Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 2) (9 page)

Marc’s sculpted face
was a mask of disappointment.

For a minute I thought
he might never speak to me again. When he finally did, I hardly
recognized his voice.

“If you were trying
to figure something out, you should have asked me. It’s ridiculous
to consult someone I knew almost ten years ago about who I am today.”

He could make
everything sound so logical, as if all the answers were right in
front of me. “You wouldn’t talk about it, Marc. You had a lot of
opportunities to tell me the truth about her, including when you saw
her note the other night.”

“I left out one part
of the story,” he said. “Nobody tries to commit suicide unless
they’re unstable to start with.”

“One part of the
story. A pretty important part, don’t you think?”

“And one that’s
absolutely none of your business.”

He pushed his chair
back and grabbed his plate. With a clatter of utensils and glasses,
he cleared the table around me, grabbing the serving platter and
setting it on the island with a clang.

“She was your last
submissive before me,” I said, my voice unsteady. “How is that
not my business?”

He put a cutting board
into the sink and leaned his hip against the counter. “Do I ask
about your ex-boyfriend? Do I expect you to tell me every detail
because you’re sharing my bed? For fuck’s sake, Sophie, you were
with him six weeks ago. That’s a lot more relevant than a
relationship that ended when I was barely out of university.”

I stared at my lap
where my napkin lay, twisted in my hands. What would Marc think if he
knew Trevor had been inside the other apartment just a few days ago?

I could tell him right
now, but he’d never trust me again after what I did today. And I
wouldn’t blame him.

“I wish you
would
ask about him,” I said. “I wish you wondered what my life was
like before I met you.”

He crossed his arms and
his biceps bulged. “All right, then, tell me this. What were you
doing with a loser like that? He didn’t make you come in two years,
but you stayed with him until he fucked somebody else. Why? Do you
really think so little of yourself?”

Though I wanted to snap
out something defensive, I couldn’t. I’d asked myself the same
question a thousand times. “No, Marc. I thought so little of
him
.”

“I don’t
understand,” he said, the skin between his eyebrows creasing. “Then
why move in with him?”

In a quiet voice, I
admitted what I could hardly admit to myself. “As long as I was
with a man I didn’t really care about, I didn’t have to worry
about losing him.”

It didn’t make sense
even to me, but since breaking up with Trevor, I’d felt almost
nothing at all. After finding out about his affair I’d cried only
twice, mostly from humiliation and embarrassment.

Most of the pain I
should have felt was mysteriously absent, which meant that other
things were absent, too. Love. Deep attraction. Real emotional
attachment. I’d never been that invested in any man and now I knew
why.

It was an amazingly
effective way to avoid sadness and grief, two emotions I’d had
enough of for one lifetime.

“It wasn’t a
conscious decision,” I went on. “I’m sure losing my parents was
part of it. I didn’t realize how I felt until after Trevor and I
broke up, when I was trying to understand what went wrong.”

Marc stared at me, his
gaze dark and penetrating. “Is that what you’re doing here with
me?” he asked. “Not caring too much?”

I should be so lucky.
“I don’t know,” I said.

He smiled, a slow,
skeptical curve of the lips. “Come on, Sophie. If you didn’t care
you wouldn’t have hunted down my ex-girlfriend.”

I flushed, hating how
easily he saw through me. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.
There’s nothing wrong with protecting myself.”

“You wasted two years
protecting yourself with a guy who meant nothing to you. What
happened to your parents was terrible and unfair, but you can’t fix
it with men you don’t give a shit about.”

I smirked. “Weren’t
you doing the same thing, dating women you didn’t really want? How
was that different?”

His mouth was a tight
line. “Because it was. I was hurting people and I wanted to stop.
But this isn’t about me, Sophie. It’s about you keeping secrets
and lying to me.”

“While we’re on the
subject of secrets and lies, it took you ten days to tell me how I
came to France.”

“And I’ve
apologized sincerely more than once. I have yet to hear ‘I’m
sorry’ come out of your mouth tonight.” He glared at me, his eyes
narrowing into silver slits. “What were you thinking, going to talk
to Lydia? How did you find her?”

I could hardly meet his
gaze. “On the Internet. It took about two minutes.”

“And she just told
you everything? Did she explain the note?”

“She said she wanted
to warn other women,” I said in a hushed voice. “She said all of
your ex-girlfriends went crazy over you, that she wasn’t the only
one.”

He looked at the
ceiling and sighed. “All of them?” he said, eyebrows lifting.
“Every single one?”

“She mentioned one
who had a miscarriage and another one who went to your office
crying.”

“That’s two,
Sophie, three if you count Lydia. This is what happens when you get
third-hand information from a woman with an ax to grind. A
misunderstanding based on rewritten history.”

“But I didn’t ask
her about your past. I went to see her just to –”

He shook his head
impatiently. “I’ve heard enough. It happened years ago and it’s
finished.”

He turned and walked
out, leaving me at the table alone. After five minutes of heavy
silence, I put my plate in the sink and followed him to the bedroom.
He stood at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?”
I asked quietly.

“Get undressed,” he
said.

“What – no.”

His eyes were sharp as
a hawk’s. “Did you just say no to me? Because that’s exactly
what you agreed not to do.”

“I know, I just…I
need to take a shower.”

His mouth tightened.
“Naked on the bed. Now.”

“Don’t you think we
should resolve this first?” I asked.

He dropped his shirt to
the floor. “That’s what we’re about to do.”

“I mean by talking.”

“No more talking.
Take your clothes off.” He looked at me with such authority that my
insides quivered. I shouldn’t want him now, but I did, almost
against my will.

Maybe I’d wanted him
to find out about my meeting with Lydia to provoke his reaction. To
see how far I could push him, and how strong his response would be.

After his moodiness
last night, I wanted the old Marc back, the Marc who wanted to fuck
and restrain me. And now, thanks to my not-so-secret meeting with
Lydia, I had him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who could make
things go his way.

My legs shook as I
slipped off my dress. If he could spank me for nothing, what would he
do when extremely pissed off?

I stood in the black
lace panties he’d laid out that morning, feeling the soft frilled
edge against my skin. He raked me with seething eyes and practically
growled. “Everything off but the shoes.”

Slowly, I stepped out
of the panties and waited for his next order. I could already see the
stiff evidence of his arousal through his jeans.

“You’re beautiful
tonight,” he said. “Beautiful and extremely disobedient.”

“Where do you want
me?” I asked in a thin voice.

“On the bed, face
down. But first, come here.”

He put an arm around my
waist and pulled me roughly to him. I felt his smooth, hot chest
against my breasts, and the cold buckle of his belt on my belly.

He pushed my mouth open
with his tongue, sucking my lips between his teeth and biting them
until they felt bruised and puffy. Stepping away, he inspected me
from head to foot, reaching out to squeeze my already-hard nipples
and setting fire to my nerves. I tried to repress a whimper but
couldn’t.

“It sounds like
you’re ready to submit to me,” he said, fingers still on my
nipples. “Are you?”

“Maybe,” I said.

Last night I’d
relented to his desires with hardly a whisper, walking blindfolded
into a private club and spreading my legs on command. Tonight I would
be the challenge I knew he wanted.

“The way you say
‘maybe’ sounds exactly like ‘yes’,” he said. “Is it? I
don’t want any more misunderstandings. We’ve had enough of those
today.”

He trailed two long
fingers across my abdomen and down between my legs. My heart
fluttered like a trapped bird. I held his gaze, refusing to admit
that I was more than ready – I was sick for him. Our argument had
kindled a burning need to be close to him again, to sweep away the
confusion and turmoil of the last two days.

“Is your refusal to
answer a battle of wills or a tease, Sophie?”

He touched me
delicately, opening my sensitized flesh and probing with his middle
finger while his thumb slipped over my clitoris. “You may like to
keep secrets from me but your body isn’t capable of it. It always
tells me what I want to know.”

“What is it telling
you now?” I whispered.

“That it loves being
mine. That it finally knows what it is to be properly fucked. Now,
stand where you are. It’s probably better than the bed.”

“Better…for what?”

“Tying you up in
knots and doing with you what I please.”

“I thought you
weren’t going to do that anymore,” I said quickly. “Last night
changed your mind.”

“As usual, you’ve
overridden my self-control. You know, everything I do to you is
because of your power over me. Do you like that, knowing you have
that kind of power?”

His finger was pushing
inside me now, making it hard to speak. “I have no power over you
at all,” I whispered.

“Oh, but you do,”
he said, his face close to mine. “You have the ability to distract
me from everything else, to completely obsess me. Everything about
you gets under my skin.”

“I don’t do it on
purpose,” I said.

“No, you don’t.
That’s what makes it so effective.” He gave my neck a lingering
kiss, sending electrical pulses down my spine.

“Now it’s time,”
he said, “whether you’re ready for me or not.”

Instructing me not to
move, Marc went to the closet and took out the red rope. I had a
sudden instinct to run and escape whatever harsh punishment he had
planned, but it vanished just as quickly.

What Lydia had felt for
Marc – the unquenchable need to be possessed – I felt it, too.

Where he was concerned,
Lydia and I had too much in common. I’d do anything to feel the
white-hot connection we’d shared last night, and if that meant
letting him shackle me, so be it.

He stepped up behind me
and drew my arms behind my back. “Hold the elbow of the opposite
arm in each hand,” he said, “like this.” He positioned me so
that my palms were up, my arms crossed over each other.

“I don’t know how
long I can stay this way,” I said.

“You won’t have to.
The rope will do it for you.”

I felt a tugging in my
shoulders as he wrapped the rope above and below my breasts. It
rubbed against the center of my chest, where it was sure to leave a
burn.

“Simple overhand
knots,” he said, “but they look so beautiful next to your flesh.”

I had to brace a foot
against the end of the bed to keep from being pulled over. The
knotting and looping went on for several minutes until I felt so
constrained I began to sweat. At least with the collar I’d had the
movement of my arms.

Though I could hardly
expand my ribs enough to breathe, I would not panic. I wouldn’t
give him the satisfaction of hearing me beg to be freed.

“Come,” he said,
taking me by the waist. “Look at yourself.”

He led me to the floor
mirror and switched on the muted light of the lamp. My eyes were
shadowed, my skin milk-white. None of it – me, Marc, the rope
snaking around my torso – looked real.

I was his captive, his
wicked girl, his naughty, high-heeled prisoner.

My entire upper body
was wrapped tightly, my breasts framed in blood-red rope. Once he
bound my ankles – and I knew he would – I would be helpless, his
property for as long as he wanted me.

“This is what happens
when you keep secrets from me,” he said. “Are you sorry you did
it?”

“Yes,” I said, my
heart contracting with regret. “I should have asked you about
Lydia. I never should have gone to see her. And I’m sorry I ruined
dinner.”

“I forgive you,” he
said, kissing my temple. “I’ll always forgive you, Pet.”

“This is
forgiveness?”

“My interpretation of
it, yes.” He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re
frightened tonight, aren’t you? I see it in your eyes.”

I nodded.

“Frightened, and very
lovely. You have no idea how lovely you are. I’ve seen photographs
of submissives bound this way, but they can’t touch the woman
standing in front of me.”

Watching us both in the
mirror, he ran greedy hands over my bare breasts and hips. “I’m
going to have your ass tonight, and you’ll give it to me without
argument,” he said, with no change in tone. Smooth, cool,
absolutely in charge.

A quick shudder went
through me. “Why tonight? To punish me?”

“And to pleasure you.
And myself.”

“I’ve never done
it,” I said, though I’d always been intensely curious. “Does it
hurt?”

“Only if you resist
me. You have to give yourself to me completely and trust that I’ll
do what’s best for you. You do trust me, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” I
said, turning my head to look up at him. “I’m not sure you’ve
given me reason to.” His jawline was sharp as a blade against the
pale light.