“No. Today’s not good. I can’t get my leather wet.”
Kingsley reached under the seat and pulled out a red cloak with a hood.
“No more excuses.”
With a growl, Nora grabbed the cloak and pulled it around her. She covered her hair with the hood and looked once more down the alley.
“If I don’t make it back alive tell You-Know-Who-”
“You will be fine. Go. Vite!”
Kingsley waved his hand.
Nora sighed.
“You’ll wait here for me, right?”
“Bien sûr,” Kingsley said.
Nodding, Nora opened the door and stepped into the rain. Just to be on the safe side, she brought her toy bag with her. The items in her toy bag were designed for inflicting pain–consensual pain but pain nonetheless. If she was heading into Black Forest, she would go armed.
Staring down the dark alley, she steeled herself. She could do this. She had Kingsley as her backup in case anything …
From behind her she heard the sound of squealing tires. Kingsley had gone.
Nora could only roll her eyes.
“Fucking Frenchman …” she mumbled as she strode forward. “It’s like World War II all over again.”
Early afternoon still, the club hadn’t yet opened. The heels of her boots echoed hollowly off the wet concrete and the sound followed her to the green door at the entrance to Black Forest.
A rare case of nerves overtook Nora. She’d beaten the shit out of some of the biggest, toughest men in the world if they paid her enough for the privilege. But they’d wanted her to, invited her to. Here, at Black Forest, she came unwanted, uninvited. To comfort herself, she took her red riding crop out of her toy bag and held it by the handle. One never knew …
Nora tried the doorknob and found it locked. No worries there. She started to open her toy bag to dig out her lock-pick set when the door flew open so suddenly she gasped.
The man said nothing, asked no questions, and made no introductions. Of course, he didn’t need to say anything or make any introductions. Nora knew Brad, had seen him before, had met him before … but no matter how many times she’d seen him she could never wrap her mind around the sheer size of the man. At six foot four he stood no taller than her tallest ex-lover. But where most tall men tended toward the lean side, Brad was muscle from shoulder to shoulder, neck to ankle, and so wickedly handsome with his lupine smile and his salt-and-pepper hair that Nora could never look at him without wanting to get hip to hip.
Enemy, she reminded herself sternly. No fraternizing with the enemy.
“Shouldn’t you be at the gym?” Nora recovered her composure quickly. “I can see you shrinking by the second.”
“Well …” he said, looking Nora up and down. He seemed to take particular note of what she held in her hand and her signature red cloak. “If it isn’t Little Red Riding Crop.”
Nora gave him her brightest, broadest, most obnoxious smile.
“If it isn’t the Big Brad Wolfe. We meet again.”
“And me not even properly dressed.” Brad wore nothing but a pair of loose-fitting black pants and a black shirt … unbuttoned.
“I have that same shirt.” Nora tapped her chin. “Well, actually it’s a bed sheet. Same size. Very comfy.”
“I’ve heard tales of your bed, Mistress. Urban legends.”
“I live in Connecticut. They’d have to be suburban legends. I’ve heard tell of your bed too. Trees as bedposts, right?”
“You’re getting me confused with Odysseus.”
Nora raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.
“Brawn and brains–I would never have guessed. But then again, I don’t know anything about you.”
“Born in Albany. Played football at Rutgers. Rhodes scholar. Love kink. Hate normal jobs. Divorced. No kids. There. That’s the beginning and end of my life story.”
“Divorced, huh? Vanilla ex-wife?”
“How’d you guess?”
“I’m smart too. Used to a fuck a Rhodes scholar. By the way … are you going to invite me in?”
“Should I?”
Nora thought about that question and decided honesty would win her more points than charm.
“Nope.”
Brad raised a dark eyebrow at her and said nothing. Maybe she should have gone with charm.
While waiting for Brad to make up his mind, Nora started to twirl her riding crop in her hand like a baton. She did that often when burning off nervous energy.
Brad merely watched her. How many damn games of chicken was she going to get into with incredibly sexy men today?
“If I let you in, will you promise not to break anything … or anyone?”
Nora spun the crop one more time.
“Nope.”
“The Dame will have my hide if I let you in and you know it.”
“Then let’s hope you’re into that sort of thing.”
Nora smiled again at him, the smile she reserved for midnight conversations whispered across black sheets. It seemed to work. Brad took a step back and let her pass.
Finally inside Black Forest, Nora took a moment to simply look around. Kingsley’s Underground Empire included half a dozen clubs all over Manhattan. But he only had one club that existed solely for their kind. The 8th Circle, as it was known to insiders, had been carved from the ruins of an old condemned hotel. Kingsley hadn’t done much to spruce up the joint. The seediness of the club suited the clientele. But where The 8th Circle catered to money, Black Forest reeked of it. Black chandeliers with black light bulbs swung low from the black-and-gold ceilings. Leather chairs and sofas littered the floor. A dozen doors lined the first and second floor–doors that led to private rooms for secret activities.
“You don’t like it, do you?” Brad came to stand behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his skin radiating from his bare chest.
“Bit middle-class, isn’t it? Got a Rotary Club feel to it.”
“It’s a helluva lot nicer than that shit-hole you work in.”
“Exactly. We don’t have to look pretty to get our millionaires through the door. They get that at home.”
“Black Forest is doing extremely well.”
“Must not be doing that well if you have to keep poaching Kingsley’s people.” Nora spun around and attempted to stare Brad down. It would have worked, but she had to look so far up to stare him down …
“Kingsley works his people into the ground. No days off. No breaks. No vacations.”
“He’s a sadist.”
“He’s a bad boss.”
“And The Dame is so much better?”
“She is actually.”
“Then I should meet her,” Nora said, heading toward the stairs. “We can talk 401Ks and dental insurance. You get dental, right?”
For a man built like a linebacker, Brad could move with shocking speed. He interposed himself between Nora and the staircase and stared down at her.
“That’s not fair.” Nora flashed him a pout. “If I can’t stare you down you can’t stare me down.”
“You’re on The Dame’s territory. She makes the rules. I enforce them.”
“Great plan. I’d like to talk to her about it.” Nora tried to push her way past Brad and got nothing for her trouble but a few delicious seconds with her hand on his chest.
“No one talks to The Dame.”
“Then I’ll just listen.”
“No one listens to The Dame either.”
“Fantastic boss you have there then. Come on, Brad. Five minutes. All I need is five minutes with her.”
“For what? Are you really thinking of leaving Kingsley for this middle-class Rotary club, as you called it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Let me talk to The Dame. If she makes me an offer I can’t refuse … well, then I won’t refuse it.”
“I do the recruiting for the club.”
“Well then …” Nora took a step back and tapped her chin with the tip of her riding crop
. She saw something heated and mischievous gleaming in Brad’s dark eyes. “Maybe you should try to recruit me.”
“I have Mistress Irena now, along with four other Dominatrixes, plus three male Dominants, including me. We’re not hiring any more Doms.”
“Pity. I have an impressive résumé. And a huge client list. Everyone’s on it.”
“Everyone?”
“Your dad’s on it.”
Brad burst out laughing and Nora only waited with a smile.
“You should be punished for bringing my father into this discussion,” Brad said, raising a hand to her face. Nora didn’t pull away. He might slap her. He might pinch her nose. He might even kiss her. She wouldn’t have objected to any or all of those possibilities.
But instead of a slap or a pinch or a kiss, he simply caressed her cheekbone with his thumb. She started at the gentleness, the intimacy of the touch, and took a step back.
“What was that for?” she demanded, raising a hand to her cheek. The caress burned more than a slap would have.
“You’re beautiful.”
“And you’re huge and handsome. You don’t see me going around getting all personal with your face.”
“Would you like to get personal with my face?”
“I …” Nora stopped and swallowed. She needed to get back into control of this situation. She could handle Brad. She could handle any man. Well, except for one … “You’re trying to top me, aren’t you?”
“I told you. We’re all stocked up on Dominatrixes. What we really need are a few good subs.”
Nora’s spine stiffened.
“I don’t sub.”
“Not anymore, right?”
Nora glared at him.
“Come on, Nora. Everyone knows who you used to belong to. It’s not a secret.”
“Not a secret, no. But not anything I want to talk about.”
“Was it all that bad, being a sub for him?”
Nora let her most dangerous smile spread across her face.
“No. It was that good.”
“Then you should enjoy doing it again.”
“You’re a big man, Brad, but not even you could fill his shoes.”
“Worth a shot, isn’t it? You want to meet The Dame, then you have to get through me.”
“Through you? Or under you?”
“Both.”
Nora fell silent and considered the offer. Wasn’t like she’d never subbed before. She’d been a sub longer than she’d been a Dominatrix–ten years she’d spent in a collar. Ten beautiful years. But she couldn’t do that again. Could she?
“No collar,” she said with finality. “One hour of you on top. I’ll sub. Then I get my five minutes with The Dame.”
Brad leaned against the stair railing and studied her with his pale blue eyes.
“Nora … we both know you’re not going to leave King for Black Forest. Why are you so interested in talking to The Dame?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Are you going to tell me your reasons?”
“Nope.”
“Of course, if you submit to me, I suppose I could order you to tell me your reasons.”
At the utterance of the words “submit to me” Nora’s heart started to race a little faster, her breath quickened. She licked her bottom lip in nervous anticipation.
“Yes, I suppose you could.”
“Call me ‘Sir’ if you want to see The Dame,” he ordered, pressing closer.
“So …” Nora stopped and took a breath, “what are our rules here … Sir?”
“No rules.”
“No rules? Not even …”
Brad grinned at her with such hunger Nora wasn’t sure if he planned to beat her or eat her.
“I’ll take that as a ‘not even …’ ” Nora said. She took a long breath in and slowly let it out through her teeth. They didn’t need to spell it out. No rules meant no rules. And the one rule of the professional Dominants? No sex with the clients. But she wasn’t a client. She was a Dominatrix, a Dominatrix who really needed to get laid.
A month off.
No Kingsley.
No work.
Europe.
“Fine. Done. One hour. No rules. I’m yours.”
Brad only stared at her with his lips a thin hard line. He raised his eyebrow. Once more Nora sighed.
“I’m yours … Sir.”
“You are now.”
Brad didn’t hesitate, no doubt not wanting to give her the chance to change her mind. With his right hand he grasped Nora by her upper arm and half-dragged, half-carried her up the stairs. Nora dropped her eyes to the floor and let him lead her to a room near the end of the hallway. He kicked it open and threw her in. She landed on the plush carpeted floor and stayed there not looking at him while he closed and locked the door.
“When’s the last time someone hit you?” Brad stood in front of her, his feet on either side of her knees.
“A long time ago.” She started to smile up at him but remembered her place.
“Too long. Look at you … dressed up like one of the big girls with her big girl boots. And trying to play with the big kids? It’s embarrassing. Are you even thirty yet?”
“Thirty-one … Sir.”
“Are you even five feet tall?”
“Five foot three.”
“You’re a little girl, Nora. And someone needs to remind you that this town doesn’t belong to you.”
Brad reached down and tapped Nora under her chin, a signal that she was to look at him. She met his eyes and waited in silence.
“So this is how we get you to shut up.” Brad grinned wickedly at her and desire coupled with rebellion welled up within her. “We should make you submit more often. Cross. Now.”
Nora started to stand up, but Brad put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down.
“Crawl to it.”
She hid her rolling eyes behind her hair and crawled on her hands and knees to the St Andrew’s cross on the wall.
“Up.”
She stood up and waited as Brad unlaced her corset and pulled it off her. It took a hard bite to her own tongue to stop herself from smirking as Brad stared at her now-naked breasts.
“What a waste …” Brad sighed, as he cupped her breasts in both large hands. The heat from his hands sank into her skin. Nora almost sighed from the pleasure of his touch, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Such a beautiful woman … you should spend your days and nights naked tied to a man’s bed, gagged and blindfolded with your body waiting to be used.”
He kneaded her right nipple and Nora closed her eyes.
“But instead Kingsley keeps you locked up in leather.” Brad kissed that sensitive spot under her ear as he unzipped her skirt. Nora suppressed a ragged breath. She didn’t want to want this as much as she did. She had to control herself, stay focused, let him do what he wanted so she could get what she wanted and get out. But she couldn’t quite remember what she wanted.
Brad pulled her skirt down and off her before touching her clitoris gently with the tip of his finger.
Oh yes. That was what she wanted. Now she remembered.
Naked but for her boots, Nora stood waiting as Brad assaulted her with the softest of kisses on her neck and shoulders, the most careful of touches on her breasts. His restraint was the purest form of torture for a woman who hadn’t been fucked in two months.
“Turn around,” he ordered, but didn’t wait for her to comply. He simply spun her and forced her into the cross. Nora rested her cheek against the smooth wood and waited. So many memories crowded into her mind … memories of nights she’d left behind with the one man, the only man, she’d ever loved …
“Do you like it?” Brad asked as he strapped her wrists and ankles to the X-shaped cross. “I made it myself.”
“It’s beautiful.” Nora spoke with sincerity. She knew good work when she saw it. “Sturdy. I like the black paint. Looks a lot like the one in my basement at home.”
�
��You keep a St Andrew’s cross in your basement? You’re kinkier than I thought.”
Nora shrugged. “It’s good for drying laundry.”
“That’s it. That’s a flogging for you.” Brad pulled away and Nora grinned into the crossbeam.
“Oh … darn.”
She steeled herself as behind her Brad whipped the air with a flogger. From the sound of it, she could tell he’d picked a heavy one. It beat the air instead of slicing through it. This would hurt.
Good.
The first blow landed without a word of warning, but she managed to stifle any cries of pain or shock. The second landed even harder, but still Nora kept quiet. Sadists and Dominants loved forcing a reaction from their subs–pleasure, pain, shock, shame, it didn’t matter as long as the submissive entertained them with their moans and gasps and pleas for mercy. But Nora wouldn’t give Brad the satisfaction.
After a few minutes, he dropped the flogger and Nora panted as quietly as she could while her back burned and ached. What would he do to her next? Caning maybe? A single-tail? A paddle? She’d had it all before. Nothing he did would shock her or surprise her.
From behind her she heard movement, the rustle of fabric. She gasped when Brad pressed his body against her back. She felt nothing but skin and desire against her.
“Now I know how to get a reaction out of you.” Brad chuckled in her ear. His erection pressed into her. She felt a drop of something warm and wet on the small of her back.
“I promise … I’m reacting,” she whispered as Brad ran his hands up and down the sides of her body … over her ribcage and waist, down her hips and thighs and up again. He slipped a hand between her open legs and shoved two fingers inside her. They went in easily, her wet body giving him no resistance.
“Good reaction.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Brad bit down into her neck hard enough she flinched.
“And that was an even better one. Wonder what kind of reaction I’ll get when I fuck you.”
“Only one way to find out,” Nora breathed, as Brad pushed a third finger into her.
“Very true … You know, Nora, for that little stunt you pulled, keeping quiet while I was beating the hell out of you, I’m going to have to punish you. I think maybe I’ll punish you by fucking you so hard you scream for me.”
Little Red Riding Crop (Spice) (Prequel to The Siren: Book 1 in The Original Sinners series) Page 2