like riding a bike. You played well on those tiny polo ponies we had as kids. You’ll be fine.”
Wes grinned as the Lockwood twins ribbed each other. It was a sight he’d never expected to see again, all four of them together. Something in his chest squeezed painfully and he checked his reins and then gripped his mallet. Vengeance shifted restlessly beneath him. He was a bit wild for a polo pony, but Wes took the risk because the horse had speed.
“Easy, Ven,” he soothed with a pat. Vengeance was a retired racehorse, a thoroughbred with an excellent bloodline. Built for bursts of speed, stamina, and agility, he was every polo player’s dream. Wes had trained Vengeance after he turned three years old, and the horse could read Wes’s cues by the slightest pressure of his legs or by weight cues whenever Wes adjusted his body. Wes always had a few other mounts as backup because they often needed to change rides during each seven-and-a-half-minute chukker period.
Wes followed his friends out onto the field where the announcer was discussing the players’ bios and their statistics. It wasn’t something he ever listened to, but he wondered what Callie had to be thinking of all of this. He sat up on his horse and glanced over his shoulder at the large tent full of tables where ladies and gentlemen were seated or walking about. The flare of the rose-colored dress made Callie jump out in his line of sight. She was deep in discussion with Hayden and Sophie, Emery Lockwood’s fiancée. Callie was smiling and laughing, too, which made him smile.
“What’s with the goofy grin?” Emery asked Wes. He reined back his pony and was checking his chin strap on his helmet.
Wes just shook his head. “None of your business.”
His best friend laughed, the sound carrying. “If I had to guess, it has to do with the reason my brother has a black eye and split lip.”
“Maybe, but he deserved it,” Wes growled. Fenn may be one of his best friends, b
ut he wouldn’t hesitate to blacken his other eye if Fenn ever mentioned Callie again in a way that pissed him off.
“Okay. You win. I won’t ask any more questions.” Emery raised his hand to imitate a whipping noise. “Happens to the best of us.” Then he laughed hard and the pony jumped forward.
Wes was too distracted to play much of an aggressive game. Every thought seemed to be focused on Callie. If he could catch the art thief, he’d be able to take her back to Paris. In the short time there, he’d only been able to scratch the surface of what the city had to offer. The idea of how much he still wanted to experience with her left him feeling oddly excited. The little tremors in his stomach were foreign, but not unwelcome.
Royce shouted as he chased the white plastic ball down the line, which was an invisible path the ball took that defined the play of the game. Players were restricted by the path of the ball. Wes’s black pony huffed and darted after the ball but Stonecypher drew up alongside Royce, mallet lowered. Royce, as the hitter, had the natural right of way, but Stonecypher could approach alongside and hook the ball away. Wes kicked Ven’s side and sprinted toward his friend. But Stonecypher smacked the white ball away, changing the play.
Stephen Vain galloped past him, a grin twisting his lips as he waved his mallet in a mock salute.
“Bastard,” Wes said, laughing. Game on.
The next two chukker periods went by quickly, the play rough. More than one risky play and almost illegal moves happened on both sides. Wes changed horses twice and now sat astride one of the chestnut ponies, a gelding named Lord Nelson. Nelson wasn’t nearly as quick as Vengeance but was more agile. With a tied score, a horse with agility was better.
Fenn raced up ahead, mallet swinging for a blow. Suddenly, Stonecypher’s horse rushed at Fenn.