Freefall (The Indigo Lounge Series, #5)

by Zara Cox

  Mason’s hand leaves her face and he presses a button on the apparatus his sex slave is leaning against.

  My eyes drop to her stomach and thighs and I see bright red welts crisscrossing her skin. My stomach roils, but the nausea I expect never surfaces. I should be sickened by the sight of such brutal treatment, by the sight of a woman who’s obviously being debased.

  But instead, a hum rolls through my body as my eyes stay on the lazy curl of Mason’s wrist as he jerks the whip. The woman also shows no signs of distress. Just...pleasure.

  He presses a button on the structure and the shiny surface comes alive. It vibrates against his slave’s back, then she sinks back as the material swallows her halfway. Her eyes widen in wonder and she gasps at whatever sensation she’s experiencing.

  Mason presses another button and arm-like protrusions rise from the sides and curve over her body. One moves over her breasts and torso and the other slides along her thigh. The arms flow with a beauty that’s hypnotic to watch.

  “Oh!” Her face contorts in bliss and her breath pants out. Mason watches her for a moment before he raises the whip and brings it down between her legs.

  She gasps out another moan and her whole body shakes with the effort it takes to keep her orgasm from erupting. Her eyelashes flutter wildly and her mouth wobbles with the need to beg.

  I can’t be here. I need to leave, turn away from the visceral sight.

  But my feet won’t move. I watch a tear slip from one eye and drip down her cheek as Mason flicks the whip again.

  I want to scream at him to stop. To give her the release she needs. At the same time acrid jealousy pours through my stomach at the pleasure she’s receiving under Mason’s hands.

  Chapter 12

  Keely

  Mason whips her between the legs one more time, then growls, “Come. Now.”

  His voice triggers her release and full-bodied shudders cannon through her. The artificial arms keep her from falling and Mason presses another button that makes her scream with pleasure. After a minute, the arms release her, and he catches her as she falls.

  My galloping heart takes in the scene before I glance at the redhead. She’s watching me with narrowed, assessing eyes and her fingers are still out of sight below his waistband where she’s caressing Mason’s skin. As I watch, she shifts closer and rubs her C-cup breasts against his arm.

  “Master, we have a visitor,” she murmurs in his ear.

  “Dammit, didn’t I say I didn’t want to be disturbed?” Mason’s voice is deep and rough and the woman who’s just orgasmed is a dead weight in his arm.

  “Mason.” I attempt to say his name, but my voice is hoarse and indistinguishable.

  He whirls around with the woman still in his arms, and his eyes meet mine over her bowed head. I see his expression for the first time and my heart slides into my throat.

  He looks feral, his eyes almost inhuman they slide over me. He looks primal and viscerally male, and I hate myself for being turned on by the sheer animalistic aura vibrating from him.

  “Keely.” The throbbing power with which he says my name sends a tremor through me. His lips curl slightly as he rasps, “What do you want?”

  “I...” I stop and run my tongue over my lips. His eyes flicker and narrow a shade, but he continues to trap me in his gaze. “I wanted...I want to talk to you.”

  “And whatever you needed to say to me couldn’t wait?” he asks softly.

  The woman in his arms lets out a little sigh. My eyes dart to her and then to the redhead before meeting Mason’s gaze. Something in the hazel expression dares me, taunts me, sets my insides on fire with a tight, grasping need I can’t explain. No matter how much I try to deny it, something about him pulls at me like a black hole sucks stray objects into its orbit.

  “No, it couldn’t,” I reply, trying to summon back the anger that propelled me to this room in the first place. But I can barely remember the reason for seeking him out.

  All I feel is the blood rushing through my veins, the thick smell of power, sex and domination in the air. And what the dangerous cocktail is doing to me. My skin has grown taut and a pulse hammers through my clit with enough force to vibrate through my whole body. I can barely breathe as I stare at Mason.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice still radiating that low, effortless power, like a spider web in the dark, growing, spinning, drawing me ever tighter into his unbreakable grip.

  He continues to stare at me, and the connection between us vibrates with the gravity of the question in his eyes. He’s not asking if I’m sure I want to talk to him.

  What he’s really saying is—Are you prepared for the consequences of me sending my pets away?

  My gaze slides to the one in his arms who’s recovered enough to support herself. She’s staring at me, albeit with hazy, just-come-harder-than-I-ever-imagined eyes. Another lance of jealousy makes my teeth grind as I glare at the redhead, who’s staring back at me with daggers in her eyes.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Shit, I don’t know what I’m letting myself in for, and part of me is terrified. But all I know is that I don’t want to leave this room. Not while Mason is in here with these two women, giving them pleasure I’m not even sure I want for myself.

  Mason stares at me for another full minute, all the while still holding on to one pet and letting another rub herself all over him.

  When his lashes sweep down, my stomach lurches, certain he’s about to refuse my insane request.

  “Amber, Mae Ling, you heard the lady.”

  Amber’s eyes flash deadly fire at me. “But Mason, I haven’t had my turn yet.”

  Jesus, it’s now past four. If she hasn’t had her turn yet, did that mean Mason had been working on May Ling since lunch time. My stomach flips again, and my fists clench by my side as I stare him down. His mouth twitches, but his eyes are dark golden hooks, pinning me where I stand.

  My feet may not want to obey me right now, but my mouth works just fine. “Let’s get one thing clear. If you and I are going to do this, you need to promise me that it’s going to be an exclusive thing. You,” I point at Mae Ling, who’s now fully awake and eyeing me with equal venom as she hangs on to Mason’s waist. I take another step, ready to fully immerse myself in a bitch-off if that’s what it takes, “if you want to keep those dainty little hands, get them the fuck off him right now. You too, ginger,” I sneer at Amber, who’s entertaining the idea of changing Mason’s mind by rubbing her crotch against his hipbone.

  Mason tenses at my use of the F-word, but I don’t care. Whatever punishment he wants to dole out can come after I’ve skinned him alive for making me feel like some jealous bitch in heat.

  They both look to Mason for direction, but his gaze never wavers from mine. After a tense moment, they both step back warily, sensing the volatile emotions whipping through the air.

  Clothes are gathered and hastily donned and heels click past me before the door shuts behind me.

  The knowledge that I’m alone with Mason slams into me as he slowly advances. My eyes drop to his solid neck, his golden rock-hard shoulders and pecs, to the ridged torso that I sense didn’t come from the gym but from sheer hard work. A few scars crisscross his body—sports injuries or everyday wear and tear. I don’t have time to dwell on it because he moves closer, and my eyes are drown lower, to the black leather and the evidence of his state of mind.

  My hands slam out in a fiercely protective motion. “If you think you’re coming anywhere near me after servicing your goddamn pets, you’re seriously nuts.”

  He freezes and his nostrils flare with anger. “What the hell—?”

  My laughter cuts him off. “You really were going to just take off with me where you just left off with them, weren’t you? Do you want me, Mason?”

  His brows clamp together. “Christ, of course I do. I believe I’ve said so very explicitly several times.”

  “Okay, how about I go and rub myself all over one of the bodyguards on t
he upper deck? Maybe throw in a hand job, let him blow his load all over my—” A low, deadly growl rumbles from his chest and I swallow. “Then I present myself to you. Would you still want me?”

  “That’s not going to happen, because I anyone who touches you, dies.”

  I roll my eyes. “Says the man who’s standing in front of me, sporting a hard-on from another woman.” Something squeezes in my chest as I say that, but I ignore it.

  “I didn’t get a hard-on until I turned and saw you,” he states with a brisk snap.

  “You really expect me to believe that?”

  “Yes, because it’s true.” He continues to eye me like I’m keeping him from his meal. A meal that involves me and only me.

  “You made another woman come right in front of me.” I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about that.

  “I was testing the equipment. I told you I’d be doing that today.” His voice still holds that dangerous edge that has my nerves jumpy, and his eyes are sweeping me from head to toe, as if searching for a weakness, something he can latch onto and attack. When his gaze stops on my chest and his hands twitch, I don’t need to look down to know my nipples are at full attention and craving his touch. I feel every nerve in those hard buds as if he’s setting fire to them.

  I gulp in air and try to think my way through the muddle my emotions have made of my head. “Regardless, I’m not letting you touch me. Not tonight.”

  His jaw clenches hard, and he exhales. “Tomorrow morning, then. Come and have breakfast with me.”

  I interpret that correctly as come so I can have you for breakfast.

  I shake my head. “I’m interviewing all day tomorrow, no thanks to you and your intervention with your prima donna French chef. Oh yeah, I’d thank you not to interfere with my staff hiring, please.”

  His head drops forward, and I’m freed from his penetrating gaze. Free to let my eyes devour his beautiful body and the tensile energy whipping around him so thickly I can almost reach out and touch it.

  His erection hasn’t subsided, and I start to believe that he meant it when he said whatever he’d been doing to Mae Ling hadn’t turned him on.

  “Consider it done. When can I see you, then?” he breathes without looking up.

  “I’ll be done by six, we can have dinner at my hotel at—”

  “Six-fifteen,” he bites out, his voice ferocious and final. “But I pick the place.”

  Alarm stiffens my back, but I accept that I’ve already trampled on the danger signs and there’s no turning back. “Okay. I’m cool with that.”

  He raises his head and spears me with that intense gaze again. “There will be no backtracking from you,” he says as if he has direct access to my thoughts and wants to reiterate what I’ve just acknowledged. “Not any more. You want this. Tell me you want this.”

  I swallow. “I want this. After we lay down a few more ground rules.”

  His mouth compresses, but he exhales and jerks out a nod.

  I turn toward the door and sense him take that final step. I reach for the door, but his hand slams against it, preventing it from opening. He steps closer and cages me in with both arms although his body never touches mine. “I want to kiss you so fucking badly,” he growls against my ear. “I want to lick your pussy again, find out if you taste as glorious as you did in Montauk. Don’t leave, Keely. Stay. I’ll take a shower if that’s what you want. Hell, I’ll take a dozen showers.”

  I suppress a shudder as he leans even closer. The scent of sweat and arousal engulfs me. I want to say to hell with the showers, that I’ll take him raw and earthy and dirty. I force my eyes shut for a heartbeat and pray for strength before I pry them back open. “Tomorrow.”

  He inhales and exhales slowly. Then I feel him move away. I look over my shoulder and see him shadowing my body with his hands, an intense, deviant light in his eyes. When he looks at me through his lashes, I feel a pulse of electricity fire through me.

  “Tomorrow.” His voice is a steely promise. He steps back and reaches for the door.

  I stumble through it and have very little recollection of leaving the yacht and walking back to my hotel.

  I fall into bed sometime later and finally let the events of afternoon in.

  For the first time in six years, I’m risking handing over a portion of my control to someone else. One slip is all it takes. One misguided decision, especially with a man who seems to smash through my every barrier to reach a place I don’t want touched, could be the end of me.

  Telling myself that this time whatever I choose to give will be with my permission, doesn’t stop the cascade of fear pouring through my soul. Nor can I stem the flood of memories that swamps me as I lay there in the dark, gripping my pillow.

  Chapter 13

  Keely

  Six Years Ago

  Freshman year has been an epic bust. I’d arrived at UCLA believing my academic journey was going to take a U-turn from complete joke to crazy awesome. Instead, I’d found the cool kids still don’t want to hang out with me because my brain is too big to fit into one hundred and forty characters or Instagram shots of my breasts.

  Only the nerds want to hang out with me. I pretend I’m cool with that. But deep down I wonder why the cool kids still hate me. My body has changed a lot in the last eighteen months. I’ve grown a couple more inches, and the sunshine in California has done wonders for my previously pasty skin. I’d never pass for a bombshell, but with my dark blonde hair and good enough legs, I should be able to hold my own in the pretty stakes. Instead, the moment I open my mouth, I can see the cool guys slowly recoiling. Fuck, I can virtually see the speech bubble pop out of out their ears, fanatically detailing various ways to get the hell away from me, fast.

  This has bothered me to the point where I’ve contemplated dressing provocatively just to get some action. Which is pathetic because I’m nineteen in three weeks and as an almost adult I should know better. My parents are proud of my straight A grades. I can be literally anything I want to be. My self-worth should be boundless. Instead, all I want is to be invited to one party, one trip to the beach. A movie. Anything.

  Fuck my life.

  “Hey, is the sci-fi newsletter ready yet?”

  I jump and quickly slam shut my laptop, hiding the pictures of Leo Brummer I’d been ogling, as Jake Schimansky, my co-head of the debate and science fiction society plunks down next to me on the grass in the campus park. A quick glance at Jake doesn’t show signs that he saw what I was looking at. I sigh inwardly.

  Leo.

  I’m one wet dream from doodling his name on my notebook and drawing a fluffy pink heart around it. I don’t even care that he’s a little shallow, and wears T-shirts one size too small to emphasize his amazing body. He’s got it, and he makes no bones about flaunting it. And since I’m enjoying the fruits from that tree, I ain’t complaining.

  I dwell instead on the fateful way we met.

  Although he’s majoring in film, TV and media, he’s a psychology minor and had fallen behind because he’s also an actor and had missed most of last semester’s classes because of shooting some action movie in Russia.

  I hadn’t even planned on going to the coffee shop that night. I was fed up with the guy behind the counter ogling my breasts and sneering every time I ordered green tea.

  But I’d been super thirsty. And I’d needed a quiet place to brush up on my psych paper before the end of term test. My dorm room was out of the question since my oh-so-considerate roommate, Ashley, had decided to invite people over for an impromptu party without telling me. Or inviting me.

  Whatever. I was deep into dark, suggestive powers of one’s Id, when Leo walked in and sat down on the next table.

  His glance swept across the almost empty coffee shop, reached me, and kept going. Twisting in his seat, he reached into his skintight jeans, pulled out his phone, and stabbed the numbers with annoyed fingers. From where I sat, I could hear the ringing and the female voice that answered.

  “W
here the hell are you?” he rasped.

  Yeah, don’t even get me started about Leo’s voice. The only way I can describe it is to think of dripping wild honey over tiny smooth pebbles and rolling them all over your skin.

  Fuck.

  I jump when he snaps, “What the hell do you mean you’re not coming? I don’t have time for this shit, Tammie. You promised you’d help me with this paper. I’ve already paid you five hundred for your time, goddamn it. So get your ass over here right now and earn it, or I swear to God—”

  I hear a bitchy rant and a crude suggestion before the line goes dead.

  I’m embarrassed for him. So embarrassed I want to hug him. Slide my fingers into those waxy blond spikes. Pet that fine body of his and make all his troubles melt away.

  “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” His scowl deepens as he presses the number again and listens to the endless ring tone. Another round of swearing ensues before he yanks his books off the table.

  I know this is my one and only chance. So I clear my throat. Loudly. He doesn’t even look my way. “Hey, umm, listen, if you need help with the mid-term paper, I can, you know...help you?”

  Jesus, fuck. I’m the co-captain of the debate team, for God’s sake, and I can’t string three words together to form a simple sentence?

  He glances up and my breath squeezes in my lungs. Shit, he looks even better wearing that adorable scowl!

  “And you are?” he enquires in a couldn’t-care-less tone.

  I try not to be crushed by the fact that we’ve been in the same psyche class for a semester and a half and he hasn’t noticed me.

  “I’m Keely Benson. I’m in Professor Harding’s class.”

  His face de-scowls a little, but he keeps fiddling with his phone, obviously still annoyed that his tutor has abandoned him. I mentally shake my head. Who would deliberately do that? I guess they’re both stupid and blind.

  A pinch in my pinkie and a sharp tingle on my scalp alerts me that I’m tugging on a strand of my hair, a nervous tic I’ve never quite been able to master. I hastily move my hand to the table as his gaze flicks from his phone back to me.