by Lila Dubois
His fingers trailed over to her other breast. He was gentle with this nipple, softly stroking and circling the areola with the pad of his thumb.
Then he returned to her first nipple, harsh once more. He flicked it, hard enough to make her yelp. Next, he pinched down hard and pulled, her back arching as she tried to relieve some of the terrible, wonderful tension.
“There’s a simpler way to say all that.” Solomon’s voice, always deep, now had a gravelly quality to it. It sounded like the purr of a dangerous jungle cat.
She began to respond, but he released her nipple, and the return of blood to the tightly pinched flesh made her whimper softly.
His gaze traced her features, then down her exposed, naked front. As he reached for her breast once more, she instinctively hunched her shoulders.
“No,” Solomon admonished her. “If I want to abuse your breasts, I will.”
Twin bolts of white-hot arousal and pale fear shot through her. Vivienne straightened, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her breasts. She took a deep breath, raising her nipples even higher. And without him ordering her to, she slid her wrists behind her, resting them on the small of her back, her fingers loose and soft.
Solomon reached out and flicked the edges of the robe. It fell off her shoulders, catching on her forearms, but otherwise leaving her wholly naked before him.
“I will punish you,” he said in that deep, purring growl. “But not for something that happened in the past. Not even for trying to shield yourself from me right now.”
Once more he reached for her nipples, but this time he reached out both hands. He balanced the lower swell of her breasts on his palms, his thumbs moving in sync, flicking back and forth across each nipple. Pulling down before pushing up on the tight peaks.
Vivienne had to fight not to let her eyes slide closed and her head fall back. It would be too easy to get lost in the pleasure of this moment. This wasn’t just about her pleasure, it was about her need…and his.
It’s about saying goodbye a small voice whispered in the back of her mind.
That painful thought was chased away when he changed tactics. Adjusting his hold, he pinched each nipple with a thumb and index finger. Her left nipple, the one he been rough with, once more received wonderfully cruel treatment. He pinched hard, twisted her nipple a hundred and eighty degrees. In contrast, her right nipple was gently being rolled between the pads of his fingers. The dichotomy between sweet pleasure and cruel pain made her breath catch, made her pussy ache. Unbidden, she widened her stance, spreading her legs so that if he wanted to reach between them and either abuse or pleasure her pussy, he could do so.
“Tell me why I am going to punish you,” Solomon demanded.
“Because you can,” she breathed.
“And?”
His fingers never stopped moving, constantly toying with her nipples. She wanted to rock her hips forward and back in time with his fondling. She wanted to beg him to stop hurting her, wanted to beg him to be even rougher.
“Vivienne.” Her name was a warning and a command.
He wasn’t going to let her put distance between them. Not now, while they were Dom and sub. Not here, in his beautiful dungeon.
“Because you are my Master.”
“Say it.”
She inhaled, exhaled. And as she did, she let go of those last remnants of self-preservation. She let go of those bits of armor she’d been using to pretend that this man didn’t still have the power to touch her in ways she doubted she’d ever allow another to handle her.
“Master. My Master.”
Solomon released her breasts, his hand sliding into her hair. He tugged once, an unspoken command.
Vivienne shifted her arms so that the robe dropped to the floor a moment before she did.
Her knees hit the cold tile and she exhaled, sinking deeper into the submission. This felt so right, so good. If only things had been different, if only they were different…
A gentle squeeze and the nerve endings on her scalp prickled with awareness. She let go of the what-ifs, shedding them the way she’d shed the robe, until she was on her knees, ready and willing to submit.
“Comment puis-je vous servir?” she asked formally.
How may I serve you?
Solomon’s thumb slid across her lower lip, and she opened her mouth, ready and more than willing to accept his cock in her mouth and down her throat.
He stepped back, breaking contact. “It’s time for your punishment.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Facedown over the spanking bench.”
A shiver of anticipation worked its way down her spine as she stood, her gaze submissively lowered. “Yes, Master.”
“And, Vivienne?”
She paused, waiting patiently.
“I’m not going to go easy on you.”
This time the shiver wasn’t just anticipation, but fear.
Chapter 9
Meanwhile, in Paris
* * *
Christiana leaned her head onto James’s shoulder as they sat on the tiny balcony looking out over the Seine. The surface of the water was dark blue except for where the many lights of Paris—streaks of white, yellow, and red—were reflected.
“I keep thinking about Solomon and Vivienne,” she said.
“Still worried about them?” James asked.
“You didn’t see her.” Christiana raised her head, and James felt the loss of contact keenly. He was aware that he loved Christiana more than he thought he could ever love another. And perhaps that love made him foolish, even simplistic.
The vague disquiet that the loss of contact had brought him was dispelled when she slid her hand into his, lacing their fingers together.
“She was heartbroken,” Christiana insisted, “and he left her—still in bondage—with a big hook up her butt!”
“Poor form,” James said. If he’d known what was happening, he would have confronted Solomon.
It wasn’t the first time that they discussed Solomon and Vivienne, nor, he thought, would it be the last.
“And he was heartbroken too. I could see it in his eyes that morning at the hotel.”
“Given the fact that they were once engaged, and that their break was incredibly acrimonious, I’d be surprised if they were heartbroken. Heartbreak implies love. Vivienne and Solomon stopped loving each other a long time ago.”
Christiana turned to him. “Are you saying that if something happened and we broke up today, you’d stop loving me?”
“That isn’t going to happen.”
“But if it did?”
“It won’t.”
“But if it did? Love, real love, is hard to get over.”
Before Christiana, he wouldn’t have agreed. Now James was forced to concede the point. “True. But love turns to hate.”
Christiana sat back, seeming to consider that. “Also true. If we broke up because you cheated on me, I would hate you so much.”
“I would never do that.”
“I know.” Her eyes were soft as she looked at him, and it was reassuring to see the same things he felt reflected back in her expression. That loving look melted to one of consideration. “But you said that they didn’t break up because of an affair or anything like that. It was some business thing?”
“As far as I know, yes. They had just gotten engaged before she was named CEO of CRD Beauvalot. Less than a year later, the relationship ended. He moved back to the States before buying his island in the Bahamas.”
“So if they broke up because of her job, then it’s possible that they really do still love each other, right?”
James stared at Christiana, a bit disconcerted. “Possible, yes.”
“And Vivienne’s cousin said they still love each other.”
“He said Vivienne still loves Solomon.”
Christiana pushed to her feet, pacing back and forth on the tiny balcony. It was so narrow that the long skirt she wore brushed his knees every time she went past. Jame
s loved the way she moved, graceful yet economical. With purpose.
Paris was rapidly becoming one of their favorite destinations. It would always hold a special place in his heart because it was in Paris that he decided to go after Christiana, to stop letting fear and his own failure in past relationships prevent him from finding happiness with the woman he’d fallen in love with. Paris was also the place where Christiana had come looking for him after deciding the exact same thing. He’d walked out, ready to go to the airport and fly to San Francisco only to find her waiting for him on the Paris street.
Maybe he’d buy them a place here in Paris, not that they hadn’t enjoyed staying in various hotels in order to explore different parts of the city. As much as he’d love to surprise her, buying real estate for a structural engineer had proved to be a foolish task. Forgoing a surprise, he’d have a local real estate agent gather a few listings and then they’d go look at them so she could peer at the walls, crawl into attics, and reminisce on possible previous remodels.
“James, are you spending money?” Christiana asked.
“What?”
“That’s your spending money face.”
“I do not have a spending money face.”
“You do, and that’s it.”
“I was thinking we should buy a place in Paris.”
Christiana stopped pacing, her expression softening. “I would love that.”
He patted his lap and she came, perching on his thighs and leaning into him. James was, for the moment, content to hold her. They’d made thorough love only hours before, and thanks to last week’s Orchid Club event, the memory of some very intense BDSM sessions were fresh in both their minds.
He’d thought the subject of Solomon and Vivienne was closed, but Christiana wasn’t done. “I think we should do something to help them,” she said. “And then we should buy real estate.”
“Do something to help…Solomon?”
“And Vivienne.”
“Do what, precisely?” James asked her, bemused.
“I don’t know.” They sat in silence for a moment. They were silent, but the city wasn’t. Paris, like London, New York, and a dozen other major urban centers around the world, never slept.
“I just feel like if we could lock the two of them in a room together, make them talk about their issues, maybe they could figure it out.”
“You mean get back together?”
“Yes. Maybe. Or decide they hate each other.” Christiana twisted on his lap to look at James. “I know what it’s like to want something, someone, but be scared. To love them but be worried that you’re bad for each other.”
James pulled her in for a kiss. It was slow and gentle, and when it ended Christiana rested her head on his shoulder.
“I know it’s stupid and I should stay out of their business,” she whispered. “But I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t decided to be brave and take a risk.”
“I maintain that loving one another isn’t a risk.” That statement flew in the face of everything he’d believed before meeting and falling for Christiana.
She stared at him, but rather than rebut, ignored his statement. “What if we had both stayed away for years? I don’t think I would have stopped loving you; I would have just missed you every day. It would’ve made me crazy.”
“Well, Solomon certainly isn’t the picture of mental health.”
Christiana must’ve sensed that she’d gotten through to him, and now rather than simply engaging in the conversation because she wanted to talk about it, he too was considering the matter of whether or not they should intervene in Solomon and Vivienne’s relationship. As a rule, he thought getting in the middle of someone else’s affairs was poor form. However, without Solomon’s help he wouldn’t be here with Christiana.
“Perhaps we should help…” James said slowly.
Christiana grinned. “Yes! Do you think we could like trick them into meeting and then force them to talk to each other?”
“Perhaps, but imprisoning them, even temporarily, without carefully arranging it so their disappearances are explained, is risky.”
“I’m not saying imprison them! Good grief. I meant like invite them both to meet us, but they’re secretly actually meeting each other. I think they could work it out in say, four or five hours.” Christiana considered the timing, her shoulders slumping. “Okay, maybe ten hours. Just one day. We lure them to some little B&B outside the city with no cell service. Surely if they go off the grid for a day, that won’t be long enough for anyone to freak out.”
“Solomon Carter and Vivienne Deschamps disappearing, even if it was only for the day, could cause an international incident, possibly negatively affect the valuation of their respective companies, which in turn would cause shock waves that would ripple through the world financial sector.”
“Well, when you put it like that, anything sounds bad…”
James laughed. Christiana sighed with disappointment and reached out to pour him a fresh glass of the lovely Château Rossolina Deschamps burgundy they’d been drinking. The bottle was empty, so she rose and went inside to find a fresh one. James followed her in, watching the way the swaying skirt accentuated her hips.
But he was still thinking about her proposal. Arrange a meeting. Force them to talk. No, not force, no one could force two people to talk through their issues. But given time and the right set of circumstances…
The logistics were challenging. Solomon lived most of the time on a private island and worked from there with monthly site visits to either Mendocino or another country where RedBall had business. James knew less about Vivienne’s schedule, but an educated guess was that she was physically present at the company offices most days and worked seven days a week. Even a single day of unscheduled disappearance would raise alarms and trigger a domino effect with long-reaching consequences. It would be a disaster, unless…
James sat at the small desk in their suite, brow furrowed as he ran through the logistics. Christiana watched him closely. She silently set a fresh glass of wine at his elbow.
If he were arranging something like this for someone else, he probably would have arranged for the various parties to meet at Solomon’s island, but since it was Solomon himself…
It was then that James remembered the man he’d met at the Orchid Club. The man who had some very interesting proposals for when he hosted. James drummed his fingers on the desk, then reached for his phone.
Sitting on the chaise at the foot of the bed, Christiana watched the man she loved spring into action. She smiled to herself. As crazy as her idea had been, she was sure, just sure, that whatever had happened in Solomon and Vivienne’s past, their differences could be resolved quickly and easily. All they needed was some prompting, and then they would be just as happy and in love as she and James were.
She finished her glass of wine, marveling at exactly how different, how wonderfully different, her life was than what she’d expected.
And how ridiculous rich people were. She blinked in surprise as she listened to James’s half of the conversation. What was a floating dungeon?
Chapter 10
Back on Luca Cay
* * *
Spanking benches came in a wide variety of styles. She would have known that Solomon had designed this one even if it hadn’t been in his private dungeon. The basic spanking bench was simply that—a bench. The next step up was a piece with two platforms, one lower than the other, almost like a picnic table. Knees went on the lower level, and the sub rested their chest or elbows on the upper section.
This spanking bench, like Solomon’s style of domination, was precise, thought out, and just the right amount of terrifying.
Five narrow, padded, wooden supports were mounted horizontally on adjustable posts to a heavy meter-square platform base. The torso support was the longest and also the highest from the ground. The next longest supports—the kneelers—were below and behind the torso rest, and had straps dangling from th
e undersides that would wrap around calves and ankles. The shortest pieces—where her forearms would rest—were angled, and had upright grips at one end for her to hold on to. Anyone who’d done a lot of spanking, or had been spanked a fair amount, knew something to hold on to made it easier to maintain composure, and also stopped the sub from digging their nails into their palms with enough force to make them bleed.
Vivienne waited obediently at the edge of the wooden base. Solomon paused to look over her naked body, then dropped to one knee and began to adjust the height of the various supports, occasionally looking back at her, assessing her proportions. He raised the torso support one hole, then, to her surprise, adjusted the angle raising the back end. Once she was strapped down, she’d be lying on a slight incline with her head a dozen centimeters lower than her ass.
Solomon finished making adjustments, and used an Allen wrench to tighten the bolts before standing. His expression was remote, and he seemed taller and broader than he had only moments before. She knew him, and yet when he was her Master, there was always a part of him she would never reach. That was the way it was meant to be. His need for control inherently clashed with her need to submit, and so in these moments, when they were stripped bare to the core of their own need, that fundamental difference within was also revealed.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” he asked.
“No, Master.”
“Then facedown on the spanking bench.”
Vivienne stepped onto the wooden base, the polished wood warmer than the cool tile. Placing her knees on the rearmost supports, she inched forward until her entire shin made contact with the kneelers. Only then did she bend at the waist, laying her torso on the upper section of the spanking bench. At less than a dozen centimeters wide, it did nothing to hide her breasts, which dangled on either side. She adjusted herself until she was comfortable, then carefully positioned her forearms, grabbing onto the handles and making sure her elbows were centered on the padding.
