Enthrall Him (Enthrall Sessions Book 3)

by Fewings, Vanessa

  “He calmed down.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Well, he trusts me. Completely.” Cameron glanced at his watch. “I’ve kept him updated on your training. He’s excited with your progress. He’s grateful. My job is to keep you safe.”

  “You’re both lucky I’m not the crazy girl type,” I said. “If I was you’d have unleashed hell on yourselves.”

  “I profiled you. Your affection towards me is endearing.”

  “Cameron, I’ll always—”

  “Let’s go over what’s expected as we proceed toward your return.”

  I swallowed hard at his transition.

  With a glance around, I confirmed our conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

  Cameron spoke firmly, as though making a presentation in a boardroom, explaining intricately the expectations of a true master and submissive relationship.

  The kind Richard wanted.

  Demanded.

  I must follow every order willingly and without hesitation, always available for sex and, more controversial still, should Richard and I ever be out in public I must always show respect and never contradict him.

  I slid my fork over the dessert plate and scraped up what was left of the sauce. I lifted it to my mouth and licked it off, trailing my tongue over chocolate covered prongs, my gaze locked on Cameron.

  “It’s going to be a challenge for you, Mia.” His gaze settled on my lips. “Despite this, I believe it will help you control your smart mouth and teach you to listen more. There are benefits.”

  “There are more benefits for my master if I’m subservient.”

  “You’ll be spoiled beyond belief.”

  “But must compromise my free speech.”

  “It’s a lifestyle choice. One you’ve chosen.”

  “I’ve so enjoyed today,” I said. “I must thank Dr. Finely for his suggestion that we should just go off and have some fun. Thank you, Cameron. ”

  His stare lingered, as though chastising me for changing the subject. “You underestimate me.”

  I looked at him questioningly.

  “You also misunderstood Dr. Finely. He wants you to know just how far I’m willing to push you. Just how unsuited we are for each other. This time together is about easing our separation.”

  “Sounds sinister.”

  “You’re ill suited to sinister. I have alternative means of degradation.”

  What did that mean?

  He reached into his pocket and placed a small navy silk pouch into my palm. “Return to me with these in.”

  Pulling the string open I peeked inside—

  Venus balls.

  Having not known what these were upon my initial hiring at Enthrall, they’d gotten me fired. I was reassured these were not the same ones gifted to me by Monsieur Trouville back at Enthrall. These were intricately gold embossed spheres.

  My focus returned to Cameron’s burning stare.

  “This is a fine example of the kind of hesitation a master will not tolerate,” he said sternly.

  Obeying, I rose from my chair and followed the signs for the powder room, clutching this small velvet pouch as a thrill shot up my spine.

  Discovering Richard took pleasure in sharing me left an unexplored doubt. It did however lift my guilt for all the amazing sex I’d had with Cameron. I pushed those thoughts aside, resigning to the fact they’d have to be returned to later.

  Inside the luxury cubicle, I mused these beautiful restrooms were only rivaled by the ones back at Chrysalis. I pulled down my panties and inserted those delicate balls. A rush of pleasure engulfed my sex as my fingers nudged them up farther inside. My thumb circled my clit to tease.

  Leaning up against the bathroom stall door, I stole a few seconds to savor the ripples of pleasure between my thighs. A naughty sub flicking her clit in rebellion.

  Which didn’t exactly help and only made my need more intense.

  After washing my hands and catching my flushed cheeks in the mirror, seeing a hint of vixen in my expression, I returned to sit beside Cameron.

  Exhilarated to be back in his favor.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said breathlessly.

  “You obeyed?”

  “Yes.” A bite of my lip. A pout of pleasure.

  Cameron gave a nod of approval. “We were discussing your training.”

  Half-distracted, I noticed our teacups were topped up. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  A buzzing inside brought blinding pleasure.

  Pressing my fingertips to my lips, I tried to understand why my pussy was pulsating, deliciously quivering. These fricken balls were vibrating.

  I shot Cameron a look.

  His hand was inside his coat pocket.

  The buzzing stopped.

  “Are these remote?” I said huskily. “Are you controlling—”

  They fired up again.

  Spasms of pleasure snatched my next breath.

  I scanned the room, self-conscious someone might notice, but the pulsing was so intense it made me freeze, slump forward slightly, and let out a deep sigh.

  “It’s an interesting fact that Freud believed a clitoral orgasm was infantile,” said Cameron casually, “and a vaginal orgasm represented maturity. Womanhood.”

  “That’s interesting,” I managed. “Please, turn it off.”

  “Sir,” he admonished.

  “Sir.”

  The buzz revved up another notch, the intensity causing me to blush wildly, to squirm, to lean back and clutch the table. The vibrations shot jolts of erotic spasms into my clit. Tingly, mind altering sensations reached my belly then rose up to my nipples, which were taut and wantonly pointing through my blouse.

  “You were saying?” said Cameron.

  “It’s too much.”

  “I love watching you come,” he whispered.

  I pounced on his pocket, reaching in. My fingers wrapped around the remote and tugged at it. His strong fingers wrapped around mine.

  We grappled for it.

  He grabbed it back and my fingernails dug in to his hand as I pried the device away from him, trying to ignore this blissful pussy party going on in my panties.

  He had the remote again and fired it up onto full.

  I’d never heard Cameron giggle before and he sounded so cute, so adorable, but I wasn’t letting him off lightly. Snatching the device out of his pocket, I brought it to my lap, using my napkin to cover it.

  I sat back in my seat, ecstatic with my win, and turned it off, steadying my breathing. “Freud was wrong,” I said, sucking in another deep breath. “Wanna know why?”

  Cameron grinned. “Do share your theory, Ms. Lauren.”

  “He didn’t have a vagina,” I said. “You men are so arrogant. You’re always on about Freud’s ‘Penis envy theory.’”

  “Always on about?” He shook his head, amused. “Actually, that theory was presented in 1908. There’s been substantial exploration of it since. Including my own extensive testing.”

  “Apparently you’re not asking the right questions.”

  “Have a theory you’d like to share, Ms. Lauren?”

  I leaned towards him and switched the vibrator back on low, whispering close to his ear, “There’s nothing like a clitoral and vaginal orgasm at the same time, sir. You guys are missing out. Truth is, you men have clit envy.”

  His irises dilated, his jaw tensed, and he wore that feral expression.

  “I’m so wet, sir.” I purred the words. “I’m fantasizing about your cock inside me.” I hovered my lips close to his. “Your cock is complemented by your finger strumming my clit.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m fantasizing about being upside down again back in your office,” I added huskily. “Your mouth on me. My tongue lapping at your balls. And if you’re lucky, I might suck you. Hard.” I gave him an oh yeah look.

  Followed by a you’re a lucky bastard look.

  “Mia.” He grinned.

  “Sir,” I whispered.
“I’m coming right now. Right here. And it feels amazing.”

  “Mia.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  He arched a brow and gestured behind me.

  Sarah, our waitress, had returned with the check. “Um, I’ll just leave this on your table then.” She scurried away.

  Oh. My. God.

  I turned the vibrator off. And slapped my hand over my mouth.

  Cameron laughed hysterically, wiping away tears as he pulled crisp new pounds from his wallet and placed them on the silver dish.

  “Oh bloody hell,” I said, mimicking an English accent.

  Cameron went off into another fit of giggles and grabbed my hand, mercifully leading me out of the café. My cheeks were scarlet and my embarrassment threatened never to lift.

  Cameron took the remote off me.

  “I know, I know,” I muttered. “Only good girls get to come.”

  “Well at least you’ve remembered one thing I’ve taught you.”

  “Where are we going now?” I said. “Does Harrods sell playroom accoutrements?”

  He squeezed my hand. “Lingerie. My sub needs new panties.”

  CHAPTER 9

  I IMAGINED HOW scared she must have been.

  Lady Jane Grey had been beheaded right there on the lawn before the white tower. The year had been 1554.

  Cameron and I had listened intently, along with the group of other tourists, taking in every word that Ted spoke. Our guide wore the traditional suit of a Beefeater, dressed in a red uniform and wearing a large hat.

  Cameron led me away, and not surprisingly seemed to know just as much as our guide on Lady Jane. She had, Cameron informed me, been crowned Queen of England for only nine days. Apparently she failed to gain the needed support of the other members in the Privy Council. Probably they’d been offered land and wealth should they offer their support to another monarch, a shrewdness lacking in Jane Grey’s camp. Mary I, the only child of Henry VIII and his first wife Catherine of Aragon, assembled a force to depose Jane, and ensured the council changed sides.

  The decision led to an accusation of treason for Lady Jane, and after six months locked away in a dungeon here, Queen Mary I gave the order for Jane’s execution.

  Cameron told me that one of the most compelling paintings of the actual incident had been captured by French artist Paul Delaroche, and historians believed Delaroche must have read the accounts documenting the day of Lady Jane’s execution.

  Soon after climbing the scaffold, Jane had blindfolded herself. As she fumbled forwards, she failed to find the block with her hands, and cried, “What shall I do? Where is it?” Seconds before, she’d given a profound speech and asked for forgiveness. A statement based on wanting nothing bad to happen to her loved ones, no doubt.

  Other than being cajoled into accepting the crown of England, she’d done nothing wrong.

  “She was only sixteen years old when they executed her,” said Cameron, staring off.

  “British history is horrible,” I said.

  Cameron shook his head and led me across the green. “I imagine one day even this time will be looked back on with horror.”

  “Even though we’ve come so far?”

  “We still have such a long way to go.”

  He told me the tower had once been the tallest building in London, though it was eventually overshadowed by the city that grew up around it.

  The London Tower was a thousand years old.

  We took our time viewing the well guarded exhibition of the crown jewels, the royal armory, and lingered a while in the part of the tower that showcased the torture devices. Both of us viewed with fascination the replica of the rack used to ensure Guy Fawkes confession. The contraption dislocated every bone in the body, causing so much pain you’d confess, guilty or not.

  According to the brass plaque next to the rack, Guy Fawkes had been caught red handed and his torture was used to get him to reveal his co-conspirators.

  I was reassured Cameron was equally taken aback by some of the pieces. The last thing I needed to see was a look of arousal when he took in any of these suckers.

  When I shared this with Cameron, he fell into another fit of laughter. I enjoyed seeing him having fun, despite the downer mood of this place.

  I reminded him I’d had the displeasure of seeing Chrysalis’s own collection of torture devices hidden away in a dungeon. A gathering of contraptions owned by Cameron’s predecessor, apparently, and evidently a man with a morbid curiosity. No way did I want to live under the roof of any home that housed these things.

  Behind a glass case lay a three foot by two foot chopping block, which was made in the Victorian era, so visitors could get their fill of gruesome. I wondered if it was a replica of the one Lady Jane Grey had rested upon.

  Cameron and I explored the tower’s uppermost prison cells. We joined up with a tour group and learned from the young vibrant guide about the many famous men and woman in history who’d been detained in these very cells.

  After twenty minutes or so, we were invited to look around on our own.

  I went on ahead of Cameron, noting that old brass key in the large wooden and brass studded door. It reminded me of my mom’s old key collection. It would be lost to history now, like those old photos of my childhood, or those toys I’d once loved until they’d fallen apart.

  Perhaps that’s all we want really, I thought, not to be forgotten after our death. Needing to believe our lives have meaning. Those words spoken by Lady Jane Grey seconds before she’d been beheaded were proof enough she’d hoped not to be forgotten.

  I ran my fingers over the thick stone bricks and uneven cement, marveling these dated back a millennium. These same walls had detained prisoners. I imagined the captives peering out their cell turret, fearing not only for their future but that the rest of the world had forgotten them.

  The men must have regretted their religious or political outbursts that had gotten them imprisoned, or those once queens held captive had to have rued the day they’d caught the eye of the king. Apparently, Catherine Howard had only been nineteen when she was beheaded, though rumor had it she was younger.

  My fingers traced the grooves and fissures where prisoners had left their mark by carving graffiti into the stone. These thick walls were meant to hold in the heat, but in here, with no fireplace, they must have been frozen to the bone during those long winter nights. The echoes from other dungeons resounded, and perhaps cries from the other prisoners would have carried during those long dark nights.

  I patted my arms to hold off the chill.

  This place had to be haunted, and I told Cameron that.

  “We’re more at risk from the ghosts of our past ever haunting,” he said wistfully.

  “We need to free them,” I said. “To find peace.”

  He bowed his head and ambled off, trailing his hand along the wall as though the melancholy of this place had gotten to him.

  My feet froze rigid to the ground.

  Cameron had once told me he had no regrets, no demons that tortured him. That he’d found this lifestyle of BDSM and enjoyed it freely without trying to purge his pain from his past.

  From what he’d just told me, that didn’t make any sense. What if, like me, he had pain so deeply embedded he didn’t know it was there?

  I doubled back down the stone hallway, heading the way we’d come, and went straight for the brass main door.

  Cameron was an enigma. There were so many facets to him, so many colors, and after all he’d given me, done for me, I needed to feel I’d at least given him something profound in return. I wanted to ensure his chance of finding happiness.

  Finding her.

  Shay had hinted at a possible clue to a shadow hanging over Cameron. Perhaps even the reason he was so controlling, so unwilling to let go and truly love.

  I refused to leave Cameron with any kind of pain dwelling in him.

  I owed him this.

  I turned the brass key in the lock.

&n
bsp; And waited.

  Cameron reappeared and patted his arms. “It’s cold,” he said, and went for the door.

  I moved in behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and he spun around and nudged me back against the wall, pressing his body into mine and kissing me firmly. He broke into a smile against my lips and my heart melted.

  “Body warmth,” he whispered. “Brilliant idea.”

  “I’d like to talk with you,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  “Learn more about you. Understand you better.”

  He nudged me away. “I’ve told you before, Mia. What you see is what you get.” He moved toward the door and turned the doorknob. “Well that’s not good.” He peered over at me.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “You’re insatiable, Mia. Where’s the key?”

  “You locked me in a dungeon. This is karma.”

  He looked amused.

  “And you tied me to the wall,” I said. “With a chain.”

  He brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “You were extraordinary under capture.”

  “Cameron, I’m serious.”

  He stared at me. “You’re having second thoughts on its efficacy?”

  “No, of course not. It helped. You freed me from my subconscious psychological pain. Now it’s my turn to reciprocate.”

  “Where did you hide the key?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be hidden.”

  “What is this?”

  “I’ve discovered why you refuse to love.”

  His gaze broke away from mine. “It’s a matter of finding the right person.”

  “Cameron,” I whispered. “I was in the room with Dr. Finely. I heard everything. I know what Amare means.”

  “Stephen threw that out—” Cameron waved his hand –“as a theory, not a fact.”

  “I know about Afghanistan.”

  He went quiet.

  Footsteps shuffled along out there on stone. The voices of strangers moved away.

  Confusion marred Cameron’s face. “Who have you been speaking with?”

  “Someone who cares deeply for you.”

  His gaze searched the ground.

  “I know what happened.”

  “The key, Mia. Please.”

  “Not until you talk about it.”