by Vivi Paige
“A long time for what, exactly?” he said softly. I shivered, not realizing he was sitting so very close. Goosebumps rose on my exposed skin as his hot breath blew over me.
“To truss me up like one of the girls in your dirty internet pictures,” I finished.
He chuckled, the seat buckling under us as he moved. “I always suspected you were onto me,” he said. “Is that why you left?”
“No,” I said. “What happens between consenting adults doesn’t bother me and never did. The fact that your family is the mob was the deal breaker for me.”
“No one I know of or am related to is involved in organized crime,” Deryk said almost robotically.
“Lies,” I snapped. “Just admit it. Your family are a bunch of scary bastards—”
His hand clamped over my lips, sealing them shut. He put his mouth next to my ear and whispered fiercely.
“Second lesson: never ever say anything to the effect of what you just did. Not ever. For your own good, please, Ella. Don’t.”
His voice had shifted from stern to pleading in a heartbeat. For the first time since our reunion, I realized how deeply his feelings for me really went. He wasn’t afraid for his own well-being. He was afraid for mine.
He released my mouth, and I licked my suddenly dry lips.
“Understand?” he prompted softly.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
He relaxed, leaning back in the seat. The sheer enormity of what I’d done, the decision I’d made for my life, settled upon my shoulders like a ton of bricks.
I was tied to this family of mobsters now—figuratively and literally. Tears rolled out from under my blindfold, and soft sobs shook my body.
“It’s all right, Ella,” Deryk said in a low, soothing voice. He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled my unresisting form over against him. His hand stroked my hair, and I leaned my face against his chest like old times. Except I was weeping into his chest and not sighing.
The limo continued on, a grand coach taking me to the palace, and my fate.
Chapter Seven
Gravel grinded and rolled beneath the limo’s thick rubber tires as we turned off the highway onto the private drive leading to my woodland retreat. While it wasn’t my exclusive property, but a safehouse open to any in the firm who might need one, I’d been the only one to use it for years.
There were perks to being the favorite son, however much I might resent Lucian at times. Ella sensed we’d passed off of a paved road onto a more rustic one and lifted her blindfolded head in a vain attempt to gaze about. She sniffled, a legacy of her recent crying fit.
“I can’t wipe my nose,” she said in a rough voice, sniffling again. I took her by the back of the neck and firmly pushed her forward in the seat, exposing her bound arms. My fingers picked at the knots until she was loose. I pressed a handkerchief into her open palm.
Ella wiped her nose and then blew wetly into the hanky. She seemed unsure of what to do with it, and wadded it up into a ball and kept it on her lap. Ella made no move to take off her blindfold, which proved she was capable of being obedient.
The limo rolled on, passing beneath the boughs of trees arching gracefully across the one-lane gravel road. Thick weeds clumped up between the twin trails of crushed rock, brushing the bottom of the limo’s undercarriage with a sound far more ominous than it had any right to be.
At length, what Lucian laughingly referred to as a “cottage” appeared at the end of the gravel road. I’ve never seen a cottage with four separate stories before, or one where the living room had three walls made of thick tempered glass. Privacy was hardly a concern with its remote location.
The lights were off because we didn’t bother staffing an empty “cottage.” We rolled up just as the golden sun began to kiss the horizon.
I reached and untied the blindfold from Ella’s head. She blinked in the bright but fading sunlight, staring around until her gaze settled on the cottage. Her mouth gaped open as I put the overcoat around her bare shoulders.
“I can see why you call it a palace,” she said in low murmur. “You can have pretty much anything you want. Can’t you, Deryk—I mean, sir.”
She pronounced the final word in a mocking way, her sneer making her contempt even more overt. I glanced at her while fighting a smile twitching at the corners of my mouth.
“Not anything.” I referred to when she’d dumped me in prep school.
“Yes, anything,” she sneered bitterly, drawing the coat around her naked body. “You have me now.”
“Yes, I do.”
We exited the limo and made for the front door. Ella arched an eyebrow as I strained to lift a heavy plywood panel with screws driven into it, sharp sides up.
“Shouldn’t you put some dead leaves or something over that spike trap?” she asked sullenly.
“It’s not a spike trap. It’s a caltrop board to prevent bears from forcing their way in the front door.”
Once the board was out of our path, I unlocked the door and punched in the security code. Ella stared inside the darkened interior, unmoving, until I reached up and grabbed her hair near the root.
“Get inside,” I commanded, forcing her to walk ahead of me. Ella grimaced from the pain of her pulled hair but offered no other protest. “I’ll give you the grand tour later, but…” I pointed about as I ticked off the adjacent rooms. “…living room, den, half bath, jacuzzi, kitchen,” I said. “Bedroom and full bath are upstairs, sun deck at the very top.”
“You’re not taking me to the bedroom first?” Ella’s expression was mocking, but her tone seemed—disappointed? It was hard to tell.
“No,” I replied. The limo crunched over gravel as it pulled away. Ella turned her gaze toward it anxiously, as if watching her one avenue of escape vanish. “There’s somewhere else you need to visit first.” I glanced at her coat-clad form and gestured dismissively at it. “Get out of that coat. Clothing is not permitted unless I deem it necessary.”
“I would have thought you’d seen everything back at the Roger.” She unbuttoned the coat while icy venom dripped from her words.
“You thought wrong.” I boldly stared at every inch of her curvaceous, lovely form. She held her arms at her sides, hands clenching into fists as she fought the urge to hide herself from my gaze. I took hold of her hair again and dragged her against me. She grunted like a pig when I shoved my crotch—with an ever-expanding bump—into her naked form. “Let’s go.”
I walked her like that down a set of curving, elegant stairs. We reached an ornate door at the bottom, carved with a demonic face and with the words, “Abandon all hope all ye who enter here.”
“Is this supposed to scare me?” she blurted through clenched teeth, one hand grabbing my own in an attempt to keep tension off her scalp.
“No,” I answered simply. “This is.”
I pushed the door open with a resounding creak and flipped the lights on. Ella’s eyes went wide, and her body trembled against my own. The walls were done in red velvet, not a window in sight. A tilted rack with accompanying restraints sat near the far wall, which itself contained a multitude of implements for both pain and pleasure. Ella’s gaze traveled around the room before settling on my face. If she was scared, she showed little sign.
“It’s hardly a surprise,” she said. “I saw your browser history. Remember?”
“You’re not the least bit afraid?”
“No,” she said. “I’m a little bored, standing here while you pull my hair like an eighth-grade delinquent. I belong to you, remember? Are you going to do something with that, or what?”
Her taunt seemed born of more than mere mockery this time. My gaze narrowed as I regarded her, naked but defiant, in my grasp yet completely out of my control in so many ways.
I shoved her into the room, pushing her until she stood before the rack. Roughly, I forced her to lie on it. Her naked body shivered, but she made no move to escape. In fact, she stretched her arms
out over her head and stared at me pointedly, waiting to be restrained.
The leather cuffs creaked as I tightened them around her wrists and shoved a metal pin through the stretched hole. I did the same to her legs, spreading them widely apart.
“I’m going to teach you the rules,” I said, lifting a black, soft-bladed five-tail flogger from its hook on the wall. “After I explain a rule, I’m going to strike you with the whip, and you’re going to say, ‘Yes, sir. I understand, sir.’”
Ella pouted as she examined the whip in my hand. Muscles played on her exposed and stretched limbs as she tugged in futility at her bonds. I sent the whip darting out, catching her across her belly, just above the navel. I didn’t lean into it—it probably hardly even hurt at all—but the sound of the impact made her cry out.
“What are you supposed to say?” I demanded.
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir,” she sneered.
“A little less attitude next time,” I said, unable to stifle a grin. “Unless you want to make things hard for yourself. Now, first rule—from sunrise to midnight every day, you belong to me.”
I snapped the flogger out, catching her on a pink nipple. Ella’s mouth flew open, a shocked gasp forcing its way out of her throat. Her skin reddened under the impact of the lash, but her voice was steady when she spoke.
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” That time her tone was a great deal more respectful, though there was still some underlying resentment.
“Good. After the clock strikes midnight, you’re free to do as you please so long as you don’t leave the house. Next rule—at times I’m going to hurt you.”
Ella glanced at me sharply, chest heaving with her heavy pants. Was that light in her eyes fear or eager anticipation? I didn’t know, but I was on a roll.
“I’m going to hurt you because I like it,” I said in a low growl. “If the pain ever gets to be too much, you’re going to say, ‘glass slipper.’”
Her eyes narrowed to slits, hands clenching into fists as she strained against the leather cuffs. “Glass slipper? Really?”
“It seemed appropriate, given your Cinderella status.”
“Ha-ha.” She glared, managing to look fierce even while naked and strapped to a table. “I’ve worked two, three, sometimes four jobs since graduation. I’ve watched my father degenerate from a proud, strong man to a near-mindless husk of his former self. I’m. Not. Fragile.”
“Your safe word is glass slipper,” I continued as if she had not spoken. The whip lashed out, popping against the opposite nipple.
Ella squealed, but quickly tamped down on it, remembering she was trying to act tough. I arched my brows at her silence and raised the whip again before she blurted, “Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”
“Good. Now if you’ve got something in your mouth—” I noticed her gaze drop to my crotch, which I found most pleasing, “—grunt three times in succession.”
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir,” Ella said. She shivered as I laid the whip across her sweating belly and placed my palm on top of her thigh. Her warmth was intoxicating, but not so much as her scent. I stared pointedly between her legs, which brought a blush to her cheeks.
“It looks like you’re enjoying what’s happening to you,” I said. “You’re dripping wet and wide open for me.”
Ella turned her gaze to the side, face darkening ever more with shame. Her face whipped around toward me as I crawled onto the rack between her legs.
“What are you doing?” she gasped in a whisper.
“Anything I want,” I replied, my hands gliding over her toned thighs. I lowered my face to her groin, inhaling deeply of the musky wetness I found there. Her labia were so swollen, they parted slightly, revealing the quivering pink nub of her clitoris. A line of glistening moisture oozed out onto the wooden planks, stirring my desire even more.
“I’m frigid,” she said as I pressed my nose into the warmth of her body. “I can’t orgasm. Don’t be mad, please.”
I didn’t respond other than to extend my tongue out and lick a circle around her clitoral hood. Ella groaned, her body shivering like a captured mouse as I continued my ministrations. Tilting my head to the side, I encompassed her swollen nether lips with my mouth, suckling gently at first and then more firmly as she moaned and panted.
“You don’t seem frigid,” I murmured into her inner thigh before returning to my meal. I inserted my tongue into her pungent hole, dragging my upper lip over her clitoris, hood and all. While massaging her hot button with my mouth, I probed and lashed with my tongue, bringing my fingers into play as well.
“Oh god…” Ella groaned. I lifted my head from her snatch, face glistening with her juices. Ella glared down at me through half-lidded, furious eyes. “Don’t stop! You can’t stop now!”
Grinning, I dove back in, burying my mouth between her sweet, soft folds. Ella thrashed as much as her restraints would allow, her jaw falling open to let out a piercing scream, which echoed in the chamber and rang in my ears for several seconds afterward.
Her body trembled as I pulled my face out of her crotch once more. I was painfully erect, my cock straining at my trousers so hard I feared the skin would rub right off my crown. Ella’s eyes fluttered open as I picked the whip up off of her naked belly.
“Next rule,” I said. “No coming without permission.”
I sent the lash across her breasts, and she hissed through clenched teeth. Ella lifted her gaze to me, eyes filled with intensity.
“Yes, sir,” she said between pants. “I understand, sir.”
“Not yet,” I said, unzipping my fly. “But you will soon enough.”
Chapter Eight
Deryk’s nails raked across my sweat-glazed skin, tracing a path from my belly toward my face. His big hand, gnarled with muscle and large veins, moved to cup my breast roughly. I felt the strength of that hand, compressing my body to his whims. My sweating form still trembled with my recent climax, the last I would be allowed without permission, it would seem.
I hadn’t been lying when I told Deryk his proclivities had not driven me from his side but his family’s criminal enterprise had. The Maynes hid in plain sight, ostensibly a premier criminal law firm, but everyone knew what lay beneath the surface. After I’d discovered the true source of Deryk’s money, I had been utterly repelled.
In the years since, I’d occasionally heard someone mention the Maynes, always in hushed tones. The consensus was that they acted like aggressive bacteria in the colon—destroying things even worse than themselves. At the time I didn’t know what to believe, other than that the Maynes—all of them, Deryk included—were dangerous.
And here I was, owned by one of those dangerous men. The scion of the family, the youngest, most favored son—Deryk Mayne. I could have been his princess once, if only I’d turned a blind eye to his ill-gotten gains. Instead, I’d become his slave.
Oddly, what I felt most that fateful day, strapped naked to a rack in a sex dungeon, was relief. I couldn’t bring myself to accept his dubious family background, no matter how much I wanted to. No matter how much I wanted him. But now, that choice had been taken from me. I was free to do things that Ella Ashmore had never been permitted. And more importantly, I was free to feel things for Deryk, as well.
On some ignorant schoolgirl level, I’d always fantasized about Deryk sweeping back into my life after our breakup. Not when you would expect, like when I was mucking out a toilet or cleaning up after a surgery. Then, I’d stubbornly shoved any thoughts of the leisure I would enjoy as Mrs. Deryk Mayne out of my mind, proud in my fetid labors. No, the fantasies came when I was at my weakest, right before bedtime when I knew I only had five hours to rest before my next shift. Then I thought of waking up on satin sheets next to Deryk’s lithely muscled form…
“You’re not scared,” Deryk stated plainly. It wasn’t an accusation, or a resentment-filled invective. It was simply a statement of fact. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not.
“Should I be?”
The question hung in the air as he reached up to remove my wrist restraints. I remained in place, unmoving as he freed my ankles as well. After all, he hadn’t told me to move.
“On your feet,” he snapped. I rose off the table onto legs still weak and watery from my recent explosive climax. The giddy warmth running through me lent the entire scene a dreamlike quality. “We’re going to teach you a lesson about self-control.”
“My self-control is impeccable,” I countered immediately.
Deryk’s hand darted out like a striking snake and encircled my throat. He squeezed a bit tighter and arched an eyebrow.
“My self-control… is impeccable… sir,” I rasped.
He released me, and I resisted the urge to reach up and clutch at my throat. Deryk moved over to the wall of goodies—I had to stifle a laugh at my self-applied nickname for his rack of sex toys, restraints, and floggers—and took a black velvet box off of a small shelf perfectly custom-sized to hold the container.
Deryk brought the box back to me, and my curiosity was piqued. With all of those various goodies on the wall, so many of them frightening and baroque, why select a nondescript box?
He flipped open the box for my inspection. Part of me laughingly thought it might be an engagement ring—this entire auction and slavery affair all part of an elaborate proposal charade—but I was surprised to find a chrome oval device reflecting my own distorted image back at me.
Deryk dragged a three-legged, leather padded stool over and sat down, dropping his level so his eyes were about even with my navel. He extended a curled finger and then jabbed at the floor before him curtly.
I knew what he wanted, but I paused for the briefest of moments due to a flash of pride. How dare he order me around like a dog? But I recovered quickly. I was supposed to be proving to him that I was no fragile porcelain doll, not acting petulant.
Maybe my motivations were to show him I was okay with all of it, all of his interests and eccentricities, but I didn’t think so. I was no reluctant innocent coaxed into doing something against her will.