Gordon had the Chablis ready. Chelsea arrived at his penthouse in a tasteful blue dress, her hair silky and free about her shoulders. She marveled at the surroundings—imposing modernist design. He marveled at her.
“This…is stunning,” she whispered through red-painted lips.
“No.” He took her into his arms. “This is.”
She melted into his kiss, allowing him to cradle her back with his hand. Her whole being was in the kiss, her intelligence, her passion. “I would like to blindfold you,” he said. “I would like to play with you.”
Suddenly shy, her head dropped against his chest.
He took her hand and led her into the bedroom. The window was two stories tall, overlooking the city, the bed was an expanse of black silk tucked over a firm mattress. He longed to see her naked on its surface.
He ran his fingers through her hair. “Are you afraid?”
She shook her head.
He lifted her chin with thumb and forefinger. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the gift…of you.”
Another kiss, their bodies melded so tightly things could easily have moved into lovemaking—a fast and furious tangling of limbs. He forced himself away, taking a step backward. “I’d like to see you naked.”
“Yes,” she rasped, “Sir.”
He smiled wryly. “I certainly hope you’re not seeing this as punishment?”
She licked her lips, slipping off her heels, toes digging into the pile carpeting. “No, Sir.”
Chelsea unzipped the dress and lifted it over her head. With her arms aloft it was easy to imagine her tied.
“Do you like?” she asked, wanting his approval for the choice of underwear—blue lace panties and bra.
“Indescribable,” he said.
She blushed, reaching for the clasp of the bra. For a breathtaking moment she held on to the cups, wisps of hair falling in front of her angelic face. Gordon’s cock throbbed with agonizing need. He had saved himself for this, restraining himself during the phone call as he’d led her to orgasm.
Her breasts were marvels, slightly upturned, full and milky-white, with lovely erect, light brown nipples.
“Touch them,” he said.
She did so, trembling.
“Take down your panties,” he commanded. “And come to me.”
She inhaled shallowly. So very vulnerable as she shimmied down her wispy lace underwear. Anticipation lit her blue eyes along with a trust that overwhelmed him and made his heart ache.
Chelsea approached barefoot, her steps as graceful as a goddess.
“Stop.” He touched her breast, caressed it. She rewarded him with a moan.
“Lift your hair,” he said. “Put it on top of your head. Hold it there.”
She exposed her neck, gathering her tresses, imprisoning her hands in the process.
“Close your eyes.”
She sucked in her lower lip. Gordon rubbed his hand over his crotch, savoring. Her flat tummy undulated very slightly, her breasts rose and fell. Her hip was turned out, ever so slightly.
He kissed her neck, causing her to gasp. “I would like you to give yourself,” he whispered.
“I will. I do,” she said without hesitation.
Gordon undid the tie from around his neck and circled behind her. It made a perfect blindfold. “Hands at your sides,” he said. He pulled the silk around her head and tied it.
“Can you see?”
“No, Sir.”
“Take my hand.” He led her to the bed. She squeezed his fingers as they walked. Gordon laid her flat, head on the pillow, arms over her head, one knee raised.
“I am going to tie you, Chelsea.”
“Yes…”
He took each wrist, tenderly slipping it inside the waiting velvet. Gordon had had the restraints built in at all four corners. Chelsea was hardly the first, but she was different. Would she be the last?
Gordon paused to admire his work, the dark-haired beauty, wrists bound wide over her head, helpless. “If it’s too much, Chelsea, say Chablis. And I’ll stop. Do you understand?”
“I do, Sir.”
He allowed himself the luxury of a long caress, all the way from her collarbone to her hip. He stopped at her breasts, lingered at her belly. Chelsea moaned.
Gordon could smell her arousal. “You may call me Master if you wish.”
“Oh, yes,” she responded, arching her back. “Oh, Master, thank you.”
Gordon smiled in approval. He removed his clothing.
“Open for me, angel.”
Chelsea put her knee down and widened her thighs. “Do I please you, Master?”
“Like no other.” He meant it too.
“Are you going to take me?” she asked.
“In due time.” He smiled.
She shivered, relishing his power.
One by one he took her ankles, looping them in the velvet ties as he had her wrists. “Better,” he said. “A man likes to keep his slave girl in one place.”
“I want to please you.” She lifted herself, flesh straining perfectly, a pure combination of feminine power and helplessness. “I want to be good.”
Gordon marveled at the immediate effect of the restraint. It was setting her free, like a dark panther released from its cage into the jungle.
“I hope so.” He had a riding crop he kept tucked under the mattress. “Master is not above disciplining his sleek little sex toys.”
Toys in the plural…but there was so much inside her yet to uncover. Would that not take a lifetime?
She jolted as he touched the delicate whip to her belly. “Is that…is that a…?”
“It’s a crop, Chelsea. You’ve seen their uses in your Internet searches?”
“Yes, Master.” Her teeth chattered as the crop had its way, tapping her nipples, sliding across her glistening, hairless mound. “S-slaves are punished with them.”
“You’ve seen pictures?”
She nodded, neck arched.
“Masturbated to them?”
Another fierce nod.
He slapped her belly with the whip, for psychological effect. “Say it.”
“I masturbate to pictures of girls being whipped, Master.”
Gordon put the crop to her lips. “Lick it.”
She kissed with devotion and put out her tongue with such passion he nearly exploded.
He’d never seen anything like it.
Gordon snapped the whip against her hip. He knew how to do this. He was an expert—a sensualist, not a sadist.
“M-Master,” she cried.
It was the idea, the mild sensation…not real pain.
“You don’t need a picture now, do you?”
“No, Master.”
He slapped her belly and then delivered a stroke to her right breast. She inhaled sharply at the strike against her sensitive skin.
“Take it,” he whispered. “For me.”
“Yes,” she moaned as he struck a precise blow to her nipple, making it explode in ripe and luscious pain. “Oh god, yes.”
He went to work, alternating one breast and then the other, gradually building. When she thought she could take no more, he pressed the tip of the whip at the juncture of her thighs, lightly touching, just enough to drive her out of her mind. She was so wet, so obviously ready.
“Your skin is nice and pink,” he told her, observing her splayed, well-marked flesh.
She was writhing, sweat beading on her forehead. “Y-yes…I am marked…yours.”
Gordon stroked his cock. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she cried, nearly screaming her need. “Master, oh god, fuck me, I need your cock, please…own me.”
Gordon climbed into place, heart pounding, everything new and yet it was like he had been here a million times before, looming over this submitted body, lowering himself, taking possession.
His cock slid inside Chelsea like butter.
“Oh, Master, thank you, thank you…”
He would never hold out. “You will come when I do,” he said.
A handful of thrusts was all it took for both of them. Chelsea rose off the bed to meet his thrusts. He was so deep in her, swallowed in molten heat. She was his, completely surrendered, open, tied and yet free to soar.
They exploded somewhere above heaven. A forbidden place of sex, where man and woman play, taking on primeval roles. Her orgasms wrapped around his, his pumping semen filling her, spraying into her. His mouth was at her neck, breathing her in, tasting, consuming. And she was giving, giving, giving.
He kissed her a million times when it was over. He undid the velvet ties and rubbed her limbs, he cleaned her with a damp towel. He told her how good she was, he told her to close her eyes as he took off the silk tie. He told her to go to sleep, to slip under the covers, naked, flesh on silk.
His bed would never do better.
Nor, he had a strong feeling, would he.
Gordon left her sleeping, smiling contentedly. He took a shower. With each passing second, reason rushed in. And worry. Where was his head? Just yesterday he had promised himself to go no further with Chelsea and today he had turned around and shared his sexual dominance with her and partaken of her submission.
All because of her hot voice on the phone.
Or was there more drawing him to the sexy, raven-haired woman? The last thing he wanted or needed was a relationship, least of all with someone he could be friends with. That only made the breakup harder. Besides, his money would ruin an obviously good-hearted woman like Chelsea. Money corrupted, it isolated, and it made a person hard and lonely.
I’ve got to get rid of her, he resolved.
It was at that point the shower door opened.
Chelsea smiled dreamily at him. One look at her and his cock began to stir…again.
Chelsea’s heart lifted the moment she saw him. Waking up alone in the bed, she had been filled with a sudden emptiness. It scared her.
“Master,” she purred as she went to her knees before him.
He groaned and at first she thought he might pull back. But Chelsea was persuasive. At the water cascaded over them, she licked and tugged at him, making his cock swell in her mouth. Fearlessly, she drew him deep.
His slave.
By choice, for sex.
His hands rested on her shoulders. “You are a minx,” he said. “And we really should slow down.”
She showed him her idea of slow.
Gordon’s turgid cock erupted. Jets of semen hit the back of her throat. So alive, so hot, so right. She decided to swallow. She had never done that for any man.
Afterward, she kissed his foot in gratitude.
Gordon lifted her to her feet. She expected a kiss, instead he turned her to the wall, pressing her breasts and belly to the tile. “Were you given permission to touch your Master’s cock?”
“No, Master.” She rubbed herself.
“What should Master do about that?”
Her hand slipped into her pussy. “Punish me, Master, punish your girl.”
His hand cracked against her buttocks. She braced herself, palms against the wall.
“The word is Chablis,” he reminded, letting her know the control was still hers.
“Yes, Master.” She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to know what she could take, what he could give.
“Slaves obey.” He spanked her again. “They approach their Masters begging to be commanded. Do you think my body is your toy?”
He spanked her again.
“No, Master.” Her ass throbbed, but the pain was deep and it linked to her pussy and to her mind, unleashing feelings of curiously pleasant subjugation.
“You are my toy.”
She thrust out her bottom to meet him. “I am a bad girl, I need your discipline.”
He smacked her several more times. She was breathing so fast, she thought she might come. Her nerve endings were on fire. She was squashing her breasts and pussy against the wall, trying to make contact.
“Turn around,” he said. His voice had an edge that made her pussy spasm.
When her back was to the wall he kissed her. Ferocious, possessive. “Mine,” he growled. His hand took her breast.
“Yours,” she gasped.
He frowned. What was he looking for? He kissed her again. She tried to give more, letting him plunder her mouth, invade with his tongue, fucking her with it, like a cock. Her hands were at her sides, palms to the wall.
He was doing what he wanted with her. He was Master.
“I’m going to make you come with my mouth,” he said, his eyes unreadable. “You will submit.” He clamped her nipple to get her attention, pinching it hard. “And then you’ll go home. You won’t talk to me, you’ll get dressed, and my chauffeur will drive you. Do you understand?”
Emotion surged through her. Her mouth went wide but he went to his knees before she could say a word.
Confusion reigned. “Did I do…something wrong?”
“No. You’ve been splendid.”
Gordon pressed his face to her crotch, commanding, loving. It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t attending to her pussy like a man looking to dump her. He went right for her clit. He sent her immediately into the stratosphere, a mind-blowing orgasm, which led quickly to another as he pressed his tongue, running it along the crack of her pussy, delving in and out, in and out in perfect time to the motions of her body. His hands held her hips. Just the pressure she needed. Even her ass felt good against the cool tile. Did he know that?
She clutched at him, moaning, pushing her pelvis against his face, holding his head with her hands, wanting to make this go some other way.
Chelsea couldn’t hold back the third and final climax. It was a phenomenon quite apart from her emotions. It was Master-induced.
But he didn’t want to be her Master.
“Go,” he said when it was over, the last skyrocket, the last wave, the last blast induced from her clitoris, between his lips. “Take the elevator, I’ll alert the chauffeur.”
Not gentle, not harsh, just…factual.
Well, fuck, she wasn’t a robot. “Chablis,” she announced. “This shit is over…for good.”
But hadn’t he already ended it?
“Your domination is for shit,” she lashed out. “I wouldn’t stay if you paid me. You’re pathetic.”
She didn’t let him see the tears. On her way out she saw the bottle of Chablis. She upended it, pouring it over the nice, thick gray carpet.
So much for looking for knights in shining armor at BDSM clubs.
Gordon rinsed off. His gut twisted as he told himself it was for the best, he was sparing her more pain down the line. They would only disappoint each other. He was setting her free from the trap that his life would become for her. He couldn’t bear to see her unhappy and bitter the way rich men’s wives became. And he could never, ever allow himself to be in the position of having to hate her.
He supposed it was too much to ask that she understand. His last gift of an orgasm hadn’t gone over well, to say the least. He had been told before that for a man so skilled in reading women’s submissive fantasies he was surprisingly incompetent at emotional communication.
So she hated him now. That he could stand. Hopefully this would not pain her so much that she would give up trying or blame herself.
Gordon waited until he heard the door slam and then called the chauffeur, who was still in the car.
He noted the enormous stain on the carpet, the empty wine bottle. A final message, just in case he had any doubt how she felt.
In spite of everything, he smiled. You had to admire that kind of spunk.
He hadn’t made a mistake, had he?
Nah, Gordon Dewitt never made mistakes.
Then again, there was a first time for everything.
Chapter Three
“Chelsea, it’s another delivery,” Cindy called out from the living room.
Chelsea hugged her pillow. She’d been crying again, hating hers
elf for it. “Tell him where the dumpster is,” she replied.
He could stand in line behind all the other delivery men who’d been streaming in nonstop for the past two weeks.
“This one has a big teddy bear, Chel, it’s really cute!”
Chelsea threw the pillow through the open doorway. “So keep it, what do I care?”
Ten dozen roses, six boxes of chocolate hearts and an odd assortment of plush animals and balloons. One messenger had come to sing out, “I’m sorry, Chelsea, I made the biggest mistake of my life…please see me again.” She had cut him off halfway. That one even had Cindy in tears.
“He must love you, Chel,” she said. “I looked him up on the Internet and he seems to be a decent guy, even if he is rich.”
Like she hadn’t looked up everything she could find, pouring over the details of the life of Gordon Christopher Dewitt, heir to a banking fortune, never married, mysteriously shy of the limelight. Talking to him at lunch she had almost forgotten how many boards he sat on. He liked jazz, feeding ducks in the park and was fascinated by Chinese numerology, just like her.
He made her feel like a queen, like her life was as important as the real queens he must have known. And he was the best lover, just like the references said. So why had he dropped her in the most brusque, cruel way possible?
Not that she hadn’t said harsh things too. But he should have known she needed more time with him, a chance to process.
You’re such a fool, Chelsea, heart on your sleeve. When will you learn? Men aren’t like women, they fuck and they go on…like eating peanuts.
Cindy brought the bear into her. It was white, half as tall as her. “Isn’t it adorable?”
“Stick it in the corner. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see any of it. Just tell me, have all the roses died yet?”
“Nope, they’re all blooming.”
“The whole place stinks of them,” Chelsea complained.
Cindy set the bear down by the door. “Okay,” she put her hands on her hips, “enough is enough.”
“What?”
“This pouting—it needs to stop.”
Chelsea glared through puffy eyes. “I am not pouting.”
“Sure you are. The man’s apologized. You need to talk to him.”
Chaining His Heart Page 3
