Branded Sanctuary (22 page)

“I make a really good spice cake,” she mentioned, apropos of nothing. Niall gave her a sexy smile.

“I just bet you do, Mistress. You‟re driving him crazy, you know. He‟s wanting you something fierce about now.”

“Isn‟t that what Mistresses do?” She looked at the fighting dragon tattoos, one of which was eye level with her gaze. The two in the center of his chest appeared to have locked claws as they tumbled through the air. Maybe they weren‟t fighting at all, but something as physical.

“Some of them. But this is about you and him. Not anyone else. So up or down?” Brendan strained his neck to give her a brief look over his shoulder, and she saw the serious mouth, the hazel-green eyes, also somber. But desire was there too, in the set of his lips, the tense line of jaw. She got a glimpse of his cock, which told her it was having no trepidation at all. She hadn‟t specified wanting him in a harness, but apparently a condom was required, in case he lost control. Wouldn‟t want him baptizing the crowd. A strangled hiccup hurt her chest.

“Up.”

She wasn‟t really sure if she was supposed to look toward or wave at the crowd, and suppressed another mildly hysterical chuckle at the thought. She kept her gaze on Brendan instead as Niall made sure she arrived behind him.

She moved directly behind Brendan so he couldn‟t look at her again. She stared at the slope of his back, focused on that brand as Niall drew the ivory curtain around them. The faint heat of the lights at her back reminded her that the crowd would be able to see what they were doing in silhouette, but they wouldn‟t get to see their faces.

Pressing her lips together, she reached out with her fingers and brushed flesh.

Glancing down, she saw Niall had placed another single riser behind Brendan‟s heels, properly gauging their height differences for what she intended to do.

The Mistress several feet away, now hidden by that screen, wasn‟t having any second thoughts. She was enthusiastically ramming a slave Chloe knew wasn‟t even her own, one who was there as “punishment”, shared by his Mistress. Chloe knew it was consensual, but she and Brendan weren‟t strangers, were they? This wasn‟t a punishment. Hell, she wasn‟t a Dominant, so why was she getting into acting like one?

She thought back to earlier in the day, Tyler and Marguerite, that overwhelming power Tyler had used so effortlessly to take over the situation, sweep them away. What had been underneath it had been a sense of caring and protection so utterly unquestionable, it was reflected in the trust Marguerite had projected. They‟d cloaked Chloe with it, taking her along for the ride. Thinking of that, it took no brain cells to realize what was missing here. That feeling was something she wanted with Brendan, and while she knew it took time, what she was about to do might take it even further from her grasp. She‟d had hints of it with him a couple times now, when her fucked-up mind didn‟t interfere.

He had his head lowered between his arms, body still beneath her touch, waiting on her will. She felt that quiver under her fingertips, sensed the crowd waiting behind the curtain. She didn‟t like knowing so many people were looking at him like this. This was what he did, though. Right? Probably stripped down every weekend at The Zone, gave himself to any Mistress with a big enough dildo to handle him. Took the pleasure. This wasn‟t about giving anything to her, but about taking. It was always about taking.

Stop it.
Her fingers had curled against his lower back, dug into the thickened skin of the brand. Her thumb was pushing against the indentation at the top of his buttocks, feeling that oil, his readiness for her.
This is about you and him, just as Niall said.

She didn‟t know how to project the right emotions, how to tell him how much she cared. Because at the moment all she wanted was to hurt him, the way she‟d been hurt.

Oh God. Had she really just thought that?
Don’t do this, Chloe. Don’t do it.

And yet, her hand drifted up to his nape as she stepped up on the riser, leaned into him. The lubricated dildo painted a line in the curve of his spine as her breasts pressed high on his shoulders. Lifting her hands to cup his elbows, she molded her palms over his biceps as she slid down the path to his armpits, the stretch of muscle and skin over his ribs.

“Chloe.”

“Don‟t talk.”

She could feel the resistance in him, as if he knew something was wrong. But he couldn‟t know her eyes were squeezed tight, her heart hammering in her throat. All she had to do was position that phallus between his buttocks, slide all the way in. Her pussy was already soaking wet, penetrated by the hard rubber, and she could well imagine what it would feel like, the thrust of her body into Brendan, him pushing back against the stimulator and dildo so they would be essentially fucking one another. He‟d strain against those restraints, and she‟d feel the power of it curl with her rising desire, headed toward that pinnacle where she‟d be tangled against his body and in his mind.

Deep enough to be trapped, where the impending orgasm would instead become a drowning. A drowning with no intimacy, lonely and cold.

The Mistress beside them was finishing, because she heard the woman‟s whisper,

“Come for me now, slave.” The male released with a harsh groan that prickled over Chloe‟s skin, the woman‟s own gasps of release sending that quiver through her ham strings again. Her hands had fanned out on the upper rise of Brendan‟s buttocks and were kneading, her thumbs sweeping over the muscle and teasing the crevice, her body taking over where her mind was hesitating. She could ram into him, fuck him hard and rough, like Niall said. Make him groan like that Mistress had done to her borrowed fuck toy. Tear his flesh with her nails and teeth, demand he scream with pain as he released, letting him know that pleasure came at a cost. A cost that might be too dear to pay.

No.
She fumbled at the clasp of the strap-on and yanked it loose before her body could lodge its vehement protest, though her cunt sucked hard on the dildo as she pulled it loose, forcing her to take a deep breath and lean her shoulder against Brendan‟s back so she didn‟t topple.

Letting the device fall to the ground, she turned her face into his back, against the bare flesh, pressing her mouth against him. Her body vibrated with emotional and physical need so fierce she knew nothing could ever assuage it, because she couldn‟t get there anymore. She didn‟t know how.

“I‟m sorry,” she whispered.

“Chloe.” Brendan tried to twist his head around again, see her, his fingers clenching in the restraints. “Wait.”

But she was already stepping down from the riser, finding her way out of the curtain with unsteady hands. She scrambled down the steps, not looking out toward the side of the stage, where there were people hoping to get a different profile of what they were doing. Fortunately, they had several other demonstrations happening up there, keeping their attention, but when she glanced around for Niall, wanting to reclaim her clothes, it was her luck that the person whose eyes she met was the woman in silver and white, the one who‟d made her empty her purse to purchase Brendan.

Brendan had apparently been the only offering she‟d desired for this evening, because she appeared to be without a submissive, enjoying the company of several other Doms strolling through the carnival. But she came to a halt when Chloe‟s gaze met hers. Unfortunately, they were close enough that some type of acknowledgment was needed, and Chloe hadn‟t looked away fast enough.

The woman must have been watching her through the screen, or Chloe‟s expression wasn‟t that hard to read. Maybe both. Though the woman‟s perfect face didn‟t reflect cruelty or cattiness, her words cut all the same. “You don‟t have what he needs, you know,” she said quietly. “You can‟t be what you‟re not.” Chloe tightened her jaw, even as Niall came up beside her. “Maybe he needs something different,” she said.

“He‟s a good enough submissive that he can convince you of that. That‟s the tragedy of it. And you don‟t understand enough about what he is to keep him honest.”

“Mistress Lyda, with every respect, you‟re out of line, and you know it.” Niall spoke in a neutral tone, even gave the woman a slight bow as he said it. Lyda didn‟t appear to take offense. “I may be out of line, Niall, but she needs to hear it from someone, especially if she loves him. Good evening to you. And good luck. I mean that sincerely.” The woman moved away, rejoining her companions, the two men who‟d sat near Chloe at the auction. They gave her an assessing look, a nod, and offered Lyda their arms to continue through the carnival offerings.

“Mistress.” Niall touched Chloe‟s arm. “He‟s calling for you, and he‟s getting agitated.”

She could hear it. Brendan had spoken her name several times and he was getting louder. She flinched as she heard the chains clank, as if he‟d pulled against them, followed by a muttered oath. He could hear her voice, she was sure, but she doubted he‟d heard the exchange. She hoped he hadn‟t. A girl‟s pride could only handle so much.

“It‟s Chloe. That‟s my name. I‟m not a Mistress.” She swallowed the ache of bitter tears and shook Niall off. “Let him down, or call her back here. She‟ll take care of him.

She‟s right. He‟s better off, and I don‟t belong here.”

Collecting her clothes, she fled like the coward she knew she was.

* * * * *

She kept her head down and her pace sedate until she got to the outskirts of the carnival grounds. Then she took the quickest route outside the lights. She needed darkness, anonymity, even from herself. Once there, she shed the body suit and put her dress back on. Then she ran. She had to outdistance the feeling in her chest that threatened to choke her, and needed to feel the earth, the cool grass, under her feet.

Once she ran out of breath, she‟d find the path to the chapel Tyler had on his estate.

These past couple days, she‟d occasionally gone there to sit in the front pew and watch the inlet water flow outside the large picture window. She‟d stay there until things quieted down, at dawn. Like vampires, the carnival goers slept at daylight, coming back in the late afternoon for festivities to start again. Guess they understood as well as anybody that the darkest pleasures weren‟t as pleasurable under the harsh light of reality and daylight. Maybe she‟d sleep in the chapel until then, watch the sunrise pour through the stained glass windows.

She pushed herself harder, harder, not caring which direction she headed now, just so it was away from the lights, from the feelings she couldn‟t face, from the overwhelming sense of failure. She‟d wanted him, but she‟d wanted to hurt him more, and there was no way she could tell him that. God, she was too fucked up for anyone anymore.

She yelped, startled, as she was caught around the waist and swung around, so abruptly her head snapped back and vertigo sent her mind spinning. She crumpled against Brendan and went down in a tangled heap with him. She‟d known it was him the second he touched her. She shoved against him, though, because she wanted him to hold her so much she couldn‟t afford to let him do it. Instead, he simply shifted so he was sitting with her cradled securely between his thighs and inside the span of his arms.

“No,” he said. “I won‟t let you go. I won‟t.”

His voice was strained and determined, his body solid and strong, and she couldn‟t fight him. She held stiff against him for all of two heartbeats, then she melted. His breath went out in a sigh, and she thought she heard a soft “good girl” before he pressed a kiss against her hair.

He must have sprinted like an Olympian to catch up with her after they let him down. He‟d tugged on a pair of jeans from somewhere, though his upper body was still blissfully bare.

“So have you thought of a career as a track star?” she asked, at a loss.

“I was afraid you‟d fall.” When he gently touched her chin, he directed her attention to what was ahead. As she blinked in the dim light thrown by a mere slice of moon, she realized what she‟d thought was a continuation of the natural area was in reality the bulkhead to the water. If she‟d run across it, she would have tumbled six feet down, into the inlet‟s high tide current.

“Ouch.” She drew a shaky breath. “I guess I wasn‟t really looking.”

“No. I thought you weren‟t.” His arms tightened around her. “Chloe, you didn‟t do anything wrong. You know that, right? Whatever you want to do, or don‟t want to do, is acceptable here. You didn‟t need to run. You could have just said it wasn‟t your thing and let me down.”

The problem was she
had
wanted to do it, but in a way that had frightened her. She couldn‟t say that, though, because he‟d need her to explain it, and she couldn‟t explain it to herself. It was like she was carrying a demon inside her and only her continued silence would keep it contained. Rather than answering, she slid her arms under his, banding them over his back, and held on, pressing her face into his chest.

“It‟s all right,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Just relax for me, all right? We‟ll just sit here. That‟s all that‟s needed.”

She nodded, and let him comfort her, savored how his hands felt, sliding up and down her back, the way he caressed her nape as he fondled her short curls, the rough lullaby of words rumbling unintelligibly through his chest. In time, her heart rate settled, and she could hear the water, the breeze through the trees, and the sounds from the carnival behind them. Laughter, the occasional rift of music and perhaps a cry of pleasure. Her body tightened anew as she caught a mental scent of it, reminding her how revved up she‟d been before her emotions had derailed her.