by Nia Farrell
Chapter Seven
It had to be the cleanest breakroom that Sara had ever seen. The small kitchenette boasted upper and lower cabinets with a two-bay sink, a full-size refrigerator, a coffeemaker, and a microwave. A water cooler and a soda machine sat on the opposite wall. The space between was filled with a sturdy eight-foot folding table surrounded by upholstered stack chairs like the ones used in church fellowship halls and family diners.
Flynn set down his sack at the end of the table and found paper plates and plastic flatware in the cabinets. Sara started pulling out cardboard containers, unfolding the flaps on top of most of them. She opened the sauce cups but left the dessert boxes closed for now.
“What do you want to drink?” Flynn tossed the words over his shoulder as he rummaged in the fridge.
“Water’s fine,” she said.
He came back with two chilled bottles of spring water and a bottle of beer.
“Thanks.” She unscrewed the lid and took a bracing sip.
Flynn cracked open his beer and savored his first taste. “Kaylee keeps jasmine tea here, too, if you’d rather have tea with your Thai.”
Sara smiled and covered her lap with a paper napkin. “Another time. I like different teas, but I don’t drink a lot of them.”
He looked at all the steaming boxes and the assortment of sauces in plastic soufflés. “What do we have here?”
She pointed to each in turn. “Edamame. Spring rolls with soy sauce. Vegetable tempura, crab rangoon, coconut shrimp, and golden bags with sweet chili sauce. Fried rice… and… chicken satays with peanut sauce.”
He eyed the paper sleeves of chopsticks. “Are you gonna use those?”
She shook her head. “Nope. After ruining a favorite blouse, I gave up trying. I make enough of a mess with a fork.”
He looked skeptical.
“Trust me. It happens. Now, dig in while it’s still hot.”
They ate in companionable silence. When they did talk, it was about food—what they were eating or things that they liked.
Or hated, in Flynn’s case. His aversion to anchovies was almost comical. She couldn’t laugh, though. She didn’t like them, either.
Flynn noted the one thing that was absent from her plate. “What about you? Anything that you hate? You didn’t touch the fried rice.”
“If I’d eaten that, I wouldn’t have room for the good stuff. We have sticky rice and mangos for dessert.”
He tapped his chin. “That explains the rice but you haven’t answered my question. Is there anything that you hate?”
“Black licorice. Root beer. Anise. Caraway seeds. Weird stuff like that. My problem is more things that I like but shouldn’t have.”
“Oh?”
“When I was in the hospital, the doctors were really worried about my kidney function and started me on a renal diet. Just the thought of dialysis is enough to keep me there. Basically, it’s eating right and watching what I drink. Plenty of water. No coffee, caffeine, or artificial sweeteners. The hardest part is staying away from cola and deli meats. Still, if it means staying healthy, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I have blood work done every year to make sure I’m doing things right. So far, so good.”
“And you’re clean for STDs and blood-borne pathogens?” he asked.
The question caught Sara off-guard. Tattoos, she reminded herself. He needed to know these things.
“The last time I was tested, yes. I haven’t been with anyone since.”
“I was clean on my last test, too.”
She noted that he didn’t say that he’d been abstinent. Hopefully, he practiced safe sex, but with all those women, willing and available at the clubhouse, men didn’t always think with their heads when passions ruled.
“Good,” she said, forcing a lightness to her voice that she was far from feeling. The thought of Flynn “scratching an itch” with one of the sweetbutts bothered her more than it should. Remembering the action in the clubhouse lounge and imagining him there, she could feel herself grow flush, dammit. “Hopefully you’ll stay that way.”
The words flew out before she could stop them.
Flynn put down his fork and sat back in his chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Sara cringed when she realized how curt she had sounded. For someone so well-practiced in hiding her emotions, she was having a terrible time around Flynn. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I just—I think I’d better go.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing,” she snapped. “Nothing is going on.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Nothing’s happened yet. I told you if you want something, you’re gonna have to tell me. You want a tattoo? Fine. You want more than a tattoo? Say the word. With or without kink, your pick. But I’m telling you now, if you really want to learn about yourself, you’ll do a BDSM session with me.”
She rubbed her temples, feeling confused. The conversation had gone from healthy eating to kinky sex in the span of a minute. “I don’t know,” she stammered. “I don’t think I’m ready to be part of the spectacle.”
“It doesn’t have to be the clubhouse lounge. There’s my room, or we have a playroom here. Either way, it will be private. Just the two of us. Look, I know you get off on pain. I can show you a dozen ways to experience an endorphin rush like cutting gave you. We can even do it without sex if you’re not ready. Nothing’s going to happen unless it’s consensual.”
What he was offering was so very tempting. A kink session that would let her experience pleasure as well as pain. Putting herself in his hands. Giving him command of her body. Being at his mercy and trusting him to guide her safely through it all.
“All right,” she said, praying that she didn’t chicken out at the last minute.
Flynn nodded. “Good girl. Finish eating. You’re gonna need it.”
They put the leftovers in the fridge when they were done and cleared the table, leaving the breakroom as clean as they’d found it.
“The ladies’ room is down the hall,” he told her. “I want you to void, wash your hands, and meet me in the playroom across the hall from the restrooms. I’ll leave the door open for you. Take off your shoes when you enter and wait for my command.”
“Yes, Sir.”
That made him smile. “Good girl. Now, go.”
Sara used the facilities and washed her hands, checking her teeth in the mirror and smoothing back her hair. Opening the door, she turned off the light, walked across the way, and stepped into a strange, new world that she’d only seen in movie trailers.
Unlike the Red Room of Pain, this room had an industrial feel to it. The tattoo chair was outfitted with restraints. A St. Andrew’s cross adorned an exposed brick wall. A spanking bench sat to one side, begging to be used.
Flynn had already taken off his cut. He stripped off his T-shirt, exposing the ink on his arms, chest, and back, where the image that he’d painted had been rendered in ink on the canvas of his skin. It was stunning. A true work of art, regardless of the medium.
His body was magnificent. He was toned, sculpted, and tatted. Her fingers longed to touch him. Forcing herself to wait for his command, she curled her hands, toed off her shoes, and swallowed hard to keep from drooling.
Flynn opened a tall, shallow cabinet that stood against one wall. Its full-length twin doors held racks of tools for impact play. The shelves inside held all manner of adult toys. Pulling out a pair of clamps and black cloth gloves, he added them to the top of a stainless steel cart that was lined with rows of pins in different lengths and an assortment of decorative heads.
With everything else in the room, she nearly overlooked the massage chair tucked in a corner. A padded stool with wheels sat nearby.
Flynn saw that she had taken off her shoes as instructed. “Good girl. I assume that you’ve heard about safewords. You’ll use one if we need to slow things down and another to stop completely. Keep in mind, once we stop
, that’s it. We’ll do aftercare and talk about what happened, but the play is done for the night. We’re going to use yellow to slow and red to stop, just like traffic lights. Green means you’re good to go. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I’ll say yellow if I need to you go slower and red if I need things to stop.”
“I won’t have you strip completely, but I need you to at least take off your skirt and top. They’ll be in the way for what I plan to do.”
Sara put her purse beside her shoes and reached for the zipper on her skirt. Siding down the tab, she hooked her fingers in the waistband and worked the fabric over her hips to pool at her feet. She crossed her arms, caught the bottom of her knit top, and pulled it off. Her hair snapped with static electricity. Smoothing the flyaway strands, she folded her clothes and laid them on top of her purse.
She felt Flynn’s gaze long before she dared to meet it. Straightening, she fought the urge to hide and forced her hands to stay down by her sides.
“Hot damn,” he whistled. “If my teachers had looked like you, I might have stayed in school. Red is definitely your color—although black would pop against that fair skin of yours. We’re going to start in the big chair.” Working the controls, he reclined the chair until it was almost flat. “A little bondage. A little pain. I’d love to do needles but we’ll save that for another time, once I think you’re ready. I’m going to keep it simple tonight with some basic sensory play. Ice. A Wartenberg wheel. Vampire gloves. If you get comfortable enough to lose the bra, I have nipple clamps here, too. How does that sound?”
Sara met his gaze. He exuded the confidence that she lacked. It was almost enough to quiet her misgivings.
“Second thoughts?” he guessed. “Don’t do this unless you want to. I won’t get my feelings hurt if you back out now, or later. At any point, one word stops it. Remember that.”
He was so patient with her, she couldn’t fail to be impressed. Taking a deep breath, she took off her bra, walked to the chair, and lay down on her back for him.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Now, I need you to do something for me. Play with your nipples. Get them hard. They need to be erect for the clamps.”
Sara caught her lower lip between her teeth. She could do this. Inhaling sharply, she squeezed her breasts and rubbed the tips to bring them to attention. Catching her nipples between her fingers, she tugged and twisted them, bringing them fully erect.
“Let go of your right breast,” he said. No sooner than her hand fell away, he fastened the clamp on her tip. The mix of pleasure and pain sent a bolt of sexual energy to strike at her very core. He flicked the end with his fingernail, making her gasp.
“Other side,” he murmured, repeating the process. “That’s a good girl. Jesus, you’re so responsive. I can’t wait to use the gloves on you.”
Straightening, he went to stand behind her head. “I need your wrists, sugar.”
She raised her arms above her head. He fastened fur-lined leather cuffs to each wrist, adjusted them to fit, and fastened them to the clips on the side of the chair. They were positioned low enough that her elbows were bent, giving her room to move. Room to react.
Using the backs of his fingers, he traced a line down the side of her body, from her wrist to her calf. He fastened a leather cuff around her ankle and secured it to the bottom of the chair. The click seemed as loud as a death knell, hurtling her back in time….
*
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Sara waved off the extra drink that Janine and Francine ordered from the bar while she was in the ladies’ room. Those twins were going to be the death of her.
“I told you no more,” she chided. “I have to drive home, and so do one of you.”
“The night’s young!” Francine slurred, downing another shot. Janine must be the designated driver. She had switched to diet cola after two light beers.
“For you, maybe. Brad was pissed that I made plans without consulting him first.”
“Brad’s a pussy, and you’re pussy whipped!” Francine chortled. “You shouldn’t let him tell you what to do.”
She was right, but Sara would never admit it to anyone. Brad wasn’t perfect, but what man was? He was intelligent. He had a good job. They both liked Cardinal baseball and sailing. They were renting for now, but they had their eyes on a property at the lake that would be perfect for building their dream house. Once she paid back her student loans, they could think about starting a family.
“He doesn’t,” Sara insisted. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be with you, would I?” Her favorite band had played here tonight, but Brad hated country music. His refusal to come meant more time with her best friends since grade school. “Still, it’s late. We plan to go to early Mass, then it’s off to the lake.”
Janine watched her fish her keys from her purse. “You’re okay to drive, right?”
“Yep. I had one Margarita, and that was three hours ago. Just make sure that you’re safe to drive, too, okay? I worry about you.”
“Same here, Cookie. Call us when you get back from the lake. We want man-sighting stories, especially since tonight was a bust.”
They’d been hoping the band would draw in some rugged country boys. Most of the ones who’d showed had come with dates. There were a few bikers in earlier, probably on a poker run or something, but they’d left a while ago.
Clutching her keys, Sarah slung her purse over her shoulder and headed out the front door. The night was blessedly cool compared to the awful heat that they’d been having. The lake water was going to feel heavenly tomorrow. She had a new swimsuit just waiting to be worn.
She’d almost made it to her car when she saw one of the bikers from the bar leaning against the side of a van that was parked on the street. He was smoking a cigarette, minding his own business. Still, she walked a bit faster, keeping her finger on the button to unlock her door as soon as she reached it.
She never got the chance. Someone came up behind her, slapped his hand over her mouth, banded her arms, and lifted her off her feet. Whoever he was, he was huge and smelled like leather, tobacco, and sweat. The biker nodded and opened the back door of the panel van. Another pair of hands tied a cloth over her eyes and slapped duct tape over her mouth. They bound her wrists and ankles, tossed her in the back, and shut the door.
She lay there, praying for deliverance, listening for her abductors, dreading when they would climb into the van and start driving to wherever they were taking her. Every horror story she’d ever heard echoed in her head. She lay there for long, excruciating minutes in silence broken only by the occasional start of an engine or a car on the street passing by.
What were they waiting for?
Another girl. Oh, Jesus. Janine and Francine were still in the bar.
Stay. Stay. Stay…!
Chapter Eight
Flynn undid Sara’s cuffs as soon as he saw what was happening. “It’s okay,” he said, smoothing her hair and cupping her face in his hands. “You’re safe. It’s okay. You’re safe. Come back to me, Sara. Look at me, babe. You’re here. You’re safe. Come on, sugar. Come back to me.”
He kept stroking Sara’s hair and face. His voice finally pulled her out of it, thank fuck.
She cracked open her eyes, saw him, and sobbed in relief. He held her while she cried, clinging to him like he was her savior when he felt like shit that he’d hit one of her triggers.
He didn’t speak again until she’d quieted down. “You had me worried, woman. I didn’t know where you’d gone. Do you want to talk about it?”
She shuddered and kept her face pressed against his chest as she recalled the night that she’d been taken by the Blackwater Demons.
“I’d been out with my girlfriends and left the bar ahead of them. I was almost to my car when I was taken. They blindfolded me. Taped my mouth. Bound my hands and ankles and threw me in the back of a van. But we didn’t leave. I think they were waiting to take Janine and Francine, too. I remember hearing soft pops, moans, more pops.
Later, the police said that four Blackwater Demons had been murdered. Meanwhile, I just lay there, helpless, praying that someone would find me. God, I was so scared. Scared for me. Scared for my friends. This area has way too many missing persons and now I was one of them, only no one knew. Brad was pissed that I’d gone out. I’m sure he sulked, then went to bed and never gave me another thought until I didn’t come home in the morning.”
Flynn growled. “I’d have been looking to haul your ass home and spank it.”
That made her smile. “Yeah, well that’s you. My fiancé thought mostly about himself. After the police found me, Brad was still pissed that I’d made him miss boating on the lake. When he found out that I’d miscarried, he had zero sympathy. I had no clue that he was leaving me until I was released. He knew it wouldn’t look good to break up with me while I was in critical condition in the hospital. When he took me home, he helped me inside the door and left me standing there. His stuff was already gone.”
Flynn wanted to bust some balls. “What an asshole.”
She nodded. “Major asshole. I had no idea how big until I needed him most. I’m sorry I ruined things for you tonight. I don’t know what happened.”
“The ankle restraints,” he said. “You were fine with your hands, but having your feet cuffed is a trigger that we’ll need to work through. Not tonight. Right now, I want to sit you up. Have you drink some water. Do you do chocolate? I know you said no caffeine.”
She bit her lip and slid him a sheepish glance. “There are exceptions to every rule. Chocolate is my kryptonite.”
“Good to know.” He’d already unclipped her wrists but the cuffs were still on. “Those nipple clamps need to come off. When the blood rushes back in, it’s going to hurt. I can make it feel better if you trust me to do it.”
“Okay.” She didn’t sound sure but she was brave enough to take a chance.
He started with the clamp closest to him. “Here goes.” He took it off. She gasped at the pain. Seeking to ease it, he bent his head and fastened his mouth over her nipple, sucking on it until her gasp turned into a moan.
