Drawn to You — Volume Two

by Vanessa Booke

  A voice calls to me shattering my thoughts.

  “Tristan, come back to bed.” I look down at the naked dark-haired beauty that calls to me from my bed. I almost forgot she was here. Her coy smile completes her cat-like features as she crawls toward me on the bed. I know Francesca from the Pleasure Chest. Several of the art customers I have I met there. Although most of them are not intent on locking me into a relationship. The ones I’ve had over the years have not fared well, although the word relationship is putting it kindly.

  “Francesca, you should probably go. I need to get some work done.”

  Her eyes taunt me to finish what I had started only moments earlier.

  “You can paint whenever you want… I’ll be here waiting.”

  “I told you this wasn’t going to last forever.”

  A deep frown appears on her lips as she arches back against the bed and spreads her legs for me. I watch her as she slips her hand down across her sex. She’s taunting me, but she should know better than to do it. Her dark tinted nipples pucker as I walk over to the bed. Her curious eyes watch me fascination as I walk over.

  “I have to admit I’m disappointed,” she says. “I thought we had something special.”

  “We did. It’s sitting in the corner.”

  My eyes slide over to the painting that Francesca commissioned me to paint of her. I move to get dressed, but the dark haired beauty stops me. She sits up sliding her hands across my shoulders as she pulls me into her embrace.

  “Is it me?”

  “No.”

  “Come to bed. Let me be your muse a little longer.”

  Despite the ache in my chest, I smirk at her persistence.

  “Don’t move,” I command.

  A look of excitement dances across her face. I watch her as she leans back and slides her leg across the sheets, giving me a better view of her wet pussy. Despite my command for her to lie still, she teases me by wiggling her hips ever so slightly.

  “Didn’t I tell you to lie still?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she says with a coy smile.

  “Get on all fours.”

  I move closer as she gets on her hands and knees and spreads her legs inviting me to fuck her. I can smell her desire.

  “Keep still.”

  I walk over to my bag sitting nearby and take a brush from it. Her eyes grow wide as I lean between her legs and wipe a trail of wetness from her lips. Despite her best attempt at lying still, she moves as the bristle of the brush hits her skin. A soft moan escapes her. Her hips lean into my brush sending a smile to my lips.

  “Unfortunately for you, you moved,” I say.

  Nails tear into my back as I thrust into Francesca. I close my eyes, and the first image I see is Emily’s soft lips open and inviting. It doesn’t take long for the dark haired beauty beneath me to unravel, sending me into a spiraling orgasm. She whimpers as I pull away and leave her wrapped in between the Egyptian sheets on my bed.

  I bury my head in my hands as I will myself to stop thinking of Emily. It doesn’t matter who the woman beneath me is—I always think of her. There’s no escaping it. The moment I touched her, I damned myself for any other woman.

  EIGHT

  EMILY

  THE PLEASURE CHEST

  The name is strange enough to conjure the image of kinky pirates and love knots by ruffian sailors. To be honest, it’s not a club I’ve ever imagined myself going to. In fact, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Ceci. Her crazy ass is always getting herself into trouble and tonight is no different. She discovered an online dating app called Kinkstrest the other day, and I can tell it’s already going to be trouble. The phone app is similar to Pinterest, but intermix BDSM dating. You pin pictures of the kinky stuff you’re into and interested members message you. I warned Ceci about all of the crazies living in New York, but she didn’t listen. She’s been reading too many fictional romances about BDSM, and now she has these crazy ideas in her head.

  The part that bothers me is that I haven’t heard from her in the past twenty-four hours, and Augie hasn’t heard from her either. It wouldn’t be so strange if she weren’t always at our apartment. I even dared to call her parents looking for her. The last thing Ceci messaged me was that she would be at the Pleasure Chest with some guy named Torque. She never showed me a picture of him, but she described him as a hotter version of Chris Hemsworth.

  Here I am, looking for a Thor look-a-like minus the mighty hammer. I should’ve called the police, but other than her vague description and a first name, I don’t have much to go on. Besides, at this point, they wouldn’t be looking for her. The building in front of me looks like a rundown packing factory. I hope to God this isn’t the part where I get chopped up into little tiny pieces by leather face.

  I approach the front entrance of the club and immediately feel somewhat relieved to see a normal looking man dressed in a suit standing in front of the door. He barely looks up at me before muttering at me.

  “Membership ID?”

  “ID?”

  Shit. Ceci never mentioned anything about a membership ID. My eyes scan past him toward the entrance of the club. I have to get inside.

  “I’m a guest of Torque’s.”

  He scans his phone, which I can only assume holds the guest list to the club.

  “Torque’s a member here, but my list isn’t showing any guest attached to him tonight.”

  If Ceci isn’t Torque’s, then where the hell is she? I really need to talk to this asshole. What if he hurt her? God, I hope her body isn’t floating in the Hudson. Get a hold of yourself, Emily. You’ve watched way too many Law & Order: SVU episodes.

  “Torque’s expecting me. I’m surprised I’m not on the list,” I lie. “I’m sure he’ll be upset to find out you have me standing out here in the cold.”

  The man in all black finally looks up at me. His piercing eyes graze over me with a haughty disdain. I’m sure this isn’t the first time he’s heard something like this. I’d feel sorry for him, but I don’t have time for it. I need to find my best friend.

  “Enjoy your night,” he mutters, sliding the black metal door open.

  My heart skips a beat as a strange smirk creeps up his face. What am I getting myself into?

  The inside of the Pleasure Chest is rich with color as I step inside. Portraits paint the walls of the industrial hallway leading up to what looks like a coat check in. I spot a tall redhead in a pink PVC dress and crystal clear platforms standing behind the front desk. Bright hot pink lipstick covers her lips giving her pale skin a luminous appearance. She smiles and calls me over with her index finger.

  “Welcome to the Pleasure Chest.”

  “Thank you,” I smile nervously.

  Her eyes rake over my body with interest. I’ve never had a woman look at me the way she does. She smiles at the sight of my black mini skirt and teal lace top. The outfit is something I borrowed from Ceci’s overnight bag. I distinctly remember my best friend going on and on about latex and skin-tight clothing. This will probably be the one and only time I ever come to a BDSM club, so why not go all out?

  She slides over clipboard with a non-disclosure agreement and a consent form. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as I take my time reading the documents. Having a CEO as a father has taught me always to be wary of things I sign. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a non-disclosure agreement, but it’s the first time I’ve seen a consent form. I sign the document and slide the clipboard back over to the redhead.

  I’m struck with surprise as she hands me a white mask and instructs me to put it on. I look up at her with a wary expression. Is this just for decor? Her eyes watch me with curiosity as I place the mask on.

  “It must be your first time here,” she giggles.

  “Yes.”

  I bite back a smile at the double entendre. I’m sure if Ceci could see me now she would be laughing at me. Damn, her. I hope she’s okay.

  “Most of our members prefer to wear masks to conceal their identity
. The mask is optional so feel free to take it off inside if you need or want to,” she says with a polite smile.

  Despite the unknown ahead of me, the redhead’s warmth toward me puts my nerves at ease.

  “Is there anything else I need? I ask.

  “I’ll need to take your phone if you have one on you.”

  “My phone?”

  “Yes, we prefer that our members not have to worry about their activities being leaked to the press.”

  For that I’m grateful. I can only imagine my father’s face if the press found out about my attendance at a BDSM club. I hand my phone and purse over to the redhead and watch her as she places it in a black cupboard behind her.

  “It’ll be here when you get back.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  The redhead leads me to a red door on the other side of the room, which I can only guess is the real entrance to the club. I shiver as a cold draft hits me when she opens it.

  “If you need anything, my name is Felicity. Feel free to come back if you would like to book a room. There are several I think you would like,” she winks.

  “I will,” I stutter.

  “Have fun.”

  Fun? She makes it sound like I’m stepping into a ball pit at McDonalds. I step through the door opening and take a turn down a red painted hallway. Toward the end of it I come face to face with a row of rooms. Several have windows covered with red curtains and others have clear glass. I reel back at the sight of a woman wearing thick black boots and a skin-tight police outfit. The spike on the heel of her boot sits pointed at the man’s privates as he lays bound and gagged on the floor.

  Holy shit. A shit-eating grin spreads across her face as he writhes on the floor. The more pressure she puts on him, the more he seems to enjoy it. I move on to the next room hoping to find my best friend, but the further I go into the club, the more hopeless I feel. If Ceci isn’t dead when I find her, she sure as hell might be before we get home.

  I quietly pass a beautiful brunette being led on a chain by a gorgeous man in a gray suit. I’m immediately drawn to the stern look that reflects in his dark blue eyes. The only shred of clothing on the brunette is the hosiery on her legs and the collar around her neck attached to a chain. It’s hard to imagine letting any man parade me around like the way he’s doing with her. Then again, he might be handsome enough to tempt me.

  I’m a few steps past them when I hear the gush of excited voices. My heart skips as I gravitate toward the sound and past a set of curtains. I arrive at a center room where a dozen or so couples surround an illuminated stage. What’s going on here? A show?

  My eyes scan the crowd of club members as I look for any sight of Ceci nearby. It isn’t until I’m all the way in the room that I spot him standing in front of a black cross on stage with a whip in his hand. The black mask surrounding his eyes is thick, but it isn’t enough to keep me from knowing the face hidden beneath it.

  My eyes rise up to the broad chest slightly hidden beneath the leather vest he wears. The matching black jeans he’s wearing ride low on his hips revealing a pleasurable sight of hair trailing down from his navel. My gaze is glued to his movements as he scans the crowd in front of him.

  It can’t be him. Can it?

  I nearly knock into someone as I blindly step closer to the stage. The closer I get to him the more I’m sure it’s him. Holy shit. Tristan Knight is at BDSM club? My heart squeezes at the strange, but arousing realization. What the hell? Tristan stalks the stage like a wild animal hunting its prey.

  “Any volunteers?” he asks.

  My body compels me forward as curiosity overwhelms me. Before anyone else has a chance, I raise my hand and walk toward him. His gaze immediately falls to me as the crowd around me parts. To my surprise, he doesn’t say anything to me. At least, not at first. Tristan reaches out to me as he helps me climb the tall steps of the stage. A warmth spreads across my skin from the touch of his fingertips wrapped around my wrist.

  It isn’t until Tristan’s touching me that I feel a strange shift in the air. He hesitates pushing me against the black cross, but eventually, gives in. His gaze washes over me as I wait with anticipation for him to recognize me. To say my name, but sadly, he doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all.

  Instead, he focuses on the cross behind me.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, leaning in.

  No.

  “Yes.”

  A small smile escapes his lips.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  NINE

  EMILY

  I’VE NEVER BEEN the type to enjoy being in the spotlight, but this is a completely new way of being on display. I’m grateful for the mask given to me by the beautiful redhead at check-in. It provides a small amount of relief to the anxiety that filters its way through me as I stand half naked on stage. As hard as I try not to let them, my nerves get the better of me as I watch Tristan’s face as his eyes slowly trace over my hot pink bra.

  Eventually, he turns me and gently places my hands in the restraints at the top of the cross so I’m facing away from the crowd. I jerk each time his hands run across my body as he checks my positioning. The feeling of the rough edge of his skin sends my head reeling with memories of the past.

  “Are you ready?” he asks, standing behind me. “If at any time you want me to stop, just say RED.”

  I silently nod. I have the feeling I’m not sure if I’ll want him to stop when he’s finished. A bright flame warms my cheeks as I feel Tristan step back to assess his masterpiece. Despite my inability to see him, I can feel his gaze on me. I tug on my restraints, but they don’t budge. I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to.

  “I’m going to give you thirteen lashes on your back, butt, and thighs,” Tristan says next to my ear.

  He says the words so matter of fact that a streak of fear runs through me. Why thirteen lashes? Most people seem to associate the number with bad luck.

  “Remember to call out RED if you want me to stop.”

  The fact that Tristan is repeating what he’s already said makes me believe this is probably going to hurt. Is this what Tristan’s been doing—whipping women at some BDSM club? Although I can feel the hungry, watchful eyes of the other club members on me, my anxiety quickly fades. My attention is swallowed up by the sensation of Tristan pacing around me. I wish I could say that over the years, I’ve gotten over him, but it would be a lie.

  The sound of the whip resonates through the air as it goes flying with a swivel of Tristan’s wrist. A loud snap fills my ears as the pressure of the lash hits my unmarked skin. Delicious warmth spreads across my thigh as the sharp sting licks me. My limbs tense as I wait for the inevitable strike to follow. I feel my skin heat at the impression left by the lash. The next one that follows only deepens the sting of the first. The room around me is quiet with the exception of the occasional moan or throaty groan of approval.

  My sex tightens at the realization that there are over a dozen people watching us right now. Somehow, I thought I would feel embarrassed coming up here, but there’s something liberating about being watched. It’s as if my skin is a blank canvas and Tristan’s whip is the brush. The finished product is the pleasure of witnessing my unraveling.

  My skin starts to tingle as the endorphins in my body release with each lash. I bask in the feeling of Tristan’s hands behind each stroke. My body feels like putty permanently molded to the cross by the time he’s done. I try to move, but my limbs refuse to comply.

  I feel Tristan’s breath wash over me as he steps behind me once again and loosens the restraints from my hands and ankles. I collapse against him as he holds me, petting the side of my face. His thumb snakes underneath my mask and pulls it forward. Our eyes collide as his gaze melts into mine. The intensity behind his eyes, both delight and scare me.

  “I could never quite forget those eyes,” he murmurs. “Come with me.”

  I watch as he takes off his leather vest and pulls on a clean
black T-shirt. His motions are hypnotizing as my eyes get a full view of his perfectly sculpted abs. After dressing, Tristan grabs a hot towel from a nearby heating container and hands it to me. I happily take the towel and rub off the sweat on my face and chest. Tristan takes a seat beside me and lightly dabs my back down with another towel. This one is cool and damp against my skin. I bite back a moan at the pleasurable sensation.

  “What are you doing here?” Tristan asks, calmly.

  I turn to find his fingers tracing over the red marks on my skin. A small smile plays on his lips as he looks up at me with interest.

  “I came here looking for Ceci.”

  “Ceci? I’ve never seen her around here.”

  “Do you come here often?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you whip other women here often?” I blurt.

  It takes him a moment to answer my question, but eventually, he does.

  “Yes.”

  I’d be lying if I said that last ‘yes’ didn’t hurt. My eyes trail down Tristan’s body. What woman wouldn’t want to be whipped by him?

  “I have to go,” I say, standing abruptly.

  “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

  I can’t spend a moment longer around Tristan. My stomach flips at the realization that this is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t do this to myself. My cheeks flame in embarrassment as I grab my shirt and exit the VIP room.

  The redhead at the front desk named Felicity greets me again with an open smile, but it quickly falters as she sees the look of distress on my face.

  “Are you all right?” she asks rounding the corner.

  “Yes, I just need to leave.”

  “Are you sure? We take member complaints very seriously.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Her sympathetic smile makes me like her even more. I can’t imagine meeting her outside the club and not picturing her in her pink PVC dress. It seems to fit so well with her personality. She turns to the black cupboard behind her and pulls out my purse and phone. She quickly hands me the items, but her hands don’t immediately let go.