She idly runs her fingers across the tabletop, breathing rapidly. “It’s not easy for me to trust.”
“Then just give me this much. Wear the dress. Wear the jewelry and the underwear,” I add a little under my breath, but I keep speaking before she has time to protest. “And if you want to leave the club at any point, we’ll leave. No questions asked. All I ask is that you at least step inside first.”
She turns to me with a slightly amused look on her face. “The underwear?”
I run a hand through my hair, feeling a grin pull at the corners of my lips. “The dress is a little bit see-through, so the panties and bra are part of the outfit.”
She snatches the bags up, giving me a dirty look that isn’t without some humor, and walks off to a room near the back. The bedroom, I figure. I have to stop myself from going after her. I know I could get her in that bed if I played my cards right, but I’m not just interested in getting her into bed one more time. I want her to be mine, completely and totally. I want her to call me Master and I want her to think about the ways I’ll bring her to screaming orgasms all day, so that when I finally have her to myself again she’ll practically be begging me for it. And for that, I need to prove to her that she can trust me. Completely.
I check out her place while she’s changing. When I came here last night I was too focused on anything but her and how pissed I was that she didn’t answer my calls to look around. Either way, I have to do something other than standing here and imagining how much I would enjoy following her into the bedroom and helping her out of her clothes.
She’s tidy, for the most part, but I’m amused to see a smattering of discarded socks in front of her couch and an apparent habit of leaving her empty water glasses out. Everything else is spotless, from the floors to the appliances in her kitchen. I look again at the socks and grin. I imagine her coming home from work, slipping out of her shoes at the door, then idly inching her socks off as she relaxes on the couch with a glass of water.
When she’s mine, it’ll be more than her socks that she makes a habit of taking off at the end of the day.
I find a few picture frames on a cabinet by the hall showing her almost exclusively with a woman who has the same large amber eyes--her mom, “Trouble,” if I’m not mistaken, only much younger. In the first picture, Lysa looks like she might only been a freshman or sophomore in high school. I smile down at the picture because she looks so ridiculously innocent and even a little geeky. Her mom looks radiant in the picture, and I can see where Lysa gets her looks. As the pictures progress, Lysa gets older and grows into the sexy woman she is now, but her mother deteriorates much more quickly than I’d expect. I realize she wasn’t that much younger in the first picture, it was just that her illness must have been more serious than I imagined. Cancer, maybe.
The thought makes my stomach sink. I knew Lysa was caring for her mom in some capacity, but I didn’t know to what extent.
I set the picture down and clench my fists. I’m going to fix this. I have enough connections to get her into the best treatment facilities in the world, and I can make it happen practically overnight. I can’t let Lysa lose her mom, not without doing anything I can to help. I don’t know if it’s cancer, heart disease, or something entirely different, but I make a silent vow to make sure she has the best chance of making it money can buy.
I step outside into the hallway before Lysa comes back out from the bedroom. I make a quick call to my assistant, Andrea. As usual, she answers half-way through the first ring. “Yes, Mr. Carlyle?”
“I need you to call in a few favors. There’s a Mrs. Ross staying in one of my hotels. The Beaumont. I want her transferred immediately to Dr. Fairchild’s care. His number is in my list of contacts--just tell him this one makes us even for what happened with that Taiwanese girl of his. He’ll understand.”
“I’m not sure I understand, sir. You want her transferred? What if she doesn’t want to come?”
“Obviously we’re not kidnapping the woman. Look, I don’t have long to talk,” I say when I hear a door close from inside Lysa’s apartment. “Just figure something out. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
I hang up the phone and step back inside.
Lysa waits for me in front of the balcony window. The city lights behind her show me the dark silhouette of her body beneath the thin dress so clearly I can make out every line and curve. I lick my lips and grin. Curve after curve after curve. Goddamn. She grips the top of her arm like she’s trying to fold herself into a small, self-conscious ball. She has a way of tilting her head down like she’s trying to hide, but it’s as if those big eyes of hers defy her body’s impulse to be shy. They follow me as I approach, big and hopeful. It’s addictive, even just having her eyes on me feels like all I could ever need. It makes me want to wrap her into my arms and keep the world away from her, to protect my strong but still-fragile pet.
I move to her, taking her by the shoulders and sucking in a deep breath. She looks down now, so I tilt her chin up until I’ve got her locked on me again.
“You look fucking amazing.” I say. “Everyone is going to want to steal you from me, but they’ll just have to dream, because you’re mine. Aren’t you?”
Her mouth opens wordlessly. I can practically see her thoughts churning. Of course they are. We’ve hooked up and been on one date and I’m telling her I own her. She’d be crazy if she was already throwing herself at my feet, besides, that’d take some of the fun out of it. I decide to spare her the agony of not knowing what to say by kissing her on those pouty lips and sucking her bottom lip into my mouth, where I nibble it lightly with my teeth and then soothe away the sting with the warmth of my tongue.
When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are heavy.
“Come on,” I say. “We’ve got quite the night ahead of us.”
13
Lysa
“What do you think?” asks Leo, who gestures to what looks like an entrance to the subway just a few minutes’ walk from my apartment.
I frown a little, looking over my shoulder and then up at the nearby buildings before I embarrass myself by assuming he’s asking about the hole in the ground. There’s no other entrance though, nothing else he could mean but the staircase leading down from the city street.
“I think it looks a little scary,” I say.
“Good. Then you won’t complain if I want to hold you a little closer,” he says, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me into him.
My breath is nearly taken away by how well we fit together, like his body was built to shelter mine. My head tucks just perfectly under his arm where it rests against his chest, and his strong arm envelops my back and shoulder, pulling me in just enough to let me know he doesn’t plan to let go.
This isn’t so bad, I think. I’m starting to feel like I’m on a normal date as we take the first few steps down. I can imagine a nice dinner, pleasant conversation, and who knows, maybe he’ll even get a kiss or two at the end of the night, if he’s good. I start to wonder if maybe the whole BDSM thing is just like an itch he has to get out of his system every once in awhile--if maybe he’s just a normal guy nine days out of ten. The oddest part is I don’t know if I would actually want that from him--normal. It’s the strangest thought, but I don’t want Leo to turn out to just be like every other guy. Even if I end up deciding he’s not the guy for me, I want him to be what he seems. I want to know guys like him exist out there because it makes the world just that much more exciting.
I can only kid myself for so long though. There’s a single, powerful truth that has clung to me ever since the first time I saw Leo in the Beaumont. I feel a connection with him like I’ve never felt before. I’ve held myself back out of duty to my baby and from worry that he’ll end up taking my focus away from taking care of my mom, but I know if nothing so important stood between us, I would’ve already thrown my whole self into his hands. I would’ve closed my eyes and fallen backwards over a cliff because I’d know he wo
uld never let anything happen to me.
Leo is the guy for me. The only question left is whether I can bridge that last gap of trust that lets me know--not just think--that he’s right for the baby and my mom.
We turn the corner at the bottom of the dark stairway, and my idea that we might be going on a normal date goes up in flames. There’s a thick iron door with a narrow slit at eye-level in a narrow, brick tunnel covered in graffiti. Leo knocks hard and waits.
With a shriek of metal, the eye-slit slides away to reveal two wrinkled and penetrating blue eyes. The thrum of music and voices comes from that small space, so distant I could almost believe I’m imagining it. A split second later the slit closes again and I hear a heavy metal lock being operated on the other side. The door creaks open. Leo takes me by the hand and leads me in.
The full volume of the music hits us now, pounding through the air with a physical force that reverberates in my chest. The place is absolutely choked with people, but I’ve never been in a crowd that looks so clearly wealthy in my life, not even at the party a few nights ago. The men all wear tailored suits and clothes that seem to fit them perfectly with expensive watches and shoes in abundance. Leo was right about my dress, too. If anything, the material being only slightly see-through makes me look conservative. One woman is wearing a dress that looks like chainmail but with nothing beneath, so her naked form is clearly visible as she moves through the club, each step making her whole dress shift and twist like an optical illusion until she appears completely naked.
My eyebrows rise when I see she’s wearing a collar and being led around by a man with thick, dark eyebrows. They don’t seem to be heading anywhere in particular, but both parties are enjoying the show in different ways. The man seems to be reveling in the looks of admiration his woman is garnering, and the woman seems to be focused entirely on the man holding the leash, watching his face in an almost unreadable mask, save for the way her eyes wander his body hungrily.
A slave and a Master, maybe. I don’t know enough about this lifestyle to say for sure, but I know Leo wanted me to wear his collar, and I can only assume he would display me like this. The thought makes my stomach flood with warmth and sends chills down my arms. Putting on a collar like that would be the ultimate submission. What I let him do to me in the darkness of that room at the party was one thing, but it was always just between Leo and I. Moving through a crowded place like this while so clearly on display and so clearly claimed would be… It would be like the final test of my trust. I’m not sure I can say why, but I feel like the moment I know I want to wear his collar will also be the moment I know I can let him into my life completely, to let him take that last step inside. Maybe Leo understood that too, and it’s why he wanted me to take the collar so badly.
This must be one of the three big BDSM clubs Leo was talking about. I start to notice the decor, from raunchy paintings depicting men and women doing things I never even imagined to red candles burning all along the walls and old-fashioned chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The furniture is all dark, expensive looking leather and the walls are paneled in deep colored wood. It’s a beautifully strange place full of corridors and rooms, like the lobby of a hotel, almost, except this would be the most crowded hotel lobby I’ve ever seen.
A woman taller than many of the men in the crowd catches my eye as she moves through the throngs, creating an effortless wake of parted bodies in front of her. She wears a severe black dress that is comparatively modest, aside from the plunging neckline. She looks to be in her late forties and has an extremely straight line of bangs an inch above her eyebrows, while the rest of her dark hair falls just above her shoulders. She has a look on her face of permanent disapproval with a hint of mockery, and when she turns her eyes to Leo, I’m surprised how she’s able to hold his gaze unflinchingly.
“Mr. Carlyle. It has been quite some time. Welcome.” She turns her eyes on me, making me feel small and childish under her gaze. “And you are?”
“This is Lysa,” says Leo, who shifts slightly, easing me just a fraction behind his shoulder.
A hot rush of excitement courses through me. I still feel pretty sure I’m absolutely insane for coming to a place like this with Leo, but whether it makes sense or not, my body reacts to him like he’s a drug. The way he possessively steps in to speak for me and even physically shield me from this woman when he sensed I was uncomfortable is… sweet.
He’s not sweet in the normal sense of the word, though. He reminds me of a dessert I had once at a festival--some kind of cupcake with a sweet frosting, but the cake itself was infused with jalapeno juices. It didn’t sound appetizing, but my friends convinced me to try it, and just when the sweetness was about to overpower my palate, the spicy flavor cut straight through it like a razor’s edge, striking a wonderful balance that left me feeling satisfied and excited.
In the same way, Leo has shown a side of himself that’s sweet and caring. He bought me the clothes to come here, he called in to have prescriptions sent to my mom’s room, and he didn’t want those men in the elevator of the hotel laughing at me. But his sweetness comes with a heavy undercurrent of danger, of possessiveness and dominance. Maybe that should make me want to get away as fast as I can, and maybe at some point in my life it might have. But now?
I don’t know if it’s the music thumping through my body in waves, the sensual atmosphere, or just having a man as big and strong as Leo holding me, but I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to step through this new door he’s opening up, and I want to become the woman he seems to think I am, I want to embrace it.
The woman smirks slightly when she sees how Leo moves between she and I.
“Well, dear, my name is Madame Garson. You should count yourself fortunate to have the attentions of a man like Leo. I’m sure there have been hundreds of women who would’ve done anything for the chance.” She gives Leo a look I don’t quite like, as if she’s saying she’s one of those women, but he doesn’t pay it any attention.
“Who was she?” I ask him quietly once she’s walked away.
He looks slightly uncomfortable for a moment, but recovers quickly. “Don’t worry yourself with all that yet, pet. There will be plenty of time to learn.”
I gasp out loud when I catch a glimpse of bare flesh and writhing bodies in a long, tall-ceilinged hallway.
He follows my gaze to the hallway near the back of the room. It’s lined with panes of glass that reach from the floor to the ceiling, each lit in sensual colors from red to purple and blue.
“See for yourself, come.”
The way his voice snaps out the word ‘come’ makes me feel almost physically tugged to follow him. God. Leo’s voice alone carries so much command, I can’t help wondering what I wouldn’t do if he asked. Instead of that thought bringing unpleasant images up, I have to force myself to think of something else because images of Leo straddling me shirtless while he commands me to do his dirty bidding are filling my head, that, and the blind memories of what it felt like to be tied helplessly to the St. Andrews Cross while he took me at the party.
We reach the hallway, which is set up like some kind of zoo, but instead of animals, each glass cage holds men and women engaged in various BDSM acts. There is a sizable crowd of people in the large hallway lounging on couches, kissing, touching, or just watching with hungry eyes.
I’ve always been the type to avert my eyes if a couple is even kissing in public, but this takes it to an entirely different level. I’m not sure how exactly, but the atmosphere seems to invite it, almost like there’s so much sexual energy in the air that it’s hard not to feel like I left most of my reservations at the door. I even get a rush when I think about how hot it would be if Leo decided to start feeling me up in front of all these people, or maybe kissing my neck or my earlobe.
I bite my lip and shake my head. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I really don’t. The sad thing is that I can’t find any good reasons to miss the old me right now. The old--reserved, stick-up-
her-butt, always overthinking every decision--girl I used to be seems like a bad memory when I’m with him. It’s almost as if this new, more adventurous side of myself was the real me all along, only bottled up under the weight of too much responsibility.
My breath catches when I look inside the first window. Leo’s hand is on my back as we approach. He watches me instead of what’s behind the glass, clearly more interested in my reaction than what’s going on.
A woman is on some kind of chair that looks a little like a massage chair, but this chair is designed to support someone who is kneeling. Soft pads sit under her legs, letting her kneel in total comfort--except she looks anything but comfortable. A ball gag is stuffed in her mouth and tears trickle from the corners of her eyes as a man in a leather mask and pants with no shirt paces around her bare body, running his fingers along a riding crop. He says something in a low growl to her, then slaps her across her already-red ass with the crop.
She jumps forward, eyes squeezing shut tighter.
“Leo,” I gasp. “She’s in pain.”
“Yes,” he says. “But look more closely. Look beyond the tears and what you think you see.”
His words confuse me at first, but when I look closer, I see the lips of her pussy are swollen and actually dripping with her excitement. I take in a surprised breath, pressing my hand to my chest, where I can feel my heart pounding rapidly. I’ve seen other women naked before, but never like this, never in such a sensual setting. It feels dirty, like I should look away and leave them to their private moment, but everything about this environment challenges me to question what I thought I knew about sex.
She wants to be watched. If she didn’t, why would she be doing this in front of a glass window? She wants him to hit her with that riding crop. The thought makes chills run across my skin. “I don’t understand. Why does she want it to hurt like that? I can understand a little sting, but that looks like it could bruise, even.”
Knocked Up by the Master: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance Page 10
