Locked Out (Locked In Love, an Alpha Billionaire Serial)(Volume 2) (2 page)

Locke

That
, I decided,
was entirely too easy.

I place my sunglasses in my inner coat pocket and step back into the party, mingling with guests. This part is a necessary evil. My reputation as a businessman is built from hard, but good decisions I’ve made along the way. Being able to wrestle and bully my way into a tight stratosphere of companies founded on old money.

My reputation in the art, jewel, and antiquities crowds is built on my collections and this: smiling, shaking hands. Charming the pants and panties off my guests. It’s a tight-knit world and it pays to be well known. I get first bids on pieces I’m interested in, I get exclusive invitations to showings and sales, and I learn about my fellow collectors. Because collectors often have histories as complex and interesting as the pieces they acquire.

The double cheek kiss. A flirt here or there. My eyes, though, are constantly on the prowl.

Where is Elise? I doubt it took her long to handle Hollins’ men. This is where I expected her. In the crowd, schmoozing with her own purpose. I’d hoped to discover what questions she’d ask about me, discover how she went about building a profile on a client.

After all, that is part of the game.

What’s frustrating me more than her absence, though, is exactly how much she’s in my thoughts. There’s an acute need to know what she thinks of me. When we first met, I know she thought I was an asshole. Elise telegraphed it, loud in clear. With her stern eyebrows and crossed arms, she viewed me as a threat.

Maybe even an enemy.

Before I’d touched her, that amused me. I’m competitive by nature and even the small challenges, like winning someone over, I refuse to pass up.

But then she’s accepted my proposal-- and upped the ante.

My palm itches, stirred by the memory of spanking her ass red. Elise Martin, cold and snarky, became butter next to me. It was intoxicating.

I’ve had submissives before. It felt like business, though. I didn’t mind dominating them, but it felt too similar to the domination of my competition. They were doing a job, it seemed, even if we were dating.

Elise? A revelation. My blood heats as I think of how her eyes widen and waiver, warring over every command. It excites me to see someone unsure. Tugged between my will and their own.

Then she’ll fool me, initially doing as I ask, letting me think I’ve won, only to turn around and send a stinging comment my way. Jesus, she makes me hard.

And you’ve already screwed it up, stupid, when you treated her like a used-up rag in the study
.

I grit my teeth. Her hurt had been palpable. I deserved it.

Remember why you did it, Locke. Focus.

This is when I realize I don’t remember half the people I’ve just spoken to or greeted. This entire time has been cruise control for me, my insides so wrapped up in that damned private eye that I ignore what’s happening around me.

That’s how mistakes are made. By being distracted. I can’t afford mistakes.

Shaking my head, I steal over to Ben, who’s been patiently watching from the wings.

“Have you seen Miss Martin?” I force my shoulders to drop, casually stuffing my hands in my pockets.

“Not since earlier, Sir.”

“That’s unhelpful. Earlier when?”

“When you were still getting ready. The last I saw of her, she was heading toward Hollins’ safe room.”

That meant neither of us had seen her for a little more than half an hour.

“Keep an eye out and help get the Auction started. I’m going to look for her.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Soon I’ve left the gathering and am greeted by quiet. Nodding to the police who are patrolling the halls, I walk quickly through the closest corridors. My home is well guarded. My secrets more so. Elise has a way of seeing exactly the things I don’t wish for her to, though. My hands fist as I wonder what she might discover if left unchecked for too long.

It doesn’t take me long to check all of the hallways. Frowning, I rush to her room and knock before opening the door.

The bed is messy, her clothing is crumpled on the floor. This irks me. I like things neat, and the darker corners of my mind begin to think of ways to teach Elise how orderly, neat behavior makes all the difference. I like the idea of tying her arms behind her and making her pick up her clothing with her teeth, while I swat at her bare ass with a paddle--

Pain bursts in startled stars across my knuckles as I punch the wall.

Fuck! What was she doing to me? I haven’t even found the little vixen yet and I’m already forgetting that I. Can’t. Have. Her.

Not for long, anyway. This night will be over and, if I did everything right, it will be over without a hitch. There will be no reason for Elise to be in my life anymore.

There is a hitch now, though. Because where in the hell is Elise?

A cold pebble of intuition ripples through me.

No way
.

Rushing away from her things and my fantasies, I head straight for the room I least expect to find her in. Every step that takes me closer, though, heightens the absolute assurance I have that she’s in there.

God, I hope she’s not in there.

The door is still shut. I take a deep breath. If she’s seen what’s in there, she might walk away forever. I know that would be for the best, really. The thought of it, though, drives a lance of disappointment through me.

On the other hand, if she’s seen it and wants to stay?

I’m fucking done for.

~ ~ ~ ~

The sight of her stops me in mid-step. My muscles and brain are frozen, but my blood boils, blasted with lust.

Elise is in the room. She’s kneeling on the floor. Her dress is ripped and hanging in tatters.Underneath her, her legs are bound and spread. Her pink, smooth pussy is exposed and I want nothing more than to bury my face between her legs and lick her to oblivion.

Seeing her, arms tight behind, breasts straining at the front of the dress, her eyes blindfolded and her mouth gagged, almost makes me come. In my pants, right there, like I’m fucking thirteen. That’s how sensual, how enthralling the visual is.

However, my lust is quickly shredded by confusion and, above all, anger. Because she didn’t get that way on her own.

This all occurs in a fraction of a second, my mind whipping from thought to thought. She heard the door open and her cheeks stain red. Her muffled screams belt me into movement.

Dropping to my knees, I quickly untie her eyes. It’s too late to hide the room from her, anyway, and I’m not about to carry her in this state through my home with hundreds of people in it.

Elise blinks rapidly as her eyes adjust to the sudden light. The blue in them shimmers with unbidden tears. A few escape and fall down her cheek, catching together on her chin before falling off. It’s startling to see her so vulnerable.

It’s beautiful.

Without thinking, I brush it away, trying to save her from being too exposed to me. We both know it’s too late, but I feel like I owe her the chance to pretend.

It’s compassion and it surprises me.

The gag comes out next. She gasps for air as soon as it’s out. Her lips are dry and I know it’s been in there for a while.

“Who did this to you?” I demand while beginning to undo the bindings on her arms.

“Legs!” She croaks. “Please,” softer, strained. “Please untie my legs first. They hurt so much.”

Anger explodes in me. Someone abused her; risked her body, her mind, and her health. The fact that she’s in here, wrapped up like a gift for me, sends a sliver of fear into my rage. Her toes are purple. She’s been tied up too long.

This might have been someone’s idea of a joke, but it wasn’t fucking funny. They were going to pay for it.

The bindings are expertly done. Elegant in their loops and knots. When I realize I can’t just untie it easily, I stand up. Elise immediately begins to plead and mewl. The mewling is like a fishhook in my heart, barbing it, wounding me.

Kneeling, I cup her face. “I’m not leaving you. I need to cut these off of you. Count to thirty and I’ll be back before twenty-nine.”

There is a look on her face that I’d love if the circumstances are different. It’s something akin to adoration, fused with a mind hopped up on adrenaline and endorphins. Elise is entering subspace, a place where her mind can separate what’s happening with her body. It would be sexy as hell if I had created it.

Snarling, I stood and rushed for a shelf where I keep surgical tools. My scalpels are lined up, clean and shining, their razor edges in parallels. Grabbing one, I come back. Her eyes widen more and she whispers, “no.”

Someone has scared her. Forcing my mind to shut out the worst of my worries, calm descends quickly. She needs me to be calm and in control right now. The rage can come later.

I stroked her cheek before cupping her chin. My forehead touches hers. “Babe, I need you to stay still. I’m going to cut the ties on your legs. Can you do that?”

“I only counted to fifteen before you were back,” she whimpers.

I nod. “So you know I mean what I say. I’m not going to hurt you. Can you stay still for me?”

The tiniest nod.

The silk parts easily under the scalpel’s blade, and I slowly straighten her legs for her. Bliss crosses her face, her pouty lips parting. I wince for her. “Wait for it, Elise. Take a deep breath.”

My hands grip her calf and foot and start kneading. I’m desperate to get blood flowing back to her lower legs. Her nostrils flare as her eyes squeeze shut and then--

“Son of a whore!” Elise shouts as her back straightens, her torso twisting. Her legs begin to thrash as the blood flows back in, bringing in pins and needles I don’t envy. “Damn,” she moans, “Damn. Damn!”

My fingers kneading, my thumbs rubbing soothing circles. Finally, she stills, her chest heaving. “That really sucked.” She smiles at me weakly and my heart thunders with relief. Whatever happened to her, Elise still has her dry sense of humor.

“Just wait until we get your arms,” I warn.

“Do it,” she demands, clenching her jaw in preparation.

We go through it again. The sweet relief of release followed by the torture of nerves re-awakening. It takes a while, but finally Elise is able to move her fingers on her own.

There is a connection vibrating between us that I wish I could ignore. I’ll admit there is something ego-plumping about saving a woman. Being a knight in shining armor. Or, in this case, a tuxedo. Still, I so rarely get to brazenly be a hero.

It’s different. It’s nice.

Before I can launch in with my own questions, she asks hers.

“Where in the hell am I?” Her questioning blue eyes quickly assess the room, and narrow as she puts the pieces together.

“My playroom.” I sit, arms wrapped casually around my knees. I try to see what she sees.

It’s rather simple, really. No red walls or silks here. A table, long and padded. Eyebolts in the ceiling. I have shelves for my toys. Vibrators, plugs, and gags on one. Paddles, crops, and floggers on another. There are boxes with ropes and silks in them, as well as one with costumes.

The costumes are my favorite. Sometimes nothing beats playing Doctor to a naughty nurse.