Dangerously Bound (9 page)

She handed it to him, and he powered it down before returning it to her.

A small part of her mind was screaming at her that she wasn’t behaving normally, and
another part was reminding her this was the way things happened when a Dom shows up
at your house and practically brings you to your knees before taking you to a haven
for kinky people who were just like you were, even in all the myriad variety of kinks
and personalities. She breathed a long, sweet sigh of relief as Mick took her through
a door and into the club.

The lighting was dim, shades of red and purple, with a few spots of soft amber gleaming
from the lamps set here and there at the cleaning stations, supplied with bottles
of antibacterial spray and paper towels, small first-aid kits and bottled water. But
she could see that inside The Bastille looked like anything but a warehouse. The walls
were finished in a highly lacquered black, with heavy wooden posts polished to a high
sheen every few feet. She could see the eyebolts, some with the occasional lengths
of chain attached, set into the wood. Placed around the edges of the room were couches
and chairs and ottomans upholstered in red velvet, large tables in carved wood, everything
oversized and luxurious and slightly ornate in what she thought of as Bohemian gypsy
style. Here and there, high on the walls, were paintings of naked women in seductive
and often wanton poses, some bound in rope or chains or leather straps, corseted or
cuffed. There were people in the room in the same state of undress, many bound, corseted.
Wanton.

She immediately felt a sense of home.

Beside her Mick whispered in her ear, “What do you think of our little club?”

“It’s beautiful. And it’s not little at all.”

“There are private and semiprivate rooms, the themed rooms. The school room. The Victorian
boudoir. The medieval torture chamber. The medical room. Do you see the curtained
areas off to the sides? Those are aftercare rooms, full of pillows. And in the back
there’s the kitchen and an outdoor patio. But I’ll give you the tour another time.
I don’t want to break this space inside your head too much. I like where you’re at.”

She turned to him. “Do you?”

He stroked the underside of her chin with his finger. “I do. I think we’re going to
play very well together. Come.”

He took her hand and led her across the floor of the main room. The music was a low
throb of ambient tones as they passed a row of spanking benches: two floating, padded
tables suspended from the ceiling by heavy chains. They moved past an enormous wooden
frame in the middle of the room. A woman was bound in heavy leather cuffs, her arms
stretched over her head and attached to the frame by carabiners clipped to hooks set
into the wood. She wondered vaguely where he might be taking her, but that sinking
sensation was beginning to ground her in the moment, in her body, and she was content
for now to simply follow him.

They reached the back of the room, where long couches and a few overstuffed chairs
made cozy conversation areas. He stopped in front of one of the couches, set his play
bag down on a table, nodded at her, a sharp lift of his chin that made her focus on
the chiseled edges of his features, all pure masculine man.

“Down on the floor, Allie. On your knees. And wait for me.” He turned away to unzip
his bag.

“I . . . what?”

He turned back to her, his gaze narrowing. “This is standard
drill, Allie. I thought you were an experienced submissive,” he said, doubt lacing
his tone.

“I am.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“I just . . .” She had to pause, catch her breath. “It’s because it’s
you
. Well, you and me. I guess I thought . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“You thought what? That because it’s us things would happen differently than they
would with any other play partners we may have had? That I’d handle you with kid gloves
because of our history, despite the things you and Jamie have told me about your experience
in the scene? Despite our negotiations?”

There was an edge to his voice she found a little frightening, yet at the same time
knowing he was the full-on Dom with her was reassuring—that he wouldn’t cut her any
slack he shouldn’t in these circumstances.

Remember who you’re dealing with. Remember this is what you’ve always wanted.

“No. No. I’m just . . . making a mental adjustment, I guess.”

“Well, make it fast, girl, because if you’re not down on your knees in about ten seconds
I’m putting you there myself.”

Really love to have him do just that to me.

She almost groaned aloud. But she wasn’t going to give him that. Not yet.

She sank to her knees on the Persian carpet in front of the sofa, her gaze on his
as he watched her, trying to assess his response. Was he pleased with her? Or was
he still so pissed that she’d forced his hand in the situation that she’d have to
really stretch herself to satisfy him? To make him see she could be the perfect submissive
for him. That
she
could be perfect for him.

She sank back on her heels and clasped her hands behind her back. Waited.

“Eyes on the floor,” he said gruffly before turning back to his big black bag as if
nothing had happened, as if their little exchange hadn’t left her heart slamming into
her ribs.

She tried to breathe as she’d been taught—in, exhaling slowly through her mouth, concentrating
on telling her limbs to relax. Soon it was working and she was able to spread her
focus to the sounds around her: the dungeon music, the moans and cries of the others
being played, a little laughter from somewhere, the lovely sound of a leather flogger
hitting flesh.

She’d always loved that sound, the simple knowledge of what it meant. It made her
want to feel it herself. To smell the leather. She inhaled, letting the scents of
leather and anticipation sit in her lungs—and gasped when his fingers sank into her
hair and
pulled
. Pulled her hair back unto she was forced to meet his gaze.

He bent low over her, brought his mouth almost to hers and whispered, “I thought you
could do it, Allie. After we talked I had a pretty good idea that you really could
submit. But seeing you down on your knees tells me everything I need to know. For
the moment, anyway. We’ll have to see what else you know, what else you can do. But
this trick . . . oh, yeah, you have this one down.”

She didn’t dare say anything. He was all Dom right then, and she didn’t want him to
be anything else. His hand gripping her hair, his imposing presence, his whispered
threats and words of encouragement, were making her shivery all over. Wet between
her thighs.

“Arms up while I get you undressed,” he ordered.

She raised her arms high, let him pull the dress over her head, leaving her in her
scant black mesh lingerie and her heels.

“Very nice,” he murmured, moving behind her and reaching out to sweep her hair aside.
“I’m going to start with your hair.”

“What? My hair?”

“Is this an argument?”

She swallowed. “I . . . no.”

“Then quiet now.”

He swept her hair back from her face with both hands, and began to work some slender
rope into it. She’d had this done before—had her hair bound into a sort of ponytail
of corset lacing. She didn’t know what had surprised her into speaking out a moment
before. In a few minutes he was done. He swung her bound hair over her shoulder, then
drew one finger slowly down the back of her neck, sending a trembling warmth down
her spine. She tried to curve into his touch, but he stilled her with a palm flat
between her shoulder blades, pressing just enough to make her feel it. Strength. Command.

“Oh no you don’t, my girl. You move when I tell you to. Right now you are to be my
toy to play with. Mine to move and shift around as I please. And I
will
please. Know that. Know it’s coming. That
you
are. Eventually.” He moved around her, tracing the line of her jaw, the side of her
neck, over her collarbone, down the side of her breast, making her ache. “But now . . .
now I’m going to sit down here on this couch and relax for a few minutes and just
watch you. I want you to hold very, very still. Can you do that for me? Don’t speak—nod
yes if you think you can without me binding you yet.”

Oh, Jesus! He was going to make her lose her mind. But she found herself nodding her
chin.

“Good girl.”

Heat shot through her system.

From the corner of her downturned eye she saw his booted foot as he settled onto the
furniture. She swore she could
feel
him watching her, as if his hand were still on her bare skin.

“I think I’d like it better with your hands clasped behind your neck.”

“Mick . . .” she whispered, her throat going tight, her body resisting being that
vulnerable with him.

“Allie, the correct answer is an immediate agreement to do as I ask you by simply
doing
it. Or the answer is no. I’m not going to play these games, which I believe I’ve
already told you.”

She drew in a deep breath. She
wanted
to comply. And she wanted to fight it. But the part that wanted—needed—to be taken
over by him was winning as her muscles went loose at the tone of utterly inarguable
dominance in his voice.

“I’m sorry, Mick. I can do it. I will.”

His voice softened, and she understood why he was such a good Dominant—he knew exactly
when to be tough, and when to show tenderness. “Take a breath, then. And try it again.
Yeah, that’s much better.”

She knew being in that position arched her back, made her breasts stand higher. It
made her feel as if she were on display. It made her feel more submissive.

She waited. And waited. Until the waiting itself seemed almost unbearable, even more
so because it was
him
. Hadn’t she already waited for Mick long enough? Tears burned at the back of her
eyes, but she swallowed them down. She
would
please him, damn it. Do as he said. Show him she knew what his game was all about,
that she could play it, too.

She had to calm down, to still herself for the ropes, his favorite form of play.

She closed her eyes, pulled in a long breath.

The rope slipped around her wrist so fast she wasn’t even aware of it until he’d already
pulled it tight and started to tie what felt like a quick half-hitch knot. Then another
and another, until he’d made a brace of rope that covered her entire forearm. He dropped
the end of the rope, and without breaking contact through one hand on her shoulder,
he grabbed another piece
and started on her other arm, then finished it off by tying her wrists together.

She had a small moment of panic when she realized this was it—he’d effectively rendered
her helpless in mere moments.

“Flex your fingers for me,” he told her, and she did, knowing he was checking for
circulation. “They feel okay? Good blood flow, still? You can answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

She swallowed. “Yes, Mick.”

“That’ll do for now. But it might be ‘Sir’ later. Be ready for it.”

He slid a length of rope over her shoulders and let the ends fall down her back.

“You particularly attached to this lingerie?” he asked her. “Shake your head yes or
no.”

She shook her head no, wondering what he was going to tie her up with that would damage
the delicate material. But before she had time to really consider it she felt the
cool touch of metal against her skin and glanced down to see him slipping a pair of
safety scissors under the front band of her bra. She gasped as in one snip it fell
open, and in two more the straps were cut and the remains of the filmy garment fell
to the floor.

She knew what was coming, but all the same it made her breath catch when he cut her
underwear off her and pulled the fabric away, leaving her in nothing but a few feet
of rope and her heels. But she was proud of her body—she only arched her back, raising
her bare breasts higher.

She heard a small chuckle from him. “Very good, princess. That’s exactly what I want
to see. I can tell you like it, being naked, on your knees.” He leaned over her and
fisted her bound hair in his hand once more, yanking hard, and she pulled in a sharp
breath. His face was right next to hers, his cheek pressed
against hers. He said quietly, “Now we’ll find out just how much you like this.”

She closed her eyes as he pressed two fingers right into the damp heat between her
thighs, sliding in her juices. Pleasure lanced into her.

“Christ, you’re wet, baby. Do you know what that does to me? Entices the beast to
come out of its cave. But we can’t have that. Not yet, that’s for sure. We’ll just
have to do something about it.”

He let her hair go, pulled his fingers from her, leaving her shivering with need and
heat, and returned with more rope, which he laid on the floor next to her, coiled
into bundles. With quick hands he began to fashion a harness around her breasts, the
rope sliding and slinking over her skin like a snake, sending small vibrations through
her system. She loved every moment of it—the sensation of being slowly decorated,
of being rendered helpless, being in his hands.

His
hands.

As he drew the ropes tighter around her breasts, one rope across the top, another
beneath them, she felt the pressure, making them even more sensitive, the sinuous
slide of the rope across her skin making her nipples hard. Making her shiver. He worked
the rope between her breasts, making a series of knots in the center that pressed
painfully against her ribs, but she loved it. Wanted it.

He slid his hand under the rope there, pulled hard, pulling her up onto her knees.
Ah, this was good, being handled this roughly. She didn’t dare look up at him, keeping
her gaze on the floor. But oh, how she wanted to. Wanted to see that animal banked
and burning in his gray gaze.

“Very good,” he murmured. “I like seeing the rope on you, the way it presses into
your flesh. What do you feel in them, Allie? Tell me.”