French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2) (10 page)

Butterflies took flight in her stomach as she looked around the room, asking herself for the hundredth time what she was doing here. Coming alone to a sex club was ballsy for her, going off to a private room for bondage games with a man she hardly knew was crazy. The fact that he was gorgeous, charming, and unerringly dominant, and also so sexy that a flash of his white teeth against his swarthy skin, or a heart stopping glance from his penetrating green eyes, or an order given in his low smooth as silk baritone made her panties practically evaporate shouldn’t factor. But how could it not?

Her rational mind screamed that she was insane that this was unsafe. It was the reason she had never played anywhere except in the main dungeon. Then again, it wasn’t lost on her that the rational, non-emotional, intelligent side of her brain was no longer in charge, but rather her raging, long neglected libido. It was the ruling part of her that took one look at Arturo Durand and craved him beyond all sense of safety and self-preservation. She wanted him, the whole gorgeous, captivating, sadistic package.

So here she stood, barefoot in a short slinky dress, sans panties—he hadn’t ordered it, however, there was no way to wear even the skimpiest thong in that dress—her heart racing, her body still heated and aroused from the phenomenal dancing, watching him move around the room from where he had deposited her, just inside the door. Dragging her gaze from the man who was driving her mad with lust, she glanced around the room, taking it all in while he made preparations, pulling wide heavy drapes to allow moonlight to stream in through the high, arched windows, and adjusting dimmer switches to lower the lights in the wrought iron wall sconces so they flickered, mimicking candle light. The brightly lit room was now cast in long shadows except for one spot, the focal point of the room, an ornately carved, heavy wood, four-post, canopied bed, which glowed invitingly as if under a spotlight. It was massive, and draped as it was in velvet and satin, quite magnificent.

Everything was, for that matter, appearing authentic to the era, which to Mari seemed Middle Ages, or thereabouts. No detail was overlooked, right down to the heavy brocade stitching on the bedspread or in the drapes that were tied back in welcome. As with all the private theme rooms on the second floor, or so she’d heard, the owners had spared no expense to set the scene for the perfect fantasy role-play. She’d never been upstairs before, but it was hard to block out the gushing subs in the women’s locker room who repeated every decadent detail of their scene, recounting the many delights that could be found in the likes of the Victorian sitting room equipped with tufted couches and satin chaises, perfect for naughty maids to be bent over for a sound birching, or the schoolroom with its rack of canes ranging in size and intensity from light and snappy, to heavy and thuddy, or the shibari room where the ceiling was equipped with suspension rigging, and the doctor’s office complete with exam table and stirrups, the thought of which made her shiver, and not with anticipation.

Then there was the most popular theme room, the Sultan’s chamber, described by so many and in such detail that she had a clear image of it in her head: low couches, abundant pillows, scantily clad women prostrating themselves at the grand master’s feet—this description had come from one of the group enthusiasts—and the free standing Turkish bath big enough for the master and at least four of his concubines.

She’d also heard many things about this room, the medieval bedchamber, but she didn’t see any of the special features the subs had whispered about, certain the decadent amenities they were referring to didn’t include the luxuriant linens, frosted windows, or the richly textured wallpaper, though the padded prayer bench in the corner was more along the lines of what she’d expected.

Most of the action, no doubt, took place on the huge bed. Still, she looked around the room for more: stocks, a pillory, or at the very least, a bondage chair. Her face must have shown her surprise at not finding what she thought she would.

“Looking for a torture rack or an iron maiden, perhaps?”

She had the grace to flush. “Um, would you be offended if I said yes?”

Arturo chuckled. “Exactly what one would anticipate from a sadist, so no, I don’t take offense, although it is quite clichéd,
n’est-ce pas
? Besides, I like my comforts as much as the next dom, though you,
ma chérie
, can expect otherwise.” The teasing wink he sent her way gave her an uneasy feeling at the same time it raised the temperature of her body at least five degrees. “This room contains hidden treasures and gives the phrase ‘positively medieval’, which has a negative connotation for a reason, a whole new meaning, so don’t get too content just yet.” Having paused at the foot of the enormous bed, he looked at her, a wicked glint in his eyes and gave a definitive order. “
Viens ici,
Marilee
.
”

Said in a low, sensual tone, it was enough to have her moving toward him, even though she only understood half of his command. Deducing it was ‘come here’ when he extended his hand, palm up in the universally recognized gesture, she filed the French words away for future reference, knowing it would be used again if they continued in this fashion. And regardless of her protests upon their first meeting, she was beginning to hope that they would. She was also starting to feel more at ease with him, despite his warning not to get too comfortable. One fantastic orgasm, a few gifts and some spectacular dancing shouldn’t have made her feel so trusting, but she did. Perhaps it was because she’d been alone for so long, starved for attention and denying herself. But that alone smacked of desperation and should have set off alarms in her brain, which it didn’t.

Arriving in front of him, she stopped breathing, as without preliminaries, he pulled her dress off her shoulders and down her front, releasing it past her hips and allowing it drop to her ankles. Left bare to his avid gaze, a shiver rushed over her from the chill in the room. At least that’s what she told herself, but her dom for the evening knew better. Raising a hand, he outstretched a long finger and circled the taut nipple of one breast.

“You appear more than ready to play,
chérie
.” Returning her prior words to her, he captured her other nipple, and pinched both lightly. “No physical problems I need to know about?”

“No.”

“Joint or flexibility issues?”

“Um, I broke my left wrist about ten years ago in a fall, but no lingering effects.”

“Good, you will inform me if you have excessive strain on your joints, tingling sensations, or if anything causes unintentional discomfort or goes numb. Bad pain is not what we’re about,
oui
?”

“
Oui,
”
she parroted robotically, then blinked and quickly corrected herself, feeling silly. “Uh, I meant to say, yes.”

“I’ll have you fluent
en français
before you know it,” he teased with a grin while tugging on both nipples. “Your safewords are what, Mari?”

“Red for stop. Yellow if I need a break or it’s getting too intense.”

“I expect you to use them if you need to.”

“What are you planning?”

His eyes shot to hers, his fingers tightening pointedly on the taut peaks. She leaned toward him instinctively to ease the ache, sucking in a breath as he gave them both a quick twist without reducing the pressure, which sent a jolt of need shooting lightning quick from her nipples to her clit.

“Any plans I should have for you,
petite
, will be unveiled to you in due time, in my time. Is that clear?”

She gasped as he twisted both tips, not viciously, but slowly, while pulling her nipples farther away from her chest, enough to make his point. “Yes, sir,” she cried, her body trembling. “I’m sorry.”

“Mmm,” he hummed in acknowledgement, adding, “you’ll learn my preferences soon enough.” But his grip didn’t lessen just yet. In truth, it intensified as he pulled up on her distended nipples, lifting them, adding the weight of her full breasts to the pressure, the whole while watching her reaction intently. Moisture built between her lips, both sets, as her mouth watered and her pussy flooded in anticipation of what was to come.

“Lace your fingers behind your head and part your legs.”

The movement of her body, especially her arms as she clasped her fingers behind her neck increased the intensity of Arturo’s hold, which remained unabated throughout. As did his assessing gaze, he was testing her already. Once she was posed as he’d ordered, the pressure increased even more.

Her breath was shallow as she took in air against the pain. At last, he let her loose, allowing her breasts to fall back into their natural position. Her hands twitched, wanting to soothe her tender flesh, to rub away the prickling sensation at the same time she yearned to pick up where he’d left off and pinch the tips hard, as he’d done in order to extend the delicious pain until she found satisfaction. But that would be very unwise, so she controlled her reaction.

A slight smile tipped up one side of his mouth as he went back to making slow circles with the tip of one finger. Lazily, he watched her, particularly the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

“I’m very pleased you like nipple play. I am quite partial to it as well,” lightly his fingernail scraped across the tender peaks, “especially pretty pink ones that turn berry red. You’ve used clamps?”

“Yes.”

“Vises?”

“Once.”

“Breast floggers and whips, canes, needles?”

She flinched. “Not needles. That is a hard limit for me, as is any sort of blood play or body modification.”

“No piercings, then?”

“Except for my ears, no. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.”

“In this, I agree with you. Feminine beauty should not be marred by holes or scars from piercings, or tattoos. I am a naturalist in that way, not that I don’t enjoy adorning certain parts with jewelry from time to time. I have a set a lariat loops that will look stunning on you. They also deliver a wonderful bite, but that’s for another time.” He changed the angle of his caress, scraping his short nails in slow circles around the edge of the ruched areolas. “And since you are not averse to the whips and canes, I won’t mind turning this pretty white skin pink or your nipples to a tempting berry red. Indeed, I look forward to tormenting these beauties at my leisure.”

He lowered one hand to her mound, keeping up the slow, teasing nipple play with the other. His fingers combed slowly through the neatly trimmed triangle of dark red hair she’d left in front before sliding in between her parted thighs, gliding over the smooth lips that she’d shaved bare in preparation for tonight.

“Mmm, I like this combination, smooth as silk in between yet a little thatch of auburn up top to play with.” He leaned in, grazing his lips along her jaw until he reached her ear. “Let’s me know I’m with a woman.” Two fingers dipped into her slit, running over her achy clit and further back, seeking her drenched opening.

“
Mon dieu,
Mari
,
you’re hot, snug, and very, very wet.” He emphasized each descriptive word with a slow, sensuous glide in and out. It was unnecessary for him to describe her pussy’s drenched state, as her slickness was audible with each unhurried penetration.

Holding onto her composure this long hadn’t been easy. Now, it was next to impossible, especially when he sank his fingers in all the way up to the third knuckle, his thumb sweeping out to press against her clit as he did so. She swayed on legs that suddenly had the consistency of rubber, and as she thrust her hips forward seeking more, she lost her balance and had to use his wide chest for support.

He withdrew much too soon for her, eliciting a disappointed whimper. Strong hands gripped her waist and stood her upright. Next, his mouth lowered and claimed hers in another smoldering kiss.

“On the bed. I want you on your knees, hands behind your back, while I finish preparing. In fact, close your eyes as you wait, and visualize all of the wicked things I’m about to do to you.”

Silence followed, and as if by his command, her imagination ran wild. At a sharp pang on her lower lip, she blinked. He’d bitten her, no more than a little nip, his tongue quickly soothing the sting away, nonetheless, it had startled her out of her sinful thoughts. Meeting his gaze that was still very near, she frowned in confusion.

“Marilee, how do you answer your dom when he gives you a directive?”

“Oh.” She’d forgotten again, which wasn’t like her, as well trained as she’d been. It had to be Arturo; he drove protocol clear out of her head.

“Yes, oh. You have been quite remiss since you walked in the room. Something we have to address
toute de suite, non
?” In a quarter turn, he positioned her, bending her forward with a firm hand at the back of her neck, then his broad palm connected rapidly with her bare backside. Fast, staccato smacks, alternating first left then right, fell with commanding efficiency.

Swiftly, she provided the requisite reply. “Yes, sir. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

At least a dozen more scorching swats landed before he stopped and pulled her upright to face him once again.

“You’re out of practice.” One hand curved around her heated behind as the fingers of the other returned to her breast. He gave her cheek a hard squeeze, which coincided with a delicious pinch and roll of her nipple. “My lash will help it all come back to you, should you err again.”