He didn’t answer so she turned and gave him a stern look. “You may explain.”
“The dildos and vibrators aren’t for me. You insert the vibrator so the polar bear’s tongue touches the woman’s clit. When you turn it on, the tongue flicks the clit,” he explained.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Whoa,” she said then gave the vibrator an admiring look before coming back to the cross with the blindfold. “That we’ve got to try now that I no longer have to worry about my cherry.”
“If you—”
“Stop talking,” she said brusquely. She went behind the cross and looped the black silk blindfold over his eyes, trying it tightly in place, the cloth effectively blocking his vision. She depressed the cross’s lever and the apparatus began to lower backward. As it lowered, a fifth beam slid out from the middle of the cross so whoever was bound to the cross could rest his or her head.
He was completely at her mercy as the cross settled into place with a light thump. He could hear her moving from behind it but he jumped when she trailed her fingers down his raised arm.
“You are mine, now, milord,” she said and her voice was deep and husky. “Mine to do with as I please.”
His body was covered in chill bumps as she lightly raked her fingernails from his armpit to his wrist.
“Open your hand.”
He was quick to obey and felt her fingernails drawing slow circles in his palm. It was more sensuous than he could have imagined. The scent of her beside him was intoxicating—the gardenia perfume filling his nostrils. He could almost feel her body heat.
“You have been bad, milord Syn,” she said. “You must be punished.”
He writhed against the wood. The roughness of the timber was digging into his back but it wasn’t unpleasant.
Not yet anyway.
She dragged her fingernails down his arm again, spiked her fingers through his underarm hair.
“I like a nicely thatched stand of hair here,” she said. “The thicker, the better.”
He grunted. Her comment aroused him for some strange reason and when she slid her fingernails across the upper part of his chest, he arched his hips. He wanted—no, he ached—for her to touch his nipples.
She circled one in a tight O—around and around—but never quite touched the hard little nub. Instead she drew her nails to the center of his chest and down the narrow, thick patch of hair that was his tiger line to the waistband of his shorts.
“I like the way your chest hair swirls,” she said. “Across your chest and to either side of your bellybutton.”
She dipped her fingertip into his bellybutton and he jerked, sucking in a startled breath.
“Do that again and I’ll leave you here and go back upstairs,” she said sternly. “Is that what you want, milord?”
He shook his head violently.
“I thought not.”
She traced firm little spirals inside his bellybutton, around it, across it, and with each pass he shivered. His breath was coming faster and shallower. He swallowed hard.
“You like that, don’t you?” she whispered then lowered her fingertip to the waistband of his shorts and ran it under the elastic across his belly. This time a hard shudder ran through him. “Oh, yeah. You like that.”
She took her hand away and he groaned.
“Hold that thought,” she said.
He turned his head, following her progress though he couldn’t see her. There was something very sensual, very sexy about the fact he was blind to what she was doing. It was a very heady authority she held and she was going to make the most of it. Coming back to the cross, she took the handles of the scissors and drew them gently from his ankle, up the middle of his shin, to his thigh. He writhed beneath her touch and made a little grunting noise when she switched legs and drew the handle from the thigh to the ankle of the opposite leg. She made the reverse trip from thigh to ankle but this time on the sensitive inside of his leg. He jumped when she switched back to the other leg and drew the handle a bit more firmly from ankle to thigh. She removed the handle and he growled low in his throat.
“Wanting a bit more, are you?” she asked.
She turned the scissors over in her hand, slipped her fingers through the holes then put the blade to the left leg of his shorts and began to slowly cut the material apart.
He tensed and it wasn’t because of the anticipation of her cutting away his shorts but because the blade was very close to his package.
“Don’t worry, baby,” she said. “Mama ain’t gonna damage the goods.”
The material slit from edge to waist, the elastic popped apart and he sucked in a breath. She put the blade to the opposite leg and began to snip. Once more he licked his lips and his breathing became audible.
“You know what I see?” she asked. “I see a big bulge right between your legs. Let’s see what happens when I peel the fabric back.”
He went still, stopped breathing until she plucked the center panel of his severed shorts from over his cock and laid it between his legs. His cock leapt, jutting straight out from his body.
“My, my, my, my, my,” she said. “Ain’t that something?”
He heard the rustle of silk and knew she had removed her robe.
“I’m naked now, Kiwi,” she said and his cock pulsed again. “And you can’t see what I’m about to do to you.”
She was trailing her fingers all over him. First his legs, then his hips. She ordered him to hike his arse from the cross then dragged the ruined shorts from under him. The rough wood of the cross stuck to his backside and it was not a pleasant feeling but her hands on him more than made up for the discomfort. Her fingernails grazed his lower belly, spiked through the hair there and up his tiger line. She ringed his nipples in ever decreasing circles until the tip of one nail scraped lightly over the swollen pap and he tugged against the clamps on his wrists.
“Lie still,” she warned.
He was grateful for the headrest. He pushed the back of his head against it and bit his lip to keep from moaning as she began to flick his nipples and pinch them lightly.
“And you like that, too,” she said. “I can tell. These little darlings are hard as pebbles.”
The moment her mouth touched his pec and her teeth closed around his left nipple he bucked as though he’d been spurred.
And in a manner of speaking he had been. She was doing things to his body that had him silently begging for her to ride him. He wanted to feel the wet heat of her cunt sheathing him so badly he had trouble drawing breath.
She kissed her way from his nipple to his shoulder, up his neck then took his chin to anchor his head as she took his mouth.
Electric shocks of raging desire flooded his lower body as she thrust her tongue boldly into his mouth. Her fingers were on one nipple—lightly pinching, tugging, flicking—and it was driving him mad. He struggled against the clamps, writhed beneath her kiss but she punished him for it by withdrawing both her mouth and her fingers.
“Do that again and I will leave you!” she warned. “Lie still, milord. This is your last warning.”
He wanted to whimper. He was no novice to bondage and sadism. He’d known his share of it. He liked to be hurt and that bothered him to some extent. Not enough to forego the pain but he had always drawn the line at the domination part of the equation. He liked the bondage. He liked the pain the women administered to him. He did not reciprocate by hurting them, giving them pain but he did like to dominate them. As for their dominion over him? Never.
Never dominance. That, he had never allowed the women he brought to the Dungeon or to the Room to do to him. That he allowed Melina to control him was telling. He was beginning to realize he would allow her to do almost anything to him and he’d gladly endure it—even the humiliation of being dominated.
Her mouth returned to his and she kissed him savagely for a moment then nibbled her way down his chin to the hollow of his throat. She licked him there then kissed her way down the middle of his chest to his bellybut
ton. He dug his fingernails into his palms in order to remain immobile. It would not do for him to garner her anger again. She would stop and she would leave him wanting with a hard-on so rigid it made his teeth ache.
She dragged her tongue over his bellybutton, pressed it inside then worked her way through his pubic curls to the place where his shaft met his groin.
Then she wrapped her hand around his cock and he could not stop the groan.
“And I think you like this, too, eh?” she said, running her fist lightly up and down—tugging, stretching.
He began to pant as she worked her hand on him. Her thumb rubbed over his head, pulled apart the slit and the pad of it—coated with his juices—rubbed all over the broad knob.
She slid her free hand between his legs and cupped his balls and he had to fight the release that had come galloping up to turn him into one very aroused, very hard man.
She let go of him and he whined with frustration but she barely gave him time to take a breath before she was straddling him and the hot core of her was pressed against his head.
“You want me?” she asked.
He nodded eagerly, licking his lips. Aching with need for her to sheath her cunt on him.
“Really?” she queried and then slid down him so quickly, so tightly, so firmly and so wetly he could not stop the orgasm that shot through him like summer lightning on a hot June night.
She rode him, rocked against him as the orgasm went on and on. He thought the top of his head would explode as the pleasure-pain jagged through his groin and shot up his spine to his head. He cried out as the last spurt left him and her cunt rippled around him from her own release.
“Synjyn!” she shouted. She bucked, ground against him one last time then collapsed upon his chest, her cheek to his shoulder, and her lips to his throat. Her hot breath scalded his flesh as she breathed heavily.
They lay that way for quite some time and he was amazed that he was still inside her when she finally moved and he slid free of her warm slickness. She moved off him and reached up to remove his blindfold. He blinked against the intrusion of the light then looked up into her beautiful face.
“This is not comfortable for me so I know it isn’t comfortable for you,” she said. “Let’s take the rest of this to the bed. Whatcha say?”
“Whatever you wish, milady,” he agreed. “Your every wish is my command.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Night Twenty-Nine
He woke her tossing and turning. Strange garbled sounds were coming from deep in his chest as he thrashed his head on the pillow. She hesitated touching him for fear of startling him. She eased to a sitting position and looked down at him. In the faint glow of the bathroom light she could see sweat glistening on his face.
“Kiwi,” she said softly. She called him three more times—each time louder than the last—until his eyes flashed open and flicked to hers. The moment she saw them widen she knew she shouldn’t have been hovering over him when he came awake.
With a sharp cry he sat bolt upright in the bed, cringing away from her. His chest was heaving and his breathing ragged. He was trembling violently.
“It’s me, baby,” she said in as calm a voice as she could muster. “It’s Melina.”
He stopped breathing and stared at her. His lips were parted and the little moan that came from the core of him broke her heart. “Melina?” he questioned, his voice higher than normal.
“Yes, sweetie. It’s me.” She slowly put her hand out to touch his face.
He shied away from her and she stilled.
“It’s okay,” she told him. “It’s just you and me here.”
“Here?” he repeated.
“In your bedroom,” she said. “At the Club.”
He slowly turned his head to take in his surroundings. What he saw made him visibly relax and he put a hand up to wipe at his sweaty face.
“You had a bad dream,” she said and saw him nod.
“Dream,” he repeated. “Yeah, it was a dream.” He lowered his body until his head was in her lap. “Just a dream.”
She gently put her hand on his head and stroked back his hair. He was hot to the touch and now and again a shudder undulated through him. He wrapped an arm around her thigh and held her to him.
“Just a dream,” he said again and she felt the tension leaving his body.
“Go back to sleep,” she said. “I’ll be right here. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She leaned back against the headboard and continued to stroke him. After a while she heard his breathing become slow and measured and knew he was asleep. She spent the remainder of the early morning hours alternating between looking down to watch him and staring across the room.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Night Thirty
Part One
“Who the hell could that be this early?” she grumbled as she ran out of the kitchen. It was only six a.m. She hurried to the door before the bell could sound again and jerked it open to find Jonny about to push it again.
“He’s asleep!” she said.
“Oh,” Jonny said. “I’ll come back later.” He turned to go.
“Jonny, wait!” she said and reached out to take his arm. “I need to ask you something.”
“Okay,” he said.
“I was on my way into the kitchen to make some coffee,” she said. “Want a cup?”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sloshing when I walk now. Lead the way. I wanna see the kitchen.”
He followed her and hopped up on a bar stool as she went about adding water to the coffee carafe.
“You know he ain’t never brought a woman here before,” he told her. “Not even Spike but she doesn’t count anyway.”
She looked around at him. “She counts to you,” she said with a smile and watched him blush.
“Yeah, well,” he said and looked away. “You know.”
“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word. “I do know.”
“So, what you wanna ask?” he queried, obviously not comfortable talking about his budding relationship with Spike.
“He has nightmares,” she said. “The other night and again last night.” She poured the water from the carafe into the coffeemaker well. “Do you know what they’re about?”
He ducked his head. “Yeah, maybe, but I don’t think he’d appreciate me talking about it.”
She reached for the canister on the counter marked Coffee and opened it. “I want to help him, Jonny but I can’t if I don’t know what I’m dealing with.”
“The dreams started when he was boxed-in at Parrie,” he said. “You know, prison?”
That was what she thought. “What can I do to get him over them?”
“Don’t know that you can,” he replied. “Don’t know anyone can.”
“You’ve tried?”
“Me and Craigie and Jake,” he told her.
“Maybe if you tell me what didn’t work I can try something that would,” she suggested.
“Well, first off, don’t try holding him,” he said. “That will only freak him out more.”
“I held him the other night in the Dungeon and he was all right with it,” she said. “I just rolled over and put my arm around him. I held him here last night and although he was tense, he went back to sleep.”
Jonny gave her a long look then nodded. “Could be ’cause you’re a girl. Any time Craigie or I’ve tried to shake him awake when he’s having one of them things, he gets dog-shit crazed and…” He suddenly paled. He was looking past her and she knew the Kiwi had come into the room.
She turned slowly. “We weren’t…” she began.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. He shifted his gaze to his friend. “You need something, Jono?”
“Ah, yeah,” Jono said. He cleared his throat. “You asked me to remind you about Kit’s birthday present.”
“I’ll take care of it. Anything else?”
“No,” Jono replied. His cheeks were burning from hav
ing been caught talking about his friend.
“I’ll give them a call to let them know you’re coming to pick it up,” he said.
“Yeah, choice,” Jono said. He gave her a fleeting smile then walked quickly from the room.
She looked at her lover and felt as guilty as she knew Jonny did.
“Come here, baby,” he said, holding out his hand.
She went to him. “I’m sorry, Kiwi,” she said as he drew her into his arms. “I was worried and…”
“I think you know what happened to me at Parrie. It happens to a lot of men. It’s over with and I’m dealing with it,” he said softly. “It bothers me to speak of it so we won’t talk about it again. Okay?”
She closed her eyes—hurting for him—and held him tighter to her. “Okay.”
“Let’s get going. I’m starving and I know this little place that serves the best Southern breakfasts. I’m addicted to grits and four scrambled eggs with cut up patty sausages all mixed up together. Slather me half a dozen slices of wheat toast with mayhaw jelly on them and I’m in hog heaven.”
“You eat all that and you’ll be in heaven sooner than you think,” she cautioned.
“After we eat, I’ll drop you off at your place,” he told her.
“Come to Mass with me,” she asked but he shook his head.
“Not yet,” he told her. He slid his hands to hers, leaned down to put his forehead to hers and playfully rubbed her nose. “I need to go to confession first.”
“You like doing that, don’t you?” she asked, thinking of all the times he’d laid his forehead to hers.
“That’s the Māori way.”
“Sorta like the Eskimos,” she said then blushed, thinking about the dildo in the glass front cabinet.
He laughed. “Yeah, like that but without the lube.”
She knew he was referring to the vibrator and felt the heat burning her cheeks. He grinned wickedly then let go of her right hand to tug her behind him.
* * * * *
The doorbell rang and she went to answer it. Jake was standing outside her door. He looked dapper in a three-piece suit and was carrying a briefcase.
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