Bound Obsession (BDSM Erotica) (Club Taboo Book 1)

by Wilder, Veronica

  And then he received the desired scream.

  “Yes! Whatever you want, Patrick. I can do it. I’m yours.”

  Crushing his lips to hers, he drank in the power of her cry, and he felt fortified as her breath raced down his throat. He was going to have this woman and make her into everything that he had ever wanted, and when her hands quivered against his chest, her nails just breaking the skin and eliciting the tiniest of scratches, he imagined what it would feel like to give her command of the whip.

  Someday. Soon. But not yet. I need to school her first.

  Staying inside her, Patrick brushed the fallen hair from her eyes with a confident smile.

  “Yes you are,” he said. “And I’m not going to share you with anyone else.”

  Chapter 7

  “Abby Fuller?”

  She had become something of a lady of leisure. Patrick took the liberty of tendering her resignation to Mistress Serena, and when she met Mariah for lunch again, she spoke in vague terms only. Patrick was right; what they had, what he was doing to her was sacred, special. Mariah caught the drift and let it lie. How could they not be best friends? Leaving the lunch, she strolled through shops, feeling slightly guilty that she was suddenly able to buy whatever she wanted without a single worry. And if she ever tried to apologize, Patrick told her that he could pay her back in bed.

  And she was getting better at that, too.

  The whip was still out of play, but he was teaching her what it was to cling to her climax as he ran soft velvet over every inch of her body. Sometimes he wanted her eyes; sometimes he preferred them concealed behind a tight mask so that she had no way of knowing when the tingling would stop and his cock would return. But it always came back at full strength, and she came to cherish the moments when he stripped the mask away and settled in her eyes.

  You’re doing so well.

  But she could still, she would do more.

  “Abby!”

  She was flung from her daydream by the sound of a familiar voice. Clad in her designer threads, her hair perfectly coiffed so that Patrick could claim her neck as soon as he saw her, Abigail saw the last face that she would have ever expected.

  “Ned?” she asked “Ned Ketzler.”

  Her eyes were wide open, and there was no mistaking his stance. Burly and threatening, he had a puppy dog’s stare above his barrel chest. Abigail remembered hanging on his arm at many a campus party. Everyone thought that they were a couple, but it was never like that. He was just a friend, like a big brother, and there were times when she had wondered where and how he had ended up. But now, as he smiled, he seemed just fine.

  “Well look at you, Abby!”

  Their bodies met in a quick hug, and Abigail cried out as he lifted her off the pavement in his huge arms. Lowering her back to the earth, she met his smile and asked him how he was.

  “Not half as good as you,” Ned said. “I mean… wow! Just look at you, Abby.”

  She gave him a quick twirl and showed off her new place in the world.

  “What can I say?” Abigail started. “Time’s been good to me.”

  There was a small sadness in his stare, and she wondered how the years had treated him. He seemed so lost when they graduated, like he didn’t know who he could be if he wasn’t the goofy undergrad cracking jokes and buying beer for the freshmen because he could fool any clerk. Had the last two years been kind to him? His smile seemed to speak volumes, but maybe he was posing to just put her mind at ease.

  Poor Ned. I wish he could…

  “Same here, Abby,” he said. “I’m engaged.”

  That stunned her. So often she had pictured him falling for the wrong woman until she drained him dry. Maybe that was all this was, and her body tensed as she grabbed his arm.

  “Engaged?” she asked. “Ned, I---”

  “You think that I’m being played, right?” he asked. As she started to answer, he laughed loudly and took her hand.

  “It’s not like that, Abby,” he continued. “She’s a good girl. And I’m very lucky to have her.”

  How she hoped that what he said as true. Because he deserved to be as happy as she was.

  “Well… well good!”

  Folding him into her arms again, she instantly decided that it wasn’t her place to pass judgment. He said he was happy; he looked elated, and Abigail knew all too well that stranger things had happened.

  “I’d love you to meet her,” Ned continued. “Bet she’d like you, too.”

  Abigail allowed him to punch his new digits into her phone, and they parted warmly with a chaste kiss and the promise that she’d call. Soon.

  If Patrick permits it. But why wouldn’t he? Just a nice dinner between old friends.

  And she liked the idea of showing her lover off.

  “Oh! Hey! You’re early!”

  Patrick’s tie was loosened and he was already draining his glass when she passed through the door. Dropping her bags, she rushed into his arms and expected his embrace and more, and she furiously kissed his exposed flesh. As her lips bathed his body, she wondered if he might use the whip on this night. He had said that she was nearly ready, and her teeth tingled as she moved into his eyes.

  But when she saw his stare darker than ever, Abigail started to draw back. By now she was accustomed to his demanding glare when she spoke too fast or stayed silent longer than he would have desired. But they hadn’t even started. And she wasn’t late; he was early. So what had she---?

  “You’re showing off your neck I see.”

  She started to relax into the feel of his hands, and Abigail sighed when his fingers started to explore her cleavage. Was he going to tear her clothes off? She had liked that. She was up for it now.

  “Patrick, please---”

  He surprised her with a swift push back, and she stumbled around the packages before falling to her knees.

  “Assume the position, Abigail!”

  Obeying, hoping that this was just a new rule that she had yet to comprehend, Abigail held her hands at her side and waited with stifled breath and a buzzing cunt.

  “Whatever you want,” she murmured. “Teach me.”

  His hands played with her hair, and she moaned to meet his play. Some nights it was velvet; at other times he teased her with fire that blazed but never burned. As one night merged into the next, the days between existed as sad states without him, wanting him. Abigail longed prove that she was the best in his class, and when he pulled her up by her hair, she fought past any fear and tried to fall into his arms.

  But suddenly he wasn’t having it.

  “What was the one thing that I told you not to do?”

  He pulled her hair harder, and as she called out his name, fear washed over her as his hold intensified.

  “The one thing!” he repeated.

  Abigail searched her mind for the right answer. But she was coming up blank. She had left the club and stayed true. She…

  “Ned?” she blurted out without thinking.

  “Bingo, babe.”

  As she tried to explain with a laugh, Abigail was stunned by the force of Patrick’s body bringing her close to the wall. He stopped short of slamming her to the surface, but his hold was hard, bordering on cruel as he glowered at her.

  “Is that his name?” Patrick asked. “Your secret lover?”

  He had it all wrong, and Abigail tried to calm him when he formed a fist. She winced as he pounded his knuckles just beyond her face, his eyes and mouth seething.

  “I hear you made quite a show,” Patrick said. “Right out in the open. Are you trying to hurt me? Is that your game?”

  Abigail’s tongue dried up, and she saw what could only be taken for fear creeping into his eyes. She had always known, somehow from that first moment, that something had to have turned him into a demanding lover that required order at every turn. Someone had to have disobeyed. And that wasn’t her. It could never be her when she was with him.

  And all she needed was a chance to prove it.
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br />   “He’s just an old friend,” she said. “He’s getting married.”

  “And you’re wishing that it was you.”

  “No,” Abigail said as she furiously shook her head. “I’m with you. Only with---”

  “You kissed him, Abigail!” he shouted. “What next? You fuck him behind my back while I’m waiting to put a ring on it?”

  And there it was. Why he had made women into slaves so that he could keep his heart safe from harm. Abigail longed to know more, but as she started to hold him, Patrick pushed her back made no move to help her as she fell to the floor. The force of the impact hurt, but she reached for him and asked why when he poured out a fresh drink. Downing it quickly, he flung the empty glass to the far wall, and Abigail blanched when a few stray shards fell close to her legs. She cowered in the corner, and as she hid her face, she peered at him through her fingers.

  He looked like a wild man, possessed by some force that she could not name, but when he calmed, she would hold him and explain. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and he would believe---

  “Why couldn’t you just stay true?” Patrick bellowed. “Was that so much to ask?”

  Abigail tried to touch him again when she was suddenly struck by the thought that he knew more than his eyes could have seen. How did he…?

  “Were… were you having me followed or something?” she asked.

  Patrick made no effort to hide or excuse his actions.

  “I keep tabs on what’s mine.”

  Patrick clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “And it’s a good thing I had eyes on you if that’s how you’re going to play this.”

  Realization crept through her veins, and Abigail suddenly understood that the trust he claimed to have in her only amounted to words meant to keep her in line. The free spending, the promise that her days could be her own as long as she gave all of her nights to him, the sound of all of it rang hollow in her ears. He was having her watched, maybe just waiting for her to screw up so that he could play the next act without her consent. But Patrick had spoken too soon and revealed his hand.

  “So what was the plan?” Abigail asked as she struggled to her feet and pressed her hands to her hips, her eyes frosting over with a cold glare.

  “To know what I was getting myself into,” Patrick said. “Now I know.”

  Whatever else he might say, even if he suddenly dialed his rage back and pretended to touch her with tenderness, Abigail had it right when she first woke in his arms. She was a whore. His whore, and if she stepped out on her pimp, he would hurt her without pleasure. At least not hers.

  “And so do I,” she spat back.

  Tearing her clothes from her body, she quivered in the dim light. She slipped out of the bra and panties and started towards the door, naked as he protested.

  “You can’t leave like that!” he screamed. “I won’t---”

  Abigail silenced him with a sharp slap to his jaw. Hurting him was the equivalent of suicide, but she knew now that he would never trust her, and she couldn’t be with him like this.

  “Fine! I’ll send this back!” she screamed as she seized his coat and raced out the door with only her purse in hand.

  “Abigail!”

  She avoided the elevator and hurried down the steps, taking them two at a time. She could hear Patrick at her back, calling after her, and her pace only intensified. If he caught her, if he held her again, Abigail was terrified that she might never be able to escape. Now was the time, and as she hit the night air, Abigail looked every which way. The street was too risky. He could catch her or flag down a cab of his own and bring her back into his lair. Just a while ago, it was the only place that she wanted to be. But if he could never really trust her, after all she had given to him, it was no better than submitting to Walter Ross. Could she even get back into the club now? Did she even want---?

  “Where are you?” Patrick yelled.

  Hoping to thrown him off her scent, she recoiled in an alleyway as rotting trash ran down her body. Patrick raced past her without looking twice. As he chased the illusion of her down futile streets, Abigail hugged her body close. She would miss his hands, his lips, and she had never been shown the true splendor of the whip. But she couldn’t wait for him; she could never go back. Patrick Dorson wanted her, but he could never trust her. And without that, there was no solid ground upon which they could stand.

  Hugging his coat close, the last bit of him that she would ever have, she walked back to her small apartment, wiping away tears with each step.

  Chapter 8

  “I must be crazy.”

  No more than Abigail was.

  In the first days without Patrick, she ducked his phone calls and even hid in her closet when he found her door. Part of her wanted to rush out into the open and fling the door open so that she could just see him again. But when she was on the verge of making that move, Abigail held back. Because she couldn’t trust him when he was like this. And if that was who he was he really was, then she was better off without him. But the second that his knocking subsided and she heard his sad footsteps trailing away, a part of her hoped that he would come back, burst through the door and take her under protest. Abigail’s objections would be feeble; she already wanted him again. But when the hallway stayed quiet, she knew that it would never work. Even if he did come back.

  And when he didn’t, she was back to worrying how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her stomach.

  And how she would survive without him in her arms.

  “But Mariah says that you’ve gotten an education. So here we are.”

  Numb, Abigail nodded slightly as she stood in her lace and high heels. Now she knew what these men were all about. Maybe it wouldn’t feel as sweet as it did when Patrick was inside her, but that was only an illusion, and she could be Mistress Serena’s girl given the chance and somehow look at herself in the morning with a small measure of pride.

  Because she wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that she could love one of them again.

  Out on the floor, lips smacked around cocks, and the girls drank their men down hungrily. Mariah paused in a dark corner when she saw her friend moving through the throng, and when Abigail started to go to her side, Mariah was turned back by a loud laugh attached to a beefy frame that wanted only her brand of blowjob. She disappeared into the shadows, and as Abigail felt completely on her own, she lifted a drink from a passing tray, downed it in a single gulp, and sank into one of the booths to just wait.

  Where was Patrick now? He had stopped banging on her door, and as her eyes scanned the club, she wondered if he had taken his talents to another haunt in hope of finding a student more worthy of his instructions. It wasn’t her. She had let him down; she never should have run.

  And he wasn’t coming back.

  “Well look who turned up?”

  Abigail’s body cringed as she recognized the voice, and her eyes turned to the sight of Walter Ross glaring down at her as he twisted her limp hair around his cold finger. She should kick him hard and run. But even as she knew that Patrick was nowhere to be found, at least she now knew what Walter would expect.

  “Here I am,” she said in a flat tone.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Walter said. “Did you figure it out?”

  Abigail’s eyes blinked in confusion, and Walter smirked as he stroked her face.

  “How weak he is,” Walter continued. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

  So she really wasn’t so special after all.

  Walter leaned closer, and she nearly gagged on the whiskey wafting off his breath.

  “But now it’s my turn.”

  Like I have a choice?

  “I get it now,” Abigail said as she tentatively took his hand. Walter clutched her closer she would have waned, but maybe it was better to just let him have her and leave her with her job intact even as her soul was shattered.

  “No,” Walter said. “You don’t. But you soon will.”

&n
bsp; Leading her down the hallway, keeping her firmly in his grasp, Walter turned the final corner and pushed her into darkness. Focusing on the silvery slivers of light that passed through a stray window, she watched Walter unspool his belt, and he snapped it against the shadows. But it wasn’t the whip that she wanted.

  This whole scene was something from which she needed to escape.

  “I---”

  She was nearly on her feet when Walter made like Patrick never had and slammed his fist into her face. As she doubled back and tried to become one with the wall, the brass of his buckle singed her arms, and Abigail cried out for help as he continued to beat her.

  “Think you can tease me and get away with it!” he challenged.

  “I… I could hold you up to Patrick and just imagine something better.”

  The second slap that hit her face told her that it was the wrong call, but she wouldn’t give him the chance to touch what wasn’t his. Not like this.

  “Get away from me!” she screamed.

  Walter’s surprised rage was enough to make her believe that she had a chance of getting away, and she was nearly out the door when he wrestled her ankles and flung her back to the wall. Abigail groaned without words, but as she tried to call out for help, Walter stuffed his tie into her mouth and bound the ends about her chin. Every effort to break free was stifled by his belt surrounding her wrists. After Patrick, she knew all too well what it was to be tied in soft ropes surrounded by delicious fear. But when Walter Ross crushed his boot to her side, she understood that this was something else, something that she did not want. Every effort to break free only translated into fresh kicks battering her flesh. He lunged forward and wrestled her body to the ground as he dropped his pants and revealed his gleaming cock. Hard and long, Abigail knew that she would take no pleasure in even one inch of it, and she tried to scramble away as he pushed himself inside her with a vile thrust followed by a hateful throb. Gagged and powerless, Abigail thrashed around him, but Walter’s strength combined with his venom brought a rain of new blows down on her body. Every punch, every kick made her miss the ways that Patrick bound her with total care and kissed her upon release. Walter Ross spit on her and kicked her into tormented silence.