by Skylar Kade
Vertigo claimed her body and she clung to the sheets as reality crumbled around her. Damien’s thumb fucked her ass in time with his hard, vigorous thrusts into her pussy and she started begging. She was going to come, with or without permission, all thanks to that insidious dual penetration.
“Come for me, now,” he demanded and she did, shattering around him, feeling every twitch of his cock as he came with her.
In the hour between playing at the cabin and performing the demo scene, Cam never really came out of subspace. She drifted up and down, but he kept her there with cuffs on her wrists and constant reminders of her submission.
In the auditorium, Damien made her stand, naked except for a barely there thong, in the middle of the stage, back to the audience. When Damien locked her cuffs onto a metal bar that dropped down from the auditorium ceiling, then used a spreader bar to trap her ankles, the delicious vulnerability prickled her skin. He again blindfolded her, but added a ball gag before tucking a rattle ball into her right fist.
She was good and trussed up.
“Don’t move, Camille.” His warning abraded her senses and cream soaked her panties. If any man could talk her into an orgasm, it would be him.
Damien warmed her up while he instructed the audience, alternating ice and heat to prepare her skin. He applied a chilled blade to her ass and she jumped, a little squeak coming through around the gag.
“I told you not to move, sub.” He slapped the chilled patch.
Cam bit back her moan. The things he did to her…
Caught up in her pleasure, she stopped listening to Damien’s lecture and simply waited for his next move. Would he use wax again? Would he let her come?
Icy spikes pricked up and down her spine and she jerked forward, almost losing her balance. What was that?
Damien’s evil-genius laugh rumbled through the room. “Sometimes temperature needs to be augmented by sensation play. This is a pinwheel, or Wartenburg Wheel, that I’ve had sitting in ice.” The approving rumble of the observing Doms brushed at her sensitized skin. She couldn’t see them, but she could feel them. Their eyes crawled over her body, not unwelcome, but prickling her skin as they drank in the demo.
Light footsteps crossed the stage, then a warm, hard body pressed against her front. She flinched as this man’s unfamiliar scent, woodsy with a hint of bergamot, drifted to her.
For a moment, she struggled, then Damien pressed himself against her back. “Calm down, sweetheart. It’s okay.” She calmed under his words.
Once he returned his attention to the audience, her mystery partner leaned down. “You still have your safe words, amor. Remember your bell ball.”
That caramel voice drizzled over her, thick and sweet. Not intimidating in the least. She relaxed further, then nodded.
His thumbs rubbed little circles on the insides of her wrists. She shivered, which brought her into closer contact with his firm chest—and the unmistakable erection he was sporting. Arousal flared. She’d done that to him. Unthinking, she aligned her body against his, reaching for that wonderful tactile sensation of being flush against a man’s body.
The evil Wartenburg Wheel returned, rolling down her spine and across the cold, tender flesh of her ass. Cam jolted forward into her captor’s chest. When the pinpricks continued lower, down her thighs and over the sensitive back of her left knee, she cried out, muffled by the gag.
It hurt, but damn if she hadn’t soaked through her panties. Between the hot man in front of her and the hotter man behind who was doing deliciously torturous things to her, she dropped like a stone, deeper into subspace, until her whole world was sensation and instinct and reaction.
Cam floated in her body as ice and fire and Damien’s touch curled through her body and settled in her aching, empty pussy.
In a disorienting move, she was turned sideways, held steady by the unknown man. When Damien pressed against her back, she shuddered, sandwiched between their tall bodies, leather and denim and cotton brushing against her bare skin. “You love this, don’t you?”
She nodded and got a smack on the ass in return. Damien unbuckled the ball gag, then rubbed at her jaw to ease the slight ache. “Answer me now, girl.”
She wouldn’t lie to him. “Yes, Sir.”
His voice rose high enough to echo throughout the room. “You don’t even know this man and you’re wet for him.”
Humiliation flooded through her, followed by a tsunami of lust. Damien’s hand reached between her legs. “See, wet. Say it, slut.” His fingers rubbed across her clit while his words throbbed in her blood.
The other man released her wrists and, instead, cupped her breasts. His thumbs brushed across her tender nipples. “Admit it,” he chimed in.
She couldn’t hold back under that onslaught. “Yes, Sir! So good…”
“You would come for two men, right in front of all these people, wouldn’t you?”
She shook her head no. Too exposed, too vulnerable.
One of the men bit her neck. Goose bumps sprang down her spine. “No lies, girl.”
Too much, all her control slipping from her fingers. Cam wouldn’t come like this, no way, she put her foot down.
A thumb pressed at her lips. “Taste yourself.” She opened and let the musky, honeyed flavor roll on her tongue. “See how turned on you are? You would come for us right here, slut.”
She tried to shake her head no, but was held firmly in place by a strong hand on her jaw. Threads of panic wove through her. “You’re so close that we could make you come even if you said no.”
The truth jolted her. Bound, braced between the men, turned on more than she could ever remember being… They could do whatever they wanted. She was powerless.
No—she could safe-word. Anticipation hung heavily in the air, as if they were waiting for her to say it. Blood throbbed in her clit, wafts of air brushed over her skin, cold except where her men braced her up—the men her body sang for.
“Green,” she whispered, the universal club word for “go ahead”.
Two hands, then four, caressed her skin, running from her ankles up to her wrists, hitting everything in between until she was wound tight as a spring.
The other man skimmed his hands down her body, then between her legs. Foreign fingers touched her intimately. And she tightened her legs as much as the spreader bar would allow.
“Sweetheart, you’re going to come for us whether you like it or not.”
Sweetheart. She belonged to Damien. He was there, giving her permission to enjoy this. Her little fantasy, two men touching her. She relaxed her legs and when those fingers went questing again, brushing across her clit and farther, deeper, she cried out.
“Good girl.” The man stroked over her G-spot. “So tight, so ready. Greedy little pussy.”
Something cold and wet traced down her spine. Cam lurched forward, taking those fingers even deeper. His thumb rubbed over her clit. At her back, Damien’s tongue followed the cold trail he’d blazed, searing her flesh. A finger prodded her back hole, slick and cool, before slipping inside. So full…
She gasped. “Sir, please!”
His teeth sank into the cheek of her ass. Pain and hot and cold and pleasure coalesced around every point of contact. Damien stood, aligned himself with her back again. “Are you going to come for the audience?”
Heat blazed her cheeks. She’d forgotten where she was, that all this was being witnessed by a room full of people.
The tinge of humiliation catapulted her pleasure higher. “Come for me, sweetheart. Come now.” Damien’s command threw her over the edge.
She burst apart in their arms, stars erupting behind her eyelids. Her scream choked in her throat, silenced by the unbelievable pleasure exploding from every nerve ending. Tingles started at her scalp and worked downward as she shook from the most intense orgasm of her life.
In front of an audience.
From a man she didn’t know.
Spurred on by the man she loved.
Ove
rwhelmed, exhausted, confused and yet supremely satisfied, Cam couldn’t fight the tears that welled up behind the blindfold. While the audience erupted in applause and the mystery man left her presence, Cam scrambled to make sense of what had happened.
Damien swept her into his arms. She tucked her head against his chest. Even though she still wore the blindfold, she needed to hide from the curious eyes of their audience. Cam expected to be put down on the staging-room couch after a few steps.
When their journey extended past that, she stirred. “Where are we going?”
“The cabin.”
His clipped words set off warning bells. They would just have to get in line. Besides, he was probably as worn out as she was after such an intense scene.
The fresh outdoor air revived her a bit, blowing away some of the heavy emotions left over from the scene. Not all of them, but enough. She looped her arms around Damien’s neck and breathed him in, soaking in his nearness.
All too soon, he pushed open the cabin door and had her settled on the bed, tucked against his side. She had so much she wanted to say, like “thank you” and “that was incredible, but I don’t want any man except you to touch me again” and “I love you”. But while she dithered over whether she should actually admit any of that, sleep pulled her under.
They would have to talk about it later.
Once Cam had passed out in bed, Damien slipped his arm from under her body and left her alone in the bedroom. He needed a little space to figure out what the fuck had just happened. He’d never been the jealous type, especially with women when he scened. Even with Natali, he’d not been ruffled by her flirting with other men, though that had been an intentional attempt to get a rise out of him.
Determined to set aside his unease, he got some work done, checking in with Evan then Officer Davis. The former teased him mercilessly for leaving work to spend time with a woman—the latter had no more information for him, except that they wanted Camille to come down to the station and answer some questions.
Shit. He tugged at his hair, wishing he had the answers. He guessed he could tell Camille about Shawn now, but he knew she’d be pissed that he’d withheld the information. He’d wait until the drive home, then talk to her. Kat had offered to let them stay the night, but their weekend was essentially over. No sense in prolonging the inevitable.
During the demo, he’d marveled at what a beautiful submissive Camille was, her responses intense and visual. She’d make some man a very happy Dom. And while his stomach had curdled at allowing Kat’s boy, Javier, to touch her, she’d come undone at that twist in his scene. Not yours, he’d kept reminding himself as he watched another man’s hands take liberties with her body.
That had cemented his decision to stand by their established agreement, which ended tonight. She didn’t need another man abusing her trust and that’s exactly what would happen if things continued. She’d get emotionally invested, he’d be unable to commit or sufficiently share his life with her and she’d just get hurt. This was better. Like ripping off a bandage.
He let her sleep for an hour, then roused her, clenching his fists to keep his hands off her luscious body. He knew that if he touched her more than necessary, he’d fall into bed with her and never want to get out. Instead, he gently told her it was time to head home and ignored her confusion. He didn’t allow himself to contemplate whether there’d also been hurt in her eyes.
They made the drive in silence. Awkward tension filled the air between them and he hated being the cause of it, but this needed to happen.
“There’s something I’ve got to tell you,” he said as they entered LA proper. Camille said nothing, staring out the window. But he knew she was awake—her breath had hitched at his statement. “After the incident with Shawn yesterday, I got suspicious. Officer Davis wants you to come in tomorrow or Monday to answer a few questions. They brought Shawn in and he confessed to some of the stalking charges. Davis also told me your apartment has been cleared. The super installed two new locks for you.”
She turned on him. He almost winced from the anger in her eyes. “Excuse me?” All traces of her submission were gone. “When did he tell you this?”
Damien sighed, girding himself for her reaction. “Yesterday. I didn’t want—”
“Oh fuck that, Damien. How dare you keep something like that from me?” He felt her staring at the side of his face, but didn’t turn. He focused on the traffic, heavier than normal due to the rain that had rolled in midday. She said nothing else, fuming from her seat and pointedly staring out the side window until they were a single exit away from her apartment.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that? Talk a big game about how important truth and honesty are in a BDSM relationship, about how honored you were that I trusted you, then this? You think I would have run screaming from you if you’d told me yesterday? Or that your precious demo would have been ruined?”
He pulled up to her building and started turning into the parking garage.
“Don’t go any farther,” she gritted out.
Damien hit the brakes, at last turning to look at her. All the anger in her face couldn’t wound him as much as the moisture lining her eyes or the tightness of her jaw that belied how betrayed she felt.
She slammed out of the car, grabbed her duffel from the backseat and threw one final retort at him. “Thank you for showing me just how shitty my judgment really is.”
Then she was gone, before he could even decide how to react.
Like ripping off a bandage. Yeah, maybe if it had thorns twined around his heart. But this was for the best. It had to be.
Frozen inside, Damien drove home on autopilot, feeling like he’d left a part of himself behind with Camille. But that didn’t matter.
Despite the wet weather, the light traffic on the side streets of LA made for a quick drive. He slumped, exhausted, against the steering wheel once he’d parked under his hotel. He’d fucked more in the past four days than he had in the previous year and that, coupled with the intense scenes he’d done, made him one exhausted Dom.
It had nothing to do with losing Camille. Not at all. A whisky on the rocks would cement that belief in his brain before he went to bed.
Chapter Sixteen
Cam managed to stave off her tears as she checked her mail, which contained her new keys from the super, and rode the slow elevator up to her floor. She couldn’t get her mind off Damien. Though she was furious at the hypocritical asshole, she couldn’t deny her body still responded to the mere thought of him.
She leaned against the repaired doorframe of her apartment as she fumbled with her keys, finally unlocking the door in an exhausted stupor. With luck, she’d fall into a dreamless sleep and things would be less painful in the morning. She almost laughed at her naïveté, but feared she’d dissolve into tears if she didn’t at least try to believe it.
Once in her dim apartment, she dropped her duffel by the entrance, then started shucking clothes as she stepped over the mess of her belongings that still scattered the floor. She’d have to clean anyway, and she really couldn’t be bothered to hang anything up. Besides, they still smelled like Damien, and she wanted that as far from her bedroom as possible.
“Going somewhere?”
Shirt halfway over her head, Cam froze. She lowered the tee and turned to the darkest corner of her living room. Her heart thumped so loudly she imagined her neighbors would call the cops with a noise complaint. Maybe that would save her.
In the shadows, she barely made out a feminine form. The woman leaned forward, letting moonlight catch her features.
“Indigo, I’ve been trying to reach you.” Cam kept her voice calm, despite her fear and anger. “What are you doing here?”
The woman’s high, birdlike voice was hard. “Sit down. I’ll do the talking, thank you.” Light glinted off something metallic as she moved her hand and Cam’s insides iced over.
Cam moved around her couch to perch on the edge farthest from Indigo, then waited fo
r the woman to continue. The cell phone in her back pocket pressed against her butt, but Cam didn’t want to risk a call until she knew exactly what was going on. “Indigo—”
“Silence. You should be good at obeying orders, right?” she sneered. “Yes, I know all about your pathetic attempt at submission. That idiot Shawn told me everything.” A sick smile crawled across her face. “He just needed a firm hand to keep him in check. Someone to show him how you’d mistreated him.” Her fake pout turned Cam’s stomach. “Poor Shawn, trying so hard to be manly for you. And you gave up on him, exactly like you did to me!”
Oh boy. Indigo had entered a whole new level of crazy. She shifted on the couch, trying to make accessing her phone easier, but froze when Indigo leveled a gun on her. “I don’t think so. We’re going to talk and you’re not going to move an inch.”
Her blood froze. If she got out of this, she was never working with people again. Her judgment? Obviously shit. While Indigo ranted about being abandoned to the paparazzi wolves, waving the gun wildly around the room, Cam tried to think of a way out. But every time she repositioned herself on the couch, that muzzle settled right towards her.
Finally, Indigo addressed her directly. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”
She ducked her gaze, pulling out all the submissive stops that Shawn had liked to see. “I’m so sorry, Indigo. I should have been a better literary agent.” The worst part about her confession was the truth she heard in her words. She did feel guilty, though not for Indigo’s plight—not anymore. “What can I do to help?”
Cam chanced a look at the blonde woman. She’d always been thin, but now she looked emaciated, her skin and hair dull with neglect.
With a feral smile, her face curved into an ugly mask. “I’m so glad you asked.”
This week, his parents had plans for dinner, so the whole family had gathered for brunch. Damien had just made himself a Bloody Mary the next morning, ignoring the judgmental eyes of his mother, when his cell phone rang. He recognized Officer Davis’s number and picked up. When the officer told him what Shawn had just shared with them, and that there had been no answer when they’d called Camille’s apartment to check on her, his world stopped spinning and became tightly focused. He’d left Camille alone, thinking the threats were under control. But Shawn had been working with that disgraced author—who was still unaccounted for. “I’ll meet you there,” he said. “I’m about twenty minutes away.”
