by Gemma James
“Extend your arms.”
As I stood with my arms spread and feet shoulder-width apart on the floor, he wound the rope above and below my breasts, his fingers grazing my skin in a way that caused gooseflesh. Then he drew the rope over my nipples—fuck, they were sensitive—and weaved it into neat little knots as he worked, before making a loop around my neck. Finally, he finished by running the rope between my legs. All of my most sensitive parts came alive under the restraining friction of the silky twine. I couldn’t move without arousal flaring to life.
He halted in front of me, his eyes bright with mischief and lips curved in a knowing smirk as if to say how he’d be the one stroking me by proxy all night long.
“Bend over the bed,” he said, grabbing the butt plug.
I found freedom in yielding to his commands, despite fighting myself daily on giving him my unconditional trust. The more I resisted, the more firm his resolve to exorcize my last thread of independence tonight. As he slipped the plug in, making my pussy shamefully wet from that single action alone, I thought he might just achieve his goal. I was tired of battling an internal war I’d never win.
“The plug is synced to my cell. For the duration of the night, when it vibrates, I expect you to touch yourself.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Where? The women’s restroom?” Damn it. He knew how I hated submitting in public places.
“No, that’s too easy. An empty hallway or room will suffice. I want you in fear of getting caught.”
I turned wide, frightened eyes on him. “Master, please!”
“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to my lips. “The ball is being held at the Davenport Estate. There are plenty of semi-private places to masturbate. I expect you to find one upon command, but you’re not to bring yourself to orgasm.” Running a palm down my ass, he pressed his lips to my neck. “This will help you get into the right mindset for our plans after the ball.”
Plans that included other people. Oh, how I despised these plans, probably more than he’d ever know.
“It’s getting late. Time to dress,” he said, slapping my ass. He crossed to the bureau and produced two masks—one for him and one for me.
“What’s a masquerade ball without a mask?”
18. Beneath the Mask
Gage pulled through the iron gates of the Davenport Estate, and as we approached the front of the traditional brick mansion, I marveled at the lush, sprawling lawns that seemed to reach the horizon. Rolling to a stop at the main entrance, he alighted and rounded the hood, warding off a well-meaning valet who moved to open my door. As Gage assisted me from the car, helping me maneuver the full skirt of my ballgown, I took in our surroundings. By no means did we live in anything other than the lap of luxury, but this place was on a whole other level of opulence.
Fitting my hand in the crook of his arm, Gage escorted me onto the stone walkway that led to the front door. A light breeze blew through my hair, and I brushed the strands from my face, my wide-eyed gaze riveted to the nearby pond. The night was mild, absent of even a drop of rain. Fluffy clouds parted, allowing the silver light of the crescent moon to ripple onto the pond. The moon seemed to hover—just a tiny dip and the bottom would touch the pond, breaking the glass-like surface.
A man in a tux greeted us at the door. He took our jackets before pointing us in the direction of the mansion’s host. And speaking of tuxedos…good God, how I ached to rip off my husband’s and have my way with him. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, appreciating how his chest filled out the vest and overcoat. But he caught me ogling, and his eyes sparkled behind the black mask he wore.
“Mr. and Mrs. Channing. Welcome to our home,” said a man who also knew how to wear a tux, though he lacked Gage’s commanding presence, not to mention a pair of sexy indigo eyes and a cock I wanted to kneel for at this very moment.
Gage shook hands with the man as he introduced us.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, failing to offer my hand because I knew the rules. No other man was to touch me, no matter the social etiquette. In the beginning, Gage had allowed that tiny concession, but not since I’d betrayed him with…
Better to not go there.
Mr. Davenport seemed unsurprised by my lack of manners, and something niggled in the back of my mind. Suddenly, I felt on display, naked despite wearing a gown heavier than seven layers of clothing.
“Pleased to meet you,” our host said, and even though he didn’t possess Gage’s innate dominant manner, he had a head full of thick, blond hair and a broad smile that revealed the kind of perfect white teeth I’d seen in toothpaste commercials. “This is my wife, Virginia.” He indicated the brunette holding onto his arm. Her hair was sleek and straight, and she had the kind of curvy waist I envied.
But her smile was as genuine as her husband’s, and that was all that mattered. She stepped forward and gently took my arm. “How about we allow these men to do what men do at these shindigs? There are several ladies just dying to meet the woman who snatched the one and only Gage Channing.”
Something about the way she spoke of Gage made me curious, and a little cautious. I shot him a quick glance, relaying so much with a furtive dart of my gaze.
May I go, Master?
With a slight nod, he bent and kissed my cheek. “Have fun, baby,” he said, voice too intimate to be overheard. “Don’t forget your task for the night.”
I’d grown used to the butt plug. It wasn’t overly big, so I didn’t find it uncomfortable, and I certainly didn’t miss the rectal burn the larger ones caused. Even so, now that Gage had reminded me of what I was to do, my ass suddenly felt too full—brimming with the promise of humiliation.
I swallowed hard as Virginia led me through the throng of people. Ballgowns of all colors brushed the parquet flooring, and men wore a variety of tuxedoes, from traditional black with long-tailed jackets to contemporary attire, embellished with colors from tasteful to…less tasteful.
She ushered me into another room where tables were grouped in strategic patterns around the dance floor. I instantly recognized the decor because I’d helped pick out the colors. Ironically, the ballroom matched my dress, and I wondered if that had been Gage’s intention all along.
Probably so. Gage did everything by design.
“Over here,” Virginia said, yanking on my hand and leading me to a table where four other women, also decked out in extravagant ballgowns, sat.
“Kayla,” my hostess said, “I’d like you to meet…”
Too busy taking in the features of each woman, I tuned out their names, as I likely wouldn’t remember them anyway. Not in this setting, with my heart pounding an irregular rhythm behind my breastbone.
The blonde with enviable curls and dark brown eyes nibbled on a crab-stuffed mushroom, her gaze shyly taking me in. The other three were all various shades of browns, but their hairstyles couldn’t have been more different. One sported a cute pixie while the other two had longer lengths. The girl wearing a dress that could pass as a wedding gown wore her hair past her ass. The last of this brunette trio ran her fingers through layers that feathered around her flawless complexion.
These women were, in a word, gorgeous. And something about the way they interacted with each other—with ease and familiarity—told me their friendships had withstood the test of time. I sat with them for about forty-five minutes, nibbling on hors d’oeuvre and listening to their casual chatter.
But I felt disconnected, unable to relate to Blondie’s endeavor to find the perfect piece of jewelry for her upcoming trip to Paris. Nor could I empathize with Pixie Girl’s indecision on which boarding school to send her daughter to next year.
Over my dead body would I send my children away.
Despite the world of differences between this group and myself, I still found their company pleasant, and I could see meeting up with them for lunch, or even a day of shopping if Gage allowed it.
Something told me he would. My gut chewed over this whole night in
a way that frightened and excited me, and I sensed these women and their as yet named husbands were going to play a big part in our lives. Maybe Gage wanted us to have friends. The concept sounded kind of…nice.
I was lost in Virginia’s talk about the next fundraiser she was in the process of organizing when the plug in my ass vibrated me out of my stupor. The telltale mechanical sound blazed my cheeks red, but no one seemed to hear it over the excited discussion of venues and caterers.
Rising from my chair, I excused myself to use the ladies room and headed in the direction that Virginia pointed out. But that wouldn’t do. Gage had given me specific instructions, and they didn’t involve hiding in a bathroom, safe behind a closed door.
Damn him.
A wall of French doors caught my eye to the right, and before I could give it more thought, I slipped outside and immediately wished I had my jacket. But the weather wasn’t too bad, and doing Gage’s bidding would be easier out here, where I had plenty of space to explore, between the stone walkways, spotted with benches and lanterns that invited people to meander through the gardens surrounding the gazebo.
Only a few stragglers braved the chilly night, but most of them kept close to the estate. Gage hadn’t said a word about not going outside to touch myself, so I took off down the path, eyeing the shelter of trees that provided a backdrop for the gazebo. Ash trees were prominent throughout the grounds, and their autumn leaves—the color of burnt sienna and gold—quietly drifted to the grass like confetti at a party.
I found an unusually large tree a few feet from the gazebo, its trunk wide enough to conceal most of my body. And that’s where I settled in for the duration of my first task, my back against the smooth bark as I gathered my gown up in the front and wedged my hand between my thighs, pushing Gage’s rope to the side.
Oh God. The friction of that rope in the valley of my ass cheeks, and the way it pressed tight against my nipples amped me even hotter. Between the vibrations from the plug and the slickness of my needy pussy, left aching all day from Gage’s denial games, I wasn’t sure how I’d survive this.
But I had to, even if that meant visualizing spiders crawling all over me to keep from coming. Because I knew my husband well enough to know that he expected me to touch myself until the vibrations stopped.
It was all about control, and I’d better find some, or else.
But damn…
With a groan, I let my head fall back against the tree and increased the circling motion of my fingers. And they were playing a dangerous game—touching in the perfect way with enough pressure to bring a massive rush of blood to my core.
So damn good. Could I get off and lie about it?
Not even an option. Not only would he know I was lying, but I’d break under my own guilt in two seconds flat. But shit…I was going to come. So close.
Too fucking close.
Growling, and more than a little angry, I banged my head against the trunk as I wrenched my fingers away from temptation. Just a few seconds, I promised myself, concentrating on breathing until my heartbeat slowed. But my ass still vibrated Gage’s command, and I imagined his words as surely as if he’d spoken them into my ear.
Fingers in your drenched cunt, Kayla. Don’t stop now.
Why did he have to torture me so damn much? I was never free of him—if his control didn’t wrap me in metaphorical cellophane, then his voice echoed in my head, uttering filthy words that never failed to make me do his bidding.
Pushing my wet fingers back into the center of slick heat, I worked myself into a frenzy. My pussy throbbed with each stroke, and I climbed higher—so high I worried I’d float away, regardless of the consequences. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pleaded with a higher power to help me resist.
“Please, please…” My frantic whispers got lost in the breeze, drifting on the leaves, finding the kind of freedom I wasn’t allowed. “Oh please…I can’t…”
And that’s when the vibrations stopped.
I wasn’t sure how long I leaned against the tree, eyes closed, chest expanding and collapsing with each hard-won breath. Coming down took time—more time than I thought it would, considering I hadn’t reached nirvana.
After a while, I started shivering, and I had just taken a step away from my hiding place when I heard voices. Pressing as flat as I could against the trunk, I prayed the cloak of darkness would conceal me to whoever had decided to encroach upon my private moment.
Two people stalled in front of the gazebo, and I recognized Gage immediately. The build of his shoulders, the way he walked, and the authority inherent in his tone—if nothing else gave him away behind his mask, those traits certainly did.
But he wasn’t alone, and it took me an extra five seconds to realize the woman with him was Katherine. I pressed a fist to my mouth to cover a gasp.
“You’ve got five minutes before I have you thrown off the grounds,” he said, and the undeniable anger in his voice leeched some of the tension from my body. This was not a rendezvous between two lovers on the down-low.
This was…I had no idea what this was, but forget the rules against eavesdropping; I wasn’t about to blow my chance to find out more.
“Don’t be so mean. No one’s around, Gage. It’s just us.”
He closed the distance between them and grabbed her chin. “How pathetic are you? In what world would I want you here? You weren’t invited.”
A nearby lantern cast their faces in dim light, and I saw her full mouth curve into a sultry grin. “I can have anyone I want, Gage. It was child’s play getting a date to this thing.”
“Like I said,” he growled, letting go of her chin in a move that bespoke of frustration. “Five minutes, Katherine. If you used our son to lure me out here—”
“You can’t take her into the circle,” she said, her voice rising in desperation. “It was supposed to be me!” She dropped to her knees and kissed his black dress shoes.
I chewed on my fist, swallowing vile hatred because the bitch was laying her nasty lips on what was mine. Those were my feet to kneel at. My shoes to kiss. I clenched my hands so tightly they cramped, but my gaze…I was transfixed, lost in the scene unfolding, like one would watch a horror film.
He stepped back, arms crossed, mouth in a scowl. “Get up. You’re only embarrassing yourself.”
“Please, Mr. Channing.”
“Don’t you dare ‘Mr. Channing’ me! She is my wife. When will you get that through your thick skull?”
Katherine lifted her head, but instead of the submissive pose I’d expected her to take—the one I adopted every fucking day—she sneered at him, her hands forming tight balls at her sides.
“Fine,” she snapped. “She can be your wife all she wants. Little Miss Perfect with the adorable daughter and a penchant for scrubbing your house and serving your meals, but we both know you need more than that. I can give you what you need, baby.”
“You never gave me what I needed. Why do you think I broke it off after a few months?”
His words blasted a hole in my heart, and I almost threw up on the spot. Rage simmered in my gut, heading for a full-on boil, and only closing my eyes and counting to ten kept the vomit at bay. He’d been fucking her.
For months.
I stepped forward, my thirst for a confrontation blazing an inferno in my veins, but he spoke before I exited the cover of shadows.
“Katherine, seriously, get up. What we had meant nothing. Hell, it was years ago. You need to move the fuck on.”
“Like you were able to move on from her?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s not, and I know you want me. Deep down, you know it’s true. Why else would you have called me down to your basement?”
“That was about her. It had nothing to do with you.” Leaning down, he grabbed a chunk of her hair. “I will not repeat myself. Get the fuck up.”
She struggled to her feet, and he instantly let go of her. “After the shit you pulled last week, you’re lucky I don’
t go after full custody. Your behavior makes me question how fit you are to be a mother to Conner.”
She smirked at him. “You’re just pissed because I forced your wife to face her past in that hotel room.” Planting her hands on her hips, she cocked her head. “The photo I sent you was nothing. They were all over each other.”
That was it. I stormed from my hiding spot, and her face stopped my out-of-control fist. She covered her cheek, eyes wide. In my periphery, I registered Gage’s equally stunned silence, stowing that rare expression away in the dregs of my mind to process later.
“Thank you for that,” I told Katherine, forcing my voice on an even keel. “With these damn pregnancy hormones, I never know when my fist might go flying.” I held my right hand up and contracted my fingers. “The thing has a mind of its own sometimes.”
Slowly, she dropped her hand, and I was way too fucking pleased to see red smarting across her skin. Her face wasn’t so perfect anymore.
“Wh…what?” Her eyes grew wider if that were possible. Two blue pools of utter disbelief—though whether from the punch I’d landed or from my pregnancy announcement, I didn’t know. And I didn’t care.
Planting my fist in Katherine Mitchell’s face had felt…way too satisfying.
She turned incredulous eyes on Gage. “Are you seriously going to let her assault the mother of your child?”
I stepped forward before he could answer, invading her space. “You’re nothing but a lying bitch, jealous over what you can’t have,” I said, meeting her glare head-on. “You think you’re a special snowflake because you gave birth to his child?”
Something ugly took over me—maybe my own version of jealous and possessive woman—but I felt my lips curl into a nasty smile. “You keep forgetting one vital fact. You’re just the baby mama. But me?” I lifted an elated brow. “I’m his wife and the mother of his unborn child, so I guess that makes me the winner here, sweetie.”
