Rough Surrender (27 page)

Chapter 28

Though he said nothing on the drive back home, it was clear to Faith that Smythe’s last remark had hit Mr. Meisner hard.
Home? Where is my head going–calling his house, home? And who is this Pavlov?
She had some questions for Leonhardt.

She helped the woman from the automobile, the soft sheet still wrapped about Beth’s body, with curls and tangles of gorgeous red hair fluffing up about her shoulders and blood dotting the sheet. Leonhardt remained silent. He too put an arm about Beth, only to flinch when the woman gasped and shrank back. Then he stepped away. Hasim instructed a servant girl to take Beth inside the white three-story house then followed her in after a swift goodbye and a handshake with Leonhardt. Faith stared up and up the front of the house. It had pretensions to majesty thanks to all the columns and stained glass, the servants and carefully pruned shrubbery.

“She looks like she’ll be in good hands, Leonhardt.”

Even that, a direct piece of conversation, drew nothing from him. His face was a wall. Was he angry at her too? She got back inside the Thomas Flyer and watched his strong fingers manipulate the gears and the wheel all the way back, wondering what it was about this Pavlov and “conditioning” that had struck such a nerve. Smythe barely knew her and though he might have guessed...what they did...how could he know enough to upset Leonhardt? For a man with control engraved in every line of his body, to see him tipped off his center, it was simply awful and ran a raw thread of pain through her middle.

Inside the house, Leonhardt directed her to the dining room and pulled up a chair for her to sit on. He perched on the edge of the table and regarded her with that face of flesh made stone, yet still said nothing.

Questions chased each other in her head.
Who or what is this Pavlov? Why does it bother you so? What is conditioning?
She was afraid to ask. And her instincts told her, if it affected Leonhardt this much, he should be the one to bring them up.

Yet, what did he want of her? The silence stretched, until that raw thread of pain connected them and she dreaded whatever he might say. She’d seen his best side this day, no matter that he patently thought the opposite. A man who went to the place that hurt him terribly, where he tried his utmost to correct a wrong for a woman who was a stranger to him. It humbled her. He was so good while she skipped through life on money and indulgences and did what struck her, on the day, as fun or exciting. Today he’d given her a taste of doing something right and good and satisfying.

“Sir. Please. Talk to me.” She sat forward, hands in her lap, aching to touch him and not certain if she should.

Those brown eyes softened a little from cold amber to earth-brown. “Do you know of Pavlov’s experiments, Faith?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Where he fed a dog and rang a bell, over and over? Eventually the dog came to think of the bell as meaning food and would dribble when it rang.”

She frowned then thought for a bit.
Had Smythe been saying she’d been trained like that dog was? What utter twaddle
. “And you think you can compare me to a dog? That I respond to you because you trained me to? Smythe is a fool. You are not, and neither am I. Neither. Am. I.” With each word, she pounded her fist on her thigh.

“Are you sure you would have done what I’ve made you do, if I hadn’t coaxed it from you?” He shook his head, smoothed both hands slowly over his bald head then let them slap onto his legs. “Because I am not. This idea is not new to me–that what I do is wrong. Why else do you think I abstained for all this time? I won’t force my unnatural desires on anyone, especially on you.”

How did she convince him? How to think her way through this absurd maze he’d created in his head?

Softly, she added, “No one has ever made me feel the way that you do. From the first moment you kissed me, I wanted to lie down at your feet and curl around you.” She laughed, once. “More like a cat than a dog. Truly. If anything, I owe you for opening up my life to new possibilities. I had given up on”–she swallowed–“on love.” Her vision blurred and she lowered her head, and looked at the floor, remembering his words on the terrace when she’d dredged up the courage to invite him to her room. He’d said much the same thing–that he had unnatural tastes. Well, damn it, no piece of slime like Mr. Smythe would take away what she had found. She was stronger than that. It was time for some more courage.

One last deep inhalation then she got up from the chair and went to him, then dropped to her knees.

“Faith–” His fingers curled over the table’s edge, white knuckled.

“Please. Please, listen to me.”

Slowly, his fingers relaxed. “Very well.”

“Do you think me a fool? A flibbertigibbet? An empty-headed woman?”

His mouth worked then he shifted, looked down at her. “No. I do not.”

“Do you really think that in only a few days a man could change me in such a way that I would throw myself at his feet and let him do something I didn’t want?” Then she went on before he could interject. “Because to me, that would be an insult.”

At that, his lips curved just a little. “No. Faith, I don’t believe a man could do that.”

“Good. Then–” Here she had her own doubts, but not enough to stop her. “Do you think I am someone with unnatural ideas?”

“You? No, of course not. You are a beautiful woman and–” He put his hand on her head and caressed her. “Damnation, Faith. I don’t want to hear you say such nonsense again.”

“Thank you, then to me that puts paid to all of Smythe’s arguments.” She breathed deeply, rose and held out her hand.

“Please, Leonhardt, come with me upstairs. There’s something I want to show you.”

Those keen eyes examined her, until she imagined him unraveling some dark secret burrowed deep in her soul, prying it loose, strand by strand, and she shivered.

For the first time in a while he smiled. One of those hard yet amused smiles that got her worried.
Thank God
.

“Lead on, Miss Evard.”

He took her hand and they went up the stairs, joined that way like two newlyweds, or...she watched his large black shoes climb step by step beside her dainty feet...like a demon lover taking his victim up to his lair to be ensorcelled and ravished. Only this demon lover suited her just fine.

In the bedroom, she stopped in the doorway. The chains hung down from the ceiling, yet apart from that it might have been the bedroom of any man–plush black, gold and red silk bedspread, and fine furnishings with a mix of antique French style and art nouveau. Here and there, were bronze sculptures of animals and female dancers.

“What do you want to show me, Faith?” His hand played in the wisps of hair at her nape. “I admit I’m curious.”

She curved into his hand, hummed in appreciation. “I may have lost my nerve. Are you sure you need me to show you? Perhaps I don’t need to do anything more?”

“After leading me on, so? No. You have convinced me of my...lack of foolishness. But I think I need to see whatever you wanted to show me. Shall I help you find your...nerve?” He went behind her and trailed his hand around the neckline of her fitted yellow coat, from the back to the front to dip across the upper slopes of her breasts, then returning to nestle into her cleavage. Without prompting she swayed into his body, snuggled in to mold her contours into his, and let the length of his hard cock rest between the cheeks of her bottom.

Oh yes, definitely, Leonhardt had found his balance.

“Does this require you getting naked?”

“Yes.” The word breathed out of her like a sigh.

“I thought so. I’d hoped so. Please. Don’t let me delay you.” He put his finger to the small of her back and gave her a small push in the direction of the bed.

Evil man. She turned and danced backward a few steps, pouting. Had he guessed? No. Surely not.

Undoing the buttons of her coat, she started to undress for Mr. Meisner.

“Stop.” He held up a finger. “Take off everything below the waist first.”

Instructions already?
She grinned.

By the time she’d bared her lower half, he’d moved in close. “Bend over, flip up the coat and show me your bottom, Faith.”

Blinking, with blood boiling up her body, warming her groin, her breasts, her nipples, she slowly turned and bent over, planted her hands on the bed.

A finger sank slow and hard into her cunt. She clenched bedspread in fists and bowed her head, squirmed her bottom to get the feel of that finger. “
Mmm
.”

“Now stand up and take off the rest,” he said quietly.

His finger pistoned in and out through her swollen lips wet with her juices, as she took off the coat, the blouse, making her gasp...and pleasure shafted her, made her bottom twist and sink up and down of its own will, her mind enthralled by the glorious squelch and squish of damp flesh. Clothes were shed, she wasn’t sure what or how, clothes trampled into the floor until she was nude, standing there being thrust into by thick, marvelous fingers. Nothing mattered but his hand and fingers on, and in, her cunt. Her thighs were so wet. She moaned.

“Spread your legs, Faith, and tell me what you wanted to show me.” He pulled out his soaked fingers, unplugging her pussy. She smelt the sweetness of her arousal, heard the clop of shoes on floor behind her, the shift of cloth on cloth and on skin as he undressed and tossed clothes aside.

What had she– Ah. Memories resurfaced. When she went to turn and face him he put his hand on her neck, the
V
between fingers and thumb clasping her, holding her in place.

“No. Don’t turn. Tell me.”

That curious sensation suffused her. The one that told her Mr. Meisner was back and in command, where she wanted him to be. The world was in its place. Harmony. Mind and muscle calming peace that made her shoulders slowly relax and let her wait, simply wait, if need be, to be told what to do.

“Faith?”

“You forgot, last time...on the roof. You forgot to write on me.”

A long even sigh came from him. “I did, didn’t I.” Not a question. An affirmation. “And you want me to write my name on you?” His hands now rested on her shoulders.

“Yes. “ She closed her eyes. The long strands of her loosened hair fanned across her back, feathering her skin as she swayed the smallest amount. “Yes. I do.”

“Then, I’ll let you decide where.”

Oh. Heavens above.
She’d not expected this.
Where?
Her mind kicked into gear again and she smiled. “May I show you?”

“Yes.” He let go of her shoulders and she piled up two pillows, got down on hands and knees on top of the bed then rolled over and arranged herself, with bottom and lower back on the pillows, so her pussy pointed up at him. “There?” he asked, disbelieving.

She smirked. “Yes.”

“You’re too wet.” He shook his head, mock frowning at her, one side of his mouth curving up. “Put your hands above your head and don’t move them. If you move, I’ll write on your neck instead.”

“Yes, sir.” She raised her hands and threaded her fingers together, blinking owlishly at him while he retrieved several fat fountain pens from the bedside drawer. Pens? “More than one color, sir?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just in case I run out. First though, I have to clean up down there.”

Then he knelt on the floor and pulled her closer to the edge and proceeded to lick her labia in long strokes of his soft tongue.

“I don’t. Think.” She resisted wiggling, certain he’d make good on his promise and write on her neck if she moved. “That won’t work, sir. I’m, uh, getting wetter.”

“You are, aren’t you?” He growled. “I need a cork. Dear me. These will have to do.”

A smooth object as thick as a finger, slid into her cunt, soon joined by another and then another. They wobbled, half in, half out of her. Pens? “Sir! They might go in too far.”

“Never mind. I’ll get them out if they do. As long as I have one to write with. Sit still.” He put his mouth on her clit and sucked and sucked as if she were a most delicious lollipop.

“Sir!” She gripped her fingers tighter and felt her eyes roll up. The thrumming heat of an impending orgasm built in minutes and she strained not to thrust into his mouth as she came, shuddering, with a whimper keening from her mouth.

“Even wetter now, Faith. A never-ending task.
Tsk tsk
.” The pens shifted as he licked around them, slurping, pushing the pens in and out on occasion, flicking tongue across her clit then descending on it with finger and thumb and squeezing rhythmically until she spun off out of control, into her second heart-shattering orgasm.

Another flick of his tongue on her overworked clit evoked a painful twinge and her bottom jumped a half inch off the pillow.

“Maybe you should write now, sir?” Praying he’d not count it as moving, she lifted her head and met his gaze.

“Maybe I should.”

Unsure if he were serious, she stared some more.

“I think I’m approaching this wrong.” One by one, he removed the pens and laid them on the sheet. “On your stomach.”

What? Begrudgingly, she turned over. At the halfway mark, he took her ankles and flipped her. “Oh!” She curled to the side to protest and he took possession of her hands. With a deft slip of buckle and leather he bound her wrists crossed, one against the other, with his belt. The pillows were returned under her stomach and he propped her up on her knees. Why though? Wasn’t she sitting still enough? It was enough to make her feel like grumbling.