How many hours have passed?
I have no idea.
I doze off again, nearly to the point of letting myself curl onto my side and fall completely asleep when the front door opens. I struggle to open my eyes and find clarity as a warm hand brushes stray tendrils of hair away from my face.
“Good girl. Come inside.” Suddenly, he’s lifting me in his arms. The heat from his skin permeates through the chill in mine and I press my cheek against his chest.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Let’s have breakfast, shall we? You’re going to need your strength.”
Inside, the scent of strong coffee stimulates my mind. Brent sits at the kitchen counter with me in his lap. I meet his eyes for the first time and suddenly the last vestiges of sleep leave me.
He looks hungry, ready to devour me. His expression chases away the sleepy fog in my head. Without breaking eye contact, he slides my bra straps down, then unclasps it and tosses it away. My nipples perk, my breasts aching for his touch. In two swift moves, he has me lift my hips as he sweeps my thong off and throws it.
My stomach growls as he slides a plate of eggs, toast, and strawberries close. Lifting the fork, he scoops eggs and brings them to my lips. I take the offering, savoring the flavor. Bit by bit, he feeds me until the eggs are gone. He makes a soft sound as he bites the tip off a strawberry and slicks the plump, wet fruit over my lips.
“Lick your lips,” he commands. I do, and then take a bite of the berry when he offers it. Brent leans in to kiss me, taking his time to savor the fruit on my lips.
Joy and anticipation burst through me. Despite my aching knees and legs, despite the chill and sleep deprivation, I’m happy. I won, and Brent is my prize.
He pulls back and tips my chin up with one finger. “It’s time for your punishment.”
I scowl, the elation fading some. “But—the waiting all night for you thing—“
He kisses me hard, his hand cupping my breast, fingers pulling my nipple. I gasp and lean into his touch.
“Making you wait for me wasn’t punishment, Erica. That was foreplay.”
3
Brent sets me on my feet and slaps my ass. It’s sharp and hard, and I yelp in surprise. The sting burns for a split second before it melts into warm pleasure that cascades between my legs.
He stands behind me, fists my hair, and pulls my head back.
“You’ll not speak again until I say you can. Tell me you understand.”
I inhale through my nose to steady myself. “I understand.”
A slip of black fabric covers my eyes. He lets go of my hair and I straighten as he ties the blindfold. I want to rub my ass where he slapped me. The contact will flame the dual sensations of pain and pleasure, something I completely get off on. But I don’t dare move.
I tremble a little, hoping he spanks me again. Instead, Brent takes my hand and leads me through the house. I don’t put out my other hand to guide me. Instead, I trust that he’ll ensure I don’t run into anything.
I trust him.
I really do.
If only I could speak and tell him that, but I’ll follow his command of silence. There will be time for confessions later.
Brent guides me to sit, and then to lie on my stomach. He readjusts the blindfold a bit so I remain in complete blackness. I realize I’m face down on a bed. The duvet is silky beneath me, the mattress firm but comfortable. I hear a clanking sound, and then Brent is on the bed beside me. He spreads my legs and places something between them. My ankles are bound, and I realize he’s put a spreader bar between them with ankle cuffs to hold it in place.
I relax into the new position of having my legs so far apart, remembering the feel of being bound this way. Next, he places soft restraints around my wrists and secures them to the headboard. I turn my head to the side so I can breathe better . . . and wait.
The soft noises of Brent moving around fill the room. His silence only heightens my anticipation. He softly pads back to the bed and I’m tense with waiting. I want him inside me, touching me, kissing me, now.
“Hold very still.”
His voice is like a thrilling caress. Something runs down my spine, cool and spread out like a hundred ends of string as they stroke the dip in my back and move over my ass. The strange sensation comes back up to my shoulders and then draws away.
“You ran away because you were jealous of another woman.”
I shake my head. A loud squeak comes out of my mouth as I instinctively react by wanting to tell him my side of the story.
“Did you speak?”
I shake my head, but I know it’s too late. He grips my jaw until I open my mouth, and puts a gag between my lips. I don’t resist as he fastens it.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Erica.” He moves behind me on the bed and a hissing sound cuts the air. It sounds again and I feel a swish rush my skin. “Neither does disobedience.”
Realization dawns on me as I get a whiff of leather, and the scent triggers a memory. Brent has a flogger. He’s going to whip me. Before I can gear myself up to receive it, he brings it down. The ends strike between my shoulder blades with a sweet, gentle sting. I gasp around the gag, using all my will to remain still.
The lick of pain flashes, and just as it recedes, he whips me again, harder. The ends of each leather strip land exactly where they had before. Pain blossoms in time for another strike. I cry out and moan as pain doubles on top of pain. I know I have to relax and wait it out. Soon, each strike will bring the surge of pleasure and release that I crave. It’s like reaching an orgasm deep inside my soul as the pain receptors open up and flood my body with endorphins.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had pain play, but I remember exactly what it feels like to reach the sweet release that only it can bring.
Brent alternates softer strokes with harder ones. I feel the difference in pressure and the varied levels of discomfort. My moans fill my head as I force myself still and fight between resisting and welcoming each blow.
An orgasmic ache builds in my pussy. It claims all of me as it starts a sudden climb into all-out release. I try and grind my pelvis against the bed, but I can’t maneuver that well with the spreader bar between my legs. What little contact I do make is just enough and I cry out again as a new flood of pleasure goes through me.
I’m so, so close.
Suddenly, he whacks my ass with the flogger. He leans over me, his voice a hiss in my ear. “Since you were determined to be jealous, I’m going to tell you about every submissive I’ve kept.”
He pulls back and trails the ends of the flogger over the welts he’s made. I cringe because I don’t want to hear about his past lovers. I just want him to finish what he started inside my body. I want release.
“Sarah was my first. We were in college and I ordered her to blow me in front of an entire room of people at a frat party. She did and I knew I had to keep her.”
I close my eyes against the unwelcome sensations his words cause. It’s not jealousy but it’s certainly not comfortable to hear this. I bite down on the gag, ignoring how much my jaw hurts.
“Her mouth . . . her mouth was unbelievable. I made her suck me off often, multiple times a day sometimes. I couldn’t get enough.”
I hear the swish of the flogger before it rakes my back. The pain immediately centers me and I start to forget what Brent said . . . until he says more.
“Sarah was particular to public sex. She also liked it when I shared her with my friends. Do you want to be shared, Erica? To let me get myself off while I watch another man fuck you?”
He hits me once, twice, three times in rapid succession. I jerk and try to roll to my side on instinct, but my bonds hold me tight.
“She was eager to please me. Did everything I asked without question or hesitation. I was sad to see her move away. But then . . . then there was Heather.”
Tears run down my cheeks as my back screams with a bubble of pain that is stubborn to ease into the pleasu
re I so desperately need. Brent’s hand moves between my legs, his fingers thrusting into me while he rubs my clit. It’s exactly what I needed. The chaos of sensations come together into a blinding orgasm. He strokes me through it with gentle thrusts and caresses until I’m spent and weak.
“Heather was defiant and aggressive.” He shifts on the bed. I don’t want to hear more. I only want to bask in the afterglow of release. But then something solid and hard runs down my arm. I know immediately that he has a riding crop.
He doesn’t warn me. Just brings the looped tip of leather down across the back of my arm. I scream around the gag. The initial sting is double the sensation of the flogger . . . and the melt into pleasure is a hundred times better.
“Heather liked to challenge me just so I’d punish her. The harder I beat her, the stronger she’d come.”
He whacks my arm in quick succession, causing burning lines down my flesh. Tears soak the blindfold and it takes everything in me to hold still. To let the pleasure come. Already, a renewed, needy pressure is building between my legs. The more Brent hurts me, the greedier the ache becomes.
He knows I’m like Heather—I welcome pain even as my body does everything to reject it. Brent moves to my other side, and I brace myself. He strikes my other arm in the same even, controlled motion until it burns just as hot.
“Heather was a demon in bed. Drawing blood was her thing. She bit me, clawed me and made me punish her for it.” Something went thud in the corner of the room, and I realized he’d thrown the crop. Leaning over me again, he strokes my hair with one hand as the other finds my clit again.
His lips brush my ear, his warm breath blowing against the sensitive skin. “There will never be another Heather.”
Anger flashes and I want to fight the orgasm—fight him! But he brings it on fast. White lights burst behind my eyes and I’m drowning, dying with sensation even as I know he’s taunting me. Insulting me. Making me hate him just as much as I need him. What’s the point in telling me about his other women?
And why did he leave out the one I’m most curious about?
It would be so easy to sink into the aftershocks of the orgasm—to blissfully forget the stinging, aching chaos on my arms and back. But he’s started another fire in me with his words and I refuse to drift off.
Gently, Brent unfastens the gag and blindfold. Then he releases my wrists, and my legs from the spreader bar. It takes me a minute to move properly because my muscles are stiff and everything hurts. My heart, too. But I’m limp and spent and I want nothing more than to curl up in his arms.
After I spit out the words brewing in my mouth.
“That’s all of them?” I don’t care that he hasn’t given me permission to speak. I’m pissed, and he’s going to know it. “That’s all of your submissives?”
Brent is holding a small jar of lotion in one hand, the other hovering above it as if he were about to open it. His nostrils flare but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, I push myself into a sitting position, mindful of my back and the marks he left there.
I just let the man beat me and he’s going to give me the silent treatment?
“What about Liz?” I ask because I can’t not ask. He had a collar with her name on it for fuck’s sake. His eyes bore into mine as he slams the little jar onto the nightstand. His lips press together as if he’s going to say something, but silence fills the air instead. The space between us fills with uncomfortable tension. I want to take my question back.
But I can’t.
Brent narrows his eyes at me, and then turns and leaves the room.
I bark out a breath and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My palms press into the side of the mattress as I dig my fingers into the sheets. He walked out.
He walked out.
I can barely control my anger. I’m dizzy with it, lightheaded. My body wears his goddamned marks and he walked away without providing the aftercare a man owes his submissive. Without an explanation to the one question he knows I need answered.
I listen for him coming back, but time ticks on and the house remains quiet. Finally, at the end of my strength, I slide off the bed and lather on the Vitamin K lotion he left behind. I can only reach some of the welts and I get pissed all over again.
I’m hurt.
Physically and emotionally.
And he left without giving me what I need—what he owes me in return for giving him my body.
If he’ll ignore the very basic tenderness required of a Dom after play, what other lows will he stoop to? Where the hell is the line drawn?
I don’t have the energy to think about it as I slowly, carefully, dress and leave. He doesn’t magically appear to try and stop me.
And I’m not fool enough to even hope he might.
But I am fool enough to realize that if he asked, I’d be right back in his bed.
4
I straighten in my chair as my shirt rubs uncomfortably against the healing welts on my back. They are mostly gone, save for a few that were deeper than the rest. I’ve stayed locked away in my office for the past two days, skipping meetings and basically hiding from the rest of the staff.
No one has bothered me and I’m not sure if that’s Brent’s doing or my own. My vibe is set on “serial killer,” and I’m sure everyone is picking up on it.
I despise falling into Brent’s trap, but I can’t stay away. It’s a vicious circle but the thing is, I’m not completely willing to let it end. This love-hate relationship I have with him is more lust-crave-need than anything else. Yet I’m drawn to the secrets he’s keeping and the peeks of the man he lets show now and then. I’ve known there is something deeper and richer to his personality than what he lets on for a while now. And I can’t stop myself from trying to pry it out of him bit by bit.
He’s hooked me on his shadows, and the way he plays my body and feeds my dormant longing for kinky, lustful things.
I lean back in my chair and rub my eyes. I’ve been staring at the same spreadsheet for two hours. The accounting numbers I’ve been filing through since yesterday are tripping me up. Something is off and I can’t figure out what.
I’ve been combing through past records, reconciling and adding, and piecing the numbers together. The more I look, the more off everything is, but I can’t figure out the root of it.
Just then a message pops up on my laptop. It takes me a second to recognize the little app as it blinks on the corner of my screen. It’s the interoffice email system and no one uses it much since we’re all connected on Gmail or simply text each other when something comes up.
The return address is Brent’s.
He’s never contacted me this way before. Curious, I lean forward to get a better look at the message.
Meet me in our hotel room. Immediately.
Our hotel room? I delete the message before grabbing my cell phone to see if he’s also texted me. There’s nothing. Our hotel room . . . it has a nice ring to it, as if Brent and I really do have something special enough between us to warrant a secret rendezvous spot. He’s asking for this in the middle of the work day, at a place we shared a hell of a lot of pleasure.
I smile with an uptick of hope.
Maybe he wants to smooth over how we left things the other night. Rather, how he left them by walking away without taking care of me. I’ve been mulling over whether or not to apologize for digging about Liz, but I’ve decided against it. He taunted me with his past lovers. He left himself open to questioning and it’s not my fault he didn’t like it.
Apparently, Brent never learned how to play well in the sandbox.
If he wants to woo me to make up for acting like a hothead, than I owe it to myself to see what he has in mind.
Closing my laptop, I leave my office, slip through the hallways toward the casino, and veer off toward the elevators. I don’t notice much in my haste to get to the room, but as I get off the elevator and reach my destination, I realize how quiet it is, how still.
It gives me a sense of peace a
s I check the door handle and find it unlocked. Peeking my head in, I call, “Hello?” but there’s no answer.
A little nervous, but excited about what Brent has in mind, I find the rooms softly lit as I stroll through them, looking for Brent. I leave the bedroom for last, not finding him there either. But he’s been here.
He’s left me a gift.
I tuck my hair behind my ear as I wander to the bed and trace my fingers over the lacy bra and panties he’s laid out. A pink satin blindfold sits next to the bra. There’s no note giving me instructions but I know what to do. My nipples perk at the thought of waiting for him on this huge bed, blindfolded. Sensory deprivation really is a wonderful thing when you know something pleasurable and fabulous is on the other side.
Using the restroom to freshen up, I slip into the bra and panties and brush my hair until it’s falling in a soft curtain around my shoulders. There’s scented lotion and other toiletries all laid out for my choosing. After a few minutes of primping, I go back to the bed, lie in the middle and slip on the blindfold.
And wait.
I spend a lot of time waiting on this man, yet I’m always eager to do so. I need an expensive therapist—I know this, but it doesn’t diminish the high I get from knowing Brent’s hands are going to be on me soon. More than that, I just want to be near him. He does something to me, soothes me, enflames me, stimulates me. He makes me feel . . . alive. Even if he doesn’t always make me feel wanted in the way I secretly crave.
A light knock sounds from the door and my heart soars. The bedroom door clicks open and footfalls cross the carpeted floor.
I can’t hold back my grin or how my back arches a little in anticipation of his touch. A shade of warmth falls over my bare skin and I inhale deeply, relaxing into expectation—
And get a whiff of garlic.
I frown as the scent assaults my nose. Suddenly, painful goosebumps alight all over my body. I move to push myself up, but fingers pressed to the center of my chest stops me. A sob lodges in my throat as I get a stronger whiff of the repugnant odor . . . and I know. I know who’s touching me.
Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance Page 13