by A. C. Melody
“Drink,” he ordered, handing her the cup.
Tessa dropped her gaze as she accepted it, her thoughts in turmoil.
“Thank you, Master.”
Her voice was hoarse from the crying and fatigue, which the cold water helped soothe. Felix sat on the floor in front of her, his back resting against the end of the bed and used the hot washcloth to massage the muscles of her calf.
“I knew you’d spent too much time kneeling today,” he muttered darkly. “On top of running all over the damn island for the scavenger hunt. Undoubtedly dehydrated, too, with nothing to drink for hours between lunch and dinner.”
Tessa said nothing. He wasn’t yelling at her, he was berating himself and she didn’t know how to respond to that any more than she knew how to deal with the anxiety from him playing it off like she hadn’t seen his eyes. He knew, otherwise they wouldn’t be covered up by contacts now. Unless he was holding onto hope that she hadn’t noticed, that it had been too dark. That thought only made her feel worse, though.
“How’s that, any better?” he asked, after working his frustration out through the massaging.
“Yes, Master, thank you.”
He rose to his feet again and inspected the cup in her hand, appearing satisfied to find it empty. “Do you need to use the toilet?”
“No, Master.”
“Get your bedding from the cage.”
Tessa’s chest tightened, shame overriding the rest. “Master, please, I’m sorry I blew up that way, it was wrong and horrible.”
“You were in pain with no way to stop it, Tessa,” he pointed out, reluctant understanding coating his words. Then he faced her and his gaze was hard. “That doesn’t change the fact that you meant it.”
She shook her head, her eyes misting over with guilt. “Not like that, Master, not that strongly.”
“But if I told you to get back into the cage, you wouldn’t want to. Am I wrong?” he countered. “Before you answer, I’m asking for you, not me. What you would choose, not what you think I’d prefer.”
Tessa swallowed, unable to lie. “No, Master,” she whispered, the guilt overwhelming her. It was yet another thing he wanted that she couldn’t give him. “You’re not wrong.”
He nodded and pointed to the cage. “Don’t forget your pillow and your wolf.”
She didn’t move. Couldn’t let the monstrous, unspoken revelation hang between them to fester into yet another argument. She willed herself to be brave once again and broached the subject he seemed so reluctant to address.
“Is that why you wanted me to sleep in the cage, Master?”
Her voice was quiet, and she couldn’t help it. Her nerves were frazzled, unsure of her footing, even though she felt the step was necessary.
His body stiffened and he stood there, unmoving, as the tension stretched, his profile to her. Was he regretting that she’d seen, or that she'd brought it up?
“No, Tessa,” he responded at last, his tone hollow. “That’s not why I wanted you to sleep in the cage.”
That only made her feel a little better. “But you still didn’t want me to know,” she stated, ignoring the uncomfortable way the certainty of that felt in her stomach.
“No,” he whispered. “I didn’t. Now, get your bedding.”
She swallowed the sting of his confirmation and didn’t know what else she could say or do, other than what he’d told her to. Stuck somewhere between rejection and curiosity, she gathered her bedding out of the cage and bundled it on the end of the bed. Felix moved the cage out of his way, all of his naked muscles bulging and flexing while he worked. Any other time, she would’ve taken the opportunity to admire them while he wasn’t looking, but it was his face she kept trying to sneak peeks at. It was the memory of his real eyes that filled her mind.
After he slid the super soft rug all the way to the end of his bed, he started making hers up on top of it, and just like that, they’d switched roles. He was the one staring at her now, while she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze.
“On your bed, little fox,” he directed, then entered the playroom and gathered a couple of the things he’d just put away after their bath.
Tessa lay down, taking a shameful moment to stretch her legs all the way and hating how much she loved it. She snuggled her wolf tighter and watched him secure a chain to the lowest ring in the bedpost. He then crouched at her feet and fastened the cuff around her left ankle. His gaze pinned her to the spot before she had a chance to look away, and he slid the padlock into place, locked it. The air sizzled with electricity between them, no less than any of her other locks. Her nipples hardened under the material of her blanket, contradicting her sense of guilt and uncertainty over the entire situation.
Felix didn’t seem to be dwelling on the matter, either, when he crawled over her and rubbed his nose against hers. Yet, when he dipped his mouth to hers for a kiss, Tessa couldn’t feel it the way she should and it only took him a split second to notice.
He lifted his head with a heavy sigh. “Enough, Tessa,” he warned when she looked away from him again. “Do you want another punishment? You’re supposed to always look me in the eyes when we kiss, that was the first fucking rule I ever gave you.”
Anxiety and hurt collided, but she forced herself to look at him. “Am I just supposed to pretend like I didn’t see anything?” she asked. “I thought we were supposed to always be honest with each other, Master. Open communication. Where’s all that now?”
His eyes widened before they narrowed, but he wasn’t angry. He seemed to be weighing her tone, deciding whether or not she was being disrespectful. In the end, it appeared he found her less than guilty and released another sigh. He was on edge, yet didn’t direct it at her.
“It’s still very much here, little fox, but this is not a discussion for tonight. We’re both beyond tired.”
Tessa wanted to feel better with that, but she didn’t. “You hate that I know.”
“I don’t hate that you know, Tessa,” he corrected firmly. “It’s just a topic that I hate talking about, it has nothing to do with you, personally. But that’s going to be both our burden come tomorrow, because you’re not the only one with questions.”
She frowned in confusion. When she opened her mouth to ask, though, he laid his finger there to stop her.
“Not tonight,” he reiterated. “I will answer all of your questions tomorrow, but I will expect the same in return.”
Tessa knew her expression said it all. She waited until he removed his finger, then dared to be defiant. “That’s not fair, you already know what my questions are.”
Rather than scold her, as she’d half expected, Felix crushed his mouth to hers with a plan to seduce her brain out of commission. He kissed her until all the steam of fight abandoned her, leaving her in a warm, gooey puddle of dirty girl by the time he was done.
“I want you to sleep, not spend the night dwelling on it. So, let’s try this again,” he said, making sure she was tucked in to his liking. “Goodnight, my sweet vixen.”
There was no way she was going to be able to sleep now, regardless. It was just that his tone and expression were quite stern, warning her not to push the matter any further. Tessa contemplated doing it anyway, but the fear of losing out on a second luncheon with Kip and Gema had her being that reluctant sub; going against her own desires to please his.
“Goodnight, Master.”
###
Thank you so much for reading, and if you've been waiting for this installment since Collar Me Foxy came out, thank you again–a thousand times over–for your patience! I promise, Day 3 is already underway. I'm delving deeper into Tessa and Felix's backgrounds, and breathing a bit more life into their friends along the way. Don't worry, there will still be plenty of kinky debauchery going on...and in areas of the resort we haven't explored yet. What can I say? It's a big island! For now, here's a sneak peek at some of the other projects I have in the works...
Bonus Material
Stay tu
ned for this new series already in progress!
The Doms of Club Vitalz
You've heard their names and had the pleasure of meeting the mouthiest of them all. Now that the dry run of Dark Day Isle is over and the community is getting ready for the grand opening, it's time to meet the Doms of Club Vitalz up close and personal.
Hayden
While his best friend, Taber, was soaking up the sun and kink in Fiji, Hayden Tru had been introducing an untainted sub to his 'anal-retentive' ways. That little adventure has gone downhill much faster than he'd anticipated. He isn't like any other Dom in his local community; a matter he's both proud of and unwilling to change–no matter how much Harper wishes he would. For all the ease Hayden has with finding submissives, keeping them once they realize just how particular and demanding he is, has turned into a frustrating endeavor. But it's like they say: When one door closes, another one always opens. He'd just never known it to happen all on the same day before...
Taber
There was nothing like the freedom that came with Topping random bottoms at the club. You go in, visit with friends, get your kink on, and go home. No one to answer to, no one to be responsible for. That's the way he liked it. As a diagnosed workaholic, Taber Sullivan didn't need nor want the added stress of having to take care of someone else. Besides, he'd tried that once and the horrific outcome still had him in therapy twice a week. There wasn't a single woman on the face of the planet who could make him desire a dynamic outside of the club ever again. Even a wild, hissing hellcat just begging for a serious attitude adjustment...
Lex
When Lex and Eva inherited the reins of Club Vitalz Worldwide, he'd never guessed it would take him on a decade's long journey away from his hometown. Part of which, had included an unexpected stint in Edinburgh to sort out family woes. Now, he's finally getting the chance to return to where the beloved Alternative Lifestyle all began for him–and hell if he doesn't arrive right in the midst of someone else's drama. Fortunately, it's a matter Lex Sinclair is more than happy to deal with, since it involves one of his most prestigious members and a much needed change to Vitalz's vetting process. The dust has only just settled on the whole affair, when their first new membership applicant walks through his door and dares him not to break each and every one of his club's new rules...
An Upcoming Valentine's Tale:
Twisted
(a Torq Brothers Novel)
Naked trees, slicked with frost, glistened like ice under the beam of headlights. Jag cruised up Cougar Mountain, his car hugging every snaking curve toward Berman Castle; a private residence tucked into the wintry hills of Bellevue. Beyond the spattering of bare maples and alders, thick groves of evergreens turned dusk into treacherous night. He turned up the radio, sank deeper into plush leather and gave the car more speed. Call him what you will: reckless, adrenaline junkie, Jag knew where the line was. He danced all the fuck over it–suavely–and lived to push its boundaries.
Redefining limits was what defined him. It was the passion behind his business, his fast lifestyle and without question, his many pleasures. Hence the nearly palpable excitement filling the interior of his car. It was Valentine's Day, his favorite holiday of the year. A night taken back from the dreamy romantics and given to the miscreants of kink with the annual Cupid's Mark Masque; the most exclusive BDSM event to be found. As Jag raced toward ultimate bliss, thousands of hopeless saps were rushing around for last minute gifts, praying they'd be good enough. They wouldn't be. Men who'd been wise enough to pay attention knew that more relationships ended in February, between dinner on the fourteenth and breakfast on the fifteenth, than any other time of year. Guys sweating over the price of earrings, when they should have bought the ring, left with maxed out credit card bills and no sex life come morning.
No fucking thank you.
Limitless sin is what awaited Jag every Valentine's Day, and his demons were foaming at the mouth. He'd gone too long between fixes again, despite telling himself he wouldn't. Work, family, life, these things happened and before he knew it, too much time had passed and he felt feral. At least he was the only victim of his lies. Everyone else got the ironclad honor of his word–whether they wanted it or not.
With a smirk, his gaze flicked to the box sitting on the passenger seat, as he took the final curve off the main road and shot down a private lane surrounded by untouched wilderness. The owner of Berman Castle had built it on a split fifty acre lot to ensure privacy. Thick trees sloped down to his right and rose up to his left, hiding stone walls that encompassed acres of topiary manicured lawns, all monitored by state of the art security. Near the end of the road, he veered left into the drive where wrought-iron gates stood open for the event and climbed the steady slope to the large courtyard already filling up with luxury cars. Jag's contribution was a BMW that belonged to his alias, because anyone who knew him would attest to the fact that he would never drive one. Not that he had anything against the manufacturer, itself, just being that unoriginal.
Once parked, he flipped the lid off the box and removed the full-face mask. It was black and featureless with a blood red arrow slashed diagonally across it. After securing it into place, he checked his reflection in the visor mirror, satisfied that his dark green eyes were the only things showing.
He didn't have a face that would go unnoticed in certain circles, and this night was all about anonymity. Just like the car, his invite had been issued under his club alias. He had a name to protect. A business and a family that would burn with him, if his predilections ever made it into mainstream knowledge. Not that his brothers weren't diving headlong into their own kinks, but they each had different tastes and his just happened to be the darkest of the lot. All the wicked, taboo kinks society would waste no time twisting into something they weren't. Which, is why there wasn't so much as a gas receipt placing Jaguar Torq anywhere near Berman Castle tonight.
He grabbed an armored briefcase from the trunk, then headed across the car park, setting the alarm with a silent flash of parking lights. Decked in all black suit, shirt, driving gloves with blood red silk in his breast pocket he was very aware of how much he resembled a comic book villain with the mask. That was fine by him, he was feeling rather villainous.
Under the stone arch of the gatehouse, he provided his invite to one of the guards without an ID, while the other eyeballed the case he didn't offer up for inspection.
"Any weapons?" The man asked.
Jag stared at him, surprised by the question. Deston must have had to fill a new spot recently. "Well, that's a matter of perception, isn't it?" he countered.
"He's clear," the other guard snickered, handing Jag his invite back. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Carr."
Yeah, his alias was all kinds of fucking funny.
Jag kept his attention on the rookie, as he tucked his invite away. "Don't worry, you're not my type," he assured him, then inclined his head. "Gentlemen."
"We should have checked his case." Jag heard the man grumble, as he headed up the flagstone path.
"Trust me, you don't want to see what's inside." The other responded.
Jag grinned to himself, as he landed on the small stoop of the house and pushed one of the arched, wooden doors open. His brow shot up to find twin beauties standing in the foyer to greet him. Coils of French pink curls were piled atop their heads with long, black and red feathers fanning off the opposite side as the other. Corsets of more black and red pinched their waists above floor-length skirts, complete with bustles. The gaping slit right up the center revealed only striped stockings and silk panties under all the intricate framing. Their masks were only for decoration, frilled lace just around their eyes. No one could mistake Riveted's most popular Burlesque team.
"Sisters DuPrey," he purred.
Their red lips spread into identical smiles. "Welcome to the Cupid's Mark Masque, Mr. Carr. The Arrows Lounge is in the showroom."
No matter how many times he'd heard them speak in perfect unison that way, it still rem
inded him of the freaking Shining. Fighting a shudder, he tilted his head in gratitude and headed across the foyer to the center door in the left wall. Past a guest bath, the hall opened to a split level staircase on his right, but he followed the runner all the way around to another door in the corner of the back wall. Muffled music filled the small anteroom with bass. It vibrated antique oval mirrors hanging on either side of the door to the showroom. Beneath each one, a sub knelt in nothing more than stockings and lace blindfolds, holding sterling silver trays above their heads. One tray held a pile of black, half-face masks with the arrow. The other tray held rows of skeleton keys.
Jag tucked a half-face mask inside the pocket of his suit jacket, then approached the keys. They were all attached to ornate pendants with guest names elegantly scrolled across them. He picked his up and watched the pendant swirl, revealing his name on one side and the number 4 on the other. Another smile spread unseen behind his mask. It wasn't just the number of his suite, but the sub he would spend the whole night wringing every ounce of pleasure out of. And God, it better be her.
Through the door, he stepped right into the erotic sounds of leather tails slapping flesh, followed by the gagged cries of the recipient and a Dubstep mix that may have once been Madonna's Justify My Love. In the dark, red lights were either set on a slow strobe or glowing steady. Jag looked to his right, where the flogging scene was taking place in the largest open area of the room. Two Doms were holding a sub stretched by her arms, while a third worked her bare ass and back with a wicked looking flogger; random metal tips glinting in the minimal lighting. His gaze shifted beyond them, catching the unmistakable red half-mask of Cupid, aka Deston Cassidy, owner of the BDSM club, Riveted and Berman Castle. He was leaning against the far wall, where he'd been watching the scene. Now, his attention was trained on Jag, because he was also known by sight. Not only was he the tallest man there, he never arrived to a Riveted event without his armored case. Jag held up his key, the pendant gleaming red from the only light source. He wanted confirmation that his pick was waiting for him behind door number four. When he got the subtle nod from Cupid, an electric pulse rippled across his shoulders and invigorated his muscles.
