French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2) (7 page)

Like the other subs, she was highly aroused, more so than she’d ever allowed during a scene at the club, and under Arturo’s expert hand so very close to flying, but not quite. If she were in that dreamlike euphoric state, she wouldn’t have appreciated the jarring discord of Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’ that blended well with the ambient BDSM noises around her. Yet as the quirt fell again, along the lowest curves of her ass, she knew the endorphins were rushing through her body. Her limbs were beginning to feel floaty and although she knew from the sound of the blows that Arturo hadn’t let up, not the least little bit, the blows were beginning to merge into a tingling, buzzing, warmth. It was also travelling inward, converging on the hypersensitive recesses between her legs. It wouldn’t take much for her to give into it and soar, fly high into sub space, but she didn’t dare let herself go over the edge.

Another sharp lash of the quirt pushed her near, but she held on, curling her nails into her palms to check herself. She should end it before it was too late, before he achieved the severity that she needed to send her over the top. But it felt good, really good, and she’d missed this so much. So, she let it continue.

However, in an attempt to reduce the impending euphoria and quell the endorphin rush, she turned her thoughts to mundane things, the sale at her shop that weekend, the dry cleaning that was due to be picked up, the long drive home sitting on leather seats while her ass cheeks were on fire.

A particularly stinging stroke landed across her upper thighs and redirected her back to the scene. She hissed on an indrawn breath at the blaze of pain it had ignited and the exquisite pleasure.

“I’m glad to have your attention,
ma petite.
Am I boring you?”

She shook her head, catching her lower lip between her teeth to keep from crying out. Not from the pain of it, although it was there, but in her alternately wired mind, what she steeled herself against was crying out and begging him for more. More of what she hungered for, had craved to the point of desperation, and had been missing from her life for so long.

The quirt landed once again in the same spot, pushing her closer to the edge where euphoria waited, glistening on the horizon like a beacon, leading her to the place where she was beyond pain, if that even made sense. Not only physical, but also where emotional and spiritual pain existed no longer. It was a state of sublime being, an incredible ecstasy as strongly compelling as the most addictive drug.

“Again, I find I am repeating myself.” This was spoken low in her ear as he leaned into her back. Her head was drawn back the next second as his fist wound into her hair. She found herself looking up into hypnotic green eyes. A dark brow quirked as he waited. “I asked a question, Mari.”

While nearly tongue tied by the dominance he exuded, she felt a little tickle begin on her inner thighs as her abundant juices long since pooled in her pussy, began to spill over. She shifted, ever so slightly trying to gain some relief, but her legs were too wide spread.

Stifling a groan, she gave her breathy reply. “No, sir. I’m definitely not bored.”

His lips lowered and took hers, his tongue plunging inside, claiming every nook and cranny, every deep recess, before he let her go. With a wink he smiled. “We’ll push on then, hmm?”

As he stepped back, she blinked, stunned by the kiss. He’d forgotten, or had he? Her heart raced, pounding hard in her chest wanting him to come back and give her more, but fearing where it would lead as well. Overwhelmed by her reeling emotions, ‘yellow’ was on the tip of her tongue just as another stroke caused the rippling need to surge higher.

She could take more, much more. If left up to her body, she would beg him not to stop, urging him not to let up and taking what she so desperately wanted. Just a few more lashes, an inner voice bargained, or perhaps an even dozen, but another voice, one of reason, overrode all else in her mind and told her to shut it down—fast—before he moved her beyond the point of no return, going past that boundary, as she had with her master, who she loved, trusted and consciously surrendered herself to after years together. Whom she built her whole world around and yes, became dependent upon. To do so again with another man, was foolish, too perilous to her fragile mind, and the thin hold she maintained on her sanity. To go there again would mean submission, which she wanted, but also exposed her to abandonment, more heartache, and unbearable loneliness.

Because despite a vow to be there forever, it was a lie. It wasn’t true with her father, and it hadn’t been with Derek, both of whom had been taken from her in the blink of an eye, and it could be the same with another man. She couldn’t allow it to go on.

“Yellow,” she called out, slightly panicky.

Immediately, the leather tails stopped their relentless motion. When his warm hand touched her back, she stiffened.

“Too much, little sub?” Rich and smooth, his voice was like velvet as he spoke close to her ear.

“Yes, sir,” she breathed, as a delightful shiver of wanting ran through her.

Fingers lightly traced over her hip, gliding down and around to her spread thighs in front. She couldn’t hide the proof of her body’s response as he dipped two broad fingers between her lips held wide for him by her bound position.

“Your body tells me otherwise. You’re drenched.” He lingered there, stroking the hard bud at the front of her slit.

“Yellow, sir,” she insisted in a choked voice.

“I’ll ease off, switch to the deerskin, I think.”

“No!” She dared to deny him with cold edged desperation. More was not an option. At her limit now, a few more strokes would trigger the voracious need inside her. Like a crack addict searching for that next fix, she’d be undone. “No more impact, sir. Please. Will you fuck me, instead?”

“Are you sure,
petite
? You were just a few strokes from flying.”

“I’m sure.” Adjusting her tone to one that she hoped sounded respectful, she made it clear how certain she was. “I’m afraid it’s fucking or I’ll have to say red.”

“I was warned you were a stubborn one, but I didn’t believe them until now.”

When the quirt hit the floor, she almost changed her mind, but she didn’t dare.

“I thought I might succeed, where others have failed. That I didn’t is a blow to my overinflated dominant’s ego.”

The long rasp of a zipper told her he was packing his bag. She closed her eyes. The insulted doms usually got angry, released her, and left her pussy aching at this point, but she didn’t think Master Arturo was like any of them.

Disappointment flagged her energy and her head bowed. “Please don’t go, sir,” Mari begged.

“Others have left you this way?”

“Yes, sir, as you said, they found me stubborn.”

“
Merde
,” he growled. “Short of punishment, which you haven’t earned, or a safeword, never would I leave a sub in such a state. This is what we negotiated,
oui
? A moderate whipping followed by a hard fucking. I’m proud, as are most doms, but not so much that I’d renege on our agreement when I didn’t prove myself exceptional. Neither am I so arrogant to allow my bruised pride to pass up a dripping wet cunt when it’s offered.”

Waves of humiliation rolled through her. She’d heard the talk. Cold, distant, stubborn, but always up for a good fuck. To many, like Arturo, she was a challenge, their overconfidence making them choose her for the night to see if they could crack through her icy shields. It wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t allow it.

She heard a wrapper crinkle and felt his strong hands grip her hips, then he surged up inside her, his generous proportions robbing her of breath. He began pumping into her hard. It was mechanical, perfunctory, emotionless, exactly as she wanted it, as she needed it to be. Then his fingers threaded into the hair at her nape and tugged her head back firmly, further restraining her body. She was completely immobilized, her limbs stretched taut with her wrists and ankles strapped to the cross. The seven-foot-tall x-frame acting as a restraint itself, preventing forward movement. Now, her head movement was curtailed as well. Fully restrained and helpless, she could only take the cock that slammed into her relentlessly and revel in the exquisite domination.

A hard slap on the ass reignited the sizzling heat brought on by the flogging and the subsequent lashes of his blistering quirt. It was followed by another swat, and yet another, then he grabbed a handful of one ass cheek and squeezed. As his hard fingers dug into her pliant flesh made hot and raw from the whipping, pain and ecstasy flowed through her in equal parts, giving her that extra nudge that she needed. Only then did she allow her body to completely surrender as her orgasm claimed her.

* * *

Minutes later, after Arturo had growled his own release, she walked away under her own power, a feat in itself with his enigmatic eyes upon her. She resisted looking over her shoulder, wanting nothing more than to turn and run back to him, to crawl into his lap and cuddle on a couch like so many of the other couples, to share an intimacy beyond sex that she yearned for desperately. He’d taken her farther than she’d allowed anyone in the previous months, and with him, only him, she’d found the elusive release of a body shattering climax. Even more proof that he posed a clear and present danger that she must resist.

Although weak and in need of assurance, after he’d released her restraints, she’d only accepted his hands on her hips supporting her unsteady body until she found her feet. Aftercare was limited to a bottle of water and a blanket, intentionally. She’d meant to decline even that kindness. And she felt like the cold bitch everyone thought her to be, when she’d shook her head to so much as a hug. But she’d been resolute when she’d seen the glint of disappointment in his eyes knowing that it was unfair to him. Doms often needed aftercare too, but she didn’t dare allow another moment in his arms. Tenderness of that sort wasn’t an option for her. So, with a murmured thank you, she’d taken herself off to the women’s locker room as quickly as she could, ignoring the heat of his gaze drilling into her back.

Done for the night, having gotten what she’d come for without accepting any affection or other emotion that could be misconstrued as loving—that was reserved for Derek and he was dead—she changed quickly. With only a nod to the attendant at the front door, she fled to the parking lot, the same as she did on each infrequent visit. No one else was outside this early. They were still inside enjoying all the club had to offer: a cocktail with a lover or friends in the bar after a scene, dancing with that special someone, or simply enjoying the phenomenal live music in the lounge. Or, so she’d heard, never experiencing any of those amenities herself.

In her car, she locked the doors and turned the key. Throwing the gearshift into reverse, she pulled out recklessly fast, and then slammed it into drive. Mari was ten miles out on I-10 toward Houston before they threatened, choking her as they always did. Again, as was the norm, she took the next exit and found the nearest empty parking lot, pulling into the darkest corner. Switching off the engine, she dropped her head forward, her forehead thumping on the padded steering wheel. Only then did she allow the tears to come, and did they ever, as she succumbed to a deluge of guilt and grief, as well as self-loathing for what she’d become.

* * *

He was at the bar waiting to be served when he saw her pass through. She was magnificent. Her color heightened after the scene, her thick mane of rich coppery hair in charming disarray, full pink lips swollen not from his many kisses, mores the pity—although the one he’d stolen, unable to resist, was thorough and tasted honey sweet—but from biting her lips to hold back her cries. Her eyes were averted as she rushed toward the exit, but he suspected they were large and luminous, holding the same distress she’d shown toward the end of their scene.

“What may I get for you, sir?” a soft, dulcet voice asked.

He didn’t turn right away, watching the mysterious Marilee make her escape through the doors before he did so. When he shifted around, he encountered a pale blonde with cyan blue eyes and a cute button nose. She didn’t look old enough to be up past ten o’clock, let alone get into the club or serve alcohol.

“Dry martini,
s’il vous plait.
Grey Goose if you’ve got it. Two olives.” Looking on as she poured the vodka and vermouth, he stopped her before she put the top on the shaker. “Unlike the infamous 007, I can drink mine stirred.”

She looked up at him, her brows gathering in confusion. “Double-oh-seven, sir?”

He tilted his head, his turn to be surprised. “Yes, like Bond, as in James Bond?”

“Um…” she hesitated, tilting her head to the side endearingly.

“Sadie isn’t big on pop culture, I’m afraid.” A tall, tee shirt clad man came up behind the bartender and put an arm around her shoulders. He offered his free hand to Arturo. “I’m Ben, the bar manager. You’re new, yeah? I saw you the last couple times, but you were involved in a scene or the crowds didn’t allow time for introductions.”

“Arturo Durand,” he said as he shook his hand.

“Are you enjoying our little sex club, then? Anything come close in your neck of the woods? You’re French, right?”

“Yes, but I call London home for now.”