by Amy Sumida
In which case, I couldn't scare him off. Nor did I want to alert him to my abilities. So, instead of changing his lusty red into cowardly yellow and sending him running away while he sucked his thumb and cried for his mommy, I simply curled the tendril back in upon itself and returned it to its owner. Where it damn well belonged.
Cyprian sucked in a shocked breath as arousal chased away the triumph in his eyes. He shivered and ran a hand down his chest; emphasizing the way it had started to rise and fall dramatically. The hand continued lower as he stared at me; his eyes burning emeralds. His palm grazed over his straining erection; flesh across leather. As soon as he touched himself there, he jerked as if I'd hit him and his mouth opened in a surprised O.
Maybe I should have just doused that lust instead of forcing him to feel it.
“I'm looking for something a little less painful and permanent.” I finally answered his question as I pushed past him; acting as if nothing had happened.
“Perhaps I could help you look.” Cyprian fell into step beside me.
He was still breathing hard and his gaze roamed my body with more than sexual interest.
“Thanks for the offer, but I have to find my boyfriend; we have an appointment in a few minutes.”
“A training session?” Cyprian asked as he slipped in front of me and blocked my way. “With who?”
“Is this floor only fantasy rooms, the shop, and the dance club?” I asked instead of answering.
Cyprian smirked at my obvious diversion but answered anyway, “Yes, but if you'd tell me what you're interested in, I can help you find it, Mara. Wouldn't you prefer that to wasting your time with fruitless searching?”
I considered him. What could I ask for that would help me find Mr. Aura? Before I could think of something, Malik appeared in the hallway.
“Is there a problem?” Mal's deep voice rolled over us like thunder.
Cyprian glanced over his shoulder and then did a double take. I saw his eyes widen in recognition, and Malik's did as well.
“Bleiten,” Cyprian whispered in surprise.
“Faulin,” Malik hissed. “I should have known this place was run by one of your kind.”
Faulin. My mind reeled with the information. Pronounced as “Fallen,” the name was misleading. When Cyprian's people had first come to Earth, the name of their race and their deeds had led humans to believe they were fallen angels. But the Faulin weren't angels or demons. Some cultures referred to them as incubi and succubi and those titles are much closer to the truth. Faulin feed on arousal and often kill their victims from draining too much energy during sex. If the human did manage to survive, he or she would become obsessed with the faulin who had fed on them. “Sex-Suckers” is what most supes called them; a rude and crass title but an accurate one. I should have recognized Cyprian's race immediately, but in my defense, Faulin are rarely seen these days. Most Supemarkets don't welcome them so they hide among the humans and rarely face other supernaturals. I was shocked that Cyprian was able to own a club like this one without attracting attention to himself; either from Supes or the local authorities. How did he keep clients if they kept dying?
“You say that so contemptuously.” Cyprian turned to fully face Malik. “I provide a place where my people can feed without harming humans. We take minor amounts of energy from each one; never enough to enslave or kill. It's merciful and smart, and you dare to scorn me for it? You came here willingly; as all my customers do. I didn't trick you into walking in my door, Bleiten.”
No killing. Well, that was very interesting indeed. And it sounded as if the place was operated by Faulin. I was impressed that they'd found a way to peacefully coexist with humans. He was right; it was both smart and merciful. Merciful for obvious reasons but smart because it kept him and his people supplied with a steady source of sustenance without getting them hunted down for murder. His victims came to him, and they paid him for the honor of feeding him. It was brilliant.
Malik inhaled sharply at Cyprian's admonishment and slid his gaze to mine. He must have realized that Cyprian could be helpful if we didn't immediately antagonize him. I widened my gaze at Malik to let him know that I agreed. And also, Cyprian had a point. He hadn't invited us there, we'd gone on our own.
“You're right,” Malik said gruffly. “My apologies.”
“What?” Cyprian gaped at Malik.
“My race has also been long misunderstood. I, if anyone, should know better than to judge someone upon their race alone. Judgment should be reserved for actions and, from what you've said and what I've seen, yours have been harmless, if not entirely honorable.” Malik held his hand out to Cyprian. “I'm Mal.”
“Cyprian,” the Faulin murmured as he shook Malik's hand. “Thank you for that.”
Malik nodded gruffly. “A man's worth is not only determined by his strength, loyalty, and honor, but also by his ability to admit when he's wrong.”
Cyprian blinked at Malik and then looked back at me. “This is your boyfriend? This Bleiten paragon?”
“That's right,” I said proudly.
“Then you must also be a supe.” Cyprian shifted so he could see both of us. “What did you do to me back there?”
“Nothing.” I smiled sweetly. “You attacked me; I simply reflected it back at you.”
“Reflected,” Cyprian repeated with fascination as he stared at me. His lips had gone soft and his eyes hot. “What kind of supernatural are you?”
“Mixed.” I shrugged.
“Mixed?” Cyprian asked. “A mystery is it?”
I shrugged again.
“We'll be late for our appointment.” Malik reached out a hand to me and drew me in against his side.
“Oh, nonsense.” Cyprian pulled a tiny walkie talkie out of his pants pocket—the same kind the doorman had used the day before—and pressed the button. “I have a couple of VIPs here; Mara and Mal. Can someone find out who their training session is scheduled with and cancel it? I'll be taking care of them personally.”
“That's not necessary.” Malik's jaw hardened.
“I'm the best; my fee is three times that of other trainers,” Cyprian said with a sexy smile. “Trust me; you want me.”
I gave Malik another look. This was the perfect opportunity to get closer to the Faulin owner of Dirty Nothings. Cyprian would surely know if I altered his aura; not necessarily while it was happening but definitely after the fact. As a supe, he'd sense that he'd been messed with. The same would be true for any other faulin, which it sounded as if all his employees were. If we didn't find the Aura Man, I wanted to be able to return to Dirty Nothings for another look. So, that nixed my planned coercion. But if we played this right, I wouldn't have to manipulate Cyprian at all. I could simply sweet-talk him into showing us around his club. I tried to convey all of that in my look at Malik. I think it worked because Malik grimaced but then nodded.
“Wonderful!” Cyprian exclaimed just as someone started responding to him through his walkie talkie.
“Master, they were scheduled with Tara,” the voice said. “They're down for basic S&M training.”
“Thank you, Clara.” Cyprian's smile couldn't get more wicked. “So, that's what you're after,” he said to me. “Will there be a master or a mistress?”
Malik sighed deeply and grimaced.
“Mistress,” I said so Malik wouldn't have to.
“This way, Mistress.” Cyprian strode past us with a delighted grin.
“Um, we were intending on purchasing a few things from your shop,” I called after him. “We didn't bring anything with us.”
“You don't need costumes.” Cyprian stopped and looked back at me. “You're perfect as you are, Mara. And as far as the accouterments; you can use mine.”
Cyprian rounded the corner. Mal and I looked at each other grimly.
“If he tries to seduce you, I will maim him,” Malik promised me in a vicious whisper. “Possibly kill.”
“Fair enough.”
We followed after the Fau
lin.
Chapter Fourteen
Cyprian took us back to the elevator, pulled out a key, and used it to turn the lock beside the button with a “3” on it. The button lit up and the car took us up to the top floor. I shot Malik a triumphant look; this was just what I'd been hoping for.
The elevator let us out onto another small entry hub with corridors branching off from it. Cyprian led us straight ahead to a locked door which he opened with a different key than the one he used in the elevator and then took us down a quiet hallway.
“These are my private quarters; very few people ever see them.” He sent me a look that said I should feel grateful. “And this BDSM room is for my personal use.” Cyprian opened a black door and ushered us through its frame. “I happen to be a fan of bondage myself.” He glanced from Malik to me. “But I'm always the master. I've never been good at submitting.”
We stepped into a softly lit room with deep green walls and a clean citrus scent. Citrus as in fresh fruit, not window cleaner. The carpet was dark maroon and plush. My heels sank into it as I stepped inside. The air conditioning brought a shiver to my arms. There was a forest-green velvet loveseat along one wall. Victorian-looking but obviously new, its carved woodwork was enameled black. The room would have felt comfy and even inviting if it hadn't been for all the... equipment and accessories.
I had done a bit of research the night before since I'd gone and mouthed off about knowing a few things. I had wanted to be prepared but nothing could have prepared me for this. I both lamented and appreciated my research now. It helped me to recognize most of the items in the room but the knowledge made my mouth go dry. Let's just say that I wasn't expecting to come face-to-face with most of the stuff that was there. Not in a “basic” training session.
There was something that resembled an easel on a platform in the corner; panels cut out of it in three strategic places, sets of metal rings attached at three points, a shelf for feet at the bottom, and even foot holes for toes to poke through. I recognized it as a Berkley horse; designed by Theresa Berkley in 1828 so she could flog men to her heart's delight. The openings allowed for every naughty bit to be reached no matter if the flogging victim was facing in or out. A padded leather bench crouched before the horse with a collection of whips laid across it. Nice and handy. Looking away from all of that, I noticed an odd stool that was set along the wall with what looked like padded armrests instead of a seat. A queening stool, or kinging if a man used it. Basically, it was placed over a person's face and then sat upon; the space in between the padded rests leaving the genitals exposed. I'll let you come up with the rest.
There was a spanking horse to the side of that with straps to hold down the spankee. Then there was a whipping bench and even a hoist to strap bound people to so they could be suspended from the ceiling. But it was the bondage bed in the center of the room that demanded attention. Sort of like a four-poster bed, it consisted of a leather-covered mattress in a wooden frame. The frame was set with hooks, pulleys, and chains; all waiting to strap someone down or up, or perhaps even sideways.
“What in all the fucking realms is this?” Malik murmured.
“I like to call it; fun.” Cyprian smirked as he shut the door with an ominous click. “Now, what level of pain are you looking for, Mal?”
“What level of...” Malik gaped at Cyprian. “Low.”
Cyprian laughed. “That's what they all say at first. All right, is there anything off limits?”
“What do you mean?” Malik asked warily.
“For example; cock and ball torture, anal hooks, humblers, medical restraints—”
“Stop.” Malik held up his hand. His face was bright red. “Just stop talking.”
“I know what he likes,” I took over. “We came here for a little spice, not for all of this.” I waved my hand at the room. “We were thinking some bondage and maybe light teasing. No torture. No anal. He's not that kind of man.”
“What kind of man would that be?” Cyprian cocked his head at me. “The sort which is free enough to accept pleasure wherever it's found? Or are you implying that a man is homosexual if he likes to be anally stimulated?”
“I didn't mean to offend you,” I stammered. “Of course, a man isn't homosexual just because he enjoys that. Not that there would be anything wrong with him if he was. I'm just saying that Malik is not in the category of man who enjoys it.”
“Perhaps Mal should speak for himself.”
“She's right,” Mal said stiffly. “She knows what I like and it's not that.”
“No problem. I'm just trying to determine what type of session to do with you,” Cyprian said with a shrug. “We'll start small and work our way up to find your boundaries. If you're to be the Mistress, Mara, the commands must come from you. I'll instruct you as noninvasively as possible.”
Malik relaxed minutely, but I was starting to blush. I hadn't expected to have to do any of this. I had planned on coercing our trainer as soon as the door was shut but then a Faulin wrench had been tossed in our plans and forced me to go in a direction I hadn't fully thought out. How far was I willing to take this just to be able to search Dirty Nothings?
“First, you need to establish dominance,” Cyprian murmured as he led me to a table along the wall to the right of the door. He ran his fingers over a collection of masks, blindfolds, gags, harnesses, ropes, and restraints. They all gleamed; obviously well taken care of. “I'd recommend a blindfold to help him fully immerse himself. Men like your Mal here are generally tough to break, but when you do crack through that hard shell, it will be amazingly satisfying. Personally, I love nothing more than taming a strong woman.” He gave me an intimate look.
I cleared my throat and picked up a leather blindfold lined in fur.
“Excellent choice,” Cyprian noted. “Go ahead and put it on him.”
“Are you sure about this?” I whispered to Malik as I leaned up against his body.
“Not entirely,” he said with a smirk.
I tied the leather around his head, and Malik tensed. “I'm here with you,” I whispered. “Trust that.”
Malik nodded.
“Choose one.” Cyprian waved his hand at the equipment.
I looked at the Berkley horse, and Cyprian nodded in approval as he glided over to me.
“Lead him forward and help him on it,” Cyprian whispered in my ear. “Every step he takes should be by your command or your hand.”
I swallowed roughly and took Malik's arm while placing my hand against his back. “Just walk forward. There. Now, step up about half a foot.”
Malik reached out to steady himself on the horse as he stepped onto the ledge. I helped him lean against it. The wood creaked balefully.
“Oh my; that won't do at all.” Cyprian came up beside me. “I'm afraid this horse isn't made for a bleiten to ride. Best get him down; we'll make do with the bed.”
Cyprian was right. Malik's head hung over the top of the horse and all of the openings were misaligned with his body. But the bed was large enough to hold even Mal's impressive frame.
“Sorry,” I whispered to Malik as I helped him down.
“Never apologize,” Cyprian chided me. “If you have to take him to every piece in this room before you start, that's your prerogative.”
I nodded at Cyprian; not trusting myself to speak. My throat was getting dry, and we'd barely begun. Instead of leading Malik through the room blindfolded, I reached up and started to untie it, but Cyprian grabbed my hand and tsked at me.
The side of Cyprian's body pressed against mine as he pulled my hand back down. “Don't remove that until the end. It will ruin the fantasy.”
“Okay,” I whispered. “Here, darling,” I led Malik toward the bed. “Can you climb up?”
“No, no, no,” Cyprian chided me again. “Don't ask. Command.”
“Get on the bed,” I said more firmly.
“Better,” Cyprian purred in my ear; the heat and vibration of it sliding into me.
Malik climbed
up on the bondage bed and just fit; his head at one edge and the soles of his shoes at the other.
“It'll do,” Cyprian murmured. “Now, tie him up, Mistress.”
I took a deep breath and looked over the selection of restraints. I settled on silk ropes. The manacles looked too menacing to me. I tied the rope to a metal loop on one of the posts and started to do a standard knot around Malik's wrist, but Cyprian came over and silently showed me a better way. His elegant fingers slid the silk rope around Malik's thick wrist three times before bringing it back to the metal loop and knotting it there. His hands slid across my back and gently eased me to Malik's other wrist for me to try the knot next. He moved me so close to his body that I brushed against his thigh. I tried to ignore Cyprian and focus on Malik. One by one, I tied Mal's remaining wrist and then his ankles to the posts; spreading him across the leather.
