The Bondage Club

by Alexandrea Weis

  He inspected the contents of one of the cartons. “Not bad. Just difficult. We lost our premier author last year.”

  “Monique Delome, yeah I know. What exactly happened with her and your brother? He was pretty tight-lipped about it at dinner the other night.”

  While spooning shrimp fried rice onto his plate, he shrugged his wide shoulders. “Monique and my brother had worked together for years, Chris was always interested in her, but she put him off. Then she got involved with some old flame, an oil guy from Dallas. The affair turned out badly and Monique leaned on Chris for support. I didn’t find out they were engaged until a month after it happened.” He plopped the carton beside her. “A month after that I found out she was pregnant.”

  Cary almost dropped her spoon. “Pregnant?”

  Hunter opened another white carton and peeked inside. “It wasn’t Chris’s baby. The oil guy was the father. Tyler Moore was his name. Anyway, Tyler found out she was pregnant, won her back, and then she fired Chris as her manager. In the process, she gave her last release, A Chance with You, to another publisher. I would have killed to get my hands on that book, but my idiot brother told Monique it was too risqué for Donovan Books.”

  Cary selected a cold egg roll from another carton. “Was that when you decided to branch out into erotica?”

  He nodded as he loaded some chicken and noodles on his plate. “That was when I knew we had to change. Losing Monique Delome hurt, and since then other authors have been pulling away.” He took a bite of noodles. “Hey, I get it. Authors need to grow, but my father is old-fashioned, so is my brother.”

  Cary snatched up her fork. “Your brother is also clueless.”

  Picking up his wine glass, he snickered. “Clueless? How?”

  “He thinks he knows writers, says he can anticipate their needs. He even claimed he was the best manager there is, but I didn’t buy it. A good manager would know he could never anticipate any writer’s needs. Needs change with every book.” She deposited a small serving of chicken and noodles on her plate. “Sometimes you need someone to listen to your ideas as you write; sometimes you just need peace to write. Every book requires something different from a writer.”

  He sat back in his chair, holding his wine glass and studying her. “Now that sounds like something a writer would say.”

  She fidgeted in her chair, shaking her head. “I’ve heard my writers tell me that, that’s all.” She daintily tried to push a forkful of noodles into her mouth without spilling a drop.

  “I think you’ve been keeping a very big secret from me, Cary.” He put his wine glass down and leaned over to her. “I think there is something you want to tell me but are too afraid.”

  She munched on her noodles, her eyes nervously darting about the kitchen.

  “You want to be a writer, don’t you?” Hunter softly asked. “You edit books, hang out with writers and took this job with my publishing house because you secretly want to write. That’s why you go to those bondage clubs and spend time in those weird bars. You’re doing your research in hopes of penning your novel one day.”

  Cary almost choked on her noodles, then she burst out in a fit of laughter. “You don’t know how wrong you are about me, Hunter.” She took a hurried sip of wine. “Cary Anderson is not a writer.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I’m right about you.” He pointed his fork at her. “And it’s all right to want to be a writer, Cary. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

  “If there is nothing wrong with it, why aren’t you trying again with your book?”

  He gathered up some noodles on his fork. “I had my shot, but you could still take yours.”

  Waiting as he chewed on a mouthful of noodles, Cary cradled her wine glass in her hands. “How ‘bout I make a deal with you?”

  He stopped chewing, leery of her suggestion. “A deal?”

  She exuberantly thumped her glass down on the table. “I will take a shot at writing a book, if you finish the book you started.”

  He furrowed his brow at her. “Why would I do that?”

  “Why not? We could work together, compare notes, and urge each other on. When you get frustrated you could bounce ideas off me, and I can do the same with you when I get stumped. We’ll help each other.”

  He put his fork down and contemplated her eyes, attempting to read her thoughts. “Why are you so determined to see me pick up that book again?”

  Appearing as if she were suddenly reinvigorated, she snapped up her fork. “I don’t know. Maybe I want to see how your book ends. I’ve always been a sucker for endings, good, bad, boring; I love to see everything brought to a conclusion. I guess it’s the editor in me. I can’t move on to another book until I know how the last one ended. And I want to see you finish your book, Hunter. I think you want to see it finished, too.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he sighed. “But if I did agree to such a scheme, it could not interfere with work. We have to stay on track with The Bondage Club release.”

  “Absolutely. We can start tonight, after we eat.” She heaved a hunk of noodles onto her fork. “I have this idea for a book, but I need help getting started.”

  He enjoyed her enthusiasm. “All right. I guess we can brainstorm for a little while.”

  “Great.” She shoved the noodles into her mouth.

  Her childlike exuberance was infectious and Hunter rolled a thick wad of noodles on his fork and then crammed it into his mouth, mimicking her. They laughed together as the Coca Cola sign began to flash its bright lights into her living room, bathing them in a warm red glow.

  * * *

  They were sitting in her office, next to her white Ikea desk with an add-on unit of shelves and a matching white printer stand, each with yellow legal pads and pens in their hands. The half-full bottle of zinfandel and two almost empty wine glasses sat on a corner of the desk just down from her closed black laptop, while Sex Kitten was curled up next to the computer. Scattered on the walls were peg boards, a large calendar, and a framed poster of St. Louis Cathedral in the moonlight. A long window next to the desk was allowing the amber glow of the street lights into the room, while the single black desk lamp added a stringent hue.

  “You have an outline for the middle and an end. They fall in love, get torn apart, and then find their love again,” Hunter began as he sat back in the oak chair he had dragged in from the dining room. “But you need a sharp beginning. Something to draw the reader in.”

  “I know.” Cary sank in her black desk chair. “That’s my problem. I can’t figure out how to start it.”

  Hunter glanced down at his legal pad, reviewing his notes. “Perhaps start with the character of Sylvia. Offer the reader a glimpse of her life before you bring James into the story. That way they can see how much meeting him will change her life. Make it from her viewpoint.”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes danced in the light from the desk lamp. “That’s it. I can have her come home from work and show the drudgery of her existence as a librarian. It will add to the excitement when James runs into her on the street. Then as the relationship builds, I can show how his love changes her life and opens her eyes to the world around her.”

  “From what you describe, it sounds like a romance. But you still need something that will make it memorable. You know, beyond the boy meets girl scenario.”

  “Yeah, you’re right” she agreed. “I guess I’m still putting it together in my head.”

  “You just need to hone the characters down. When they become real to you, the story will take shape.” He tossed his pad on the desk. “From the way you describe her, I can see bits of the shy and reserved Sylvia in you.”

  She put her pad and pen down. “What makes you think this is autobiographical?”

  Hunter picked up his wine glass and the bottle. “Every writer puts part of their life into their stories. Our experiences shape what and how we write.” He poured some wine into his glass. “So who was James? Who was the guy who turned you from a recluse and into a woman of
the world?”

  She lifted her glass and held it up to him. After he finished pouring his wine, he tipped the bottle over the rim of her glass. “There was never a James,” she divulged.

  He topped off her glass, frowning slightly. “No one ever came close? Not even your fiancé?”

  “No, Winter and me…well, we started out all right, but he eventually walked away. With other guys I was never…very successful. I guess James is the guy I would like to meet. Someone who can rescue me from this life.”

  “What’s wrong with your life? You’ve got a great career, are well-known by some famous authors, are highly respected, and you just started a new job with a great company.”

  “But….” She peered into her wine. “I’m also thirty-one, never been married, and according to my mother that makes me something of a spinster. And I’ve even been considering getting another cat, which, as you know, is the death knell for any spinster.”

  He cast his eyes to Sex Kitten. “I don’t think he wants a playmate. He strikes me as a lone wolf.”

  Scratching behind the cat’s right ear, she said, “Maybe we’re both like that.”

  “I don’t buy that.” He paused for a moment and rolled his glass in his hands, debating if he should say what was on his mind. “Maybe if you weren’t so…pushy.”

  “Pushy?” She thwacked her wineglass down on the desk. “Do you think I’m pushy?”

  “Yes,” he calmly told her. “You should never tell a guy about your interest in bondage, at least not until after quite a few dates, maybe even later than that. It might scare some guys away.”

  “It didn’t scare you away.”

  “But I’m not dating you, Cary.”

  She took in a breath, allowing a long silence to linger between them. “Would you ever date someone like me?” she eventually asked with an alluring smile.

  He put his wine down, fighting like hell to not let that smile get to him. “If you weren’t my employee, then…sure, I would ask you out on a date.” He abruptly rose from his chair, feeling uncomfortable. “It’s getting late. I should go.”

  “Sure. I’ll walk you out.”

  When Cary stood up, she teetered a little to the side. Hunter caught her before she stumbled into her desk.

  “Are you okay?”

  She rested her hands against his chest. “I think I had too much wine.”

  The smell of her flowery perfume and the softness of her skin aroused his desire. Without thinking, Hunter wrapped his other arm about her. As her body pressed into him, he became hypnotized by her red lips and before he could stop he was lowering his mouth to hers.

  The kiss was spontaneous, but as the warmth of her lips caressed his, Hunter realized that this was exactly what he had been craving from her all night. He had been yearning to hold her close and taste her hypnotic smile. When she kissed him back, his grip about her waist tightened, crushing her to him. He traced his lips along her cheek and down her neck to the tender spot at the nape. His teeth scraped her skin, and when he bit into her flesh, she rocked her head back and moaned.

  “I know we shouldn’t,” he murmured against her throat. “But what if we—”

  “Moved this to my bedroom?”

  Hunter eased back from her, feeling his resolve weakening. “We have to be smart about this.”

  She clasped his hand and pulled him toward her office door. “Admit it, Hunter, it’s what we both want.” She stopped at the doorway and kissed him. “Am I right?”

  He shook his head, hating his inability to push her away. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  She nodded to a door just down the short hallway from her office. When she turned back to him, he picked her up in his arms and tossed her over his left shoulder. He was laughing as he carried her down the hallway, and when Hunter came to her bedroom door he kicked it open.

  Lit by the streetlights, the bedroom was painted in alternating shades of pale blue with white trim. A blue bedspread was neatly made on a white canopy, queen-sized bed in the center of the room. A wide square, blue and white throw rug lay beneath the bed, blue curtains covered the two tall white windows on the far wall, and a white chest of drawers with a white mounted mirror on top hugged the opposite wall.

  “This is not what I expected,” Hunter declared, depositing her on the bed.

  She reclined back on the blue cover, and turned on a brass lamp sitting on a white night table. “What did you expect?”

  He stood at the foot of the bed and kicked off his black loafers. “Something less…girly.” He curiously fingered the blue drapery hanging from the canopy beside him.

  She sat up. “But I am a girl, you know?”

  He hurriedly undid the buttons on his shirt. “Yeah, I noticed.” He leapt onto the bed and encircled her in his arms.

  Cary wrestled the shirt over his shoulders and threw it to the floor. Hunter finished pulling her T-shirt over her head, while she unzipped his fly. She was tugging his boxers and black pants down his hips while he fought to undo the last clasp on her bra. Giggling, she finally got him out of his pants as he dropped her bra over the side of the bed. When his hands went to the zipper on her jeans, Cary rolled over, and opened a drawer in her night table.

  “What are you doing?” he questioned, lowering her jeans to her ankles.

  “Protection,” she answered.

  He finished getting her black silk panties from around her ankles. “For a girl who claims to not be too successful with men, you sure have a ready supply of condoms.”

  She lay on her back, naked beneath him. “Is that a bad thing?”

  He kissed her lips. “No, it just makes me wonder.” He wrapped her legs about his hips.

  “I’m not easy, Hunter.”

  “Neither of us are exactly easy, Cary.”

  “You’re right,” she whispered, arching her body into his.

  He fondled her folds and when his fingers slid inside her wet flesh, Cary groaned. His need for her took over as her body responded to his touch. Unable to wait any longer, Hunter grabbed her butt, elevating her hips.

  “Wait.” She placed her hand on his chest.

  He searched her eyes. “What is it?”

  She sat up and gently eased him over on his back. “Not that way. I like to be on top.” Kissing the scar on his left upper chest she snaked her hands up his arms, raising them above his head. “Are you ever going to tell me how you got that scar?”

  “Not right this minute.”

  “What if I make you talk?” She tempted his neck with her teeth.

  He went to put his arms about her, but she held them above his head. “What did you have in mind?”

  Hunter felt something cold clamp over both of his wrists. “That’s better,” she mumbled into his ear. “Now you’re my captive.”

  Hunter opened his eyes and saw a pair of silver handcuffs secured to the corner post above his head. He frantically pulled on the handcuffs while Cary straddled his hips. “For crying out loud, Cary, not again.”

  “You’ll like it this way.” She nibbled his ear.

  “Can’t we try it the normal way?” he beseeched in a raised voice.

  She placed her hand over his mouth. “No talking.” She kissed his chest, bit his right nipple, and then worked her lips down his stomach to his erection.

  When her mouth closed over him, Hunter gasped. Her lips worked up and down his shaft, tantalizing him, encouraging him, and building tension in every muscle of his body. Hunter dreaded what was coming, but as his climax charged upward, he prayed that she did not intend to tease him like before.

  And when that white heat took over his senses, his back arched and his hands tugged against the handcuffs. His orgasm was swift and relentless, and he moaned as his body shook. Breathing hard and trying to relax against the bed, he felt her shimmy up his body and settle on top of his hips.

  “Okay, undo the handcuffs, Cary.”

  She kissed his neck. “Not yet. I’m not done.”

  “Come on, th
is isn’t comfortable.”

  Her fingernail scratched down his chest to his groin. The throbbing in his body had not even ebbed when she began stimulating him. Hunter sucked in a breath when her fingers gently teased him, creating that welcomed tingle. He could not believe that he could feel any excitement so soon after coming, but he did. Her hand enticed him, and soon he was growing hard again.

  Before he knew what was happening, she swiftly maneuvered a condom over him, and straddled his hips. “Now it’s my turn,” she whispered to him.

  “I swear I’ve never known a woman like you. But if you don’t take off these handcuffs soon, I’m never going to regain sensation in my hands again.”

  She kissed his lips as she lowered her hips on to him. “I don’t need your hands, just this.” Taking him all the way into her, he sighed as her flesh closed around him.

  She rode him hard, compounding the pain in his arms. Cary was writhing above him, slamming her hips against him, causing Hunter to wince as his shoulders stretched out further. But soon his discomfort was erased by the fire growing in his loins. He wanted to hold her, urge her hips to move faster, but he was at her mercy. He found the sensation compelling and yet frustrating as hell. He was plotting his revenge when his second climax surged forward. His body tensed and he heard Cary call his name as her body trembled. When he finally let go, he swore it was better than before.

  Catching his breath, Hunter opened his eyes and saw her curled up on his chest, breathing hard. He went to hold her and then the uncomfortable burning in his arms returned.

  “Cary, undo my hands, please.”

  She sat up. “What if I want to go again?”

  “Then I will get on top, or from behind or any way you want, just get me out of these damn things.”

  Grudgingly, she undid the handcuffs, and when his arms fell from the post, shooting pains burned all the way from his left shoulder to his hand.

  “Shit!” he yelled.

  “What?” She hovered over him, frowning.

  “My arm.” Tears began welling up in his eyes. “Christ, it’s on fire. My left shoulder feels like it has been ripped from the socket.”