Oliver stood and grabbed a soft, cotton robe that hung from the coat rack and flung it in Anaïs’s direction. He fumbled with the key in his hand and removed the handcuff from her wrist. “Your friend’s been here. Get your ass out of bed and put that on. We need to talk.”
Combing her dainty fingers through her hair to get it out of her face, Anaïs rose up from the bed. Still naked, she draped the bathrobe over his shoulders and tied the bulky fabric at the waist. Then, she sat back on the corner of the mattress, her posture stiff and her demeanor serious. She picked up the photograph and turned it over.
After a few minutes, she finally caved. With a heavy sigh, the vampire begrudgingly rehashed the details of her sad, storied past. Oliver took note of her squared jaw and the stern, even cadence of her voice. Her eyes looked glazed over, her face void of emotion. She told him all about her life before she’d been turned including her father’s unspeakable treachery and Christine’s friendship and fidelity. Much of it, Oliver had already heard from Eva and Andreas. Yet hearing the specifics first hand made Oliver feel sullen and sick to his stomach. While he wasn’t a parent, he couldn’t imagine a father’s blatant disregard for his own child. Sad but true, life’s unfortunate circumstances had led to two distinct things: the vampire’s genuine hatred toward men and an inclination to keep her emotions at bay. Both of those characteristics, Oliver understood well.
Once Anaïs’s oral history veered toward her time at Moulin Rouge, he saw her eyes light up. It was obvious that dance had saved her from a lifetime of lonely discontent. Also, he could tell by the way her curves swayed to the sound of music and how her body had responded as they’d danced. However, Pierre’s twisted romantic fixation, compounded by her best friend’s sudden death, forced her into solitude once again.
Oliver squeezed his lover’s hand, the one that still lingered on his chest. “Thank you for trusting me. Pierre sounds like one sick son of a bitch. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to gather much intel on him. He keeps a fairly low profile. Can you think of anything we may have missed? A hobby or favorite pastime, perhaps?”
Anaïs chuckled, her head jostling heartily as she laughed. “Pierre spends his free time drinking, gambling, and scamming for chicks. That’s about it.”
“That much, I gathered. But can you be a bit more specific? Does he hang out at sleazy strip joints? Old fashioned pubs?”
“Not a chance. Pierre’s got a shitload of money and he likes to flaunt it. He’d most likely frequent an exclusive, members-only gentlemen’s club. But from what I hear, he’s turned into a bit of a snob. He won’t want to rub elbows with just anyone. It’d have to be a place run by the undead.”
“That’s a start. I’ll give Eva and Andreas a call and see if they’ve got any leads. In the meantime, it’s back to bed for you. The sun will be up soon.”
Once back in his office, Oliver turned on his laptop and logged into the video conference program he and Eva had agreed to utilize in case they needed to consult during her trip. He hated to disrupt her honeymoon, but he had no other recourse. He was at his wits end and needed to pick her brain. As far as he knew, an upscale gentleman’s club for bloodsuckers didn’t exist.
Soon an image of Eva popped up on the computer monitor. She sat in a simple wooden chair with Andreas behind her, straddling her rear. Their hands rested comfortably next to the keyboard, fingers entwined.
“Hey boss. How’s the investigation going?” Eva asked, her cheek nuzzled in the crook of her husband’s neck. The two of them seemed happy, like the picture perfect newlywed couple.
“Not so great,” Oliver said, scrubbing his hand over his face. “We’re pretty much at a dead end in terms of leads. I was hoping you two would be able to help.”
“Sure, anything you need.” Andreas turned his genuinely handsome smile toward the screen. “Anaïs is family and I appreciate you looking out for her. This Pierre guy sounds like some piece of work.”
“He is.” Oliver tapped his fingertips against his jaw, something he’d been prone to do in times of nervousness or deep contemplation. “He’s left a trail of bloody, dismembered bodies in his wake. Anaïs seems to think he might be into something a bit kinkier than most. Have either of you heard inklings of an underground vampire BDSM club?”
Oliver smirked as he observed the knowing glance shared between husband and wife. “Go ahead. Tell him.” Eva groaned as she wriggled in Andreas’s arms, then pivoted her head and planted a loving kiss to the corner of his lip.
Andreas cleared his throat, shifting in the chair behind his mate. “I know of such a place. The club is called Blood & Bondage and it’s rumored to be located somewhere on
Prince Street
in suburban SoHo.”
Oliver tilted his head sideways and stared at the computer monitor, completely perplexed. He couldn’t imagine that Eva would be caught dead in a joint like that. But hell, he supposed being married to a vampire forced her to live life on the edge.
“What?” Eva said, furrowing her brow in question. “I’ve, no we’ve never been there, right honey?”
“No way, dude. I’m not into that sort of thing. But one of my bartenders, Bobby DuBois, has been known to frequent the establishment with a couple of his girlfriends.”
“Girlfriends?” Oliver wasn’t sure if he’d heard Andreas right.
“Yes, girlfriends.” The vampire confirmed Oliver’s suspicions with a nod of his head. “Savannah and Sienna are twins. The three of them have got an unusual arrangement. They could probably get you in, if you want?”
“That’d be great. Have him give me a call. The sooner, the better.”
“Will do,” Andreas said with a salute. “I’ll talk to you soon.” Then, the screen went blank.
Anaïs at a BDSM club? Now that’s something I want to see.
Chapter Eleven
Pushing the Boundaries
Anaïs tumbled into the shower the minute the sun had set. She hated to wash away Oliver’s delicious masculine scent lingering on her skin. Still, the hot spray of water felt good on her stiff, overworked limbs. She hadn’t slept well at all. Throughout the day, she’d lounged in bed, falling in and out of sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, thoughts of her and Oliver’s lovemaking flashed through her mind. But those luscious memories weren’t what kept her awake. On the contrary, it was the glint of a knife and the image of an unknown woman’s disfigured face that refused to let her get any rest.
Anaïs closed her eyes and laid her forehead against the cool stone tiles of the shower stall. She couldn’t take much more of Pierre’s games. She might as well pack up and go home before anyone else got hurt. Unfortunately, the BPA was now involved and they wouldn’t let her simply walk away.
From behind her, Anaïs heard the pane of the glass door slide open. She didn’t have to glance in that direction in order to discern who it was. Oliver’s distinct musky aroma combined with the steam of the shower proved to be a heady, intoxicating blend. At that moment, sex would have been good. A welcome distraction, at the very least.
Oliver, it seemed, had other means at his disposal to help take her mind off the inevitable. With both hands, he reached for her shoulders, kneading the tight, fatigued muscles underneath the skin. He pressed his palms into her malleable flesh, loosening the bulge of knots that had formed there. The tension in her body had evolved into an ugly, palpable beast. With his help, her twisted joints somewhat relented. Then Oliver used the tips of his fingers to run up and down the length of her spine. The sensation caused Anaïs to shiver, inevitably wiggling her backside against his firm erection.
Oliver reared back slightly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then leaned his head close, placing a feather-light kiss to her exposed throat. “Sorry, love. Playtime is going to have to wait a bit. We’ve got places to go and people to see.”
“What do you mean?” Anaïs asked, her interest piqued.
“Eva and Andreas gave me a lead. If the rumors are true, th
ere’s a club that lets vampires explore a whole slew of deviant desires. Shall we scope it out?”
“Oh! That sounds like fun.”
“Glad you think so. Now let’s finish cleaning you up.” Oliver grabbed a loofah that hung from a hook, and poured a dollop of liquid soap in the center of it. He used the sponge to caress Anaïs’s sensitive skin, lathering her breasts and belly with suds that smelled of lavender and mint. Then his hand moved lower, tracing the curvature of her ass and the nub of her raw, swollen clit. She moaned, reveling in the feel of the stiff bristles against her clamoring bundle of nerves.
“Recline your head. Let me wash your hair.”
His fingers slid through her damp tresses, moistening the ends under the penetrating heat of the spray. Pouring shampoo into his palm, he worked the liquid into a rich lather and applied it to her scalp. Anaïs groaned, then relaxed against her lover’s broad shoulder while his nails gently manipulated the follicles of her hair. She knew that Oliver hadn’t meant the gesture to be erotic. But nonetheless, it turned out to be one of the most sensual experiences she’d ever endured. When he was through, he towel dried her body and left her alone to get dressed. Anaïs had never felt more needy or bereft.
The outfit he’d picked out for her didn’t help the situation much. It was a red latex cat suit with zippers conspicuously sewn into all the right locales. There was a long rectangular opening that spanned from crotch to rear, and two others shaped like spheres that encircled her small breasts. The cat o’ nine tails Oliver had bought for her had been set just to the left of the sleek ensemble.
Pushing the boundaries, are we? Anaïs said to herself at the same time Oliver sauntered back into the room.
“We have to. Playing the role of dominant and submissive is a must. This time, you’ll get to tie me up,” Oliver said as he shot her a wickedly sexy grin.
“All’s fair in love and war, baby. What’s this club called anyway?” Anaïs inquired out of sheer curiosity.
“Blood & Bondage. Rather fitting, isn’t it?
****
Bobby DuBois met them by the curb on the corner of Prince and Mercer Streets. Located in the basement of a building owned by a prominent New York CPA, they descended the steps and waited in front of an unmarked entrance. Along with Oliver and Anaïs, Bobby’s twin girlfriends, Savannah and Sienna, tagged along too. Their golden-blonde hair and hourglass figures were certain to turn the heads of bloodsuckers on the hunt for human companionship.
The vampire who ushered them inside was a burly fellow with a belly like Buddha. He smiled as Bobby passed by, no doubt familiar with the double trouble that often accompanied him. However, it was Oliver who drew the most attention dressed as her super-submissive stud. When the doorman saw him, his eyes sprang open in surprise. Who wouldn’t have gawked at a man dressed so docile and domesticated? He wore a pair of tight jeans sans shirt and a black, spiky collar attached with a chain to his mistress’ voluptuous hip.
So that no one would recognize him, Oliver had shaved his head bald and slipped on some dark colored contacts to mask the brilliant blue of his eyes. The well-defined ridges of his muscular torso had been smothered in shimmering body oil. He’d clearly gone to a lot of trouble to transform his appearance on account of this role. Good thing, too. After all, Anaïs knew that her lover’s name and face were on vampire hit lists in every major city nestled along the Eastern seaboard.
Once they’d passed snuff with the bouncer, the two groups parted ways, Oliver and Anaïs headed in one direction and the threesome in another. As the two lovebirds meandered through the crowd, Anaïs could feel several sets of menacing red orbs following their every move. They watched and waited to see exactly what type of tricks the dominatrix had in store for her sexy indentured servant.
Other than the barrage of crimson stares, Anaïs found it difficult to make out faces. She did, however, recognize the guttural moans and groans of pleasure that came from every corner of the room. In addition, the loud bass of hard rock pounded against the walls, making the foundation of the building rattle and hum. The place had been painted in black with only a few dim strobe lights that flashed on and off at intermittent rates.
Using the leash he’d insisted she employ, Anaïs paraded her boy toy across the length of the room. She only released him long enough to shackle his arms and legs to the hooks that hung from the walls and low-lying ceiling.
“Are you sure we can do this?” Anaïs asked with trepidation. She wasn’t necessarily keen on public exhibition, especially since they had to make their act appear legitimate. If their resolve wavered for even a second, the bloodsuckers in the club would see through it and surely pounce.
“I’m up to the task. I promise to be a good little sub,” he whispered huskily into her ear, making goose bumps form on already sensitive skin. “What about you?”
“This isn’t generally my scene. But I’m a dancer. I’m used to being on stage.” Anaïs drew back. She stared into the depths of her lover’s eyes, gauging his mood. “You do realize, I’ll have to bite you. If not, these fuckers won’t buy the charade.”
Oliver shrugged his shoulders, then handed Anaïs the flogger he’d kept huddled at his side. “No safe word, eh? Well, I suppose you’ve earned a bit of retribution.”
Anaïs squared her shoulders, then yanked on the chains that bound him to ensure they were secure. She had to make her role as dominatrix seem real. After a brief moment of hesitation, she strutted around his tightly-coiled body, her perusal gluttonous and intense. At least she hoped that’s the way it looked. As she encircled him, the cat o’ nine tails she held in her hand lashed at the rippled muscle on his chest. Damn, she found Oliver impossible to resist. Once again, the urge to ravage him had snuck up on her. There was something about his refined masculinity that kept her perpetually ensnared. God, she couldn’t wait to sample the rare, well-preserved vintage of his blood.
Standing behind him, Anaïs raked her razor-tipped fingernails down the curve of his spine. Then she cracked the whip again and watched his body wince. Her hand drifted up, two bloody fingers teetered on the ridge of her lower lip. A few seconds later, her tongue slithered out and sucked the rich, red deliciousness off the fingertips.
That tiny tidbit of her lover’s life essence drove Anaïs’s libido into an all-out frenzy. Moisture from her womb soaked through the slick fabric of her clothing. The warm, slippery wetness slid down her inner thighs. Her hardened nipples sprang to life, rubbing painfully against the clingy latex cat suit. She wanted to tear open the sphere-shaped zippers and thrust her bosom into his face. But with an audience in tow, forcing her sub to do it with his teeth would make for a much more convincing show.
At his mistress’ decree, Oliver lowered his head and obliged, unzipping the fabric that covered each breast in one fell swoop. His puckered mouth took one plump areola into his mouth, while he rolled the roughness of his weathered palm over the other.
“Suck harder, damn it! For Christ’s sake, do as I command.” Anaïs screamed loud enough for the masses to overhear.
Oliver’s low rumble reverberated against her skin. No doubt he was turned on, almost as much as she. With their bodies in such close proximity, she could hear the man’s heart beating in his chest. His carotid artery pulsed wildly on the side of his neck and she could no longer war with her instincts.
Anaïs felt her sharp, serrated canines emerge, ready to pierce her lover’s supple flesh. With his mouth still suckling her breast, she reached down and clasped his enormous cock through his jeans, stroking its length until he purred like a cat. Once in the throes of pleasure, she sank her fangs deep, siphoning his blood greedily.
Oliver bucked slightly, then groaned in a clear attempt to remain in control. She knew it must have taken everything he had not to yank on the chains and pull out the stake attached to his hip. To hell with the fact that her bite had made both of them feel good.
Anaïs pulled back, releasing the suction from their pleasure racked bodies. Br
iefly, she gazed at his face. His eyes still swirled with sexual intent. The flush of his cheeks and the sweat on his brow served as proof that Oliver, too, had enjoyed their display.
Anaïs growled as her tongue swept over the twin pinpricks she’d left in his neck in order to cauterize the open wound. Her shy insecurities had been replaced by desire. “Don’t move, lover boy. The show’s not over yet.”
Chapter Twelve
The Voyeur
“Be careful, Dom. Another stunt like that and I’m likely to soil my boxer shorts.”
“Don’t you dare. Only I can tell you when to come,” Anaïs snapped the spines of the rose-tipped flogger along the flank of his torso. Oliver flinched, the momentum of his body causing him to shrink back against the wall.
The dominatrix swooped in during her lover’s apparent moment of weakness. She seized the waistband of his pants, and tugged on the buttons until the head of his shaft peeked out from the top of his boxers. Already, Anaïs could see a drop of thick, creamy seed resting on the tip. At the same time, fluids once again moistened her crotch.
She shoved Oliver’s jeans to his knees, then bent down to lick the speck of cum onto the surface of her puckered lips. In response, her lover slammed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. He was on the verge to ejaculation, she could tell.
The flavor of his semen made Anaïs’s inner muscles clench, hungry for her own earth-shattering release. She crossed her legs and swiveled her feet, grinding her ass against Oliver’s stiff erection. With two fingers, she massaged the nub of her feverish core. Then she turned her head and pressed her mouth against her lover’s. The kiss was desperate, agonizingly intense. She groaned into his mouth. The need to sheath her pussy on Oliver’s cock decimated her rigid control.
Slow and deliberate, Anaïs unzipped the flap that kept her covered up, letting the cool air hit her hot, aching clit. She rose up on her tiptoes and rotated her hips. The subtle movement parted her folds, and then enveloped his shaft with her femininity.
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