Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (83 page)

God, he was joining in. Syria
reached over her head for something to hold on to and was immediately given a
spreader bar. Madam quickly tied her wrists to it and the effect was
intoxicating, the helplessness adding to both her fear and her excitement. Mia
worked her carefully, both fingers and mouth. Syria saw the other man over
Mia’s shoulder, hands on her back, and he must have entered her because Mia
cried out against Syria’s skin. The three of them rocked together and the music
rose again, filling the space with a ghostly melody.

Smoke from the men’s cigarettes
formed small spirals. The lithe girls moved from one man to another, kissing,
sucking, kneeling, bending over to be entered. Syria was consumed with the
vision of the men and the girls, Mia between her legs, the heat wafting from
the whirring machines, and Madam looking down, no longer disapproving, but
content, her eyes alight on the scene.

The man behind Mia shuddered,
clutching at her waist. Another one approached and Mia nodded again. The risk,
the craziness. How could she do it?

Mia sensed her distraction and
worked harder, plumbing all her knowledge to hit Syria’s sensitive spots, and
now the cascades came over her, pleasure and light, the world blurring. She
tightened into the orgasm, her voice louder than the flutes and the eerie
strings, so much more outwardly passionate than the silent men and their
slender waifs.

The sparks showered into light
and came down. Syria settled onto the floor, feeling each grain of the hardwood
planks. Mia ran her hands up and down her belly, smoothing her skin, rocking
with the push of the new man behind her.

A third man approached, kneeling
by Syria, and she felt panicked. She wouldn’t! Couldn’t! Mia was one thing, but
there was Tyson!

The man unzipped his pants,
leaning near Syria’s face. With Mia on her and the spreader bar immobilizing
her hands, she was helpless. A small cry escaped and Mia must have felt it as
she looked up and reached for the man, bringing him closer to her until his
stiffening cock was close enough, and Mia drew him into her mouth.

Syria laid her head back,
relieved, but what if others came after her? The second man behind Mia finished
and stepped away. Mia pulled away from the man’s cock and looked behind her. He
moved around to finish the job inside her.

Syria watched him, his hands
squeezing Mia’s breasts. They moved together, and Mia dropped her forehead to
Syria’s belly, letting the silks hold her weight as the man’s movements
expanded and rocked the three of them, as though they were a pendulum marking
each passing minute.

When he stepped away, the candle
man released the silks, slowly lowering Mia to lie flat on Syria’s body. It
seemed over now, and Syria relaxed. They’d gotten through it.

She caressed her friend, the
still-visible marks on her back. The men who had serviced her stayed near, and
now all their hands worked over Mia, massaging, caressing. All their skin
became one, and Syria felt them on her as well, grazing her gently, following
the curves of her body. Something hot dripped along her skin and she saw the
candle branding them all, blood-red wax falling on her shoulder, one man’s
wrist, Mia’s back, and the other man’s arm.

She couldn’t take the photograph
but she seared the image of them in her mind, limbs, clothes, naked skin, and
red wax, surrounded by ropes, ghost-like wraiths, and sex.

She had survived.

They slept together a while,
Syria and Mia, on the plush chaise in the dressing room. The attendants rubbed
balm into Mia’s skin then covered them both in furry blankets.

The music still swelled outside
the door and Syria knew the festivities went on. Whiffs of cooking meat and
other luscious scents occasionally penetrated the walls. Syria laid her head
back on Mia’s chest to wait.

Sometime later, the door opened,
and Madam entered the room. Syria watched her cross before them and pushed
against Mia, causing her to stir.

Madam was patient and waited for
them both to fully wake. Mia sat up and they huddled close, ready, Syria
guessed, to accept their ejection from the exhibition, or whatever might
happen.

“You did well, submissive,” Madam
said formally, tall and broad in the Sapphire robes, like a life-sized gem. “No
one expected a public display, but it was thoroughly enjoyed by the audience,
and the monetary contributions following your act will ensure the exhibitions
continue for some time.” She passed them each a jade silk purse. “Gifts for
you. You are invited back, should you want to come. You know how to find me.”

She moved to leave, but Syria
held out her hand. “Madam, I would still love to learn more ties.”

Madam bowed. “You know how to
find me.”

When she left the room, Mia
jumped up. “This was nuts! Did I really basically gangbang on a stage?” She
whirled in a circle, clasping the blanket to her. “Holy cow!” She opened the
jade purse. “Gold coins? What?” She dumped them in her hand. “What a strange
thing!”

She plopped back on the chaise.
“I’ve done some crazy shit in my life, but this just about beats all. Did you
see those girls having sex with all the men? What the hell?”

Syria reached for her clothes,
piled neatly on a table by the chaise. “I know. This wasn’t what I expected at
all.”

“It’s like a sex club, but with
bondage, the good kind.” She bit the gold coin. “Ouch. Why do pirates do that?”

Syria laughed. “The softer the
gold, the more pure it is.”

“Huh. I should have known that.”
She held the coin up. “Teeth marks. That’s a good sign?”

“I’m guessing so.”

“Crazy.”

Syria looked around for her bag,
but it wasn’t with her clothes. “I guess I’ll have to go back out there for my
purse.” She wrapped the coat around her. “I think we’ve been dismissed.”

Mia rubbed her butt, then pulled
the boy shorts on. “Yeah, I think I’ve had enough for one day.”

Syria tied her belt. “I was
surprised you said yes. You have no idea who those guys are.”

Mia shrugged. “Risk is part of
the job description. It seemed like an amazing thing to experience.”

“It was.” Syria opened the door a
crack. “I think things are winding down. I don’t hear any music.”

“You want me to go with you? I
just have to pull myself together.” Mia looked in the mirror and grimaced. “I
look like a used-up whore.”

Syria laughed. “Your makeup is a
little smudged.”

“Ha. I’m a poster child for Pond’s
cream.”

“I’ll be all right. Let me find
my bag and I’ll be back.” Syria opened the door and slipped into the hall. Her
livelihood was in that bag. She hoped no one had peeked inside or worse, set it
too sharply on the floor.

She tiptoed down the hall. All
the doors were still closed. The lights were more dim than they had been when
she’d come through with Kana. Where was everybody?

In the main hall, the chairs were
still in place, but the men were gone, along with the white gauze girls. A
couple stage lights lit the space.

Her bag was still on the counter.
She sighed with relief. As she headed for it, Erik and one of the men who’d
been with Mia on stage emerged from the dark. An attendant rose from behind the
counter to hand them their coats.

“Oh!” Syria stepped back. “I just
came for my bag.”

The attendant lifted it, but it
had listed sideways, and a sheaf of Syria’s business cards fell from an outer
pocket. She picked up the bag and tried to scoop up the cards, but several
dropped to the floor.

“Allow me.” Erik bent to retrieve
the errant cards, examining one. “Syria McMillan. You’re a photographer?” He
flipped over the image. “Boudoir?”

Oh boy. “I am.” Syria wasn’t sure
if she should ask for the cards back, or offer him one. They would know who she
was. This new life she’d been leading, which felt like a private secret with
her and Tyson and Mia, now seemed to be leaking out. Her stomach quivered,
imagining what might happen if she became known for this, if everyone who
called her for photos thought she’d have sex with them.

But Erik handed her the stack
back. “Nice work. And nice meeting you.” He bowed to her, and she awkwardly
bowed back. He was Filipino, not Japanese, but it was a nice tradition. She
wished more people bowed.

The other man also bowed and the
two of them passed her to exit down a different corridor. The real one, Syria
surmised, not one for the help.

At least she had not had sex for
money with anyone but Mia. Somehow this made her feel better. She waved to the
attendant and scurried back to the dressing room to catch up with her friend
and escape.

Syria sat on the bed the next day
with her coils of rope, trying to tie her own legs with a more elaborate knot
than the double column. She wasn’t flexible enough, or something. The loops
wouldn’t lie flat. She needed something to practice on.

A Santa doll her father had
mailed to her from India when she was eight, his first and last time to
recognize she was his daughter, sat on the bedside table. She picked the doll
up and laid it in front her, quickly making a coin knot on his chest. That was
always easy.

She undid the tie and began a
chest bind. When Syria brought the rope down to his groin, the purple cord
cutting into the white fur, she flung the doll across the bed. This was her father’s
only gift, and she was doing bondage with it!

She tried to picture this man,
who had loved her mother only a few days, and lied about his marriage and other
children. Maybe she shouldn’t be sentimental. She didn’t even know him, and
yet, something inside her insisted she find him.

Syria lay back on the pillows,
staring at the ceiling. If her father knew what she’d been doing at that
exhibition, what would he think? Would she be the sort of daughter he’d want to
have?

The tears flowed out then, hot and
unexpected. Syria wasn’t one for crying, hardly ever, but now they came, fast
and unstoppable.

She’d chosen boudoir photography
as a profession because she was good at it. Anthony, who’d taught her, told her
she had an eye for lighting women. She’d felt until now that she’d made the
perfect choice.

But even if she did contact her
father, how could she show him her work? Her mother had simply nodded at the
sample Syria had shown her, neutral about the whole thing. Of course, she’d
only revealed the glamorous head shots, but still.

“What am I doing?” she shouted at
the ceiling. Would she still be Photoshopping flabby arms and nipple slips when
she was fifty? Seventy?

The sights and sounds of the
exhibition came back to her, distorted like a dying carnival ride, skin
slapping, men grunting, women kneeling before cock after cock.

Syria rolled on her stomach and
tugged at an envelope on the side table, spilling the photographs across the
bed. Her mother, glowing and happy, tight against her father. He’d lied! Why
did she want him in her life at all? He let her go to save his own skin after
getting caught, the eight-year-old secret busted wide open.

The pictures slid toward her into
the valley of the bed created by her elbows. Her father looked at her
earnestly, his dark eyes a match for hers. Did he have many affairs? Was her
mother a one-time thing or a regular habit? She tried to picture him in the
chairs before the stage, a girl on his lap, watching a sex show, watching
her
.
Hell, she didn’t know who he was. Who’s to say he might not show up at
something like that?

God, this was fucked up.

She had normal friends, people
she hung out with before meeting Tyson and Mia, people she’d photographed and
liked. She should call them up, do normal things, like go to movies and eat
pizza and sit around coffee shops.

Except she didn’t want that, not
any of that.

She snatched up her phone,
sending a video chat request to Tyson. It wasn’t quite noon. He shouldn’t be
working.

Request failed.

The phone automatically connected
with a regular phone call. Instead of Tyson’s chipper voice, she got a generic
message that the user was not in a coverage area. Weird.

Syria face-planted into the
pillow.
Buck up, bimbo.
Her life was great, really. She felt so much
more alive than before. Sure, she was probably going to run into a hairy
situation now and again, like at the exhibition. Her face bloomed hot just
thinking about it. Tyson and Mia were used to this sort of public attention.
She thought of the gold coins sitting on her dresser. For money!

“Arrrghh!” She shouted into the
pillow. She needed to work out or something. Take a walk. Actually, she knew
just the thing.

“Bend your knees, tuck the pelvis
in, chest up, arms in second position.”

Syria tried to follow the video,
but her body had a mind of its own. The woman snapped her hip in one direction
with a sharp pop. The bells around her waist jingled merrily.

Syria tried again. Snap. Pop. Her
bells sounded like crushed metal.

“Squeeze right. Squeeze left.”
The instructor showed the move from the back. Syria felt sure they’d removed
frames or something. A hip just didn’t DO that. Be in one place one second and
further to the side in the
same second
.

She tried a few more pops and
burst into giggles. Maybe she should take a live class, let someone diagnose
her faulty hips. She spun in circles, trying to make the bells tinkle as
fetchingly as the girl on the screen.

“Now that is a tempting beck and
call.”

Syria dropped her arms. Was she
hallucinating?

Tyson leaned against the
doorframe to the living room. Syria wanted to scream, laugh, cry. He was here!

“Don’t you ever knock?” she
asked.

“Don’t you ever lock your front
door?”

In two steps they were in a tight
embrace, no kissing, no sex, just a hard-core hug, like they were the only two
people left in the world.

“You said mid-December.”

He pulled back to look at her. “I
like surprising you.”

“But how—”

“Mia called me. Said if I could
come, I should come.”

Syria stepped away and sat on the
sofa. “Did she tell you about the exhibition?”

“Not really. But I got the
feeling something happened. I only had to cancel two gigs, and they weren’t
good ones. Worth it.”

“But the ticket must have cost
you a fortune, last minute, the weekend after Thanksgiving.”

“Nah, mom works for an airline. I
can go non rev as long as I’m willing to get bumped. It wasn’t too bad. Most
people are home.” He sat next to her and pulled her close. “You want to tell me
what happened?”

She leaned into his shoulder. For
once he wasn’t wearing workout clothes, but a crisp white shirt and khakis. He
smelled heavenly, like detergent and a masculine soap. “I had sex with Mia on a
stage while she got gangbanged.”

He sucked in a breath. “Now,
that’s something.”

She felt the tension in his arms
and chest. Maybe she’d gone too far, beyond even his open mindedness.

“Did any of them hurt you?”

He thought she’d had sex with
them too? She pulled away to look up into those gray eyes, noticing for the
first time little creases around his eyes. He was tired.

“None of them laid a hand on me,
well, one dripped wax on me, but Mia had to be hurting. She was tied up, twice,
and then the men came…” She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. The visual
was both exciting and upsetting. All those men watching. Mia nodding to one,
then another, then the one who came for Syria.

“Shhhhh.” He stroked her hair.
“You’re all right. It’s fine. New things are frightening.” The tension moved
out of him, and Syria felt certain it was because she hadn’t actually had sex
with anyone else, and that he cared. He wanted her for himself.

She reached for his jaw and ran a
finger along the stubble. Never clean shaven, this boy. “You’ve done something
to me. I just want you. What have you done to me?”

He jingled some of the bells on
her wrap. “I don’t know, but you’ve done it to me too. Damn nuisance, only
wanting one girl in an occupation like mine.” He slid their bodies sideways so
that they were lying on the sofa. “I think about you all the time.”

“I do too.” Her heart was
hammering. All these new experiences, so many opportunities, and now she would
fall in freaking love, now she would crave monogamy? “Why is that? When we have
so many choices?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see if we
can remember.” He untied the jingling belt and laid it on the floor. Syria wore
only a work out bra and spandex shorts. He teased the heavy elastic band over
her breasts. “I think I found two reasons right here.” He mouthed a nipple,
suckling, his hand already moving to the waist of her shorts.

She tugged at his buttons, dying
to feel his skin against hers, to see those incredible abdominals and the heat
of his belly.

“I can’t take this.” He stood up
and took off his clothes so fast they were just a blur of color. When his
erection popped from his boxers, she reached for it, pulling him close, and
enclosed her mouth over it, licking the precum from the tip, rolling her hands
under his balls.

This felt right. All the things
she’d done and felt in the last weeks were fun, but this was different. Sex
with Tyson engaged so much more than her clit and her desire, but a need that
rocked her even before they touched. Something opened inside her, making the
pleasure penetrate more deeply than just her body.

He tugged the workout bra the
rest of the way over her head. Now they were free to explore everything, and he
shifted neatly around to lie over her. He pressed his face between her legs
while she still worked him from below.

Syria pushed on his rib cage to
keep him at just the right distance, matching the rhythm he was setting against
her folds. She was tightening against him already, so alive and alert and
feeling everything. His muscles twitched in her mouth and now she knew he
really was saving himself for her, having so much less control than that first
time, now that his partners weren’t regular, just when he came to her.

This thrilled her and she wanted
to cry again — so much emotion lately — but he sensed something had
shifted and pulled away, turning around to a more traditional position, pulling
her knees up. “You’ve caught me, Syria,” he said. He rubbed his thumb along her
face, tracing a tear that had managed to escape. “I’m not even sure how to go
without you.”

“We’ll figure something out,” she
said. “We’ll find a way.”

He slid inside her then, the
whole length, and she cried out immediately. He filled her completely, and
everything about it felt exactly right, his elbows braced by her head, the
pressure and weight of him over her. And the long, slow strokes, so
vanilla
,
and still, just the right thing. There would be time for more bondage, and
crazy play, and toys, and maybe even extra partners, like Mia or Sam. But for
now, she had him, just him, and it was perfect.

He sped up, his eyes squeezed
closed. Syria felt him coming close and let herself go, opening wide, the
orgasm blossoming low and spiraling higher. He groaned and let loose in her and
she’d been wound so tight that the release was like coming free of the
bindings, the spreader bar hitting the floor, the ropes in coils around you,
blissful and light. The emotion rushed through her so damn hard that she burst
into heavy sobs. Tyson pulled her in close and yet the weeping went on, coming
not from her eyes, but deep inside.

He rocked her, smoothing her
hair. “We’re here baby, we’re here.”

Syria quieted in degrees. Nothing
she’d ever experienced came close to that. A cry-gasm? She thought it was a
myth, a joke, a punch line. But it was real, this expulsion of emotion along
with release.

Tyson pulled her up on his lap,
still inside her, strong arms encircling her completely.

This journey had only begun.
They’d figure things out. And maybe she’d even take Tyson to India. Find her
dad and figure things out. This is what she’d been waiting for all along.
Someone to shake her up, make her move. This was going to work.