Cheyenne McCray - [Lexi Steele 01]

by The First Sin

  When Tarantino drew away from the kiss he smiled, his expression filled with sex and passion. Those green eyes of his were somehow mesmerizing. “Cuffs,” he said in a voice that sounded distant as he spoke to someone else, but he kept his gaze on me. “Hands in front of you, little slave.”

  I obeyed, and the skin around his beautiful green eyes crinkled with pleasure. It took me a moment to realize he was buckling a pair of leather handcuffs to my wrists.

  “Raise your arms.” He guided my arms over my head.

  My gaze drifted up as he raised my arms and I saw that I was beneath a very large silver hook hanging from a long silver chain. Tarantino took me by the waist, raised me slightly so that I was on the tips of my toes, and someone else hooked the chain linking the cuffs over the hook.

  I was cuffed. Hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Most of my body bared.

  Tarantino turned his head to the crowd of onlookers. “Mistress Danica. Have one of your subs strip this slave. Leave the cuff.”

  Oh, shit.

  He returned his gaze to mine. “Any time you want to stop, say the safe word you will give your Dom. It will all be over and you’ll have failed the test.”

  Fail? Yeah, right. Bring it on.

  Kathy and Samuel moved toward me and removed the bits of leather and took off my heels.

  Even though I’d half expected this, when they finished everyone had to see how red my entire body must be from embarrassment. It was like I was on fire, the flames rising from my toes to my scalp and then never stopping.

  “Beautiful,” I heard through the buzzing in my ears. “Who gets to flog her?”

  “No idea who Tarantino will pick, but if it’s me, I’ll give it to her good.”

  I prayed it wasn’t that last voice.

  “We have a new Dom joining us tonight.” Tarantino gestured with a nod to my right. “Known elsewhere as Sire Dunning. This slave will be his test to see if he earns that title here.”

  My gaze followed Tarantino’s and my stomach gave a lurch.

  Donovan. Carrying a very long bullwhip.

  I didn’t know if the twisting in my belly was from relief at seeing him, from the desire to be on the other end of that whip, or from embarrassment. It was bad enough having a roomful of people seeing me naked while I was whipped, much less my new partner.

  But damn did he fill out a tight pair of leather pants extraordinarily well. They molded to his muscular legs and I could imagine just how butter-soft that leather would be beneath my hands. His hips were trim, and I bet his backside was just as nice.

  And dear God, his chest was bared. All those muscles that had been hidden by shirts before were now slick with oil.

  Donovan was so different from Gary, and not nearly as packed with muscle.

  But Donovan was so much more powerful-looking and in his presence, in every well-defined cut of his muscles, his potent sexuality radiated from him. His shoulders were broader than I realized. His arms and chest bunched with raw power. Not only did his biceps look more cut, his thick forearms and strong wrists seemed more so now that he was bare-chested. Not an ounce of spare flesh on his body.

  On those thick wrists he was wearing his cuffs, one on each wrist.

  But he had a dark look on his features and when his brilliant blue eyes met mine he narrowed his, like he was pissed.

  “Lower your eyes, slave.” The order came out in a bark and he snapped the whip. It gave a loud crack that startled me into remembering my role, and I looked at his crotch instead of his eyes. Not a bad view.

  “May I?” Donovan said, and I knew he was asking Tarantino if he could start.

  My arms ached from bearing my weight. This reminded me of the time I was in the Mexican prison, before I escaped. Then the Cuban prison before I was recruited by RED.

  This would be a piece of cake.

  Angel food cake, which I hated.

  “Make sure you don’t mark her below her ass, above her breasts, or on her arms,” Tarantino was saying. “It wouldn’t do to have signs of her test show once she’s dressed again and walking out of my club.”

  Every word he said brought me closer and closer to the realization that this was real.

  “Thank you, Master Tarantino.” Donovan gave a quick bow of his head that I saw from beneath my lashes.

  “Every Dom should be highly skilled with a bullwhip,” Tarantino said. “You might be considered a Sire elsewhere, but we require that you show us your abilities before you earn your title here.”

  Donovan said, “Of course, Master Tarantino.”

  The beating of my heart grew harder and faster as Tarantino took his seat on a couch and observed Donovan and me as if he were watching a television show.

  Donovan moved so close that his chest nearly brushed my breasts. His familiar scent was masked by the musky scent his torso was oiled with.

  He put the handle of the whip under my chin and forced me to look at him as he leaned in close. Very close. “Lucky for both of us I’m damned good at this,” he said, too quietly to be overheard. “It’s going to hurt.” He sounded genuinely sorry.

  “Now, slave,” he said louder so that anyone could hear. “I asked you what’s your safe word?”

  “Fastball,” I said as the word popped into my mind. “That’s my safe word. Uh, Sire. Fastball.”

  Someone snickered. “Bet he does have some pretty fast balls.” A decidedly gay male voice said, “I’d sure like to take a couple of his fastballs.”

  This time I thought I saw some red creep into Donovan’s swarthy features. “Don’t make a sound, slave,” he said. “If you do it means you’ll be blindfolded. Do you understand?”

  Maybe Donovan was a little too much into his part of the operation.

  Being blinded was not my idea of fun. I nodded. “Yes, Sire.”

  “Eyes down.”

  I obeyed.

  Because of the carpeting I couldn’t hear his footsteps, but with a crawling sensation down my spine I knew he was behind me.

  The incredible sting of the whip against one butt cheek and then the other in rapid succession caught me by surprise. They hurt so badly I shouted my pain without even thinking about it and my eyes watered.

  Through the burn on my backside I heard Donovan say something, and the next thing I knew someone had blindfolded me. “I warned you, it’s going to hurt like hell,” Donovan said softly as he rubbed each butt cheek with his palm. “Try to hold in your screams.”

  The instinct to fight against my bonds and everything else was so strong that my body ached with the need to escape. But there was no escape. It wasn’t cruel punishment. It was what a true sub craved.

  Again Donovan whipped me, but this time I gritted my teeth and held back my scream. Moisture from my eyes dampened the blindfold. He whipped me everywhere within the zone Tarantino had specified. My backside, my mound, my belly, my breasts.

  Not being able to see made it all the worse. I was more intensely aware of each strike. I tried to focus on some kind of “happy place,” but every crack of the whip and sting on my body snapped me back to reality.

  Every so often Donovan would pause and use his palm to rub the spots he’d struck. Rubbing them drew out the burn rather than easing it.

  “Okay?” he’d ask quietly, and I wouldn’t even answer with a nod or shake of my head. I was too busy plotting ways to kill him.

  When I didn’t think there was a place “in the zone” on my body that he hadn’t whipped, he stopped.

  My arms ached from hanging from my wrists, and my body burned like fire every place the whip had struck.

  The damp blindfold was removed and I blinked against the brightness as my body went slack and I lowered my head. I wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. At least.

  Vaguely I was aware of someone helping me off the hook and then I collapsed against Donovan. He took me by the shoulders and held me up as I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His blue gaze met mine for a long moment before he glanced at Tarantino.<
br />
  “You’re good with the bullwhip, Sire Dunning,” Tarantino said, using Donovan’s undercover name. “Welcome to the Club.”

  Tarantino smiled at me. “Welcome, slave Alexi.”

  “I’ll take this sub if she’ll have me, Master Tarantino,” Donovan said before Tarantino could continue.

  Tarantino looked from Donovan to me. Donovan was still holding my shoulders. Otherwise I don’t think my legs would have worked. “Do you want Sire Dunning to be your Dom?” Tarantino asked me.

  I looked up at Donovan and, no matter how much pain I was in at that moment, I tried to put a sub’s adoration into my expression rather than the desire to kill. “Yes, Master Tarantino. I would like to be Sire Dunning’s slave.”

  Like the Pope giving us his blessing, Tarantino nodded. “You’re a good match.”

  He focused his gaze on me. “But if your Dom ever crosses a line, you’re to come to me immediately.” Tarantino looked at Donovan again. “We don’t tolerate abuse. Everything we do here at the Crystal Twilight and the other two clubs involves only pleasure.”

  Donovan lowered his head. “Of course, Master Tarantino.”

  “The next test for your sub—”

  I almost dropped my jaw. Another test?

  “—is the cage.”

  I could literally feel blood draining from my face. Bars. No, not bars.

  Two subs with collars dragged in a shiny metal cage with bars like a jail cell. A very small jail cell. It was so small I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sit up in it.

  “Your slave is to stay in the cage until you feel she’s worthy to come out.” Tarantino looked at Donovan. “Order your sub to get in.”

  Donovan released my arms and pointed to the floor. “On your hands and knees, and crawl into the cage.”

  No. I couldn’t do it. But I knew if I didn’t, this whole setup would be blown to hell.

  “Yes, Sire.” I kept my eyes lowered as I slowly got on my hands and knees. I could feel a scream building in the back of my throat as I crawled to the cage, which was a good ten feet away. My body ached and burned from every slash of the whip, and I bit the inside of my lip until it almost bled.

  “Too slow, slave.” A snap, and the whip struck my ass again. The whip caught me by surprise and caused me to cry out.

  I was so going to kick his ass for that, too.

  When I reached the cage entrance I stared at all those bars and barely kept my body from trembling. How was I going to sit up in there with the top so low?

  I got my answer when Donovan said, “You’ll stay on your hands and knees until I think you’ve earned the right to come out.”

  This time a shudder did travel down my spine.

  Snap. The whip connected with my ass again and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. “Now, slave.”

  I forced myself to crawl into the cage, and felt myself begin to hyperventilate.

  Fastball. Say it.

  No. Breathe, Steele. Breathe.

  Everyone else in the room started laughing and chatting and thoroughly enjoying themselves like they were at a normal party. I couldn’t really see much with my head bowed. I didn’t have much of a choice since the top was practically touching my head.

  That claustrophobic feeling wanted to close in on me.

  Breathe. Just breathe, I chanted in my mind.

  My body burned from the whip, my wrists ached from the cuffs, and my arms from hanging so long. My knees and palms hurt, the carpet not soft enough to even give me that much of a break. The cage was so small that I felt the cool metal bars on either side of me when I shifted. I refused to look at the ones in front of me because I didn’t want to see the bars.

  Hang in there. This can’t last too long.

  I was so wrong.

  Someone poked me with a straw, like a kid poking an animal. Then, for what had to be hours, hands reached through the bars and stroked every part of me that could be reached. Oh, God, even my folds—which were damp despite my humiliating position—didn’t escape someone’s touch.

  I was nothing but an animal in a cage.

  This was something I knew slaves were often put through. But I’d planned on being a five-foot-four Dominatrix with Perry as the sub. I hadn’t counted on being behind bars myself.

  I prayed that what Tarantino said was true, that sex was for the private rooms and no one would try to take me from behind while I was in the cage.

  The party started to wind down, and my arms were shaking by then from bracing myself the whole night.

  Voices saying “Good-bye,” “See you next Saturday,” “Welcome to the club, Sire Dunning,” and “Welcome to the inner circle, slave Alexi,” met my ears, and more hands touched my burning skin and slapped me on the ass as they left.

  I don’t think I’d ever been more humiliated in my life.

  Finally, God, finally, the door hinges scraped open behind me. “You can come out, slave Alexi,” said Donovan, the man I was going to kill.

  “Yes, Sire Dunning.” My throat was hoarse, and my arms were so stiff, yet shaky, that I barely had the strength to back out of the cage. I had motivation, though. I’d finally be away from those bars.

  When I’d backed out, I stopped. I wanted to collapse, but I knew that would be a really bad idea. If I received one more punishment, I wasn’t responsible for the multiple homicides.

  “You can stand, slave Alexi,” Donovan said.

  Gee, thanks. Let’s see if that’s remotely possible.

  I pushed myself back onto my haunches and every muscle in my body started to shake. Donovan reached his hand out to me to help me up, and I let him, but remembered not to look at him. It might not be good for Tarantino to see red lasers shooting from my eyes at Donovan.

  Oh, I was supposed to play the submissive part, but he had made me do some things he didn’t have to.

  “The next order of business is the twenty-five grand each to join our exclusive club.” Tarantino nodded to a gentleman sitting on the couch. “Johnson will take care of you.”

  Donovan said, “I’ve got cash on me, Master Tarantino.”

  I said, “Will American Express do, Master Tarantino?”

  “Of course. We meet each Saturday,” Tarantino said as he acknowledged my question and Donovan’s statement with a nod. “The Glass House is our next get-together.” He looked toward Jason Strong, who had his arms across his massive chest. “Your names will be on the list with a special indicator that you are to be escorted to the ‘party’ in the rear of the club.”

  “Thank you, Master Tarantino,” I said, my head still down.

  “I appreciate your inclusion in what I understand is the best of the best, Masters Tarantino, Strong, and Cabot,” Donovan said as he gave a slight bow from his shoulders.

  “It’s our pleasure,” Tarantino said.

  Donovan inclined his head toward the hallway. “I’d like a private room with my slave, if that’s not an inconvenience.”

  Tarantino smiled. “Of course you do.” He signaled to a gorgeous redhead with a red collar and she approached him with her eyes slightly lowered. “Slave Marissa, show Sire Dunning and slave Alexi to the Pleasure Suite.”

  Donovan brought one of his hands up to the column of my throat. “Now I’ll need to find slave Alexi a collar.”

  He almost lost a front tooth.

  We followed the shapely redhead, but Donovan gave me a Dom glare and made me keep a few steps behind him “to keep up appearances,” I’m sure.

  When I’d researched BDSM on the Net, I’d found people of all shapes and sizes in the lifestyle. But here it was like they picked only perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Guess I should be flattered to be among those chosen, I thought sarcastically.

  Marissa guided us down a couple of hallways to a door. “This room is by order of Master Tarantino only, so it’s empty unless he allows it to be used.” She turned the knob and opened the door to heaven.

  Heaven because it had an enormous bed with a huge, fluffy-looking s
atin comforter. I didn’t care about anything but that bed. I didn’t register anything but the bed—and the fact that there were no windows or mirrors that might be two-way glass. Couldn’t rule out cameras, but the signal-jammers in one of Donovan’s cuffs and my ankle cuff should take care of any of that kind of stuff. We really were alone, this really was private, and that really was a bed.

  When Marissa left us, I started toward that piece of heaven, but stopped walking as the whole reason we were at the Crystal Twilight hit me. I glanced at my ankle cuff, then met Donovan’s eyes.

  “I never had the chance to . . .”Igesturedtomy ankle cuff.

  He raised his forearm and showed me one of his wrist cuffs. “Already got it.”

  I had strength enough to walk up to him. “Good,” I said and drove my knee into his balls. “Sire Sonofabitch.”

  He doubled over with a shout and a growl before he dropped to his knees.

  Without a look back, without giving a crap about the various creative things he was saying about me between his gritted teeth, I went straight to that bed and crawled under the covers.

  I winced at each ache, pain, and burn that made me feel like I was on fire from every movement I made. I settled onto my left side, which seemed to hurt the least.

  And passed out.

  CHAPTER 15

  Sins of the past

  March 31

  Sunday early, early morning

  Donovan let me sleep for three hours before waking me up so we could leave the Crystal Twilight and head home.

  The moment Donovan touched my burning shoulder I rolled over and clocked him.

  I was in so much pain I couldn’t even tell if my knuckles hurt from the impact after they connected with his jaw.

  He glared and rubbed the area I’d hit. “Goddamnit, Steele, we’d agreed on this.”

  My entire body screamed as I pushed myself up in bed. Oh, God, it hurt to sit on my backside. The blanket and sheet fell from my naked chest and I looked down at the vivid red welts crossing my body in haphazard strokes.

  I raised my eyes and glared at Donovan. “That cage. You did not have to make me crawl to that cage or stay in there for that long.”