“If you say so,” I murmur and greedily sip my fresh drink as we walk through the dance room to the fetish exhibits, where the music is gone and instead there is laughter and moans of pleasure.
“You didn’t say that people participate.” My voice is three octaves higher than normal, and I don’t care.
“Of course they participate. But you don’t have to.”
The first demonstration we come across has me sucking down my drink in one long sip of the straw and pulling Bailey’s drink out of her hand to suck hers down, too.
A woman is lying on a massage table, face up, with a blue satin sash over her naked breasts and pelvis. A large, shirtless, gorgeous man is standing over her with a metal wand in his hand. It’s attached to a machine, and when he touches her skin, it shocks her.
“Electro play,” Bailey informs me.
My eyes can’t move away from the woman as she writhes and moans on the table. The man leans down and murmurs in her ear, but she smiles and shakes her head. “He’s checking in with her, to make sure she’s okay.”
“Kind of him,” I reply sarcastically.
He resumes pulling the wand over her breasts, making her nipples pucker even more than they were, which didn’t look possible, down her stomach and finally between her legs, sending her into a screaming orgasm.
“Dear God.”
Bailey laughs at me. I didn’t even realize I’d spoken the words aloud.
“You’re into that?” I ask her.
“No, it’s not for everyone, and it takes a lot of trust and someone very practiced to dive into that world.” She smiles as she watches the couple on the small stage.
The man has turned the machine off and pulled the woman into his arms, soothing and petting her as she shakes and pants. He kisses her cheek and whispers lovingly in her ear. Watching them together, so intimate, so loving, makes my chest hurt.
It’s beautiful.
“Those two are married. She’s been his submissive for about three years.”
“Submissive?” I ask.
“Are you really that naïve?” Bailey asks with a shake of her head.
“I had no idea that stuff happened in real life. I thought it just made for a fun romance novel.”
“It happens.”
“Are you submissive?”
She smiles at me then shrugs her slim shoulder. “Unfortunately, no. I tried, but my mouth kept getting me in trouble. My ass was sore for a month.”
I swallow hard as we move along to the next demonstration.
I jump when I hear the crack of a whip. “Holy shit!”
Bailey laughs and tucks her arm through mine as we watch another tall, lean, shirtless man wield a bullwhip. A woman is suspended by the wrists to a chain in the ceiling, her arms pulled high over her head. She’s wearing black panties and a bra.
The man circles the whip over his head and cracks it in front of him, leaving just a tiny red mark on the woman’s shoulder blade. She moans, as though it’s the sexiest thing she’s ever felt.
The man circles her, his focus completely on her, and when he gets to her back, he repeats the motion, leaving another, identical mark on the other shoulder blade.
He approaches her, grips her red hair in his fist and pulls her head back so he can whisper in her ear.
“Yes, sir,” she replies breathlessly.
He grins and kisses her deeply before releasing her hair and raising the whip above his head, the leather kissing her skin, leaving one, two, three more red marks on either side of her spine.
“How can he do that and not break the skin?” I ask in awe.
“Lots and lots of practice,” Bailey whispers back. “That’s Master Eric.”
“Is she his submissive?” I ask, proud of myself for understanding the lingo so quickly.
“No, she’s not with anyone that I know of. But she is a masochist, and Master Eric is happy to oblige her.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, but can’t deny the clench in my stomach when Master Eric cups her ass in his hand, pushing his fingers between her legs and pulling them away sopping wet, glistening in the soft light.
“See? She’s happy. Master Eric would stop if she said her safe word.”
Jesus, I think again. Safe words and whips and electrowands. Who would have thought?
When we move along, a woman is pouring ladles of hot wax on eager participants.
“Ah, we’re moving on to the more vanilla demonstrations,” Bailey explains. “Not that hot wax is vanilla, but it’s no bullwhip.”
I smirk and watch in rapture as a shirtless man has wax poured on his chest, down his defined abs, and smiles in pleasure. A hard ridge beneath his blue jeans proves that he is enjoying himself.
“Want to try it?” Bailey asks me.
“No, thanks.” I shake my head but can’t look away as the next woman in line takes a seat and scoops her hair off her neck, giving the woman pouring wax space to drizzle the hot liquid over her collarbones and chest. It cools and hardens almost immediately and is peeled seductively off the skin.
It’s actually kind of…sexy.
“Oh! The bondage area!” Bailey exclaims excitedly and pulls me over where a small line of women are waiting patiently as a handsome man ties long lines of ropes around their torsos, arms, legs, leaving a trail of intricate knots around their bodies.
Wow.
“I had no idea that ropes could look so artistic,” I murmur.
“It’s definitely an art form,” Bailey agrees and eagerly steps forward when the man motions her to join him.
He crosses her hands over her lower back and begins looping and knotting a blue rope over and around her. The color of the rope looks amazing against her little black dress and accentuates her curves.
She’s stunning.
The man plants a kiss on her forehead and grins when she thanks him and bounces over to me.
“You should do it, too.”
“You can’t move your hands,” I respond, pointing to where her arms are restrained behind her.
“You don’t have to have your hands bound,” she replies and nudges me forward. The man is grinning, but then is interrupted by another man.
I stop about a foot away and watch as the second man whispers in the other’s ear. They both nod, and the new guy grins at me, and suddenly, he and I are the only ones in the room.
He has ice-blue eyes. The kind of eyes that pull you in and drown you in their depths. His hair is light brown and cut relatively short.
His face is shaved clean, and his full, sexy lips are pursed in a smirk.
“Are you coming or not, little one?”
Chapter One
Weddings really aren’t my thing. Well, baking the cakes for them, that is. I own a successful little cupcake bakery in downtown Seattle, and cupcakes are what I enjoy most.
But when Brynna Vincent, now Montgomery, asked me to bake a cake for her wedding, I couldn’t refuse her. She rushed into my shop just about two weeks ago, her eyes bright with happiness, and asked me if I could bake a cake for her because my cupcakes are her very favorite.
Yes, it was a nice stroke of my ego.
And when she assured me that she just needed a simple two-tier cake for a small wedding, I was in. It didn’t hurt that she had her adorable six-year-old twin daughters with her, and they bought a dozen chocolate cupcakes to go with them.
But now that I’m in the thick of it, arranging the cake, making sure it’s displayed perfectly, while the last of the vows are said and the large family behind me cheers with delight and joy, I’m reminded why I never ventured into the wedding cake business: It’s too damn stressful.
Brynna has been a dream to work with. No bridezilla here, thank God, and I’d even be willing to say that she and I have become friends in the past few weeks while putting our heads together for her beautiful cake.
But the actual execution the day of the wedding is torture for me. I have to be sure that every tiny rose, the placement of the cake top
per, everything is perfect.
Because if I were the bride, that’s how I’d want it to be.
I make a mad dash out to my car to gather the last of my supplies and hustle back to the cake table behind the home where Brynna and her husband were married today.
The house isn’t terribly large. It’s in an average neighborhood and probably boasts three or four bedrooms. But the backyard is something out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.
Brynna had mentioned that her new father-in-law is an avid gardener, and she wasn’t kidding. The yard is blooming brightly with fragrant summer flowers. There are ponds and paths scattered throughout the large property, giving it a park-like feel.
Kids from toddler to the twins’ ages are running about, enjoying the warm day. Soft music has been piped in, from where I’m not sure.
“When do we get cake?” a man asks from behind me.
I turn and have to crane my neck back to see the man’s face. He has bright blue eyes and dark blond hair, and he’s smiling down at me.
He’s one of the largest men I’ve ever seen and, for some reason, looks very familiar.
“That’s the bride and groom’s call. I’m just putting the finishing touches on it.”
I grin back at him and fuss with the last of the baby-pink rosebuds on the top of the pretty white cake.
“Will you tell if I steal a slice?” he asks with a chuckle.
“I will,” a stunning redhead replies drily and rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s always hungry.”
“You caught me,” he murmurs and nuzzles the redhead’s temple. “I’m Will. Brother of the groom.”
He holds his big hand out for me to shake.
“And this is my beautiful fiancée, Meg.”
“Nice to meet you both.” And then it hits me. “Holy crap, are you Will Montgomery, the football player?”
“Yeah,” he confirms almost shyly. “But today I’m just a brother.”
“Cool.” I grin, proud of myself for maintaining my composure. I had no idea that Brynna’s in-laws were those Montgomerys.
Will and Meg wander away, and I finish the cake, then look around for Brynna to say congratulations and leave the party, relieved that my job is just about finished.
I look out over the yard and see Brynna standing with a group of her guests, waving at me. I grin as I wipe my hands on my jacket and join Brynna, standing on my tiptoes to hug her close.
“Congratulations, friend!” I murmur. “Where is your man?”
“Right here,” Caleb announces with a wide smile as I pull away from his bride. “The cake is beautiful, thank you.”
“My pleasure,” I reply happily, relieved that they’re happy with the end result of many hours of planning.
“You make the best cake in the whole world,” a blond woman next to Brynna tells me, but as I turn my head toward her, I swear to God above, I have a hallucination.
Someone slipped me a roofie, and I’m suffering from side effects.
That’s the only explanation I can come up with for why I’m standing here looking at the one man I can’t seem to shake from my memory, no matter how hard I try.
I blink once, but he’s still there, in khaki pants and a white button-down, his light brown hair combed into a tidy style, rather than the messy waves they were in the last time I saw him.
But those eyes…those eyes that are bright blue, narrowed and fixed on my face, watching my every move, are exactly as I remember.
“Holy shit,” I whisper and try to take a step back.
“Do you know each other?” Caleb asks.
Stay professional!
I shake my head and offer Brynna the best smile I can manage. “I’m so happy that you like the cake. It’s ready to go for you. Congratulations again.”
And with that, I turn to leave, but before I can even take one step, I hear, “Stop.”
As much as it totally pisses me off, my body halts and I stand still, my hands folded in front of me, and watch him warily. Just the sound of that one word out of his sexy-as-hell mouth has my nipples puckered.
Thank God no one can tell since I’m wearing this baker’s jacket.
I refuse to cause a scene here in front of all of these people, but what I really want to do is tell him to kiss my ass and stomp off.
Pinning me with his gaze, he grasps my arm and leads me away from the others.
“I’m happy to see you, Nic. You look beautiful. The new haircut suits you.”
His nose pressed to my ear, the clean, masculine scent of him surrounding me, has me turned inside out, and frankly, I can’t deal with it.
I can’t deal with him.
I’m breathing hard, and my cheeks are flushed as I wrench my arm out of his grasp, toss him an angry glare and storm away.
I’m not sure, but I think I hear him mutter, “Spank her ass,” behind me, making me move faster, praying that he doesn’t follow me.
And just like that, memories I’ve been fighting to forget come barreling back at me…
“Are you coming or not, little one?”
Bailey pushes me with her shoulder, and I stumble toward him, not able to look away from those incredible blue eyes.
“So, you want to give it a try?” he asks, holding my gaze.
I swallow hard and nod slowly.
Where the hell did my voice go?
“I need a verbal response, please,” he replies with a knowing smile.
“Yes, please.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispers as he leans his face close to mine. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
I offer him a small smile, and he surprises me by pulling his fingers gently down my cheek, then brushes his thumb over my lower lip, sending my body into overdrive.
My nipples have puckered, and I swear to God I need to change my panties.
And he really hasn’t even done anything yet!
He drags a black duffle bag across the floor to his feet and rummages inside, drawing out a long length of white rope.
“White will look beautiful against your clothes,” he murmurs, deep in thought. He scrubs his fingers over his mouth as he thinks, bouncing his attention between me and his bag of tricks.
I giggle at the thought, then cover my mouth with my hand as his head snaps around and he raises an eyebrow as he watches me.
“Something funny?”
I shake my head no, but he grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, making me meet his hot gaze.
“Try again.”
“I thought it was funny that you were rummaging through your bag of tricks.” My voice is soft. Why do I feel the need to please this guy?
His lips twitch, and he releases me, and I’m shocked at the feeling of loss at having the contact of his skin gone from mine.
God, get a grip. I obviously need to get laid. It’s been…way longer than I am comfortable admitting.
“Wrap your arms behind your back and grab your forearms with your hands.”
“I don’t want my hands bound,” I reply quickly.
He stares at me for a moment and then steps to me, leaning in so his mouth is near my ear. God, he smells amazing, like spicy body wash and hot, unadulterated man.
“I can cut you out at the drop of a hat, little one. This won’t hurt you. Trust me.”
He pulls back, watching me, and I nod hesitantly, putting my arms around my back like he asked. I don’t know why I trust him, but I do. He’s not going to hurt me.
I’m rewarded with a bright smile, and if my panties weren’t already wet, they would be now. Holy shit, this man is amazing. As he turns away from me to gather his rope, I let my eyes wander down his body. He’s very tall, over six feet. His shoulders are broad and covered by a black button-down shirt, the cuffs rolled on his corded forearms. The shirt is tucked into black slacks, and he’s wearing black shoes and a belt as well.
The black should give him a daunting appearance, but it’s just plain hot. It fits him.
I suddenly
want to lick him.
Down girl, you’re just here to try out the bondage thing.
Beside us, the other man has resumed tying his ropes around the other girls who were in line behind me. I look around for Bailey, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
“She’s not far,” the stranger murmurs, reading my mind.
“What’s your name?” I ask softly as he turns to me and reaches around me, tying my wrists behind my back. My nose is practically pressed to his chest, and I can’t help but breathe him in again.
He just smells so good.
“Matt.” He pulls the ropes around my arms and torso and smiles down at me. “You?”
“Nic,” I respond, watching as he begins looping and knotting the rope over my chest and stomach, making a perfectly symmetrical design over my chest, around my breasts, the ropes looking amazing against the red and black material. His hands are long and lean, and his fingers work deftly, quickly, easily making the knots and loops in the rope.
“You’re good at this,” I murmur.
He grins and continues to watch his hands as they move against me, the backs of his fingers brushing against the sides of my breasts, over my stomach.
My breath comes faster and my heart rate speeds up as he continues to work. My torso is done, and when I try to pull my hands, they’re tied tightly in place.
“Does it hurt?” he asks softly.
“No,” I reply honestly.
He nods as he reaches between my legs and threads the rope, loops it around my back and back through my legs again. I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning aloud.
Dear God, how is it possible that I’m this turned on just because he’s wrapped me up in some rope?
Finally, he ties a knot, making it blend in with the rest, so you can’t tell where the rope begins or ends, and stands back, crosses his arms over his chest and gently runs the tip of his forefinger over his bottom lip as his eyes rake up and down my body. His bright blue eyes are hot with lust and need as they meet mine. His breath is coming faster, matching mine, and I swear to the bondage gods, I feel an inexplicable pull from my gut to his.
If he doesn’t touch me—truly touch me—soon, I’m going to spontaneously combust.
With Me in Seattle Bundle Two Page 25
