Tied to His Betrayal

by Stacey Kennedy

  A sex club? Whoa.

  On one hand, I begin to wonder if this is what Allie was trying to tell me. I get the feeling she knows about this place and what Darius does here. On the other hand, I don’t want to know how she knows that information about him.

  I lift my chin, pretending that I’m not way in over my head and move into the middle of the room, spotting the leather collars hanging on the wall. I go there, stroking my fingers over the cool metal ring on the thick leather. “Do you come here a lot?” I ask in an attempt to get my bearing.

  “Not anymore, no.”

  “Why?” I continue moving around the room, running my fingers along the black tufted leather chaise below the bundles of black rope hanging on the wall.

  “I’ve played in here more times than I’m sure you want to know. It’s grown”—he pauses, obviously choosing his words carefully—“I’ve grown tired of what I get out of this room.”

  I absorb that bit of information and decide I don’t even want to think about all the women whom Darius has touched in the room. Though even as the thought crosses my mind, I’m not as bothered as I think I should be. He’s not with any of those women now. He is back in his playroom with me. “But you’re back here now. Why?”

  “Because here I can give you what you need.”

  I want to say, Is that so? But I know better. Darius has proven many times to know what I need before I know it myself. I stop for a moment, scanning the walls, wondering just how secluded this place is. “Why don’t I see another door, other than the one we came through?”

  “Because there isn’t one,” he says, standing statue-still, assessing my mood, I’m sure. “When I built the club, I had this secret room built, too, and any woman who has come here with me arrives blindfolded.”

  “Seriously?” I frown at him. “Your dates agreed to that?”

  He nods as if that’s the only answer I need.

  “But I’m not blindfolded?” I gently point out.

  He watches me long enough that I think he’s not going to answer. Then, “No, you’re not.”

  I can see by the hardness in his eyes that he’s sure-as-shit thinking about something pretty heavy, but his silence tells me he’s not going to say anything more. I begin examining the room again and warmth slides through my body as I pass a wooden spanking bench. I drag my fingers across the smooth, shiny wood. “So…” I keep walking around the large space, sliding my hands over the leather paddles and a wooden one, too, before I’m in front of him again. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Because you wanted to come here.”

  I give him a sassy smile. “I don’t remember saying that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  And right there, staring deeply at him, I know, and he knows that he’s right. I did want this. I craved the way he used to touch me. The slaps on my ass he’d give me. The rough way he handled my body, like he needed to own it. The passion that he exuded when he touched me. Darius knows how to fuck a woman. But fucking him comes with everything in this room. Because he isn’t a sweet lover. He’s dirty, raw, and it’s all that I had been missing.

  One second passes…

  And another…

  Then he addresses me. “Take off your clothes.”

  It’s an order, I know that.

  It’s a test, and my stripping naked for him is my agreement.

  Keeping my eyes on him, I slowly undress, removing each article of clothing until the warm air is caressing my taut nipples.

  He stays leaning against the door, glancing down my body and then back up, until those powerful eyes reach mine again. “I want this to be very clear,” he states, pinning me with his hard stare. “In this room you are mine in any and every way I want you. If you don’t like the sounds of that, then this doesn’t go any further.”

  I nod, unable to speak, my heart hammering in my ears.

  He takes a step toward me and it takes all my strength not to step back. All that power coming toward me is nothing I’ve ever seen from him. It’s as if he knows my body in ways that I don’t even know my body, like I’m a book and he isn’t reading my pages, he’s erasing them to rewrite them.

  He stops in front of me and arches a brow. “Nervous?”

  “Yes.” I don’t bother lying. We both know it’s true.

  “Good.” His eyes are soft, trusting, before he’s leaning in and whispering in my ear, “Stay honest with me.” When he leans away, I’m so wet it’s becoming uncomfortable and my knees weaken. “If you say, Stop, No, or anything that indicates you don’t like what I’m doing, I’ll stop. It’s that simple.”

  “I trust you,” I whisper, somehow knowing that’s what he needs to hear.

  The side of his mouth lifts. It holds a devilish edge. “Again, good, that makes this all the more fun.” He’s watching me in ways I don’t recognize. It’s intense and controlled yet so passionate it shouldn’t be hindered. He leans in then, sliding his fingers through my hair until he’s gripping the strands tight. Then he’s taking me away in a kiss that makes me forget everything but the feeling of his lips against mine.

  It’s beautiful. It’s raw. It’s the most real thing I’ve ever known.

  When he breaks away, I’m breathless, and it takes me a few seconds to open my eyes to see him walking away from me. God, I’m so exposed, naked, while I’m watching him take off his jacket and his tie. I’m feeling nervous butterflies flutter in my belly when he begins rolling up his sleeves. I tangle my fingers together to stop them from shaking as he opens a drawer, and I notice that he takes out something black. I’m trying to see what he’s got when I realize he’s taken out a pair of high-heeled shoes from another drawer. I know he’s done this with other women, but as he returns to me and places the shoes at my feet, and after I slip into them, I can’t help but think for one second that it’s odd he has the right shoe size. My heart likes to think that maybe every woman he’s been with has looked like me. But as he rises to stare at me, I can’t think anything else.

  He becomes everything.

  “Turn around,” he states.

  I do, as gracefully as I can in three-inch heels. My heart is hammering in my ears as he gathers my hair, sliding the strands over one shoulder. I lower my head, trying to be as calm as he is, but sweat is forming along my spine. When he reaches in front of me, I realize he’s placing a black lace underbust corset around my torso. I’m filled with yearning. He’s decorating my body for him, and I lift my hands and gather my hair out of his way as he begins, confidently and silently, tightening the corset’s ribbon. Each glide of the fabric through the lace is a jolt to my body.

  With a final tug, he moves around me toward the wall, taking one of the collars off a hook and reaching into the drawer again. When he turns around, I see that there’s a silver chain leash with a black leather handle in his hand.

  My lips part, the air seeming harder to draw in now through the corset and the heat burning through the blood in my veins, as he steps behind me, attaching the collar to my neck, nice and tight. I glance at the crops in front of me on the wall, shivering in anticipation of what’s to come.

  His warm body closes against my back, his fingers slide across the pulse point in my neck before he slowly grips the front, not enough to block air, but enough to suggest danger. “Is that what you want me to use on you, Taylor?” he murmurs by my ear.

  I trust you echoes from my heart. I shudder against him, my eyes fluttering as his fingers stroke the side of my neck. “Yes.”

  He moves to my front, then attaches the leash to the collar, sliding his hand down the chain, until he gives a firm tug, letting me know he’s in control. Then, by the leash, he leads me over to the wall. “Pick one,” he says, gesturing to the sex toys behind him.

  I swallow deeply, glancing over the wall of toys. Some of them look wicked, mean. But I focus on the black crop with the big, flat end. “That one.” I point to it.

  He opens his hand, arching his brow.

  Som
ehow touching the crop and handing it to him seems like one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I do it. Because I want him to touch me in the way that he touches me. And I know no matter what, when he touches me with anything it will lead to the most incredible pleasure.

  Crop in hand, he places the chain over his shoulder, and I follow him back to the center of the room. I’m not scared when he looks back at me; I see the heat in his eyes. He’s liking this moment, seeing me this way. And I want to be whatever he needs me to be. I want him to enjoy this like I am.

  He reaches into his pocket, taking something else out that I can’t see. His eyes are on mine, and I see the hint of a smile on his face when he places a black lace mask on my face. That’s when I smile, too.

  Darius loves lace; he always has. Lace belongs on your body, he once told me.

  He steps behind me and tightens the mask around my face, and I realize I can still see quite a bit. And that’s when I know the lace is for him—his kink—not to hinder my eyesight. He keeps the chain in his hand, wrapping it around his fingers, keeping the connection between us tight, and moves in front of me again.

  My heart rate speeds up as he drags the cool leather of the crop over my lips, down my neck, between my breasts, all the way to the junction between my thighs, and all I can do is stand there and quiver. Fear is there, the worry that maybe he’ll hit me hard, that maybe there will be pain. But then I look into his eyes and I know I’m fine.

  Slowly, he begins tapping my thighs lightly, moving up and down my legs until he’s behind me, slapping my bottom with the stinging crop. He flicks my hair over my shoulder, and then I lose awareness of everything in the room as he begins kissing his way slowly down my back, his lips pressing tenderly along my spine. I sense him squat behind me before I feel the first harder slap of the crop. “Place your hands on your thighs and bend a little for me, baby.” I lean forward, feeling the heat rise to my face as he spreads my bottom open. “So, so, pretty.” His hand circles over my butt cheeks again before another swat of the crop burns across my flesh. He drags his fingernails down my back and over my warm bottom before he’s spreading my cheeks wider, getting a view of me that only he has ever demanded of me.

  “Don’t move,” is all he says before I hear nothing else. I only feel his tongue working wickedly over my flesh. Earlier, on the hood of the car, Darius devoured me like he had been starved of my taste. Now he’s licking over my slit, nibbling at the fleshy skin, like I’m his. It’s like he’s pulling my soul out of my body and placing it in his hands to play with in the way he wants to play with it.

  It’s all so much, so powerful…I can’t control anything. Then with a final slow lick inside of me, I’m coming against his tongue, breathless and flushed.

  Only when I hear, “You removed your hands from your legs,” and the leather slaps against my flesh, do my senses return to me.

  I open my eyes, finding myself back in the room and feeling his hand on my arm, supporting me. “It’s totally your fault,” I breathe.

  “Oh?” The strength of his body is at my back, both hands on my arms now, and every nerve ending awakens at the power behind me. “Do enlighten me why that’s my fault?”

  “You made me come.”

  His low chuckle brushes goosebumps over my flesh as his hands slide across my breasts and his fingers tweak my taut nipples. He pushes me forward toward the black leather chaise, then he presses against my back, and I lower my hands onto the soft, cool tufted leather.

  Bent over the chaise, I’m anticipating that he’s going to move away, so when I feel the tickle of rope against my back, I gasp in surprise. It’s soft and warm, and I’m not opposed when he binds one wrist to a metal loop on the side of the chaise. I can’t catch my breath when I watch him work over me, making another cuff to bind my other wrist.

  I cannot see him when he says, “Now let’s see if you can be still.” He also doesn’t give me the chance to wonder what he means by that, because somehow, at some point, he’s sheathed himself in a condom and the tip of his cock is at my entrance and he’s entering me in one swift stroke.

  A throaty moan rages from my mouth at the tightness of me, compared to the fullness of him. His fingers are around my hips, gripping tight when he’s thrusting his hips in a steady rhythm. Warmth envelops me like a blanket of fire, growing more and more intense as the minutes go on. And as the crop again slaps down on my already warm bottom, I’m lost to the sensations he’s offering. Each smack of the leather, and every one of his sexy throaty groans, pulls me deeper…until he’s not him, and I’m not me, somehow we’re something more.

  Then I know nothing but a pleasure that makes a few seconds the best few seconds of my life. And all that’s left is his thrusts, his burning slaps on my bottom, the rope, his power, and my screams of pure satisfaction echoing off the walls.

  My mind is hazy, my body humming when I hear his soft chuckle. “Even bound, you still find a way to disobey.”

  I blink, peeling my sweaty cheek off the leather chaise. That’s when I notice the metal loop that Darius bound me to is now resting on the chaise by my hand. “Oh, my God, did I break it?”

  “You did.” He squats down next to me, revealing his dark smile, hooded eyes. “And let me guess, that’s my fault, too?”

  I laugh softly because it’s all I can do. I’m flying, and all my nervous energy begins to slowly fizzle out into a kind of satisfaction I’ve never known. Somehow he made me feel sexy, beautiful, desired, and a little dirty all in one shot.

  But then he’s there, his bare cock at my mouth. “Give me a treat, princess.”

  I part my lips and Darius wraps his hand around my head, placing one foot up on the chaise, holding the chain, tugging on my neck with his other hand. His thick cock slides swiftly into my mouth as he thrusts his hips. He’s gentle and careful, but soon his thrusts become more urgent. Staring down at me, he’s watching his cock disappear in my mouth until it hits the back of my throat and he quickly withdraws. This is for him, I know that. I suck harder, giving him all I have to make him feel good. His moans come closer together, become more intense. Then he stops and grabs his cock drenched in my saliva, and I’ve never seen anything look hotter in my life.

  “Open your mouth.” His jaw clenches, eyes intently focused. “Don’t close it.”

  I part my lips wide for him. He strokes his cock once, then he works his hand hard and fast, thrusting his hips in rhythm with his hand. Then he’s shutting his eyes as his salty and warm semen shoots onto my tongue. He shudders once, moaning so very deep, before he opens his hooded eyes to me.

  “Now swallow,” he orders.

  I do as I’m told.

  The side of his mouth lifts as he drags his finger across my lips. “Was that filthy enough for you, sweetheart?”

  I kiss his finger. “I want more.” Then I suck on his thumb, nipping at the end.

  His eyes flare, voice lowers. “Of course you do, princess.” Then he turns and approaches the wall of toys, grabbing a flogger. He swirls it in his hand and grins. “Want to change your mind?”

  And as he strides back to me, I smile in return, shaking my bottom, teasing him, encouraging him to give me his all. “Hell no.”

  Darius

  Many, many orgasms later, I’m sitting on the chaise with Taylor lying between my thighs, draped over me like a blanket, my fingers threaded through her hair. Never, not once did I ever imagine bringing her to the place where I’ve indulged in my darkest fantasies.

  Within these walls I’ve whipped, spanked, bound, and fucked women playing a submissive role to me. I’ve played the doctor, the teacher, the therapist, and so many other roles for women who crave those particular fantasies. I’ve had rough, wild, and hard-core sex. I’ve explored my hunger to own a woman’s body until she has nothing left to give me, until I’ve drunk her dry.

  But with Taylor, it’s different.

  I don’t want leather slapping her ass. I want to slap her ass. I don’t want to b
ind her every time because I want her to touch me, too. I don’t want to use toys on her right now. I want to drive her higher and get her there, using nothing but me, my hands, my mouth, my cock. Me.

  I’m so lost in my thoughts and the realizations coming over me that when Taylor says, “Darius,” I jerk beneath her.

  She laughs, rubbing her warm cheek across my bare thigh. “A bit lost in your head, are you?”

  I reach for the blanket that’s fallen off her back, pulling it up to her shoulders, keeping her warm. “A little,” I admit, gazing upon her bronzed skin and the freckles across her shoulders.

  “That’s okay. My mind is working a mile a minute, too.” Her chest rises and falls with her long sigh.

  “About what?” I need to know.

  She swirls her finger against the leather in front of her face. “Will you be honest with me about something?”

  “Always,” I promise, curious what’s on her mind.

  “As I’m lying here, in this space, with all these things around me, I can’t help but think about the women you dated. You said you didn’t have a normal relationship with them. Is this what they did for you?”

  I lean my head against the back of the chaise, glancing in her direction, then at the whips, crops, and other toys on the wall.

  Her voice softens when she adds, “Did you use all of these things on them?”

  “Yes.”

  A long moment of silence stretches out between us, and I tuck her hair behind her ear, waiting her out. It’s a lot to take in, I’m well aware, so I give her the time she needs to process.

  She finally does and asks, “Did you use these things on women because they liked it or because you did?”

  It’s pretty clear what she wants to know. “You’re wondering if I’m a sadist?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I’m not,” I explain. “I don’t get gratification, sexual or otherwise, in causing others pain.”

  She moves onto her back, glancing up at me, eyes curious. “Then why do you do this?”