by Jane Henry
She looks away. “Just had to answer a question from my bank. Guess they’re doing standard checking in on stuff. I, um, maybe spent a lot on the Coach website?” I raise a brow.
“Oh?’
She gives me a sheepish grin. “And I just had to confirm that yes, it was me, and not a theft.”
“Baby, how much did you spend?”
She looks sheepish. “Just a few…” her voice trails off… “hundred. You know,” she shrugs. “I saw a few things I liked and decided it was time for a little splurge.” It’s her money, and I don’t really care as long as she’s being responsible, but still, there’s something unsettling in the way she’s talking.
“Alright then. I gotta hit the office. You and Diana are heading to Verge, right?”
She nods. I’m supposed to meet them all there in a little while. I wouldn’t let her go without a man on her, but she’s fine now that she’s under protection. “I’ll drop you off and meet you in an hour.”
Diana stands and signs some paperwork, and the three of us leave the cake shop. It’s then that I see him. The obscure black Mazda on the corner. For some reason he’s vaguely familiar to me, but I can’t quite place him. I don’t let on that I’ve seen him, but pull her closer, my hand on the back of her neck. The fucker wants to tail her, he’ll have to tail me, and if he’s got balls that size it’ll be my personal pleasure to meet him head on.
I steer her to my car, open the door, and escort her in. “You sure you don’t want me to go with Diana? Save you some time.”
“I’m sure, baby.” I lean in, barely controlling my temper, ready to fucking kill the person stalking her. I’ve been at this long enough to know this is no fucking whim of mine. I lean in and buckle her in, lock the door and slam it shut. Her eyes widen, staring at me, but I stalk to my side, pretend to drop something on the ground, and glance at the car. He’s got his hand on the wheel, ready to go. I grab my phone, about to dial Patel, when the man catches my eye and pulls away the curb so fast horns blast in protest. The gig’s up. He knows I’ve seen him and now he wants to fucking flee. He heads in my direction and I watch him, but he doesn’t stop when he gets to my car, doesn’t do anything to Diana, just guns it.
I open the driver’s side door and slide in, shut the door, and peel out into the main road, ignoring the sound of honking horns behind me.
“Zack! What are you doing?”
I don’t say anything at first, intent on getting behind that son of a bitch who just burned rubber past my car.
“Zack?”
“Someone stalking you, saw me, took off. Fuck.”
I try to pull ahead but a huge delivery truck drops its ramp, and a driver starts pushing down a palette of milk crates. I try to get past him but it’s impossible, there’s a line of busses to my right and when I look in front of me, I see the last bit of black vanish. Fuck.
“Who’s stalking me?” she whispers. “God, Zack. Who?”
I drive toward Verge and say nothing at first. “No fucking clue,” I tell her. “But I’ll find out.”
I push the door open to Tobias’s office.
“Hey, man. Have you seen Beatrice?”
He nods. “Yeah, she and Diana were having a drink on the main floor. Everything alright?” I dropped her off here, knowing she was in safe hands with Tobias, while I made sure my men knew exactly what I needed from them.
“Just haven’t heard from her yet.”
“How long?” he asks, he brows furrowing.
I give him a sheepish smirk. “Like twelve seconds since I texted, just wondering if you saw her.”
He half-smiles. “This shit’s eatin’ you up, huh?”
I huff out a breath, pull out the chair in front of his desk and spin it around, straddling it. “Yeah. Saw a guy I could swear was stalking her today, but I couldn’t catch him when he took off, and I asked the guy I have tailing her, and he isn’t convinced it’s what I thought. Thinks it was a fluke.”
Tobias leans back in his chair, his dark eyes focused on me, jaw tight. “You know for sure someone’s screwing around with her?”
“No doubt, man.”
“And what do you have in place?”
“Phone tapped, she’s not allowed to go anywhere without my permission, got a man tailing her.”
Tobias raises a brow. “Over an arrangement of flowers sent to her?”
“It was more than that,” I say, though I know I’m maybe overreacting. “Someone moved my car from where she parked it.”
“I don’t wanna be an asshole, but she’s kinda… forgetful, isn’t she?”
I sit up straighter and feel my gut clench. “Sometimes, but the girl has her shit together and she knows someone moved the car.” I fill him in on what else that’s happened, and he nods speculatively.
“So this kinda shit normally gets around-the-clock surveillance?”
“Shut up.” I’m not joking with him now either, and his brows shoot up. “If someone was doing this shit to Diana, what would you do?”
He exhales. “I know. And I know you wanna keep her safe. But I’m just making sure you’re not chasing ghosts is all. That’s my job, to watch out for you.”
My phone buzzes with a message from Beatrice.
At the bar and waiting for you, sir.
“Beatrice,” I mutter to Tobias, before I respond.
Only non-alcoholic until I join you. She knows my rule for her.
Yes, sir. Of course, sir.
“Gonna go meet her,” I say, pushing up from my chair.
“See you in a bit.”
“Who’s DM tonight?” I ask, as I open the door to his office. I trust all of them, but I like knowing who the Dungeon Monitor on duty is. “Brax.”
Brax is the resident wiseass but he can be trusted.
I push through the office, eager to get to her. Every second apart makes my pulse race, and maybe it’s fucked up and maybe Tobias is right and I’m overreacting. I walk through the main entryway door but hear a scream the second I do. On instinct, I break into a run.
I enter the bar area, only to see a few people near the door blink up at me in surprise. No one else has even moved, no one else alarmed. And then I realize, the scream came from the dungeon. Shit. I’m so fucking strung up I flinched at a scream. I’m in a BDSM club. People fucking scream. I take a deep breath and try to pretend like I didn’t just run in here like a goddamned idiot.
Then I see her. She’s sitting at a table right next to the bar, with Diana. Tonight she’s in leather pants and a form-fitting top, midnight black and hugging her gorgeous curves. Her hair is loose about her shoulders, and she smiles when she sees me, waving a little. She’s safe. She’s fine. God. I’m the one that isn’t. Why’d I bring her here tonight?
She gets up to come to me and walks quickly. I meet her halfway, picking her up in a hug so tight I lift her straight up off the floor. She squeals. “Oh, my. I missed you, too, sir. But it’s only been a little while.” I put her back on her feet and she tips her head to the side. “Are you okay? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“Fine, baby,” I say, taking her by the hand and leading he to the bar. “Long day. I need a drink.”
Travis fist bumps me, grabs a pint glass, and fills it with frothy beer. He pushes it over. “How’s it goin’, man?”
“It’s going,” I say, taking a long pull from the drink.
He gives a little nod toward Beatrice, but his eyes come to me, asking me for permission to get her a drink. “She may,” I say. “What’s your drink tonight, doll?”
She smiles at me, her blue eyes as lovely as the sky at dusk, bright and hopeful. “Rum and coke, please. Thank you, sir.’
“On my tab, Travis.”
“Always,” he says.
“For someone with such sadistic tastes, you’re quite the old-fashioned gentleman at times,” she teases.
I take her drink from Travis, use the straw to extract and take an ice cube in my hand, take her by the wrist, and
tug her over to me. Cupping the ice in my hand, I run it along her neck. She gasps, then shivers, as the ice cube melts.
“It’s practically evaporating, you’re so hot,” I tease. She snorts but she braces herself. This isn’t easy for her, and I know it. She closes her eyes, allowing me to torture her with the ice, slipping into the submissive headspace I require of her when she’s here. I take away the ice cube and place it on a napkin at the bar, then take her collar out of my pocket, sliding it into place. Her eyes flutter open and she bites her lip.
“You ready to play in the dungeon tonight, babe?”
She nods her head eagerly. “Please, sir,” she says, her eyes soft and demure. When we’re here, she casts off what holds her back, and she’s easy for me to read, easy for me to please. She needs to scene to let it all go. And it’s one of the very many reasons I love her. It’s what I need from her, too.
I take another sip of my beer, then lean in, and whisper to her, “Have you been a good girl today?”
To my surprise her eyes flicker and she looks away. She’s hiding something from me, but she casts her eyes down. “No, sir,” she says coyly. “I think I need to be punished. Hard.”
I tug her hair back to get her attention. Her eyes widen, and her lips form an “o” of surprise. “Sir?” she whispers, teasing gone.
“What did you do?” I ask, taking another sip of my drink. In the corner of the room, laughter breaks out, loud and raucous, and behind me I hear someone purring like a kitten. “Beatrice,” I say warningly.
She doesn’t answer at first and merely shrugs.
I stand up from the bar, take her by the hand, and lead her to the dungeon. She’s either playing this up to be punished, or I need to extract the real truth from her.
Brax catches me at the door and gives me a chin lift. His arms are crossed on his chest as he surveys the room. “Fucking pet store in here tonight,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t judge, but teases mercilessly, so I know it’s all in jest. I smile at him, looking around at the dungeon. He’s got a point. I’ve never seen so many tails and collars in my life.
“Someone put an ad out in the paper?” I ask with a snicker.
He chuckles. “Not sure if it’s coincidence or what.”
“Everyone behaving?” I ask, my tone more serious.
“Yep,” he says with a wave of his hand. “All good.” He smirks as a dom, a young, college-aged guy who looks like he could be a linebacker, straps his sub to the St. Andrew’s cross. “Let the beatings commence.” The man rears back with his whip and lets the lash fly.
Beatrice’s eyes widen, but then she looks to me and draws a little closer. “Never had a kitten fetish, sir, but I can lick things up with my tongue with the best of them.”
My dick twitches in my pants and I want her on her knees. Fuck, I need to relax. I can feel the tension along my shoulders and coiled in my belly. “Tonight, we watch for a while,” I tell her, and she barely contains her audible whine. I have a reason, though, and it isn’t just for surveillance.
I find an empty leather bench in the corner of the room, sit down, snap my fingers and point for her to take her place kneeling beside me. She drops to her knees, her eyes eager and expectant. I take her chin in my hand and make her look me in the eyes. “Tell me the truth, now. Did you or did you not do something that deserves punishment?”
Her eyes flit quickly away then come back to me. “If I tell you no, will I still be punished?”
I lean in, my fingers still grasping her chin. “I know you want to be punished. What I need to know is if you really deserve it.”
She bites her lip and looks away. “I may have, um, forgotten to pay another bill,” she says, but she’s not looking at me. I frown as she looks back to me. “Sir, are you going to spank me?”
“No.” My tone is curter than I intend, her eyes widening. “Not yet. Touch yourself.”
She blinks. “Sir?”
“Slide your fingers between your legs,” I instruct. “And touch yourself.”
Biting her lip, her cheeks a faint tinge of pink, she does what I say, sliding her hand under the edge of her pants.
“Are you wet?” I whisper.
She whimpers a little and nods. “Yes, sir. I am.” Her breath hitches, “So wet.”
“Were you a bad girl?” I ask her. She bites her lips, her pupils dilating as she strokes herself. Pulling one side of her against my leg, I slap the side of her clothed breast with the palm of my hand. Her eyes go wide, and her mouth drops open.
“Work that clit,” I growl, “or you take off that top and I’ll punish your bare breasts in front of everyone.”
Moaning, grinding against her hand, she whimpers but says nothing to me as I continue to interrogate her.
“Tell me what you did,” I say.
“I accidentally stole a bag of chocolate,” she gasps, “the little mini ones with the peanuts.”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning. My feisty little girl is so damn sweet. I adjust her so she’s against my other side and I slap her breast again. “A bag of chocolate? How does someone accidentally steal?” Her hand freezes and I squeeze her breast, hard, eliciting a sharp, strangled cry, but then she moans as she finds her clit again, her hand working faster, harder.
“It was under my coat in the cart,” she groans. God, she’s killing me, talking about chocolate while she’s working herself to orgasm. Only Beatrice.
“Naughty girl,” I say, then my voice drops, a harsh command. “Stop.”
She mewls but obeys.
“Give me your hands,” I command.
With a soft whisper of a cry, she does, her beautiful, graceful fingers laying delicately in mine. I lift the fingers that worked her pussy and slide them in my mouth, suckling her sweet juices. She shudders but her eyes stay focused on mine as I lick every drop. Leaning in, I whisper in her ear. “Now grind against my leg.” She moves immediately to obey, her legs straddling mine. She writhes against me. I could make her strip. There are others in this room right here, right now, who have hardly a stitch of clothing on. And though sexual play’s allowed in the dungeon, most of the sex at Verge takes place behind closed doors. I’m only here to give her what she wants, flirtation with exhibition.
Her orgasms belong to me, and me alone. I claim them. But sometimes, I like to make her wait.
I pull her to standing. Without a word, I drag her to the nearest spanking horse, one displayed in the room in front of everyone. I might compromise on giving her what she wants, but I won’t strip her. That’s only for me, behind closed doors. The bench would push her ass into the air for me to paddle. The horse, however, is more in line with my purposes tonight. With a sturdy, V-shaped structure clad in leather with a padded center strip at the very top, when I push her over it, her breasts will hang on either side, her ass ready for me to punish, and the V-shape will press against her pussy.
What to spank her with?
She hasn’t had my belt in a good, long while.
We reach the spanking horse, and I push her gently down over it, allowing my hands to grasp her wrists more firmly than usual. I fasten her wrists at the bottom of the horse. She supports herself by pushing her feet down so she’s on her tiptoes on either side of the horse. By now, she’ll be fucking soaked.
“You’ve been a bad, girl, Beatrice,” I say. When I take her back to our private room, I want her so ready to come. “Push your pussy against the horse.”
Her back arches and she obeys, as I slowly unbuckle my belt, yank it through the loops on my jeans, and double it over, holding the buckle in my fist. We’ve gotten the attention of several people around us, now, which I know means she’s hotter than ever. Still, my mind’s on the fucker who’s stalking my girl, so the surge of anger I feel at the thought of her stalker makes the first lick of my belt on her ass harder than I intend. The whap of leather sounds in my ears, my cock stirring to life, a throb of arousal pulsing low in my belly. I have to calm myself down. Shit, I can’t hu
rt her because I’m angry.
“More,” she whispers, her eyes shut tight as her head tips to the side.
I rear back and whip her again with my belt. “Who decides how spankings go?” Three rapid licks of my belt land in succession.
“You do, sir!”
Another wicked stripe lands. If she were naked, she’d welt, but she has the protection of her thin clothing. She’ll still feel it, though, and when I peel her clothes off later, I want to see her ass cherry-red, bearing the marks of our session.
“Do I allow you to top from the bottom?” I clip. She shakes her head from side to side. I whip her again, my voice hoarse and tight when I order, “Answer me.”
“No, sir,” she whispers, grinding her pussy on the horse. “No, sir. I’m sorry!”
The whipping begins in earnest then, as I lay stripe after stripe of the folded leather across her upper thighs and ass. She flinches with every lick of the belt, and when a particularly hard one lands at the crease of her thighs and ass, she screams with pain. My cock strains painfully against my jeans, and I whip her harder.
She moans now, with a garbled, “Sir!”
Walking over to her, I place a hand on her lower back and lean in to speak to her. “Are you close, Beatrice?”
“So fucking close,” she breathes. “I’m gonna come, Zack. Do you want me to come here? Like this?”
Fuck no. I approve of her warning me with a gentle stroke of my hand along the length of her hair. “Good girl warning me.”
“I can’t… I can’t…” she pants, “Hold onnnn. Sir.” It’s a plea. I thread my belt quickly back through the loops on my pants and unfasten the straps where her hands are secured.
“You stand right here,” I whisper, as I quickly wipe down the bench, house protocol even though she was clothed. I take her by the arm and march her to the indigo room, I barely make it from wanting her so much. I slam the door, push her against it, capture her wrists and pin them above her head while I lean in and claim her with my mouth. I swallow her low hum of approval, then release her hands and slide one hand down between her legs. She slumps against me when I touch her, her eyes closed, head thrown back in bliss. One, two, three swipes of my finger and she’s arching.