Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 2)

by Rose Devereux

“No. I want your skin on the seat with nothing under you.”

  I obey, feeling the cool stickiness of leather. He slides his hand up my leg until he reaches bare skin. “How does the seat feel?” he asks.

  “Stiff,” I say. “Cold.”

  Though he presses his fingers into the flesh of my hip, I know it won’t go any further. He won’t fuck me until I’ve proven something undefined and unspoken.

  “Marc, I –” I begin, but bite my lip to keep from saying more.

  “Yes?”

  I shake my head.

  “Sweetheart, no secrets,” he says. “We agreed at the start. It’s even more important now.”

  “Yes. No secrets.” He must know what I’m thinking, though I don’t dare say it out loud. I love you. I’ll never love anyone else.

  “Turn around,” he says. When I do, he takes my corseted waist in his hands, sliding his fingers up my ribcage and along the sides of my breasts. I’ve been aroused for hours. I could almost come from the feeling of his breath against my neck.

  I see a flash of red out of the corner of my eye, and then he slips the silk blindfold around my head.

  “Is this okay?” he asks, knotting it. His voice is tender. It’s the first time he’s asked my permission since I came back to Paris.

  “Yes,” I say, and I mean it. Enough time has passed that I no longer think of how Trevor used it to silence me.

  “Is it tight?”

  “Very.” I reach up to touch the soft folded fabric. “Where are we going?” I whisper.

  “You’ll know in a minute,” he says, taking my hand. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course,” I say, though tonight, I’m not sure I really do.

  “Remember, when you’re with me I’m in control. You’re completely safe.”

  He leans forward to talk to Henrik. When he sits back he kisses me, his tongue soft and urgent against mine. The kiss gives me hope that my lesson will happen now, in the backseat. He’s so hard through his trousers, so primed to spread my legs and take me, but a kiss is all he’ll allow.

  He tugs my garters to make sure they’re fastened and says, “I think you’re ready.”

  The car slows and eases to a stop. Marc gets out, taking my wrist in his hand. I feel unsteady as I step onto the pavement in my heels. He smooths my skirt and tightens the ties on my corset, grazing each of my nipples with his fingertips before kissing me again. Then he lets me go.

  I turn my head to listen, hearing his footsteps move farther away. “Marc?”

  “It’s okay, Sophie.”

  The car door opens and shuts. I extend a hand into empty space.

  He’s probably just talking to someone before coming back for me. He is coming back for me, isn’t he?

  “Don’t take off the blindfold,” he says. He’s back inside the car, speaking through the lowered window.

  Suddenly sick with fear, my voice rises. “Where are you going?”

  “No questions,” he says. “Stand where you are and stay silent. Then do as you’re told.”

  “As I’m told?” I say, but my words are lost in the noise of the engine starting.

  “Silence,” he says. “Don’t touch the blindfold. Listen to your instincts.”

  “You can’t just leave me here. Marc? Don’t go, please.”

  He doesn’t answer. I hear the window slide up, and the car slowly drives off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I’m alone in darkness.

  I see my heart beating in a rhythmic white pulse behind my eyelids. A minute goes by, maybe more. I reach out to steady myself but there’s nothing to grab onto.

  Then there are footsteps, light and quick.

  “Who is it?” I say, but a hand closes over my mouth.

  I feel hands on my waist and wrists, pulling me across pavement and through a door. There’s a sudden absence of noise, as if I were in a soundproof room.

  “Who are you?” I ask. “Where am I?”

  I hear movement and quiet whispers, but no one answers.

  “Please,” I say. “I’m scared.”

  “You should be,” comes a woman’s voice, so close to my ear that I jump. “It’s what we want.”

  She has a clipped British accent that makes me think of a boarding school headmistress. I can imagine her caning a disobedient young student and taking great pleasure in it.

  Someone starts to undress me, unzipping my skirt and yanking it over my hips. Nimble fingers unbutton my blouse and open the front. I hear murmurs of approval and then the blouse is stripped off. I feel myself being evaluated by greedy eyes.

  “No,” I whisper, as the ties on the bustier are pulled apart by impatient hands. “Please.”

  “Begging is useless,” says a man with an unusual accent, “but we enjoy it anyway.”

  As air touches my naked breasts, I try frantically to cover myself with my hands.

  “Bind her,” says the woman with the cruel voice, holding my arms behind my back. I feel cold metal against my wrists and hear the sound of handcuffs locking.

  “You can’t do this,” I say. My voice is a hoarse whisper.

  “Of course we can,” says the man.

  “Marc wouldn’t like it,” I say.

  “We’re following his instructions,” says the headmistress. “You know that.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Deep down,” she says, “you do.”

  Suddenly there are hands on my hips, holding me still. In an instant my panties are snipped off with scissors or maybe a pocket knife, leaving me exposed and near tears. They must see that the panties are damp, a fact that will only encourage them more.

  I can’t be excited by what they’re doing to me. Damnit, I won’t be.

  But the feeling of vulnerability, standing in front of strangers in only stockings, garters, and high heels, is shamefully thrilling.

  My lover has delivered me to them because it pleases him, and this idea arouses and frightens me at the same time. It’s much different from what Trevor did to me, for the simple reason that I agreed to this. Because I want so much to satisfy Marc, even if it means giving up all control.

  Two people – women, I think, by the feel of their hands – grasp me by each arm and lead me out of the room and into a hallway.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask. I struggle against them, but they’re too strong and too determined.

  “Marc!” I shout. Is he trying to show me how dominant he can be by getting others to do his bidding? What if I’m wrong, and he hasn’t orchestrated this? What if he’s abandoned me to strangers because it’s what I deserve?

  The women pull me up a short flight of stairs and force me to stand in place. I use all of my strength to try to break free. “Stop,” the headmistress orders, pushing me down into a chair. “Back straight. Knees apart.” She pulls my thighs open and ropes my ankles to the chair legs.

  “You’ll never escape now,” she whispers, running a sharp fingernail down the side of my neck. I hear heels clicking as both women walk away. Their footsteps get more distant, and then a door shuts behind them.

  After that, there’s silence.

  For several minutes, I think I’m alone.

  Every sense, every nerve, is on fire. Goosebumps rise on my skin and my nipples harden. I’m helpless, at the mercy of people I can’t see or resist.

  As I catch my breath, fear turns to fury. Right now, I despise Marc almost as much as I love him.

  When he said that nothing stood in his way, this must be what he meant. And I have to admit he was right – submission is more than being tied up and spanked, playing at something dangerous while staying safe. It’s the unexpected, a dark descent into the unknown.

  I hear something. I hold my head still, listening. There’s the rustling of fabric and a sensation like wings beating the air near my skin.

  I feel fingers on the knot of the blindfold, and it falls from my face. I look to my left in time to glimpse a woman slip out of the room holding t
he blindfold, her long black cape trailing the floor.

  I blink, my eyes gradually adjusting to the candlelight. Candles flicker in hurricane lamps on the floor around a bondage table. In shadow at the back of the room sit two young men, each well-built and good-looking, each dressed in a dark suit. They stare at me, their eyes feasting on my breasts and spread legs.

  Marc is terribly, insanely jealous – surely he doesn’t want them to use me, one after the other until they’re both satisfied. But if not, why did he bring me here? Why did he tell me to do as I was told?

  Maybe this is his way of discarding me. If he really wanted me he wouldn’t let strangers display me for anyone to see. Is this the trust and caring he spoke about? Is this how the new Marc gets his pleasure?

  One of the men gets up and walks toward me. He’s tall and bald, with a square jaw and soft blue eyes. Kneeling in front of me, he unties the rope around my ankles and tells me to stand. I do, barely rising to his broad shoulder.

  He lifts a hand and touches my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’re stunning,” he whispers.

  He sounds Eastern European, or Nordic. I look up at him, allowing his fingers to soothe me. He brings his other hand to my waist and lets it rest there, his fingers firm and strong.

  Through his pants, his erection presses against my hip. He’s not as large as Marc but he desires me. Marc can resist me for days and weeks at a time, but this man will take me right now if I allow him to. He may take me even if I don’t.

  The fantasy is so vivid it’s almost as if it’s happening. Just a brief touch, a seductive kiss, and he might fuck me on the table in front of the other man.

  He leans toward me, holding my chin in his fingers. His other hand trails up my belly and stops just below the curve of my breast. I arch my back involuntarily, craving a warm, caring touch.

  It would feel so good to be wanted, to be given what I’ve needed for weeks. His full lips part. Half an inch closer and our mouths will touch. His thumb and forefinger reach for my nipple just as a realization comes to me with absolute, startling clarity.

  I take a step back. “I understand now,” I say, shaking my head. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “Is something the matter?” he asks.

  “Yes, it is.”

  How did I not see it sooner? This is why Marc refused to touch me. It’s been his plan all along: to deprive me, leave me blindfolded and disoriented in the hands of strangers, and present me with two handsome men who would fuck me in a second. Alone and starved for the sexual attention I need almost constantly – it’s the perfect condition for infidelity.

  What a cruel game to play.

  “Where is he?” I say, looking around. He’s here somewhere. He has to be.

  The other man is approaching now. He’s dark-eyed with a wolf-like smile and muscular neck. I’m still handcuffed. There’s nowhere I can go. Sweeping me into his arms, he carries me to the table, hardly seeming to notice my kicking legs.

  “She’s a hellion,” he says. “Perfect for our purposes.”

  “What are you talking about?” I say. “What purposes? Where’s Marc?”

  He sets me down on the table and uncuffs my hands. “Lie back,” he says, pushing my shoulders until my arms give way beneath me.

  The bald man lifts my high-heeled feet and straps them into stirrups. Hard as I try, I can’t bring my knees together. I’m completely spread open, with no choice but to withstand his voracious gaze.

  As soon as they clamp down the wrist restraints I’m immobilized, positioned so either of them can take me. Maybe that’s what Marc wants. To see me humiliated and shamed for the behavior I now regret so much.

  I turn my head and spot a mirror about eight feet away. Immediately I’m sure it’s not a mirror, but a window, and Marc is standing on the other side watching. Everything is reflected in sharp relief – the candles, the drapes, me with parted legs flanked by two strange men.

  The bald one steps around to the bottom of the table and places his hands on my ankles. “How beautiful you are,” he says.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say, jerking against the restraints.

  “Why not? A moment ago you were going to kiss me.”

  “The hell I was.”

  “If you’re as faithful as you say, why were you given to us?”

  My voice catches in my throat. “To teach me a lesson. To test my resolve.”

  Sweat beads on my upper lip as I imagine what instrument of torture they might use on me. A ball gag. A suffocating leather slave hood. Nipple clamps. Whatever it is, I won’t make a sound no matter how much it hurts or humiliates me.

  I squirm, knowing it’s useless. “Be still,” says the other man. “It’ll go easier for you if you don’t fight.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

  Pride won’t let me beg. I stare at him, my silence the only power I have left.

  He leans close to my ear. “Don’t you understand? We won’t do anything to you. Only your master will.”

  He turns and walks out of the room. The bald man follows without a backward glance.

  The door is closed for only a minute before it opens again and Marc appears. Even now, he’s so beautiful that whenever I see him, it’s the first time all over again.

  “Pet,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

  “Get me out of these restraints,” I say. “Now.”

  He walks over to the table and frees first my ankles and then my wrists. Sitting up, I yank my feet out of the stirrups. “What am I doing here? What the hell was all that?”

  “It was a test of fidelity, Sophie.”

  “Yeah, I got that,” I say. “And I hate you for it.”

  “I know.”

  I toss my bangs out of my face. “You know?”

  He’s maddeningly calm. Arms folded, he watches me slide ungracefully off the table in my stockings and high heels. “Try to understand,” he says. “I had to see how you’d react, even if you were angry and under stress and there were other men who could take that away.”

  I glare at him through narrowed eyes. “So you let strangers strip me and tie me down to see my reaction? Are you crazy?”

  “Crazy for you, yes,” he says. “And that means I’ll go to extremes to make sure you’re mine.”

  “There wasn’t a better way to figure that out?”

  He shrugs. “Can you think of one?”

  Though I open my mouth to speak, my mind is blank. He stares at me expectantly. “I…I came back to Paris, didn’t I?”

  He takes a step toward me. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

  “It’s one example,” I say, backing against the nearest wall.

  “One example. Right.”

  He pulls off his jacket and drops it to the carpet. A hot shiver races through my belly, stiffening my nipples. Damnit. I may hate him but my body has been craving him for far too long.

  “Don’t get near me,” I say.

  Smiling, he unbuttons his shirt. “You’re flushed, Sophie.”

  “Of course I am. I’m fucking furious.”

  He stops in front of me and unbuttons his shirt. The placket falls open, revealing his chiseled chest and the hard V of muscle just below his stomach. I gasp as he pushes his hand between my legs.

  “You’re furious and soaking wet at the same time,” he says, eyes gleaming. “And by the way, everyone else has left. There’s nobody to stop what I’m about to do to you.”

  Though I’m overpowered and barely clothed, I try to shove him away. “If you think you’re going to touch me after what just happened, you’re dead wrong.”

  Grabbing my arms, he holds me against him. “Listen to me. I saw everything. I know those people from the M Society, and they were doing as I instructed.”

  “You baited me.”

  “Yes, just as you’ve baited me. If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t have done it.”

  Dumbfounded, I stare
at him. He didn’t just say that, not here, not now. “What?” I whisper.

  Instead of answering, he kisses me. Though he holds me in a vice grip, the kiss is soft enough to shatter my heart. He strokes his tongue against mine, again and again until I’m whimpering against his lips.

  “I love you,” he whispers. “You know that.”

  I turn my face away. “No, I don’t. Not after tonight.”

  “Tonight’s not over.”

  “It is for me.” I wrench myself away from him. He catches me at the door and spins me around.

  “Look, Sophie. I thought you might submit to the first man who came near you. That’s the one thing I couldn’t have forgiven. It would have destroyed us.”

  “But you’ve destroyed us anyway,” I say, struggling against his powerful arms.

  “No, I made you prove that you belong to me. Seeing you refuse those men – nothing excites me more than loyalty. Absolute possession of the woman I want.” He unzips his pants and presses my hand to his huge, thickly-veined cock. “Feel that? That’s what you’ve done by proving you’re mine.”

  Reflexively, my fingers squeeze his hard flesh. “That’s right, touch it,” he says in a low voice. “Feel how much I want you.”

  His words ricochet through my head – I love you. I want you. You belong to me. “I don’t believe it,” I say as he pulls up my leg and locks my knee to his side.

  “What don’t you believe?”

  I tremble at the scorching spark of skin on skin, his heart against mine. His huge shaft throbs on my inner thigh. “That you love me,” I say, my voice breaking.

  “That’s okay,” he says. “You will soon enough.”

  My mind screams to keep fighting but I’m too weak for him, too deprived. It doesn’t matter what happened tonight, or how long it takes to forgive him. I need his touch like my next breath.

  With total mastery of his movements, he penetrates me no more than an inch. I suck in a sharp breath. He winces with pleasure, his eyes glittering like a predator with his prey.

  “I thought of this every minute we were apart,” he says. “I was obsessed with fucking you.”

  I clutch at his bare chest with my nails. I’m swollen and tight, so excited my pussy pulses with every heartbeat.