Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (88 page)

Erik turned her back around to
face him and they edged onto the dance floor.

“Did you ever have your slave do
something like that?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not Ariana.
It was not in her contract to do public spectacles. Malin, though, loves to be
whipped more than I have the urge. So she would come here and do something
similar. She would also like to be blindfolded and entered by strangers. She
has very specific interests, and I do my best to accommodate them.”

Syria moved with him to the slow
rhumba, realizing now why Malin might not be the best for what he was looking
for in a slave.

“Do all slaves wear those
collars?”

“Usually. In some instances,
however, it is best not to be obvious.”

Syria wanted to ask, “Would I?”
but asking that would be to accept that she was actually considering his offer.
And that wasn’t possible, certainly not without talking to Tyson. She pictured
his body pumping into that other girl, though, and wondered if they would even
see each other again.

Erik must have sensed she had
gotten melancholy because he pulled her in close and danced again. “Oh, my
sweet Syria. I can make your life so simple and easy.”

“But what would you want from
me?”

“For you to free yourself. You
keep forcing yourself to act in ways that crush your spirit.”

The music sped up a little, but
they kept their slower pace. Erik’s arms tightened around her, and the smooth
fabric of his suit jacket was cool against her cheek.

“I don’t know how to do that.”
Syria felt like she’d been expanding plenty fast enough lately. A month ago,
she hadn’t even known a world like Erik’s existed.

He led her to their alcove again,
which had two drinks resting on a small table beside the red chaise. “Would you
like a little help?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have two drinks here. One is
simply alcohol, a Cosmopolitan as you Americans call it.” He held up a lovely
martini glass with a silver stem, filled with pink liquid.

“What’s the other one?” Syria
felt her heart speeding up.

“It has a mild drug in it.
Something to loosen you up.”

“How loose?”

Erik smiled. “I have found that
it only helps you be what you want to be.”

“Seems like drinking something
like that would mean that Alice would have to trust her rabbit.”

Erik laughed, a hearty sound that
was so unexpected with his cool politeness that Syria had to laugh with him.
“Then Cosmopolitan it is.” He held the glass out to Syria.

She accepted, realizing she was
feeling thirsty after the dancing and the voyeurism of the gypsy girl. “Will
there be other little acting bits like the last one?”

“Most definitely. Many of the
slaves and submissives look forward to these nights.”

Syria walked back to the
tied-back curtain, peeking out. “Do other people join in?”

“Anything goes here. Would you
like one to be arranged for you privately?”

Syria swallowed. Could this man
deliver anything she wanted at all? It couldn’t hurt to ask. “I would like to
see some bondage.”

“I thought you might.” He tugged
his phone out and tapped a word out. “Would you like them in here or out
there?”

Syria looked around the space. “In
here might be fun. Then I could see the knots up close.”

He nodded and put the phone away.
“Sit next to me. I believe you will enjoy this show.”

Syria perched on the chaise next
to him, eyeing the other drink. How much courage would it take for her to drink
it? And what would it do to her if she did?

She didn’t have any more time to
consider it, because the curtain moved, and a beautiful and very naked woman
stepped into the room. She was pale, her hair almost white, and looked to be
Syria’s age. Her makeup added to her ghostly impression, frosty lipstick and
icy blue eye shadow. She was breathtaking in a haunting way, small-breasted,
slight, and completely bare, without shoes, even.

Behind her arrived a man in a
black kimono, very ceremonial, much like the people Syria had met at the
bondage exhibition. He bowed to them, set down a canvas back full of rope
coils, and pulled the girl to him, her back to his belly, and caressed her face
and neck. The girl closed her eyes, dreamy, and he slid a vivid blue rope
across her ribs with a sensual leisurely pace.

Syria already felt the heat
rushing through her body, swifter now and with more force after already being
moved by the gypsy. She glanced at the spiked drink again. She wanted all the
clutter in her brain to go away, to focus on this moment, this incredible
experience she had been invited to share. She glanced at Erik, who was looking
at her with his soft dark eyes. He reached for her hand and squeezed, which
should have been simple and friendly, but instead Syria felt desire and need
rush through her so hard that she actually sucked in a breath.

The girl moaned and drew their
attention. The man had already bound her breasts in a chest harness and was
sliding the rope between her legs, separating her folds. He tied a knot in the
rope and pulled it deep between her legs and the girl cried out. Syria felt the
need herself to feel that knot and wondered how she could get tied up by the
man as well. The answer seemed simple. Drink from the other glass and let herself
go.

She looked at the other stem and
Erik caught her. He lifted it from the table and held it out to her. Syria set
down the Cosmopolitan and accepted the other drink. It looked similar, with a
slightly darker pink that edged on purple, and frothy, but when she brought it
to her lips, she immediately recognized the difference. It had an edge to it, a
touch of bitter, a hint of grain, like an aspirin had been dissolved in it. Her
heart rate sped up instantly. Did she trust this man at all?

She leaned in to him. “I do not
wish to have sex with anyone. Is that acceptable?”

“I will make sure that does not
happen.” Erik squeezed her arm and gave her an earnest gaze. “Would you like to
only admire? Or are there some things you might like to participate in?”

Syria watched the man bind the
girl’s hands behind her head, her pert breasts lifted, her breathing rapid as
the knot against her clit moved with each shift of the ropes. “I don’t know.”

“Good enough.” He patted her
hand. “His ties are well done, are they not?”

The man turned the girl around
and revealed his handwork. A beautiful corded braid ran from her hands, through
the binding across her back, and crisscrossed in an intricate pattern along her
spine.

“It’s beautiful,” Syria breathed.
She took another sip of the drink, bigger this time, and set the drink next to
the other. “Can I try to tie it?”

The man nodded. “Shall I untie
her?”

The girl still had her eyes
closed. Syria turned around. “Can I try it on Erik?”

Erik’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you
propositioning me?”

Syria felt a laugh building
within her. She already felt more loose. “You don’t have to get naked. Turn
around.”

Erik shifted to the end of the
chaise where he could present his back to her. She took one arm, then the
other, and lifted them behind his head. “May I borrow a rope?” she asked the
man.

He reached into a canvas bag on
the floor and produced a long length of black.

“So first around the chest,
right?” Syria wrapped her arms around Erik, feeling the muscles across his
chest and torso as she pulled the rope around.

“Yes, my mistress.”

Huh. His mistress. Interesting.
Syria brought the rope back around in a standard double column. “Then around
the wrists.” She formed another double column, then leaned around to Erik’s
face, closer than she’d dared get other than when they’d danced. “I’m skipping
the clit knot, if that’s okay.”

He laughed in a low rumble.
“Probably for the best.”

“So what now?” Syria asked. “How
do you make the braid? Her fingers were getting increasingly fumbly, but her
proximity to Erik, and her ability to touch him freely was starting to make her
tingle as much as the clit knot had on the girl.

“Like this,” the man said,
showing her the pattern.

But her hand got more and more
disconnected with her brain, and instead, she laid her head on Erik’s shoulder.
“I like having you at my mercy.”

“I enjoy it too,” he said.

“Let him go,” Syria said. “I
think I’m no longer in top tying form.”

The man swiftly released Erik
from the bonds.

“Did you want to be tied?” Erik
asked. “It seems to be one of your interests.”

The image of bondage on her body
made her think of Tyson, so she picked up the loaded drink and took another
gulp. “I would.”

Erik stood next to her. “Such a
lovely dress. It would be a shame to damage it with the rope.” He reached
around her. “May I just unzip it?”

Syria’s throat was thick, her
heartbeat thumping between her legs. She nodded.

The dress loosened. Beside her,
the man worked on the pale girl, gripping the ropes on her back, and making the
knot move against her clit. The girl’s head fell back and she moaned again,
unable to move, but standing freely, legs wide. The man reached for a breast,
tweaking her nipple, and the sounds of the girl’s pleasure made Syria thrum
with need.

The dress slid down her body like
cool sheets. She closed her eyes, feeling Erik’s light touch on her skin. “You
are so beautiful, Syria,” he said.

She knew the man was in the room,
and the ghostly girl, but she didn’t care. Outside the curtain, others were in
varying states of undress and passion. She wanted to be one of those people.
She wanted not to care about anything but the pleasure of the moment.

Erik lifted her knee so she could
step out of the dress, one, then the other. His hands lingered on her calf, her
inner thigh. “May I see the rest of you?” he asked.

Syria opened her eyes. The pale
girl was breathing fast, and her cries grew louder. Syria watched her,
fascinated, as her body bloomed pink with the blood flow to her belly, thighs
and breasts. The man worked her carefully, with precision, and then the girl
was over the top, shuddering, crying out. The man gathered her in his arms,
letting her subside, and began to unbind her.

Syria shifted back to Erik, who
waited patiently for her answer. One hand rested on her hip, the other lightly
on her back. He had such perfect control. She wanted to drive him mad, to make
him want her, but to be forced to hold to his promise. If he could test her,
she could test him also.

“Yes, please.”

He reached for the hook of her
bra, and she was released, the scrap of lace falling on the chaise with her
dress. “May I touch you?” he asked.

She nodded, the burn so fierce
that she could not possibly say no. His thumb grazed her nipple, and she moaned
out loud, so caught by the moment, their private space, the pale girl coming
out of her bindings. Erik bent then to press soft kisses into her neck, then
down across her collar bone. Syria agonized, waiting for him to arrive at his
destination, but then, he was there, drawing her breast into his mouth, and now
she rushed with so much wetness that her panties were damp.

His finger slipped inside that
lace and now a new need replaced the old. Syria realized her mistake. She was
going to want to have sex with him, would be desperate for it, and she would be
bound to her own restriction.

The panties eased down her
thighs, then fell to her ankles. Erik lifted her knee as before to step her out
of them. Syria needed touching so badly she wanted to do it herself, but Erik
understood. “Is this okay?” he asked, his hand curling around her thigh.

“Yes,” she managed to get out,
and then his fingers were where she needed them to be, pressing into her folds,
expertly fluttering against her clit.

Syria clutched at his shoulders,
relaxing into his touch, feeling the shift of power as he stood over her in the
suit, fully dressed, while she clung to him, naked save her delicate black
heels.

She looked over his shoulder at
the entwined couple of the man and the bondage girl. Erik released her, and she
felt less out of control as he accepted a pure white rope from the man and
slipped it around her waist.

Syria wanted to ask him about his
experience with bondage but he so expertly wrapped her breasts with the rope
that he answered her. He seemed to know she wanted the knot and tied one,
pressing it into her clit with a practiced hand.

He passed the rope to the other
man, who began the process of making the elaborate braid across Syria’s body.
She was swiftly immobilized, her elbows high, her hands behind her head. The
ropes slid across her back, both tight and soft, and each jerk of the rope sent
the knot deeper against the sensitive bud.

The man stepped away and gave the
end of the rope to Erik. “Surely,” Erik said, pulling Syria close to him
slowly, inch by inch, until she was up against him and his hand cupping her
breast, “we should not deny the others the beauty of this work.”

Syria’s eyes went wide as she
realized he meant to take her into the main room. She first thought to plant
her feet and refuse to walk, but then he pulled on the rope, driving the knot
against her, and his mouth returned to her breast. He jerked on the ties,
rhythmically and with force, until Syria let go of everything, her worries, her
fear, her inhibition. The man held the curtain as Erik walked her out into the
hall, and the room hushed to hear her cries, as he led her, pulling on the
rope, getting her so close to peaking, then pausing so that she writhed against
the ropes.

The music swelled around her,
seeming almost tangible against her skin. It followed her across the room, to
the dance floor, and the beat matched up to the tug of the rope, the press of
the knot, and her spiral into the next level of pleasure.