I slid up next to him just as he reached for the lamp and switched it off. “Good night,” he said.
“You’re going to sleep?” He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. He was baiting me to see whether I’d argue or submit.
“I have to be sharp at work. Do you need anything? Water? An extra duvet?”
I could hardly force out an answer. “No. Thank you.”
After giving me a kiss, he slung an arm across my stomach and fell instantly to sleep, his breathing slow and even. I stared at the ceiling, miserably aroused, humiliation scouring my insides.
This was worse than being cuffed to the bed. At least then I’d made the choice myself. I’d proven how strong I was.
But tonight, I was weak. Weak and tormented by questions.
Why wouldn’t he make love to me? Was it punishment for keeping Lydia’s note? For demanding honesty? Was he getting tired of me?
“Marc,” I whispered. “Are you awake?”
He didn’t move. Maybe he hadn’t heard me, or he just refused to.
Pride in shreds, I lay seething under his arm. The worst pain of all wasn’t deception or a night on the floor, but being ignored. And there was nothing I could do, no safe word that would wake him up and change his mind.
No matter what we’d said at dinner about honesty and equality, he was in charge and we both knew it.
That was how my body wanted it. Or so I’d believed until now.
CHAPTER FIVE
He woke me the next morning by sitting on the bed and resting his hand lightly on my shoulder. “Hey,” he said, stroking my hair back from my forehead.
I blinked away the hazy vestiges of a dream, something about wandering through his father’s chateau at night, searching for an unlocked door. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
When I smiled, he smiled back. My heart lifted in my chest. The Marc I knew I was back again.
He was dressed for work in a slim suit and black shirt without a tie. His hair was still damp from the shower and he smelled faintly of bergamot soap. He looked so deadly handsome, so sleek and dangerous, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d awakened me to say that he was an assassin.
“Are you leaving for the office?” I asked, stretching out my arms toward him.
“In a few minutes.”
“Come back to bed.”
“My first meeting is in half an hour,” he said, unhooking my hands from around his waist. “I just wanted to tell you that we have plans for tonight. We’ll eat dinner up the street and then go out.”
“Okay. Where are we going?”
“Across town.”
I smiled sleepily. “Mm, sounds mysterious. What are we doing across town?”
“You’ll see when we get there,” he said, glancing at his heavy stainless steel watch.
“You can’t give me a hint?”
He sighed, shaking his head impatiently. In an instant, my hopes that last night was over were dashed.
“What?” I asked, going up on my elbows. “It’s normal to ask where we’re going, isn’t it?”
“Maybe in an ordinary relationship, but our relationship isn’t ordinary. Did you forget our agreement again?” His eyes gleamed, their centers sooty and dilated. He seemed on edge, but amused. He was getting sadistic enjoyment from goading me.
“I didn’t agree to never ask questions. I didn’t agree to stop having my own mind.”
Eyebrows raised, he adjusted his left cufflink. “You know, I’m starting to wonder if you can ever be subdued,” he said in an offhand tone.
I squinted. “Wait a second – who said anything about subduing me?”
He glanced up and smiled. “You have a bistro to review today, don’t you?”
“Don’t change the subject, Marc.”
“Was there a subject? I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware.”
My cheeks flamed. This wasn’t a conversation, it was a game. “What’s this about?”
“About?” he asked with a puzzled frown.
“You wouldn’t even touch me last night,” I said. “I think we need to discuss what –”
He kissed me quickly on the corner of the mouth and stood up. “I’d love to stay and go over our agreement in tiresome detail, but Henrik’s here with the car. I’ve left two outfits for you, one for your lunch and another for tonight. Enjoy your day. I’m stopping at the gym after work so I’ll see you around seven.”
With an infuriating smile, he walked out and shut the bedroom door quietly behind him.
I hurled a pillow at the door but it landed a foot short on the carpet. “Fuck,” I muttered, flopping back on the bed.
I was furious with myself for making an agreement with him, and for wanting someone who was impossible to figure out. Why had he brought me here anyway? If he got off on depriving and frustrating me, this was going to be a week from hell.
But what had I expected? A dominant man who would tiptoe around my feelings and consult me about his plans?
Tempted as I was to wallow under the covers in self-pity, I got up. I drank coffee, showered, and dressed in the daytime outfit Marc had chosen: a pink satin thong and long-sleeved lace mini-dress that skimmed my hips and breasts. It was exactly his style. And his style was all that mattered now.
The stockings were sheer, the pumps sky-high with an inch-thick platform. A burning ache shot through the balls of my feet with every step, but I was much too proud to put on flats.
If Marc thought I was going to fold at the first sign of discomfort, he was dead wrong. This was a personal test I refused to fail.
Just before noon, I took a cab to the restaurant. After a long lunch of far too much food, I took photographs of the neighborhood around the bistro and wrote for an hour in a café. I didn’t get back to Marc’s apartment until it was time to get ready for my night out.
Nervousness mounting, I took a long bath, tended to the blisters on my heel, and dabbed my new perfume on my neck and inner thighs. After painting my nails garnet red, I put on the lingerie Marc had chosen for tonight – seamed stockings, a stunning black satin corset, and matching boy short panties that dipped low in front and laced up in the back.
“Nothing boyish about these,” I muttered, looking over my shoulder into the full-length mirror.
Only after I’d worn them for a few minutes did I realize that there was an opening between the legs, wide enough to admit a tongue but not enough to show. I hoped the panties were a not-so-subtle message, and my brief but agonizing period of deprivation was about to end.
When Marc finally came home, he kissed me on the forehead, peeled off his damp gym clothes, and got into the shower.
“I’m running late,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”
He was out in three minutes, beads of water dripping over his chest, a white towel wrapped around his hips. While he shaved, I stood beside him in my lingerie and put on earrings, silver oval hoops that fell to the middle of my neck. I’d hoped for an appreciative remark but barely got a glance.
I stewed in silence for a minute before putting on my best nonchalant voice. “How was your day?”
“Absolute madness,” he said, running the razor over his jaw. “Meetings all morning and a two-hour call with a start-up in São Paulo that didn’t end until after five. How was yours? Did you like the restaurant?”
“It was very good. The best I’ve tried so far.” I stepped close to him and kissed his cheek, pressing my breasts lightly against his arm.
He smiled but didn’t return my touch. “We need to go.”
“But it’s been forever,” I said.
“It’s been less than forty-eight hours.”
“Like I said, forever.”
He rinsed off the remains of shaving cream and dried his face. “We agreed that I would decide if and when you get fucked. Didn’t we?”
“You’re punishing me,” I said, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
“Am I? What on Earth am I punishing you for?”
“The note.”
“Ah, the note,” he said, eyes widening. “That thing I thought we’d settled.”
“Is it settled? Because you wouldn’t get near me last night.”
He patted my hip. “Again, I decide when we have sex. And if I wanted to punish you, I have a closet filled with excellent ways to accomplish that. Now, get dressed or we’ll be late, and I hate to be late.”
With a tight-lipped smile, I turned my back and went to the bedroom. Would he ever touch me again, or ignore me for the rest of my time here? With two orgasms he’d lured me into an agreement, only to cut off almost all physical contact.
Maybe I was an experiment, a willing victim to manipulate in his search for the most amusing female response. A plaything in human form.
And something inside me liked it. That was the worst part of all.
Instead of being a woman who dreaded sex, I was one who craved it, who couldn’t endure two days without it before she started begging. This wasn’t supposed to be me, but it was.
The dress he’d bought for me was thin wool, sleeveless, and tight around the bodice with a swishy skirt that fell to my knees. It was the perfect disguise for the panties and corset underneath. The only clue to decadence was a pair of five-inch Mary Janes, made of sleek black leather with a sharp stiletto heel. On our way out of the apartment, I had a brief fantasy of digging it into Marc’s toe.
“You’re stunning tonight,” he said on our way down in the elevator. But he kept his distance, standing three feet away as if we were strangers.
In the mirror I saw him cross his arms and sigh. He was achingly good-looking in a tailored suit, his thick hair wavy and unruly. I thought of the way it felt against the insides of my thighs and had to close my eyes against a head-rush of desire.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said, but my voice was a ragged whisper.
Henrik stood outside the building by the black sedan, hands clasped behind his back. He opened my door first, then went around to open Marc’s. Marc leaned forward in his seat to speak to him in French, and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb.
We drove to an elegant restaurant, where I hid my nervousness behind two glasses of wine and a large appetite. Though I appeared to be asking questions about the daily business of capital investment, my mind kept skipping ahead to what might be next. Whipping, confinement, more deprivation? By the time we got back into the car, I was almost crazy with curiosity.
“Now can you tell me where we’re going?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Marc said. With a smooth, quick gesture, he pulled the red silk blindfold from the pocket of his jacket.
I glanced from his hand to his face. “What’s that for?”
“The location of these gatherings is secret.”
“Gatherings?” I laughed.
“I’m quite serious,” he said, his expression remaining cool. “Turn for me, Pet.”
“Marc –” I began, but he was already slipping the blindfold around my head. He tied it tightly, stroking back my hair before letting his hand drop.
The car lurched over cobblestones and turned tight corners, and I could see none of it. I began to feel queasy. The darkness and exaggerated sense of movement made me think of being kidnapped and thrown into a trunk.
For all I knew, that was next.
Fear tingled through me at the same time that wetness welled between my legs. I didn’t like this, but I did. It excited me to be dependent on Marc, connected to him through his complete control over me.
“How far is it?” I asked.
“Shhh. I’d like to ride in silence and just watch you.”
When I reached for him, he placed my hand back in my lap. Feeling his eyes on me, I was acutely conscious of my breathing. Every time I inhaled, my cleavage rose above the scooped neckline of my dress. It seemed like forever before the car stopped.
Marc got out. I heard the door open and felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Come,” he said. “We’re here.”
I clung to his arm, feeling irregular pavement under my feet and then a smooth stone path. “Two steps down,” he said, holding my elbow. “Be careful.”
I heard a door open and a man speaking in French. I couldn’t understand Marc’s words but his tone was warm – they knew each other. How? Where were we?
We walked inside slowly, stopped, and another door closed behind us. I could tell by the reverberation of Marc’s voice that we were in a small room.
“Remove your dress,” he said.
“Here? Are we alone?”
Without answering, he unzipped me and pulled the dress down over my hips. “Step out.”
I did as I was told, lifting one foot and then the other. I heard the clinking of hangers and the shutting of a closet door. Then he stood in front of me, adjusting my corset and stockings, kissing the tops of my breasts, and lastly, pushing a forceful finger into the slit opening of my panties.
At last, I thought with a sharp surge of pleasure and relief. He wants me again.
“My Sophie is very wet,” he said. “Very wet and very pretty.”
Whimpering, I clung to his shoulders. He teased my clitoris until I was panting, an orgasm just a moment away. Knowing how close I was, he removed his hand and gave me two hard spanks.
“Not yet,” he said. “Not without permission.”
“Where are we?” I asked, digging my nails into his skin. “Who were you talking to? You’re not going to – give me to someone else, are you?”
He laughed softly. “You wouldn’t like that, being the property of another man?”
“No.” My voice wavered and I swallowed down the urge to cry. The day had been long and confusing, leaving my emotions raw. Maybe that had been his intention all along – to wear me down until I had no resistance left.
“But you’d submit if that’s what I wanted?”
I hesitated. What did he want me to say? “I don’t know.”
He spanked me again, this time with his other hand grabbing me roughly between the legs. “The answer is no, you wouldn’t submit. I’m the only man who can have you. Enough talk. It’s time to go.”
“Where?”
“No more questions, Sophie. Just do as I say.”
The door opened and he led me out to what I guessed was a hallway. I trailed my fingers along a wall covered in textured fabric. Muffled music came from somewhere nearby, then died away. After that, all I could hear was my heart pulsing in my ears.
Palms hot and damp, I gripped his arm and stumbled along after him. A smooth velvet curtain brushed my leg as we walked under a doorway. My heels sank into plush carpet, and a moment later he was removing my blindfold.
Though I prepared for bright lights, I saw only the blurry outline of dimmed wall sconces. I blinked.
At first, I knew only that I was in a long, rectangular room with dark walls. But as my eyes adjusted, I gasped and put my hand to my mouth.
It was a scene from a modern-day satyr’s dream.
Thirty or forty people sat on leather sofas in a sunken living room, most of the women dressed as I was or naked. The women wore extremely high heels, and some were collared. Like Marc, most of the men wore tailored suits.
There were a few fully-dressed women with female or male submissives by their sides. One man wore only leather pants and boots and sat at the feet of a curvy older woman who couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. He wore a thick spiked collar and had crimson marks on his back from a recent whipping.
“My God, Marc,” I whispered. “What is this?”
“The M Society,” he said, slipping an arm around my waist. “It’s a group of people who share similar interests, most of which are self-evident.”
“What does the M stand for?”
He looked down at me and smiled. “What else but Marquis de Sade? Now, come inside. I haven’t been here in a long time. Everyone will want to see you.”
As soon as I stepped b
eyond the doorway, the conversation stopped. Dozens of eyes raked over my body, and I imagined I could feel them like countless probing hands.
After an initial silence, there was a burst of talk in English and French, and several men got up to greet Marc. Feeling painfully conspicuous, I stood aside while they talked, the eyes of the still-seated crowd on me.
“Sophie.” Marc held out his hand toward me. I went to him but he stepped away again, indicating that I should stand still.
“Back straight,” he said. “They want to look at you.”
The men stood around me at a distance of three or four feet, inspecting me from high heel to head. I hated it, hated Marc for it, and yet if one of the men had bent me over at that moment and forced himself inside me, I’d have been drenched with arousal.
“Lovely.”
“She’s stunning.”
“Virginal eyes.”
“She’s a delicate little slut, isn’t she?”
The approving murmurs blended into a disorienting muddle of male voices. My head spun. I couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore, I could only feel their minds devouring me.
A slender man with a graying beard asked in English if I could be used by the group. Cold dread crept over me. I shot a poisonous glare at Marc, but he didn’t even glance in my direction before replying.
“No,” he said, to expressions of disappointment. “Not her.”
“Such a shame,” the other man said. “How beautiful she’d be with every hole filled.”
Every hole? Bottom lip in my teeth, I tightened my fists and glanced around. Even if I wanted to make my clumsy escape in towering heels and a corset, there wasn’t a door in sight.
Seeing me trembling, Marc reached out and pulled me to him. “My sweet Pet.”
He kissed me softly, teasing my tongue with his own as the men watched. I felt his hand graze my breasts through the corset, and then his fingers began to loosen the knotted ties.
I felt it like a flame to my skin, and jerked my head back. “Absolutely not.”
His expression stayed placid. “They want to see you, and so do I.”
“I don’t care.” I tried to push his hand away but he kept it steady.
Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 2) Page 3
