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After a night of mad, crazy sex involving the rings on the ceiling of their room, David woke up early and left a note for Portia.
Portia Pet—
I'm going for a run.
You do not have permission to leave the room. Wait for me.
—Your Master
He headed out of the Castle, the cold air clearing his mind as he set off on his run. He didn't know what to think about his little slave-pet. In the past thirty-six hours, there had been moments when the two of them had been perfectly synced. Yin to yang, Dom to sub, husband to wife. Yes, husband to wife—like a couple who had been together for years and took care of each other. But did any of that change who they were? Even hearing why she had left cooking for critiquing didn't soften his opinion of her as the food critic who had ripped apart his restaurant in a mean-spirited review. What had he done to make her lash out at him like that? He still couldn't figure it out.
David ran for a long time, returning with his lungs burning from the cold air. When he got back, he found Portia in a yoga pose in their room—completely naked. She jumped out of the position when he entered, looking embarrassed.
He flopped down in the armchair. "Please continue."
She gave a little shake of her head.
"I command it," he said in a steely voice.
She flushed and returned to her pose. He watched as she put herself into pose after pose, lengthening and strengthening her muscles. No wonder she had such a hot body.
At the end of it all, she lay on her back and closed her eyes.
"Go back to the one before," he instructed.
She rolled to her belly and pushed her hips back to her heels, keeping her chest on the floor as if in a position of supplication.
"Reach your hands back behind your knees," he said.
She complied, and he wrapped a wrist restraint around them, binding her in that position.
Opening the top drawer of the dresser, where the Castle provided all kinds of sex toys (for a fee, of course), he found a vibrator.
"Lift your bottom."
He circled the tip of the vibrator around her entrance, then pressed it inside, flipping the switch to on.
"Eep," she squealed.
"Don't move. Don't come," he commanded. Then he headed for the shower.
By the time he returned, tears of frustration had formed in Portia's eyes. He crouched in front of her and cupped her chin. "Good girl," he murmured. When he stood up and walked away, she made a screaming sound in her throat.
"That's enough," he said sharply and she immediately ceased, collapsing her head back to the floor in defeat. He opened the drawer of implements and selected a mean-looking Lexan cane. David returned to Portia and released her wrists, but did not remove the vibrator.
"Reach between your legs and hold it," he commanded.
She obeyed.
"Now stand up and bend over the bed."
She took a long time to rise; probably stiff from kneeling so long and dazed from the sexual stimulation. He caught her elbow and lifted her to stand, leading her to the bed and pushing between her shoulder blades to fold her torso over.
He grasped the vibrator, covering her hand with his, and shoved it in deeper, searching for her front inner wall.
She squealed, lifting her legs off the floor and scissoring them together, her bottom squeezed tight.
He slapped the back of her thigh. "Don't you dare," he said sternly.
She let out a warbling moan but relaxed her muscles.
He went to his suitcase and fished out his copy of Windy City Eats from the front pocket, opening it to the review. Tucking it under her face, he said, "Read it."
Her head jerked up, a frightened look on her face. He brought the Lexan cane sharply across her bare cheeks. "Now, Portia."
She whimpered and began reading. "Megalomaniac Chef David Dean Marone has opened a second restaurant near the waterfro—ooph."
He brought the cane down in another stinging blow. "Go on," he prompted.
"As if appearing on the Food Channel and already having a restaurant named after himself wasn't enough, this one, too, is called David Dean's. Ow!"
He whipped her again.
"Marone has earned numerous awards for both cooking and service with his River North loca—"
He whipped her again.
"Please," she wailed, her voice choking with tears.
He paused and tapped her ass with the end of the cane. He had planned to make her beg at some point, and now it had finally come. He whipped her again before she could beg more.
"Please," she sobbed, pushing the magazine away. "Don't make me read it. I already apologized."
He leaned close to her ear. "And I already accepted your apology. But that doesn't mean your punishment is over." He swished the crop through the air, striking her quivering buttocks. "You were mean."
"I'm sorry," she wailed.
"Good." He shoved the magazine back in front of her. "Now keep reading."
She wept, reading in rushed segments between his stripes, her words mostly incoherent with tears.
He probably gave her around twenty strokes in all, which would leave her sore well into the next day; even an experienced pain slut like her. If he had to guess, it wasn't the pain that made her sob, though. She seemed genuinely distraught over reading her words. Perhaps she truly did regret them?
He wondered why it mattered to him. He'd had his say.
But it did. Very much. He still wanted to know what had made her go after him with such venom, and, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he desired her acceptance and approval. Or maybe something deeper. But he wasn't willing to consider that now.
Chapter Seven
Portia sobbed, her head buried in the bedspread, the odious magazine shoved away from her again. She could not seem to cry hard enough to release the pain stuck in her chest. She needed absolution. She needed things to come out right between her and David.
He slid the vibrator out of her pussy and turned it off. Turning her around, he picked her up and sat her on the bed. She winced, even the soft mattress hurting her fresh weals. She tried to stop the crying, which of course, only made it worse, her breath turning to crazy hiccupping. "I'm sorry," she croaked.
He stroked the hair out of her face and ran his thumbs under her eyes to brush away the tears.
"I like it when you cry," he said softly.
She shuddered. Not because his words frightened her, but because they satisfied her on some deep level. All she had to offer him as penance for her nastiness was her tears, and to hear he craved them brought things into balance.
She sagged, giving into the sobs.
He leaned down, licking one of her tears as if they were some delicacy he might serve, the sauce on a plate of pain and release. He grasped her left knee and pulled it up, bending it to part her thighs. Reaching between her legs, he slapped her pussy.
She gasped, jerking at the sensation.
He pushed her torso back until she fell onto her elbows and angled himself alongside her, trapping the leg still dangling toward the floor between his legs and holding her other leg open. He spanked the delicate folds of her sex, hard enough to make her jump and gasp, but not enough not to send her into panic.
Her tears slowed, but she continued to sob, as much from growing need as from distress now.
"Naughty, naughty pet," he said, spanking harder.
"Please," she begged. "Oh please…"
"Please what?" he said, stopping and meeting her eye.
"I need you," she whispered.
His eyebrows flicked in surprise and he tore open his pants, freeing his cock. He patted his pockets, probably looking for a condom, and then he levelled her a dark look. "I'm going to ride you bareback," he said.
She arched toward him, the callousness turning her on. Despite the challenge in his voice, she sensed he would back off if she refused. He hadn't entered her yet, clearly waiting for her response. She should
say no. Or call a safeword. But hell—how great was the risk? All those years married and she had never conceived.
"I'm clean," he said, answering her unspoken question. "No STDs."
She arched again, thrusting her pelvis at him. She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted a man in her life. She needed this. Desperately.
Being an intelligent man, he read her cues and thrust into her.
"Oh," she wailed, wrapping her bent leg around his waist and using it to leverage him deeper. She grabbed his arms and dug her fingernails in as he fucked her so hard the bed moved.
He didn't speak, his brow furrowed as he plowed in and out, slamming against her with the most satisfying violence.
"David," she gasped, the ability to govern her tongue vanished.
"Yes," he muttered, moving with even more force.
He pounded into her as if his cock was a weapon, a whip he lashed her with. He filled her, his movements inside her so satisfying, she saw stars.
A wolf-like growl erupted from his throat. He yanked her hips up and held her pinned to him as he came inside of her.
"Now, Portia," he grunted.
Her climax erupted, sending shudders through her entire body as her pussy clenched and squeezed his cock, drawing his seed deep inside her.
As soon as it passed, he was on top of her, his lips crushing hers, his hand tightening over her breast. Her tears and sobs had ceased, replaced by waves of bliss and awe, now at the seeming passion coming from David.
He scooped her up, sliding her fully onto the bed and covering her body with his own, kissing down her neck, between her breasts, to her belly. He rolled her over and ran his hand across her blistered ass, squeezing both cheeks in a punishing grasp.
"Who do you belong to, Portia Sands?" he asked, grasping her hair and pulling her head back.
"You," she whispered.
"That's right," he said. "I own you."
He lowered over her and kissed her jaw, then bit her neck. He settled beside her, rolling her to her side to spoon, cupping one breast in his warm hand. His breath lengthened and, after several minutes, she realized he had fallen asleep. She listened to the buzzing of sensations in her body; the throbbing of her swollen bottom, the rawness of her pussy, every muscle in her body feeling like she'd had the workout of her life. Emotionally, he had taken her over an edge, and she had poured out everything within her. Vulnerability snaked around, trying to take hold, but the fresh touch of his kisses and the cloak of his muscled body curled around hers protected her from it. She nestled closer and allowed the fullness of his breath to lull her into a pleasant sleep-state as well.
Portia woke to David's voice, speaking in her ear. "I remembered," he said, leaning up on his forearm and peering down at her. "I was an asshole to you back in culinary school, wasn't I?"
Her heart picked up speed. This was the little seed she'd kept buried inside her for so long. It had been nothing and yet everything. The source of so much shame. She didn't want to talk about it.
"I embarrassed you, didn't I? More than I realized at the time."
Suddenly, she was that twenty-two year old girl again. She ducked her face toward the covers.
"What started it? We were talking about feminism or something. I was popping my mouth off, as usual."
She didn't turn back to him, but said into the covers, "You said, 'I don't care if my wife takes my last name and she's welcome to her career, so long as she knows I'm always going to be boss in the bedroom.'"
He made a snorting sound. "Oh God. I was so stupid."
She didn't answer.
"You called me a sick misogynist, which isn't exactly true. I love women, I just also love hurting them. And then I said something really awful about you, didn't I?"
Pressure formed behind her eyes and nose. God, no more crying, please. How stupid to cry over something that happened seventeen years ago.
"Shit. What did I say? Something about I'd like to spank you?"
"You said, 'Portia's the type of raging feminist who fights so hard because she secretly dreams of being tied up, spanked and fucked hard from behind.' And then, when I called you an asshole, you said, 'If it wasn't true, you wouldn't be blushing so hard right now.'"
"Damn," he said. "I guess I've always called it like I see it. I'm sorry." He pulled her shoulder to turn her toward him, and she allowed it, but covered her face with her hands, pretending to be rubbing it. He pried her hands away.
"I'm sorry. I guess I recognized something in you, way back then. I already knew what I was, and I saw in you my counterpart. Only you hadn't admitted it to yourself yet, or maybe you just didn't want to be called out on it in public, so when you seemed so scornful, I felt defensive about my own kink and lashed out."
"I didn't like that part of myself," she admitted. "And you shamed me by making it seem like something was wrong with me. Everybody laughed."
"I'm sorry, Portia. I'm sorry I embarrassed you. I really was an asshole. An arrogant, conceited bastard who deserved being called out publicly in Windy City Eats."
"I never admitted my kink. Not in ten years of marriage to a really great guy."
He pulled back and swallowed. "You're married?" he asked in a choked voice.
She almost laughed, happy to see him as disturbed by the idea as she had been when she thought he was. "Divorced. Because I was totally repressed."
"And I contributed to your repression," he said, his voice regretful. "I should have said, 'Portia, why don't you let me tie you up and spank you? You might find you like it.'"
"I probably still would've run away," she said with a tear-choked laugh. "But then I would've spent the past seventeen years fantasizing about you instead of hating your guts."
"Aw, and just think of the review I would've won instead: David Dean is not only the most talented chef in the kitchen, he's also the hottest…"
She giggled. Then she offered what she'd been debating since the night before. "I can print some kind of apology. You know, for hitting below the belt. Admit I had a personal beef with you."
He shook his head. "No way. You would damage your credibility as a reviewer. You might even lose your job. People trust your opinion. You can't erode that trust."
"But I—"
"The review didn't hurt my business. In fact, reservations picked up. You didn't criticize the food; you just called us pretentious and arrogant. Apparently some people like that. The only thing you damaged was my ego, and now I know I deserved it." He bent and brushed his lips across hers, a light, sweet kiss. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. I'm going to make it up to you."
"How are you going to do that?"
He gave her a wicked smile, his look turning hungry and dark. In one smooth motion he rolled on top of her, pushing her back and squeezing one breast with enough force to make her squirm. "I'm going to make all your fantasies come true," he breathed in her ear, just before he bit it.
Oh, but he already had. Not that she would tell him that.
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"You'll never believe who I spent New Year's Eve with," David said into his cell phone, watching Portia stiffen at his feet. They were in the Rainbow Room so he could check in on business.
"Who?" Jerry asked.
"Portia Sands."
Portia's breath quickened, but she didn't look up, perhaps purposely pretending not to listen, or show that she didn't care.
"What? You're kidding me! Did you give her a piece of your mind?"
"I did, yes. But we've worked things out. At least, I think we have," he said, stroking the underside of her chin.
She lifted her eyes, uncertainty written on her face.
"You can tell Carrie there's no need to bring out the rabbit turds next time she comes to David Dean's," he said, winking at Portia.
Jerry caught on to the fact that Portia was there and laughed. "I'm glad to hear it. Does that mean she's coming back?"
"I'm still working on that," David said, burrowing his fingers in her hair and massaging her scalp. He w
anted to see Portia again, because he thought they had something worth developing, but he had no idea whether she'd agree to it. "I'll call you tomorrow from the airport."
"Sounds good. Everyone's ready for you to come back."
"I'll probably come in tomorrow night, but don't plan on me, in case my flight's delayed."
He ended the call just as Paul walked in. David had sent him a text asking him to meet them in the Rainbow Room at eleven if he didn't have anything else going on. Paul carried a loop of rope, his specialty.
"Up, pet," David said, catching Portia's elbow and helping her to her feet. He had her in tiny latex shorts and nothing but the halter on top. Unclipping the leash from the halter, he released the fasteners and slid it off. "Take off your shorts and boots," he commanded.
The questioning in her eyes satisfied him. He liked to keep her on her toes, a little nervous, a tad unsure of his intention. And he knew she wasn't much of an exhibitionist. Standing naked in the Rainbow Room would embarrass her more than empower her.
"Don't make me punish you again this morning," he warned.
She bent over and unzipped her boots, making a delectable sight from where he stood. He held her arm as she hopped out of them. Only then did she notice Paul standing behind her. Her eyes widened, and she looked from one to the other of them.
"Kitty, this is Rigger. He's an expert at Shibari. He's going to tie you up and spank you while I watch."
True to her nature, she didn't protest, but he knew he'd taken her out of her comfort zone by her deer in the headlights look. She peeled the tight latex shorts off and stood with her eyes lowered.
A quiet sort of Dom, Paul murmured to his subs during their scenes and somehow earned their undying devotion. David had watched him perform at play parties, and he brought a meditative reverence to his scenes. He trusted him with Portia, not that he planned to leave them alone for even a minute. In general, he didn't like to share his subs, but since Portia had listed being with two men as an interest, he wanted to give her every experience she desired. David drew a chair up and sank into it to watch the show.
When The Gavel Falls (Masters of the Castle) Page 35
