The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3)

by Nikki Sloane

The basement wasn’t cold, but a shiver glanced down my spine. There hadn’t been any pain tonight. No stinging cracks from a paddle, or lines of fire created across my skin with the thin plastic cane Clay sometimes wanted used on me.

  Dark anticipation welled in the bottom of my stomach.

  He had something else planned, I just knew it. Clay didn’t give pleasure freely. I liked how he made me earn it. So, as the tingles of my approaching orgasm crawled along my skin, I held my breath and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  The tension inside me grew until it was tight enough to snap.

  “I’m gonna come,” I gasped.

  “No, you’re not,” Clay growled. “Stop.”

  A frustrated whine seeped out of my mouth as the vibrator was ripped away and its buzzing went silent. God, I’d been so close. I tried to shift and twist in my bindings, searching for something to press against. My ankles were attached to the bar by my feet and my knees were held open by another spreader bar that E had pulled from his bag of fun. It meant I couldn’t close my legs and squeeze against the pleasure humming in my body.

  Clay’s smile was wicked as he watched me squirm against my restraints, and his voice was patronizing. “Did you need something?”

  “Yeah, the vibrator back where it was.”

  I was a half-second too late to correct myself. He wouldn’t like my tone, and E’s hand was quick to deliver my punishment. The pinch of his fingers on my nipple wasn’t all that bad, but he used his grasp to pull hard, lifting the weight of my breast away from my body. It was a delicious shot of pain. As soon as he let go, my breast snapped back, and he slapped his fingertips across my distended nipple.

  It wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t nice either, and I liked the way the discomfort ricocheted through me. I enjoyed it so much, I considered giving Clay some more lip so it’d force E to do it again.

  “You don’t need the vibrator,” Clay’s tone was pointed, “you just want it.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  It was sexy and infuriating how he sat on the other side of the screen looking smug and powerful. “Well, that’s too bad.” He took off his glasses and proceeded to polish the lenses with the bottom hem of his shirt. “You had enough orgasms yesterday. I don’t think you need any more tonight.”

  The word echoed through my head, but E said it out loud. “What?”

  His eyes were wide and his posture stiff. It announced this wasn’t part of Clay’s plan—at least not the one E had been told, and he wasn’t too happy hearing about this change.

  Clay slipped his glasses back on and gave a hard look to the man who was his surrogate, and—holy crap. This flex of power was just as much for him as it was for me. A few sessions in, I’d determined that while E liked dominating me and carrying out most of Clay’s orders, he much preferred giving me pleasure.

  Now it’d been taken off the table.

  Was this punishment for missing the session last night . . . or something else?

  Clay’s voice dripped with condescension. “It’s called denial. Have you not heard of it?”

  E’s eyebrow lifted sharply. “I know what it is.”

  The mood in the room devolved and became fraught with tension. The men typically didn’t speak much to each other during a scene, and when they did, it had always been cordial. They were teammates working toward the same goal.

  For the first time, they were two predators fighting over the same kill.

  Clay was determined to make clear he was the alpha. “Great,” he said dryly. “That’s what I want to do with her tonight.”

  His declaration didn’t sit right with E, and he stepped in between me and the camera, blocking my view of Clay and forcing my gaze up onto him. It was clear he was considering how to proceed. Did he bow down, or make his stand?

  This isn’t what I want to do, I imagined him saying to me.

  I didn’t know what to tell him, or how to convey my thoughts without words. Of course I didn’t want to be denied, but . . . playing with these two men had awakened something inside me. Plus, I trusted Clay. He’d given me so many amazing experiences, the biggest of them all being E. He’d broadened my sexual horizons. He knew what he was doing.

  If there was frustration tonight, then he was making a promise of satisfaction later.

  Maybe E wanted me to push back, but it wasn’t possible. I was strapped down to the chair, naked and exposed and totally immobile. Couldn’t he see I was already committed to the scene?

  My gaze dropped to E’s feet.

  Decision made, he moved to my side so he was no longer in the way, and cast a begrudging gaze toward the computer. “All right.” His tone was flat. “What’s next?”

  It was three more tormenting cycles with the vibrator. I’d climb the hill toward orgasm, and as I approached the edge, it was taken away, leaving me breathless and bereft.

  And since I wasn’t experiencing release, E didn’t either. During one of my cooling off sessions, he tucked himself back in his underwear and pulled his pants on. Perhaps it was out of respect to me, or maybe it was the only kind of control he could exert in the scene. Yes, E submitted to Clay, but he did it with reservations.

  He didn’t seem to be a switch, and if Clay took the leash off, I was certain I’d find out exactly how dominating E could be.

  I moaned under my breath as he set the head of the vibrator against me. It felt good, but it’d stop the moment it started feeling great, and I’d rather not have it at all when I knew there’d be no release at the end.

  “Maybe if you beg me,” Clay said, “I’ll change my mind.”

  I clenched my teeth against the enjoyment humming through my body. “No. I don’t beg.”

  He flat-out grinned, like it was the most exciting thing he’d ever heard. His smile was so huge, it seemed to fill the entire laptop screen.

  “Oh, you don’t?” He was arrogant and powerfully sexy. “I’ll test that theory the next time we’re together. I’ll give you so many orgasms, I think you’ll be begging me to stop.”

  “Fuck,” I whispered. It was more threat than promise, and so hot, Clay didn’t need to warn E that I was close. The vibrations ceased as the wand was turned off and pulled away, only seconds before I tipped over into ecstasy.

  I panted as I clung to the edge, and E’s mood turned stormy. He strode to his bag, shoved the vibrator inside, then returned to me and began to undo my restraints. He wasn’t rough or cold with me—I wasn’t the source of his frustration. Whether Clay was ready for it or not, it didn’t matter. E’s actions announced the scene was over.

  The denial had broken E much faster than it had me.

  Since it hadn’t been physically intense, there wasn’t much aftercare. E rubbed away the indentations his rope had left on my skin, but his gaze barely met mine. His eyes stayed silent.

  It’d been the tamest scene so far, and for the first time, it felt awkward when it was over. We dressed, Clay switched his call from E’s laptop to my phone, and once everything was put away, we shuffled up the stairs.

  “Do I need to remind you,” Clay asked, “that I said no orgasms tonight?”

  I squeezed the phone tightly and bit it out. “No, sir.”

  While I would follow his order, he hadn’t said shit about me needing to like it. The evil part of me taunted he’d never know if I ran home and finished off the job myself. But I would know, and that was what Clay was banking on. Just like last night, the real test would come when there weren’t restraints.

  A pleased look flashed through him and he nodded subtly at my promise. He adjusted his posture, straightening his shoulders. “Can you move the phone so I can speak to Mr. E?”

  I did, moving to stand beside him and angling the phone so we could both view the screen.

  Clay’s tone was genuine. “Thanks for tonight. I’m sorry for changing the agenda on you. That won’t happen again.”

  E didn’t have a response, other than his chest
lifted with a heavy breath. Whatever he wanted to say, he must have felt like he couldn’t right now. His expression was cryptic, almost as if he were struggling not to get lost in thought. But his deep breath must have been enough of an acknowledgment for Clay, because the matter seemed settled.

  “Goodnight,” he said.

  “Yeah.” E’s tone was guarded. “Night.”

  He strode to the front door, gripped the handle, and pulled it open before turning to finally, really look at me. My pulse went into overdrive. Shit, he was so handsome, and interesting, and I ached to know more about him. The ache was even more acute than the one I’d felt earlier when I’d been desperate to find release.

  We held each other’s gaze for a beat too long, because he did nothing to disguise the desire that lurked inside him, and I liked how it looked. It made me swallow hard.

  Goodbye, he seemed to say.

  “Goodbye,” I echoed back, only mine had been out loud.

  He froze.

  Was he wondering if I were talking to him, or the man he could no longer see? My phone was turned so the screen was facing me. Or was he nervous because I had spoken directly to him, which was against the rules?

  Static swirled around us, creating heat and electricity. It increased exponentially when he pushed the door shut, and remained inside, putting his hands squarely on his hips as he challenged me.

  Oh, my God.

  My heart thumped so loudly, I worried Clay would hear it and I’d give away what E had done. My gaze dropped to the screen in my hand and I tried to block everything else out. I would pretend E had walked out the door and shut it behind him, because Clay believed he had.

  “Is he gone?” he asked.

  Blood rushed through my head like a freight train, drowning out all other sound. I didn’t stop to consider my answer. The lie simply burst from my lips. “Yes.”

  FIFTEEN

  On some level, I was aware of my guilt over lying to Clay, but I refused to think about it. I was too curious, and honestly, it was a miracle I’d made it this long without breaking any of the rules.

  I was just too weak.

  “I know tonight was a little . . . off,” Clay said. “In my head, it played out differently.” He made a face, displeased with himself. “I’m sorry. When it comes to you, I need to learn to expect the unexpected.”

  I stared at my phone, trying to focus on what he was saying. He’d changed the design on himself—something he never did—and had inferred I was the cause. If I weren’t so distracted by the man who lingered silently by the door, I might have realized what a big deal this was. Instead, I held breath tightly in my lungs and forced myself to act natural.

  “It’s okay.” I added a shrug and a smile for additional effect.

  “Good.” Although he sounded slightly less than convinced. “Well, I should probably let you go, unless you want—”

  “Yeah, I’m kind of tired.” Maybe he wanted to talk about the scene, and I could be missing an opportunity for him to open up, but I felt E’s gaze on me like a giant magnifying glass. “Think I’m going to say goodbye to Noir and then head out.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Have a good night.” His lips curled into a smile. “But, you know, not too good.”

  My nervous laugh was overly loud, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Right. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Bye.”

  As soon as I pushed the ‘end call’ button and the screen went black, chaotic energy hummed through my veins. I took my time setting my phone down on the side table, right beside the stack of mail I brought in nightly for Clay, because I wanted to pause in this moment before I crossed the point of no return.

  Betrayal was something that couldn’t be undone. And even as I knew that—I also knew I was going to do it regardless.

  He’d set his bag down beside him and his hands had returned to rest on his hips, but his posture wasn’t confrontational. It seemed anxious.

  I’m nervous, his expression said.

  Me too, I answered back.

  I breathed the word. “Hi.”

  His lips parted. His hands moved to hang at his sides, and his greeting was as tentative as mine had been. “Hi.”

  The room felt uneven, as if there were only pockets of air to breathe here and there, and they shifted and swirled unexpectedly around us.

  It’d been nearly two months since our first night together at the club, and I’d wondered about him relentlessly since, but as I peered at him now, my mind faltered. I’d wanted so badly to talk to him, and yet I wasn’t able. Perhaps all the questions I wanted to ask had jammed together in the rush to get out, and shut me down completely.

  Was it the same for him? It looked like the tension-filled silence threatened to consume him.

  “There are so many things I want to ask you,” I whispered, “I don’t know where to start.”

  Suddenly, he was moving. He charged forward so abruptly, I took a half-step back, but it wasn’t enough to outrun him. Not that I wanted to anyway. His arms caged around me, locking me in his embrace.

  “There are things I want to ask you too,” his voice was as strong and sure as his hold on me, “but there’s something I want more.”

  He leaned closer so his mouth was only a breath away from mine. My heart skittered around inside my chest. I had a good idea what he meant, but I asked anyway. “What is it?”

  He closed the space between us, not just with our mouths, but with our bodies. I was pressed to the length of him from our lips, to our chests, and down to our knees. His kiss smoldered and then burned through my body in the most amazing way. It was so strange it was the first time, after everything else we’d done together, we’d connected this way. Unscripted and more intimate than the marks he’d put on me or how I’d welcomed him inside my body.

  His tongue dipped into my mouth and the slow, seductive slide of it injected passion into my bloodstream. And with it, came an insatiable need, so powerful that I vaporized and became a slave. I lifted onto my toes, deepening our fiery kiss, and fisted handfuls of his hair.

  It broke whatever restraint he had on himself.

  For a moment, I wasn’t sure which one of us was leading, or if we moved as one. I stumbled in my heels as I was blindly urged to shuffle backward into the study. I felt wildly out of control when my fingers clawed at the snap of his jeans, but he had enough control for both of us. He caught my wrists and pinned them behind my back, slowing me down.

  It was so he could kiss me how he wanted to, with my full, undivided attention. I sighed into his mouth, grateful with how he’d taken charge because I struggled so desperately with self-control.

  He crossed my wrists and kept one hand on them but lifted the other to cup my cheek. His mouth moved against mine, and he persuaded me with both his lips and his hold to adjust the angle of our kiss.

  I’d spent the evening being teased without satisfaction, but he kissed me as if he’d spent the last two months being taunted by my lips and now he was going to take what he was fucking owed.

  His palm slid down along the edge of my jaw, his fingers trailing behind, and as his hand curled to rest on the center of my throat, the kiss ended. He brushed the pad of his thumb over my lips, and it was reminiscent of the way he rubbed at the indentation his ropes left on my skin. Did he think I needed soothing after something so intense?

  Because he was dreaming if he thought he could wipe away the mark his kiss left on me.

  His beautiful eyes were bottomless as he stared down into mine, and although there was no tension in his hand, it wrapped around my throat as a collar. Power flared through his expression like fire, and although I didn’t know his name, I knew this man. I’d met him plenty of times downstairs.

  He was one half of the man who made my body sing and cry with agonizing pleasure.

  I was still drunk from his kiss when he let go of my wrists and tugged at the waist of my shorts, popping the button free and then
focused on dropping my zipper. And then it was a mad dash to get each other’s clothes off—or at least out of the way. We moved as if we were running down a steep hill, our hands struggling to keep up with the force of our momentum.

  He got on his knees and jerked down my panties, but as they fell to my ankles, I stepped out of them and my shorts, and then joined him on my knees. His shirt was off, and his jeans were undone, but he hadn’t given me a chance to get them down off his hips. I’d had to stop when he’d pulled my shirt up over my head.

  His mouth claimed mine and his fingers hooked one of the straps of my black bra, tugging it until the cup peeled down and my breast was exposed. A panicked whine drifted out of me. I’d had so much foreplay already, I wasn’t sure I could survive any more.

  Had he sensed that? His arms went around me, lifted, and when I folded my legs around his hips, he leaned forward to set me down on my back. The smooth wood floor was cool against my feverish skin, but it wasn’t enough to tamp down the inferno raging inside me.

  I was naked except for my half-off bra and my burnt-orange heels, and I clawed at his undone jeans, trying to get inside. By the time I had my hands beneath the stretched waistband of his underwear and wrapped around him, he was already hard. A hiss of pleasure came through his clenched teeth.

  Earlier, I’d told the men I didn’t beg—but right now? I was close. A plea simmered just behind my lips. The need for him was fucking critical, like an unseen force was hurling us together and we had no choice.

  Shit, I was half out of my mind, and he was too, so I didn’t stop him when he pushed his clothes down over his hips and out of our way. In fact, I encouraged him, lifting my hips to adjust the angle so he could slide deep inside with one urgent thrust.

  “Oh, God,” I moaned with relief, louder than his gasp of pleasure. I threaded my fingers through the hair at the back of his head and held on when he began to move.

  It felt incredible.

  So different than the other times we’d done this. And that made sense because this was the opposite of our carefully designed sessions. Those scenes had been deliberate, planned to each detail, whereas what we were doing now was hurried and mindless.