It wasn’t a question. It was a statement from her Dom. The power of it made her shift her weight from foot to foot.
She watched him, his motions sure and confident. The sight of him in the tailored dark trousers and contrasting white long-sleeved shirt made her stare. The pasties he removed from his bag were black silk with hot-pink bows on the front. He affixed double-sided tape to the inside of each cup, near the edge. “Come here, please.”
She stood in front of him as he tugged the material of her dress away from her body, so he could attach the coverings. He pressed each against her skin for several seconds to be certain they wouldn’t fall off. She shimmied her upper body, trying to get accustomed to the strange weight.
“Unfasten the dress.”
She reached behind her to loosen the tie and let the halter top fall away.
“I like the way they look.” Rafe’s eyes blazed with the first flashes of desire. “Enough to consider having you wear them on occasion. But then, nipple clamps wouldn’t work.”
Which might be a blessing, though she’d gotten to the point she liked to wear the alligator clips he’d purchased for her. The clovers, she had a love-hate relationship with.
“I’d like you to remove your dress.”
She wasn’t prepared for that request, and she took a moment to consider it. And then she realized, they were in a scene. His statement wasn’t a request. And unless she opted to use a safe word—which she didn’t have any reason to—she needed to obey her Dom. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, wishing her voice hadn’t broken between the two words.
A trace of self-consciousness lingered, and Hope couldn’t help but glance around to see if anyone was watching. No one was. She cast a glance toward the balcony. A foursome stood there, but they were engaged in conversation with one another. One of the couples continued toward the second floor while the other descended the staircase.
“I’m waiting.”
The earlier patience in his voice had been replaced by his stern Dom tone, galvanizing her into action. She pulled the dress over her head, and he held out a hand to accept it.
In one of the other Kinky Avenue spaces, a woman wailed, promising to confess as long as she was spared the punishment tawse.
“Straddle the seat, facing backward.” Rafe’s voice shattered through her thoughts, grounding her. He became her world.
Seizing a newfound sense of empowerment, she strode to the chair.
“And I want your pussy almost on the edge.”
The chair was uncomfortably wide and tall.
“That’s it. Cant your upper body forward and hold on to the top.”
“Oh my God,” she said after she’d she followed his orders. The change in position meant her buttocks stuck up a little, and her thong was in contact with the cool vinyl.
He stood in front of her to fasten bonds to her wrists. He tugged her forward, and her feet no longer touched the floor. She was trapped by him. Her heartbeat increased, part from excitement, part from fear of the unknown.
“I’ve been picturing this moment.”
Her mouth was too dry to answer.
He returned to the table, and she watched as he rolled his sleeves up to expose his forearms.
She tried to shift but the leather bondage made it almost impossible.
As if aware of her every motion, he glanced over at her. “Please keep your position.”
He has no idea how difficult this is. Hope inhaled as she did as he requested. But watching him reignited her nerves.
Rafe selected the flogger he’d mentioned, one she hadn’t seen before. Then she realized the slapper was different as well.
“I want you to enjoy this,” he said, hooking the small flogger to his belt loop. He crossed the room again until he stood in front of her.
Her spine was arched in an unnatural way and her inner thighs burned. She was eager to get on with it. Impatience was her curse. But she realized he had become her entire focus. She wasn’t looking to see who might be watching.
“You may come as often as you like.”
“How?” She frowned.
“By rocking your pussy.”
Blood fled from her body. He wanted her to hump the chair? It wasn’t possible. She shook her head.
“Your choice.” He moved behind her to rub her shoulders and arms. “If you don’t want to come, that’s fine.”
He pinched one of her buttocks and she jerked in response, her pussy brushing against the vinyl. “Oh!” Because her clit was still tender from the night before, this lightest of touches was enough to ripple a shock through her.
She turned her head as much as she could, in time to see him unhook the rubber-thronged flogger. He trailed it over each shoulder, and she shrugged from the whispered touch.
He began his flogging with a slow figure-eight dance down her skin. The falls stung more than the leather one he’d used on her before, but she liked it. His deft touch was light, meant to tease.
She moaned and dropped her head forward. That caused her to shift again, creating more downward force on the vinyl. She struggled to put her feet down so she could readjust, but she was trapped.
“I should have parted your labia before we started.” He continued, bending his knees a little so that he had better access to the strike zone on her ass.
The dozens of strands were everywhere, zapping her skin, heating her. Breath whooshed out, and she allowed the chairback to support even more of her weight.
Rafe increased the speed and force. She whimpered from the sting.
“That sound—your suffering—thrills me,” he murmured against her ear.
The first time they met, he’d shocked her with similar words. At the time, she hadn’t known he practiced BDSM, and his eyes had sparked with delight each time he ruffled her vanilla feathers. She learned he lived for the noises she made when she was beneath his lash. The more she succumbed, the greater his pleasure.
The little time they’d spent watching others had liberated Hope. The woman in the schoolroom had cried out and pleaded, and there had been no doubt she’d surrendered to the scene, committed to the moment. That gave Hope the courage to cast aside her own inhibitions. Tonight was about her and Rafe, their mutual pleasure, the building of their intimacy, and nothing else.
He pressed himself against her, his body weight further straining her thigh muscles. “Your tears would make this more wonderful.”
At one time the inherent threat would have terrified her. Now it turned her on. It meant he intended to push her, demanding honesty, and he was granting permission for her to give all her responses over to him. “Yes, Sir.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He tucked her hair behind her ear, and she tried to turn her face to look at him. “Isn’t it?” he repeated. “For me to make you cry as I cover your ass with my domination and watching you grind out your orgasm like my dirty pet?” He sank his teeth into the side of her neck, forcing her to scream and writhe. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I don’t often give you permission to come as much as you want. If I were you, I’d seize the opportunity.”
He changed positions to grab her ass cheeks and pull back her hips, spreading her legs even farther.
Her tiny whimpers became moans. Her body was on fire, and her pussy was swollen.
“Is the chair slick and hot from your juices?”
She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he inserted a hand beneath her.
“Very wet,” he said, triumph ringing in his deep voice. “I think you might enjoy me beating you in public. Anyone at all seeing your reddened butt. Watching the way you respond to me.”
“It’s you,” she admitted. “For you.” The truth, the emotion behind her words bubbled up in her, and tears collected in her eyes. Not from pain or humiliation, but from unfettered love. She’d wanted to give this to him, and in doing so, she was receiving so damn much. His adoration and a deeper intimacy. She’d had no idea that this experience would intensify her feelings for her fut
ure husband.
“I’m not finished with you.”
“I don’t want you to be.”
He kissed the spot where he’d bitten her moments before. “I’m going to grab the slapper. Less than twenty seconds.”
The moment he moved, she missed his touch and wanted him back. Goose bumps dotted her skin as the air-conditioning cooled her.
“Move your body,” he said.
Lethargy claimed her, and she wanted to relax in her bondage.
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
She closed her eyes and began to slide against the chair pad.
“Rise up onto your tiptoes and lean forward even more, please. I want access to your pussy so I can spank it.”
Dread made her freeze.
“Obey my commands, sub.”
Pulse hammering, Hope struggled to change positions. She succeeded in moving a couple of inches.
“So pretty,” he said. “So exposed. If you try to hide from me, I will tie you in place.” Rafe crossed the room to stand in front of her. His jaw was set in the firm line of resolve. “And to further express my displeasure, I’ll give you more than one stroke.”
She swallowed the knot of trepidation that threatened to choke her. “I understand, Rafe.”
With his fingers brushing the side of her neck, he moved behind her. It amazed her how much stronger she was when he touched her.
He trailed his knuckles down her spine and continued on to examine her rear. “A few faint dots,” he told her. “Still, a pretty shade of pink. You’ll take the slapper well.”
At home, she preferred floggers. Her second favorite implement was a slapper. It was loud and impressive, yet it lacked a painful bite. This one, however, with three distinct layers in graduated lengths, appeared more threatening.
“No need to count. I’ll let you know when you’re done. Lose yourself. Ride out your orgasms while you turn yourself over to me.”
Could she do as he demanded? Block out everything else so that there was nothing in her universe except Rafe’s domination?
He fisted his hand into her hair and pulled back her head a little. His eyes were spiked with emotional intensity. “I love you.”
She wasn’t sure she’d ever been more obsessively in love with him.
He began with slow beats, each at a different place on her buttocks, with no seeming pattern. Almost always, he was somewhat predictable, one on each cheek, or ten on one, then another ten on the other. Other times, he’d place one on top of the other, but always it made sense. This didn’t. Five and three. One and then another below it. Not knowing what to expect made it impossible to freeze up, and the gentleness of it lulled her. She relaxed into her bondage, and the tension eased from her body.
Hope closed her eyes. He covered her butt cheeks, but she registered a single impact point at a time. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she realized that meant he was using the opposite end of the toy.
As he continued, her skin heated. Then when he increased the tempo, she couldn’t remain impassive. Her body tried to escape the pain and she rocked her body, bringing her pussy into full contact with the vinyl.
With the slapper, he continued to drive her. Her body warmed, and her toes curled under. “I…”
“Yes,” he urged.
She came, screaming out, as if they were alone in the world.
“That’s my Hope.”
Rather than relent, he turned over the slapper and used it harder. The triple impact points were like needles, and before she could process the searing sensation, he moved on to another place.
She thrashed, unsure whether she was asking for more or trying to get away.
“On your toes,” he reminded her. “Open yourself to me.”
Scared witless, she nonetheless complied.
He smacked her pussy with all three lines and an orgasm immediately tore through her. She wailed.
“You’re so fucking hot.”
His words came from another place, not inside her, so very, very far away, but they calmed and inspired. She smiled, sinking her forehead against the chairback, past pain, filled with the rush of endorphins. Hope wanted more, wanted it to go on forever. She was alive and that liberated her.
He continued, and another wave hit her, more engulfing than the previous one because the slapper had lit up her pussy.
She’d surrendered to Rafe and his sensual demands, and she was drunk on it, on him.
Hope rode the crest of another three—four?—orgasms. She was limp and surrendered. She slipped away into a fractured space of color, purple and pink, and shards of glass that reflected light, spiraling through her mind.
“You humble me.”
His voice was close, too close, and she lifted a hand to swat it away. She liked where she was.
On some level, she recognized that her wrist was free, and she blinked in confusion.
“Welcome back.” Rafe wore a satisfied grin.
Pride, maybe?
“I…”
“Subspace is my guess,” he said.
“I thought that was mytho—” Her tongue was thick, and she couldn’t complete the thought. “Mythologo—”
“Mythological.”
“Yeah.” She didn’t try the word again. “That.”
Rafe rubbed her wrists, then ran his hands over her buttocks, soothing away the hurt she was starting to notice. “Take your time.”
As if she had any other choice. Lethargy claimed her entire body. He took a towel from his bag and daubed her skin before she cooled too much.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m not sure yet.” As she lowered her arms, Hope glanced up to see him considering her. “Connected. Does that sound strange?”
“Not at all.” He shook his head.
“I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I,” Rafe admitted, a ragged scratch in his voice making him sound hoarse.
Hope’s heart somersaulted. That he was clearly experiencing the same thing thrilled her.
Slowly, she released the grip she didn’t realize she had on the top of the chair. Her hands dropped to her lap.
“When you’re ready, I’ll help you up,” he informed her. “Your legs may have fallen asleep.”
She accepted his hand and scooted back. Pinpricks shot through her feet and calves. “Ugh.”
He assisted her off the chair, then turned her around. The vinyl was warm and slick from the numerous orgasms he’d driven her to. “Relax there for a moment,” he encouraged.
Since she wasn’t motivated to do anything else, she watched him pull a small gray blanket from his bag. He wrapped it around her.
Her powerful lover—Dom—scooped her up and carried her from their room, past a few of the other rooms in Kinky Avenue. At the end of the hallway, he lowered her onto a leather couch. “I need to clean things up,” he said. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”
She slid her fingers over her collar. That and his ring were all the comfort items she needed. “I’ll be fine.” Hope curved against a pillow and snuggled beneath the blanket, enjoying the alternate reality that she existed in.
The sharp click of stilettos grabbed her attention. Aviana strode across the floor, a dungeon monitor at her side. The man was a bearded blond, with piercing blue eyes. He stood well over six-foot-six and was as broad as a massive oak. The only thing preventing him from being a Viking was the lack of a shield and battle-ax. They paused, and Aviana asked, “How are you enjoying the Quarter?”
Hope tried to lift her head and discovered that holding it straight required considerable effort. “More than I imagined.”
“It’s a lot to take in,” she agreed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t agree to come before now,” Hope admitted.
“Perhaps you wouldn’t have been ready.”
That was probably true.
“We hope to see you again.”
Hope had no doubt they’d return. “Yes, Ma’am. Mistress?”
She smiled. “Milady is fine.” Together, Aviana and the DM continued on, pausing to watch the scenes that were in progress. Hope thought she heard Aviana speaking with Rafe, but since they were so far away, it might have been her imagination.
Aviana and the DM retraced their steps. This time, they continued past without speaking.
A man headed down the hallway, his hands clamped on the bare biceps of two women who were dressed in skimpy maids’ outfits. “Please, Sir,” one pleaded with an exaggerated accent that made Hope grin. “I promise to do all my work in future!”
“Oh, I’ll see to that, wench,” he said, dragging the reluctant women toward the Victorian setting. “You’ll be too sore to sit down when I’m finished with you.”
The second woman squealed, but if Hope wasn’t mistaken, it was more from delight than fear.
“Both of you, over the bed!”
Hope’s attention was ensnared by Rafe—her lover—walking toward her, her dress in his right hand, his bag in his left. After placing the bag on the floor, he extracted a bottle of water from it, then sat next to her. “Any ill effects?”
“Other than wanting to sleep for a week?”
“You’ve earned it.” He uncapped the bottle and lifted it to her lips.
Though she didn’t want any, she took a sip, knowing he would insist on it.
When she was finished, he resealed the bottle. He tucked it away before easing her on to his lap. Hope turned into him, resting the side of her face against his heart. The steadiness of its thump grounded her. Yelps and giggles as well as the sounds of straps being wielded floated around them. She stayed where she was until her pulse returned to normal and her limbs no longer seemed laden with extra weight.
“We can have breakfast in bed tomorrow and then soak in the hot tub. How about we spend the day playing tourist in New Orleans?” he suggested. “Perhaps take in some live jazz?
“Yes!” They’d been to the Parthenon a few times, but they hadn’t taken the time to enjoy the nearby city. Work inevitably called, and they both had millions of responsibilities. But the upcoming holidays offered a welcome chance to take a breath.
“Maybe a casual lunch? Dinner?”
“Beignets? Café au lait?”
“Of course.”
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