Unholy Promises (27 page)

“Isn’t this cozy?” Morgana asks, approaching the table. We must be making a spectacle if Morgana has joined the party. She detests Kitten.

Thankfully, the salads arrive and I realize it is now or never, both Kitten and Garrett want this scene to happen, and they’re right. It is time for Eva to face the truth of all that a relationship entails and accept it or leave. I let her take a mouthful of salad before I drop my verbal grenade, “Eva, this is my pet—Kitten.”

I turn my attention to the woman on her knees at my feet and see pride in her face, love in her eyes. Leaning forward, I press my lips to the top of her head before turning my attention back to Eva, but it is Garrett to whom I speak. “Long ago, Eva was very conflicted by the lifestyle I introduced her to. She submitted, but she was always conflicted. It wasn’t enough that, intellectually, she grasped that it was the intent between the players that decided if it was pleasure or torture. Emotionally, that pleasure destroyed her.” She stares at me stonily and I don’t see it as a good sign. “Now, she has been honestly tortured, but still found pleasure … at least until the pain grew too great.”

“So the pleasure, not the pain, made you a victim?” Garrett questions.

Shrugging noncommittally, Eva drops her eyes and resumes picking at her salad, doing a fair job of ignoring the two Doms at the table and the purring submissive at her feet. Kitten is not one to be ignored, even if Garrett and I are willing to give her space to collect her thoughts. She climbs onto Garrett’s lap and kisses him fully on the mouth, tongue obvious, before climbing over and onto Eva’s lap. Eva gasps, dropping her fork, not seeing the woman until she was in her lap. Kitten leans in toward Eva’s face, Eva pulls back. They are eye to eye and nose to nose, but not touching. Kitten sniffs short, fast sniffs over Eva’s face, circling her face with her nose. I know the sensation well. It is one of Kitten’s favorite ways to greet, being both highly disturbing and sensually overwhelming to the one being sniffed. She leaps from Eva’s lap to my lap in a smooth motion born of much practice, leaving a paint and glitter trail over Eva’s clothing.

“Kitten once had the same issues,” Garrett continues, as though the woman isn’t here. “She understands both sides of her self now, the light and the dark, the naughty …

and the nice.”

I watch Garrett smirk over the top of Kitten’s head as she curls against me, kissing me as she kissed Garrett, letting me know by a very obvious rub along my hardened erection with her painted palm that she is glad I am allowing my body to react within the moment tonight … and she wants me marked—not necessarily caring how I feel about that. It is the one annoyance of her full body paint, she leaves a trail, barely, but still, anyone looking closely will see the glitter and light powdery remnants of dried paint. I am never pleased when she leaves me marked, depending on my mood I indulge or punish, keeping us both guessing, so tonight she purposely took a chance.

“Down, Kitten.” Recognizing the tone in my voice, Kitten drops to the floor in a long, slinky palm, palm, knee, knee, crawl, ducking her head until she again reaches Garrett. She rubs her body along his pant leg, seeking safer shelter. Garrett points at the pillow beside him and, with a tragic, very theatrical pout, she plops lengthwise, then pops back up to plump the pillow with her paws, before settling again. This time on her back, open and spread, displaying her shaved, painted pussy.

Morgana, silent until this moment, demands, “Can’t either of you control your cat?”

“We control her when we need to,” Garrett answers, shutting her down with the tone of his voice.

Eva, being Eva, remains as cool as ice. Only because I know her so well do I notice her grip tighten on her fork, but from her eyes, nothing, facial features, not even a twitch.

“So, you’re here and it’s your choice to be here, but are you a victim or a participant?”

This last statement perks Kitten’s ears, not meaning to, I obviously antagonize her to action. Not about to let some nobody claim the position she’s worked to acquire so ardently over the last few months. She responds by rubbing between my legs with her entire, very naked body, leaving a glittery trail everywhere her body touches mine.

Sending Eva a look that can only be classed as pure evil, she manages to wriggle into my lap, rubbing her breasts over my chest as she buries her face into my neck, purring loudly, staking her own claim of ownership on me.

I pull my fingers through Kitten’s curls, getting the expected reaction. Kitten purrs and rubs her face on my cheek, showing her pleasure. Lifting my hand, I call over a waiter and am immediately served bite-size squares of cheesecake drizzled in chocolate, each topped with a piece of strawberry. It is a favorite here, and one Kitten immediately perks up for. She rubs her face against my hand, begging for bites. “Does Kitten want a bite?” I tease.

She rubs her entire body against me and I feed her a bite of cheesecake with my fingers as a reward. She chews delicately, nibbling her way to my fingertips, not stopping at my fingers, but licking them clean, her tongue swirling around each finger with a provocativeness that the entire room responds to. Like it or not, our table has become center stage. The look on Eva’s face is no longer cool or collected. Staring down into her plate, she bites her bottom lip. At least it is a reaction. Thankfully, a distraction appears tableside in the form of George, known more familiarly as Doctor Psycho. He is actually the sanity behind Lewd Larry’s, a retired psychiatrist, I’m sure he couldn’t help himself, a little private voyeurism for the doctor. As Garrett’s best friend, he is a regular at our table, even though he isn’t a big fan of mine, and Kitten hides from him every chance she gets. Just his appearance puts her on edge, and teasing bites of cheesecake are not even lure enough to keep her in my lap. Sulking, she angles behind the chairs to return to safer harbor, the one farthest from the doctor at the moment, and curls into a tight ball.

“Visitor?” Dr. Psycho asks sarcastically.

Catching the gleam in his eye, I believe it is time the scene that has been brewing is about to get started. I decide to let the cards fall where they may. “Doctor Psycho, this is Eva.”

“Ah, Eva, I’ve heard much about you.” He tilts his head to the side, taking in Eva’s attire, conservative red dress, not provocative, rather business attire, a power suit. “I’m glad you could finally join us. You’re a bit—overdressed though—will you be wearing Lord Fyre’s collar tonight? Or perhaps a Club Collar?”

Subtlety is not Psycho’s strong suit. I control my urge to smile, explaining to Psycho,

“I’m not sure that Eva has answered that question herself tonight.”

“Well, my dear, you are either a Dom or a sub, which is it?”

Eva manages to look vaguely confused, but lifting her chin a notch, answers with some manner of dignity, “Sub.”

“Does she understand the rules here, Lord Fyre?” Lewd asks and I realize the scene has already begun.

“I’ve explained the way things work here on the Members Only level,” I answer, watching the panic shear through her eyes. Eva has been to enough clubs abroad to realize the hole she just dug for herself.

A witty woman is a treasure; a witty Beauty is a power.

~ George Meredith, Diana of the Crossways

One moment, fork in hand, stabbing lettuce, and the next, three sets of hands are holding Fyre down and all hell breaks loose around me as the man called Doctor Psycho looks to his left and Security is suddenly tableside, hauling me to my feet and publicly stripping me of my red dress. Ripping threads torn fabric, and my staid, black, company-issued pumps are thrown to the wayside. Hell, someone even manages to strip me of my undergarment holster and 9mm. I’ve never lost control of my weapon before, but then I’ve never run across a team as determined as the one employed by Lewd Larry’s. Seeing the smug grin on Kitten’s face is more humiliation than I care to encounter ever again.

Thankfully, Garrett Lawrence steps into the melee, ending my dishonorable disrobing—me left wearing bra, garter belt, and stockings—explaining what has happened and how the game will be played from here. Since I have failed to provide verification of already being owned, I will be forced to wear a Club Collar. The rules of this new game are fairly simple, the first condition of wearing said collar being to do whatever any Club Dominant asks me to do; and secondly, any Club Dominant can demand sole-ownership any given evening. Lewd Larry, upon explaining conditions one and two made an immediate announcement that I would be his property for the remainder of the evening. He further announced that we would be going onstage for a demonstration. It seemed that the Members Only Lounge suddenly packs out, standing room only, hushed voices competing over soft music; but then, as the lights dim and I am spotlighted, silence explodes. Total and utter silence.

I scan the room for Fyre, but he is nowhere. Did Security drag him away? Did he leave willingly with that awful purring woman? Too little time to worry as I am led forcibly center stage by a three-man security team. Lewd Larry is already there, waiting, microphone in hand. He is a showman, that is obvious; however, his power isn’t as blatant as Fyre’s. Lewd Larry’s power emanates from within, drawing in the unsuspecting with ease, and even knowing his intent, I am captivated by him. It’s unexplainable, the way he holds his body with a quiet confidence, waiting; the way he smiles, brilliant and welcoming; the way he lifts out his hand, expecting me to take it, knowing I will. He draws me in, standing so near to him, my heart goes wild, my defenses melt; the heat of the spotlight melting what’s left of me.

The crowd makes me nervous.

The stranger, Lewd Larry, puts me at ease.

Serious psychiatric counseling is in order. I couldn’t accept Fyre’s collar, but I can stand with this man, wearing a Club Collar, and feel the thrill of anticipation building?

Where is my fear? Where is my anger?

I remember being at Whips so many years ago, and feeling this feeling. I remember thinking, this is what it feels like to be alive. Lewd Larry beckons a female slave pushing a stainless-steel tray. On top rests several lengths of rope in different colors. My heart sputters in my chest, gearing up for the Triple Crown. I know Lewd Larry feels my nervousness when he chuckles.

“It isn’t too late to change your mind,” Lewd Larry’s words boom through my head even though he whispered so softly I know the microphone he holds didn’t pick it up at all. “You can leave.”

“I didn’t come to San Francisco just to turn around and leave,” I say, sounding way too smart assed to my own ears.

“But that doesn’t tell me why you are here,” he whispers intimately, his hands moving behind me. In a blink, he has unsnapped and removed my bra.

Our bodies are so close, I know he feels my breath, my trembling, and I struggle for inner calm, not daring to meet his eyes, hating that he feels my fear, my embarrassment. I seek the shadows behind him for Fyre, but not finding him. Time stalls, and it is suddenly impossible to stand still. I settle for quiet fidgeting, fighting the natural fight or flight instinct, clenching my guts and sphincter muscles at the same time, adrenaline flying into every muscle. I make the mistake of looking up at the same time he utters, “Relax.”

In that single command, I feel very much his prey. A feeling magnified when he turns me to face the audience and, lifting the first piece of rope, snakes it around my elbows, pulling my arms tight behind me. He tightens and loops, covering upper arm to wrist in pristine white rope, and after twisting another loop to snake around my waist, secures my arms effectively to the back of my body. His hands are tender, soft caresses with each pass of rope as he loops my waist again and again.

When the spotlight pans out, I look into the crowd, not seeing the people who make up the crowd, but forms. I seek only the form that is Fyre.

“He’s stage right,” Lewd Larry whispers to me and I have no doubt he speaks of Fyre.

I turn my head, seeing him, leaning nonchalantly in the shadows behind the stage. I assume he considers himself well hidden—and to the general public, he is—but I am so attuned to the man my inner radar finds him easily in the shadows. It is one of those moments, our gazes locking. He winks and I relax. After all the fuss at the table, after really freaking out to the sound of a bullwhip … all it takes is his smile and a wink and I am regretting not letting him make me his slave publicly. Instead, I am now bound, center stage, and at Lewd Larry’s mercy. I realize then that he is speaking into the microphone.

“Your slave is beautiful, bound, every movement of her body is restrained, even her breath is under your control, because with each inhale, she feels the ropes.”

Unbelievable, I am the victim of a lesson in bondage. He takes another piece of rope, red, and, squatting, passes it around my ankles. “Her bondage makes her feel safe. Cared for.”

Oh great, now I feel safe, much safer. Thank you for explaining how I should feel, Master Lewd Larry.

“As you loop and tie, make each movement slow, sensual, so that she can savor the intimacy of the rope tightening against her skin, the rope a second lover. Watching you, she falls in love with you, your power, your mastery, all over again. Never forget that she is watching, every movement, so practice your skills in private. When you are tying her, it must be with skill.”

I look for Thomas in the shadows, finding him, not believing that he is allowing this to happen … but then why wouldn’t he? This is his world. These are the rules he plays by every day. Did Henri know what situation he was sending me into? Was he insane to think I could mentally survive this? I struggle against the ropes, remembering the last time I was restrained.

“…she has an acute perception of suffering…”

My mind panics and it is all I can do to focus on Garrett’s eyes as he loops rope, seeing that it is he, not Liam, holding me captive. My pounding heart threatens to explode. I fight the urge to start screaming. I am losing my mind, this is insane. This is how it feels to slip over the edge.