Vienna Bargain
Page 15
“Ha ha. I mean this,” she threw her arm back to gesture at the room behind her.
“Yes, it’s…it’s actually my room.”
Alena’s breath caught. “You mean the master suite.”
“There are several master suites, but this is mine. My private space.”
He fished out a box and held it to her. Alena popped two out of the blister pack, thought about it, and popped out a third before handing it back.
“I’ll bring you water.”
Alexander walked out, and Alena flowed behind him as he went to a heavy wood sideboard positioned on in the part of the room that made up the longer part of the L.
And from there, the alcove that contained the bed was visible. From the door, no one would be able to see the bed, and it was set far enough back from the windows that no one would be able to see it from the outside either.
His phone was plugged in on the nightstand, and it was such an unexpectedly normal sight that she just stared at it.
“Your phone is in Vienna.” Alexander held out a glass of sparkling water with ice in it.
“I wasn’t thinking about that, though that you for telling me.” She popped the pills into her mouth and washed them down.
“What were you thinking about…If you’re willing to tell me.”
“I was thinking that this really is your bedroom. In Vienna you took me to a guest room.”
“In Vienna you lied to me.”
The words were gentle, a reminder, not an accusation.
“I did. And I suspect you have many questions, though hopefully the most critical ones have been answered.” She walked to the sideboard, and started opening drawers and doors—one of which concealed a small fridge. Stocked with sparkling water, soda, and juice—all mixers—it clearly went with the liquor bottles neatly lined up in another cabinet, and the plethora of wine.
She stopped when she found what she was looking for. A coaster.
“You were looking for that?” He pointed at the small square of felt-backed stone.
“The woodwork on this piece is lovely.” She stroked the glossy top of the sideboard. “It would be a shame to damage it.”
“Alena,” His voice was soft. “Come here. You’re swaying.”
“More commands?” But she went to him, sliding back into his arms. “Can you sleep in those clothes?”
“Do you have a t-shirt and some boxers I can borrow?”
“You…want to sleep in my underwear.”
“Clean ones, you pervert. But yes, boxers aren’t that different from sleep shorts.”
“What are sleep shorts?” Alexander guided her down the hall, past the opening of the alcove where the massive bed waited, the comforter a beautiful shade of moss green, the pillows creamy white.
A recessed door opened into a large combination closet and dressing room. Most of the hanging space was bare, but there were a few zipped garment bags near the back. His suitcase, the one he’d brought from Vienna, was tucked into a corner.
Alexander opened a few drawers. Everything inside was tidy, and Alena felt weirdly jealous. Who had folded and put away his clothes?
He kept going, until he found a drawer which contained items still wrapped in tissue. He passed her a dove gray shirt so soft that it felt like silk, and a pair of black boxers, which actually were silk.
“Alexander, I know you’re wealthy, but please tell me you don’t buy designer underwear and t-shirts.” She pointed to the small circular sticker bearing the distinctive LV that had held the tissue around the boxers closed.
“I don’t. But my valet, who buys all my clothes, might.”
He closed the drawers, then turned to her. “I will give you…But I think I. I.”
Alena waited quietly, though inside she was anxious to change and crawl into that bed.
Alexander paused, then said, “I will give you privacy to get changed but I’d like to check on your bruises.”
“Admire you handiwork?” She asked with a wink.
He flinched, even fell back a step.
“It was a joke, suga’.”
“I, I will, um, go.” Alexander walked to the closet door and let himself out.
Shit.
Alena stripped and avoided looking at her ass in the mirror, since sometimes seeing the marks made them hurt more. She hung her clothes over the hanging rod, since there were no extra hangers, and then padded, barefoot, out into the suite.
“I’m using your toothbrush,” Alena declared as she walked by him. Alexander was standing at the sideboard, drinking something amber colored from a short glass.
“Sometimes there are extra supplies—”
“Don’t care, using yours.”
He shorted in laugher as she walked away.
She didn’t actually use his toothbrush. She found the extras—an expensive electric still in its box. She plugged it in to charge while she washed her face and brushed her hair—there was a beautiful boar bristle brush also still in its box that she opened, which did a good job smoothing down all the flyaway bits. She brushed her teeth.
The collar was still around her neck. She’d gotten rid of the scarf, leaving it with her clothes, so the leather was visible. She turned it around so the lock was at the front, then opened the bathroom door.
He’d turned off most of the lights in the room, so the space was instead lit by the glow of the moon that spilled in the windows. From where she stood she could see out one window and in another to the bed alcove, which was lit with a pale glow.
On bare feet, Alena made her way over.
Alexander was standing beside the bed and looking at his phone in nothing but low-slung black pajama pants. He looked almost gilded in this light, and she couldn’t help herself.
Alena walked up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, laying her cheek on his bare back. Alexander put down his phone and lay his hands over hers. His thumbs rubbed the back of her hands and she closed her eyes.
“I know we should talk,” she murmured.
“You need sleep more than I need answers.”
If their positions had been reversed she wasn’t sure she would have had the patience he was showing.
Alexander pulled back the covers for her.
Alena climbed in then gingerly lay on her stomach. Her ass had stopped throbbing thanks to the pills, but she still felt rather battered and fragile. The source of that feeling could have been either physical or emotional. Either way, the feeling persisted, at least until Alexander circled the bed and climbed in.
He lay on his side and carefully pulled the covers up to her shoulders. His fingers pushed her hair back and touched the collar.
Alena turned her head on the pillow so she could watch him watch her. His hand, now atop the covers, stoked her back and she sighed, eyes closing.
Alexander lay back, not touching her, but close enough she could feel his body heat.
They’d never slept together, yet it felt comfortable, somehow right.
But as Alena drifted off, one thought kept repeating in her head.
Not all damage could be repaired.
And not all lies could not be forgiven.
* * *
The story continues in Vienna Bliss.
About the Author
Lila Dubois is a multi-published, bestselling author of erotic, paranormal and fantasy romance. Her books have been nominated for many awards including RT Book Reviews Erotic Novella for Undone Rebel and the Golden Flogger. Having spent extensive time in France, Egypt, Turkey, Ireland and England Lila speaks five languages, none of them (including English) fluently. Lila lives in California with her own Irish Farm Boy and loves receiving email from readers.
Visit Lila online:
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Also by Lila Dubois
Orchid Club
The San Francisco Trilogy
San Francisco Longing
San Francisco Lost
San Francisco Love
The Paris Trilogy
Paris Pleasure
Paris Punishment
Paris Promise
The Vienna Trilogy
Vienna Betrayal
Vienna Bargain
Vienna Bliss
Masters’ Admiralty Erotic Ménage Romance written with New York Times bestselling author Mari Carr
Treachery’s Devotion
Loyalty’s Betrayal
Pleasure’s Fury
Honor’s Revenge
Bravery’s Sin
The Trinity Masters, Erotic Ménage Romance written with New York Times bestselling author Mari Carr
Elemental Pleasure
Primal Passion
Scorching Desire
After Burn (free short story)
Forbidden Legacy
Hidden Devotion
Elegant Seduction
Secret Scandal
Delicate Ties
Beloved Sacrifice
Masterful Truth
Fiery Surrender
* * *
The Trinity Masters: Volumes 1-4
Warrior Scholars - Trinity Masters Novellas
Hollywood Lies
* * *
BDSM Checklist, BDSM Erotic Romance
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A is for…
The overseers of LA’s most exclusive BDSM club have a sexy new game that all members must play, and experienced sub Anna has no choice but to participate, despite the fact that she is only months away from being bonded.
Master Jensen knows who, and what, he wants—Anna—but when he’s assigned the first letter of the alphabet he must prove to himself, and the lovely submissive, that he’s willing to push them both to their limits, and maybe beyond.
When Anna and Jensen are forced to face the depth of their desires, and the painful origins of their relationship, they’ll learn that the worst pain comes not from a whip, but from the heart.
* * *
A is for…
B is for…
C is for…
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Pain or pleasure. In the end it didn’t matter. She craved both.
Anna kept her breaths slow and even, trying to make as little noise as possible. Drawing attention to herself right now would be like a mouse squeaking in a room full of hungry jungle cats.
The submissive kneeling beside her shifted, wincing a little. Anna’s legs hurt too—they’d been waiting here for over half an hour, and the concrete was hard against her knees and toes. She wanted to raise her head and look around, but she didn’t dare.
Slaves and submissives knelt in various states of undress in the center of the large open space. Some sat back on their heels, others were kneeling up, their bodies straight from head to knee. Still others sat cross-legged with their hands laced together behind their backs.
The Masters and Doms lounged on couches or in chairs along two of the walls. More were in the seating area in the converted hay loft, leaning forward to look down at the bounty of flesh on the ground floor. Some prowled the edges of kneeling men and women like predators circling a heard of prey.
They were assembled in the barn, the only space in Las Palmas large enough to house everyone. To outsiders it might seem like nothing more than an upscale adobe-style barn, built to match the massive, sprawling mansion a hundred yards away. Las Palmas was a beautiful property north of Los Angeles, named for the twin rows of palm trees that lined the drive and circled the mansion. The barn was only one of the many outbuildings and, despite its name, was nicer than most people’s homes, with brushed concrete floors, air conditioning and teak doors on the ten large stalls. It had been built to house finicky purebred horses, but both the barn and the mansion served a darker purpose.
Wood groaned as the heavy double doors opened. Anna caught her breath and dropped her chin to her chest. She stared at the top of her own breasts, exposed to just above the nipple by the black corset she wore. Matching stockings, panties and a garter belt completed her ensemble. Outside Las Palmas the lingerie would have been exciting and racy. Here it was the equivalent of a t-shirt and jeans.
Footsteps clicked on the concrete—two pairs of boots and a pair of high heels. She’d been a serious submissive for several years now, and after spending that much time with her head down, she’d become very good at identifying the sound of footsteps.
“Masters, Mistresses, thank you for joining us. Subs, focus on us.”
Anna raised her head. Around her the other subs and slaves shifted to obey, rearranging themselves and focusing their attention on the three people standing in the center of the assembly.
Master Leo, Mistress Faith and Master Mikel drew the eye and commanded attention. Each was tall and slim. Master Leo and Mistress Faith wore half masks. Master Mikel did not. He had a narrow, strong face and dark eyes, which regarded the submissives with a sort of lazy pleasure.
They were the owners of Las Palmas, and overseers of Las Palmas Oscuras—The Dark Palms—the name they’d given to the exclusive and secretive BDSM club housed on the estate. Referred to simply as Las Palmas, anyone who overheard a member talking about it and went snooping would find a website detailing the architectural and cultural history of the property.
“We’ve called you here for a very serious reason,” Mistress Faith said, her voice cool and clear. She was in her early fifties and favored trim, tailored dresses instead of leather pants or latex gloves. She radiated power like a fire gave off heat.
“We’ve become complacent,” Master Leo added. “Each of us has found pleasure and pain, often both, within these walls.”
“And yet,” Master Mikel continued, “we do not push ourselves. Comfort and safety is for the mortals out there.” He threw out one long arm, his dress shirt pulling back to expose his strong brown wrist. For a moment Anna thought she could see bruises, like those left by a cuff, but that couldn’t be. “We are gods, gods who are growing lazy and stupid in our complacency.”
Anna’s heartbe
at raced. Though the subs and slaves remained still, she saw the Masters and Doms straightening, some who were seated rising to their feet.
“If you want to play the same games, if you want the safety of the known, then we invite you to leave. The contract you signed when you joined will remain in effect. Any discussion of who we are or what we do will be met with swift, harsh retribution.”
There were several long minutes of silence. No one moved. Membership at Las Palmas was limited to a very select few—wealth, beauty and depravity were all required to even be considered. Anna suspected that many of the people in the room were like her—they didn’t just enjoy this place, they needed it. It soaked up and exercised a darkness within them that otherwise might have run rampant.
“I warn you,” Mistress Faith said, “the offer will not be made again. By remaining here you consent to the…activity.” The syllables of the word “activity” rolled from the Mistress’s mouth, as if she’d been savoring them before speaking.
There were a few chuckles, some muttering from the Doms and Masters, but again, no one left.
“Very well,” Master Leo said. “Let’s explain the rules.”
Master Mikel went to the door of the tack room. He wheeled out a large board draped in black cloth, and positioned it against the wall.
“My friends and companions in debauchery.” There was a hint of amusement in Master Mikel’s voice. “Prepare yourselves.” He pulled off the cloth.
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