Ruled

by Angel Payne

  “Do you…still trust me?”

  Despite the catch of her nerves during his purposeful pause, a smile readily brimmed across her lips. She felt it find completion in her eyes during her single, sweet nod of punctuation. “With all my body, Sir. And all my heart.”

  His whole body swelled, manifesting the pride in his own smile. “You have no idea how much that means to me, kitten.”

  Oh, but she did. At least a little. She wanted to bounce like a teenager, giddy from feeling as if she’d given him diamonds instead of words. After that, she’d fry once more into nothingness, happily letting his power, presence, and command take over again. Worth it. It would all be so damn worth it, if only to have known the profound recognition of this sparkling moment.

  A moment she’d never forget, as long as she lived.

  The moment she realized everything this man had come to mean to her.

  The fire he’d brought back to her life. The magic he’d given back to her soul. And yes, the trust he’d instilled again to her heart…

  Even as he led her across the hall and opened a new door.

  Beyond which was a scene that really did fry away every sensation in her body—except one.

  Fear.

  Not the good kind anymore.

  Not when she stared past the portal, across a shiny lacquered stage illuminated by a dozen bright spotlights. Not when she beheld the contraption at center stage, with its black leather cushions and thick matching straps. Not when she beheld the display rack next to that furniture, at the ready with everything from heavy leather floggers to wicked wooden paddles.

  But especially not when her eyes adjusted enough to see that the stage came with an audience.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “No.”

  Not a single rocket scientist genius needed to anticipate that response. Knowing it was coming gave Franz the advantage, already shifting his hold to her wrist and his voice into a deep warning. “Kitten—”

  “Do not with the ‘kitten.’” Ironically, her hiss was ferocious and feline as she struggled like a cat dumped in a rain barrel. He’d expected that part too. Not expected? How much his accelerated pulse would feed his burgeoning erection. Abbie had always been so perfect and prim, never even raising her voice with him outside her orgasms. The few submissives he played with overseas were much the same way. Having to work for this Tigress’s respect was a new game.

  A conquest worth pursuing.

  A wildcat worth taming.

  “All right, popoki—”

  “You can shove popoki up your ass too.”

  “Just calm down—”

  “Are you freaking kidding me? Calm down? Calm d—ahhh!”

  A wave of unexpected arousal hit, only John didn’t know what surged his cock more: the sting of his hand against her ass or the spike of her shriek on the air. By the gods, how she made his blood roar and his instincts sing. How she reminded him of every reason he’d first craved Dominance—and added a few new items to the list too. How she doubled his desire to see this through with her, no matter how vehement her fight or strident her rage.

  The resolve was all he needed to draw her close again, his clasp unforgiving but his voice unruffled. “Are you ready to discuss this?”

  Her nostrils flared, sending puffs of heat onto the black latex. “Are you freaking kidding?”

  “All right.” He yanked her aside, into the shadows behind one of the stage doors. Behind him, a rustle of soft laughter trickled from the crowd of no more than twenty, comprised of Bastille’s most elite members. Thanks to Max’s and Z’s tireless calls, they’d all dropped alternative plans for the night, showing up to be the witnesses for a “visiting Dom” needing to break his subbie of abject stage fright. “Back to square one, then.”

  In the narrow space between his body and the wall, Tracy squirmed. Fumed. Squirmed again. “You’re at square zero, mister. This is—”

  “Not your call, missie.” He bent his arm and spread his legs, leaning deeper over her. His opposite hand cupped her chin, subjecting her gaze to the impact of his scrutiny. “Right over there, one damn minute ago, you proclaimed your trust in me, with your body and your heart, and I believed every word.” He lifted her face higher. Locked her stare harder. “Was I wrong, ku`uipo? Did you not mean it?”

  Her lips flattened. The latex beneath her nostrils fogged up again. “I meant it.” She ended the rasp with an unsteady swallow. “Damn it…I did.”

  He pushed air out through his own nose. Jerked her close and kissed her slick forehead. “Then you’re going to trust me now—as well as all those people in there, who have given up their time to encourage the personal growth of a subbie they don’t even know. You’re going to be sweet, you’re going to be obedient, and you are going to try to like it.”

  He allowed her to a tiny but hysterical snort. Even let it slide when she added a defiant glower. But no way in hell did he back off until both elements slipped free from her composure and her body sagged beneath the weight of a resigned sigh. “Yes, Sir.”

  He released her chin. Slid that hand down until he gently palmed one of her breasts while dipping in to reward her with a kiss. “Thank you, kitten.”

  Her next breath, hotter and heavier, tasted like heaven. “Thank you, Sir.”

  One side of his mouth jerked up. From the eye on the same side, he dashed off a roguish wink. “Save it, woman. You’ll need it for later.”

  But he might as well have told her she’d been crowned Queen of England too. As he led her back through the doorway, the glare of the stage lights had nothing on the you’re-a-bastard glints in her bright silver eyes.

  They were goddamn breathtaking.

  She was so fucking exquisite.

  And yeah, he was certainly the new envy of every man in the room—a mystery Dom pulling his creamy, lovely subbie up to be his sole property for the night.

  His cock stabbed at his jeans.

  Impatience crawled in his blood.

  Desire burned beneath every step he took, gently pulling his adorable kitten across the stage.

  When they reached the center, in front of the footlights, he stopped to sweep Tracy in front, fully facing the crowd. He braced himself behind her, hands atop her forearms, keeping them pinned to her trembling sides.

  “My friends. Thank you all for coming tonight.”

  His voice boomed out over the crowd. Would some of the Doms recognize the bold baritone as that of their supposedly dead friend, John Franzen? Perhaps but not likely. This was his first time in the club in six months, and even before, Abbie’s body-image issues had usually led them to favor private sessions. At the moment, he was almost beyond caring. Tracy’s identity was completely protected, and that was his foremost concern.

  “As you’ve been informed, my girl has been dealing with some nasty stage-fright issues. We all have them from time to time, of course, but she’s about to accept a job in which this cannot be a stumbling block anymore. I’d like to thank you all in advance for assisting me in…exposing…her fears and then conquering them.”

  A round of polite applause answered his greeting. Tracy started, obviously surprised.

  John tucked his lips against her ear and chuckled softly. “Relax, kitten. The catcalls don’t come until later.”

  He could tell she considered a comeback, though speaking aloud could mean disastrous disclosure. Instead, with her posture tense and her lips clamped tight, she allowed him to lead her to the bondage bench. It was a modified horse, with only the back end angled up, though it still had knee and elbow pads where they would keep her most comfortable. After all, his goal wasn’t to turn her body into a pretzel. Twisting the dough of her mind was going to be challenge—and enjoyment—enough.

  “Up you go, pretty.”

  As he watched her comply with the direction, positioning her arms and spreading her knees, he clicked the remote to the house sound system, setting free a laid-back techno beat backing a woman who couldn’t decide whether t
o moan, sigh, or sing. In short, the perfect music for this interesting “lesson.”

  He moved quickly through the next part, latching her down with the leather ankle and wrist restraints. As he finished with the latter, he wheeled the instruments rack over, enabling the woman before him to get a good look at it. “I won’t use it all,” he explained, “but will freely choose what treatment you’ll take, unless any of this is a hard no.”

  Almost at once, she shook her head—once more as he had expected. This afternoon, when loading up the cart, he’d deliberately left off extreme implements like bullwhips, clamps, and electro-stim. That was shit for people who’d known each other a lot longer than six days, in much more private settings. The only thing he wanted tonight was to bring some of her useless walls down, inspiring her self-confidence to grow. There was more than enough here to get that job done.

  Including his next step.

  A necessary one.

  The cart also contained drawers. He slid open one, removing the two contents within. Rotated back to Tracy with one in each hand.

  “Necessary evil, kitten—and you know why—but I’ll let you pick.”

  He hadn’t been able to fathom which way she’d go on this one—though her open glare at the ball gag all but handed the default win to the bit gag. Though she glowered as he fastened it around the back of her head, Franz shot back nothing but his hooded, knowing gaze—as the crowd sent back a murmur of kinky-minded approval.

  “If you really don’t like it, I’m sure we’ll find something else to keep you quiet for a bit.”

  “Not until we watch her drool for a bit.” The comment, issued by a sultry female in one of the front rows, was seconded by a round of soft chuckles from everyone.

  Franz used the pause for walking back, toy rack with him, to the V between his subbie’s spread legs.

  “I already know my kitten enjoys a good spanking,” he announced, delivering a series of light but sharp smacks to both her ass cheeks, waking up the blood just below her skin. “But this is the first time she’ll feel my flogging skills.” He glanced at the half dozen instruments hanging nearby, all beautiful works of art in various forms of leather and rubber. “Suggestions?”

  A male voice, British accented, called out, “Latigo and buffalo are always perfect for waking up my girl.”

  “Bullshit.” The self-sure female again. “Use the rubber tails—or the braided strands with the spiked tips.”

  The crowd ooohed and then laughed.

  Tracy jerked and then moaned.

  But only until Franz brought both hands down on her ass again.

  He waited a few beats, stroking the heat from the blows over the skin beneath her shorts, before pulling the big buffalo-hide flogger out from the display. Tracy shivered, clearly interpreting the sound. He walked, carefully and slowly, back to the space in front of her face. Reached out, curling one hand around her head and bringing her close to him so he was certain she knew which instrument he’d picked. Not anything that was going to hurt her. Simply an instrument to, as the Brit had stated, wake her up.

  And yeah, if he was being honest, it was a good excuse to stroke her head once more—an experience, he openly admitted, unlike any he’d ever known. The necessity of putting her in the hood was rapidly becoming the sight he couldn’t do without. Everything about her raw sensuality was still there—her huge eyes, expressive nose, and sexy-as-hell mouth, especially with the bit parting her lips like that—but now, because everything else was literally blacked out, the force of her desire was refined into something more. Something so perfect. So potent…

  Something ensnaring every inch of his dick as she let out a high, exigent moan.

  “The buffalo hide.” He needed to ensure her of it, despite looking at the direct line of her gaze on the flogger. “This is what I’m going to use, kitten. Now just take deep breaths and focus on the sensation of the leather against your skin. Let it jolt you…warm you. Let it soften you…send you soaring. Think about how hard I’m going to get, watching these strokes heat up your skin…each and every one branding you as wholly mine tonight. Think about how thoroughly that knowledge pleases me…and about how I’ll dream of claiming you as my kitten alone tonight.”

  Not even Sadist Sally in the second row had a smartass snark for that.

  The room was quiet, except for the incessant throb of the music.

  Until Franzen swiveled the flogger high and swung it across her back with smacking force.

  “Unnnnhh!”

  The crowd was silent in the aftermath of her visceral wail. A scream and stillness. A fire against the dark. Her pain. His pleasure.

  Damn. Yes.

  Without hesitation, Franz whipped the falls back and then forward again.

  Again.

  Three more strokes followed those. Three more after that. For every strike, Tracy gave up a strained cry—stark sacrifices to his ruthless dragon. Though time didn’t stand still, he damn well wished it could. He had no real idea how long it all took; only that through all nine blows, their audience was utterly mute—listening, as he did, to the symphony more beautiful than anything a standard conductor and orchestra could create. It was the honest, brutal music from the depths of this woman’s throat. First, pitched with shock and fear…but soon, deepening with acceptance and awakening…

  And finally, surcease and surrender.

  “Christ.” John reeled, sweating and stimulated, as he staggered to behold what magic the leather had evoked along her skin. The length of her spine was as pink as a branch of cherry blossoms, some blooms deeper pink than others. That branch rose and fell from the breeze she fanned via mindless undulations, fighting to manipulate her body tighter against the leather pad with coiled arms and rolling hips. But the reason he repeated the oath wasn’t due to any of that.

  “Christ.”

  It was the cock-grabbing beauty of her face.

  Yes, even under the hood.

  Especially under the hood.

  Because all he saw right now were the elements that mattered.

  The animal inhalations of her nose. The wild stimulation in her eyes. And, as his female “friend” in the audience voiced, “Mmmm. Drool.”

  The stuff reddened his subbie’s spread lips. Dripped to the stage like mesmeric poetry, all but making John forget the ultimate plan for the rest of her lesson. How he yearned to toss the damn flogger behind him, yank that fucker of a bit off her lips, and then sink every inch of his dick into her soft, wet mouth and fuck her there while the crowd cheered.

  But there was a better plan at work.

  An even better use for that gorgeous liquid dripping from her.

  Didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun transporting it, though.

  Perfect. Solution.

  Driven by the decisiveness, he one-handed the fly on his cargos. The pants, constructed so a guy could easily accomplish business in the woods, gave his cock plenty of room to fly free. The damn thing leapt for his navel the moment he sprang it free from the zipper. He had to wrestle it into his fist in order to work the precome up and down the shaft, a struggle well-rewarded by the brilliant lightning of Tracy’s gaze, following every inch of his movements.

  “Not for you, kitten,” he admonished. “Not yet.” He channeled the energy into circling the flogger back in, swirling it in a Florentine figure eight before her eyes. “But this is for you—if you want more?”

  “Mmmmm.” She moaned it like a wildcat in heat, the pitch jacking higher as he teased just the tips of the falls along the valley of her back.

  “What was that, pretty kitty?” He twisted the handle, waltzing the strands like kinky ballroom dancers. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

  “Me, neither,” a faceless male called out from the crowd.

  “Couldn’t hear a thing here,” another stated in an ominous bass.

  Several more people chimed in, finally making him openly chuckle. When kinksters combined sarcasm and sadism, the result was one unique explosion
of humor.

  The woman in front of him clearly didn’t agree. Eyes blazing and shoulders nearly up against her cute latex ears, she grunted soundly at him—eliciting a dark growl from his own throat. Her primitive sound was sure as fuck arousing but not effective for what he ultimately needed. Grunts didn’t make saliva.

  Screams did.

  “Oh, come on, kitten.” He threw some force into the taunt, smacking her skin a little harder. “If you want it, beg me for it.”

  “Mmmmppph!”

  No translation degree needed for that one, thank fuck. Roughly, he estimated it fell somewhere between fuck you and flog me, damn it.

  He was more than willing to assist with at least half that checklist.

  With a whirl, he flung the flogger high.

  With a crack, he landed the falls down her back.

  The crowd burst with approving applause.

  Tracy conveyed the same message with a fierce scream.

  Perfect. So fucking perfect.

  “More.” He whipped the falls back again. “Louder.”

  He struck. She screamed.

  Fuck. Yes.

  His cock bobbed in front of him as he secured a stance closer to her. “Louder!”

  One more blow, and her throat went hoarse.

  And her lips started coating his dick with the evidence of her efforts.

  “So good. So damn good, wildcat.” John exalted her with growling reverence, kissing the top of her head while letting the flogger fall to the floor behind him. With tender fingers, he removed her gag for a brief moment, letting her suck some bottled water through a straw. He’d made sure to place the bottle into the kink cart earlier, anticipating she might need the rehydration after he was done with her.

  But that was just the thing.

  He wasn’t done with her.

  Not by a fucking long shot.

  Thank. The. Gods.

  Long shot or not, this was a lesson he’d never forget—for what it was enlightening in him as well as her. This had been about empowering Tracy, but somewhere on this wild, kinky ride, the universe had spread the cosmic love to his own spirit. The sleeping dragon had been roused—and now remembered what it was like to stretch its massive wings…