Club Helix: The Power Games (17 page)

Holy fuck! I’m going to explode. This clamp isn’t nearly as intense as the nipple clamps, but the faint, constant pressure and tug every time I move is subtly stimulating. By the time we arrive at the club where the band is playing, I’m once again consumed by a vague but distracting ache.

The band is great, and Roman is good company—attentive, chivalrous, and surprisingly easy to be with. We talk in between sets, but he’s mostly content to sit beside me, his hand planted on my bare thigh in that possessive way of his, listening to the music. I’m completely absorbed, savoring the comfortingly familiar feel of the bass thumping through my veins, the music washing over me like a healing flood, soothing something inside me, although for the first time ever a part of me isn’t totally consumed by the music. That part is hyperaware of the faint tug of the clamps beneath my clothes and the brush of fabric over my now impossibly sensitive clit. At one point, I catch Roman staring at me. “What?” I ask self-consciously. “Do I have something on my face?” I reach for a napkin, but he catches my hand in his.

“No. You look perfect. I’ve just never seen you this unguarded before, other than when you come.”

I blush at his words, grateful for the darkened club.

When we get back to the hotel, it’s late, and he leaves the light off, leading me back to the bedroom where he tenderly undresses me and removes the clamps. I moan as the blood rushes back to my aching breasts and sensitized sex, and although he doesn’t touch me, he blows on my aroused flesh, his hot breath enough to have me clenching my thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the aching need. He lifts me into his arms and tucks me into bed, and I fall asleep wondering who Roman Castile really is.

We spend the next day much the same way—breakfast, gym, shower, and lunch, followed by me cuffed to the bed while Roman works. However, this time he substitutes a small, vibrating egg for the plug, which he slides erotically into my embarrassingly wet pussy before taking a seat across from me, his laptop in his lap. There’s no visitor today, and after a while Roman uncuffs me, running a finger down my jaw.

“How are you feeling, Avalon?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.

“Aroused. Needy. Restless. Pissed,” I say grumpily.

He smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Good. I’m starting to thoroughly enjoy that little spark of sass you’ve got. Maybe I’ll give you a break tonight. We’ll go shopping for the group event tomorrow.”

Roman’s idea of shopping is him picking everything out and making me try it on for him, and he clearly enjoys watching me try on chaps without anything on underneath, making me model half a dozen pairs before deciding on one. He also buys me a leather bustier bra, a bolo tie, and a cowboy hat. When we get back to the suite, he tucks me into bed again without touching me other than to pull me to his chest as I drift off to sleep.

The following morning, I wake up to the sound of Roman singing in the shower, and I fight back a grin. My imposing, scary Dom definitely has a softer side. I glance over at the clock on the bedside table. Crap, how is it already eight forty-five? I’m supposed to be at the Helix Spa at nine. By the time Roman emerges from the shower, I’m just about to leave.

“Ava, come here,” he commands quietly.

I walk over to where he’s standing naked except for the towel that hangs loosely from his hips, his erection evident under the towel. His dark hair is damp and tousled, and a few water droplets cling to the hairs on his bare chest. I just barely stop myself from licking one. God, he’s gorgeous. I’ve gone from normal Ava to nympho Ava in the space of five seconds.

“I have to go. I have to be at the spa at nine,” I say breathlessly.

He nods. “Wait a second.” He goes to the armoire and returns with two small balls in his hand. He puts them in his mouth and then takes them out again.

“Spread your legs,” he commands.

I’m wearing a casual dress that grants him easy access, and he moves my panties aside as he pushes first one ball and then the other inside me. He lowers my dress.

“Keep those in until I see you this evening.”

The balls roll around enticingly inside me, keeping me on that needy edge of arousal as I get a manicure, a pedicure, and pick at the light lunch the spa has provided. Nerve endings I didn’t know I possessed are awakened as I get a massage, the calming music and sensuous strokes of the masseuse working with the subtle oscillation of the balls inside me to make me a bundle of sensation. My body’s been kept on the edge of arousal for two days, and it’s become almost painful. The masseuse is completely professional, carefully avoiding my breasts and mound, but she spends an inordinate amount of time massaging the area just above my pubic bone with deep, kneading strokes that cause the balls to churn and roll inside me, creating little waves of awareness. Damn Roman who undoubtedly gave her specific instructions designed to drive me crazy with need. And damn Logan for his stupid rule.

I’m sitting in the sauna alone, waiting for my final spa treatment—a seaweed wrap—when Emmett’s partner Rebecca walks in. We haven’t officially met, but I haven’t talked to Emmett in several days, and I’m dying to know how he’s doing.

“Hi,” I say with a smile as she sits down across from me, removing her towel so she’s completely naked. Unlike me, she obviously doesn’t have a modest bone in her perfectly toned, curvy body. “I’m Ava.”

“I know who you are,” she says coldly.

“Oh,” I say slowly. “Um, how’s Emmett doing? I haven’t seen him much lately, and I was just wondering—”

She cuts me off with an angry hiss. “Stay away from Emmett. Now that he’s paired with a real submissive, he might just be able to win, but not if you keep interfering and distracting him with your innocent little victim act. I don’t know how you managed to get your claws into Roman Castile, but stay away from Emmett or I promise I’ll make your life miserable.”

The door opens, and the aesthetician calls my name.

“Watch your back, little kitten,” Rebecca says snidely as I walk past her. “Unless you want to tangle with a tiger.”

Chapter Twelve

Ava

Four hours later, I’m still a little shaken by Rebecca’s venomous threats as Roman and I walk down to the large ballroom of the Helix where the group event is being held tonight. For the first time since I’ve met him, Roman’s wearing jeans, and I’m practically salivating at the way his butt and muscular thighs fill out the faded denim. Like me, he’s dressed for the theme, but in cowboy boots and a fitted T-shirt that reveals his biceps. The ballroom itself has been turned into something straight out of the Old West. Enormous backdrops painted with realistic-looking western building fronts, soaring mountains, and a herd of longhorn cattle make the entire room look like the set of a movie. The sleek bar has been transformed into a saloon, and strewn hay covers the floor. The hotel has spared no expense, and an assortment of props—wagon wheels, barrels, cow skulls, and split-rail cedar fencing—lend authenticity to the huge space. There are even several tall wooden windmills and a full-size replica of a steer.

“They spent all this money for one night?” I ask Roman incredulously.

“I imagine they’ll make this an annual special event at the hotel after it opens, depending on how successful tonight is. In some ways, the games are a way to test what works so the hotel can build a calendar of special weekend events for guests in addition to the regular offerings of the hotel.”

That makes sense, and I nod as I look around, taking in the rest of the crowded room where the contestants and other people I don’t recognize are congregated in small groups. There’s a mechanical bull set up on a padded mat as well as several old-fashioned stockades that make my stomach drop with anxiety at the thought of what they’re here for—a blatant reminder that this isn’t your typical Western party.

“Would you like a drink?” Roman asks.

“Yes, please,” I say fervently.

“Just one tonight. Power Games rules as well as mine. Understand?”

I nod again as he crooks a finger at Rose, who’s dressed like a slutty saloon girl in a corset that stops at the bottoms of her breasts, a red satin skirt edged in black lace that’s short in the front but ruffled and longer in the back, black elbow-length gloves, black fishnet thigh highs, and stilettos. Seeing her bared breasts obscenely framed and pushed up by the cupless bustier, I’m suddenly grateful for my cowgirl outfit, which covers everything except my butt since I’m wearing nothing but a thong under the chaps. She comes bounding over. “Hey, Ava.” She nods formally at Roman. “Sir. How can I serve you?”

Confused, I look around the room, realizing that half of the girls are dressed like cowgirls like me, and the other half are dressed like saloon girls.

“Two beers, Rose. Thank you.”

She heads to the bar, and I look at Roman questioningly. “Why are some of the girls dressed like me and some are dressed like Rose? And why is Rose getting our drinks?”

“The submissives have been divided into two groups tonight, and each group will compete in various events to earn extra points. The saloon girls will serve the Doms, and the cowgirls will provide the entertainment.”

I feel a finger of apprehension dance along my spine. “What kind of entertainment?”

“All in good time, Avalon,” he says, his lips tipping up at the corners.

Rose comes back, holding a tray filled with mugs of beer. She hands two of them to Roman and then moves on to the next group of Doms and submissives. One of the men jostles her slightly as she’s handing Stefan his mug, causing the beer to spill slightly. I watch in horror as he unhesitatingly pulls Rose over his lap, flipping her ruffled skirt up to expose her bare bottom.

“Five strokes for spilling my beer, little one. Count them.”

Rose breathlessly counts as Stefan spanks her five times and then lets her up.

“Why did he do that?” I demand in whispered outrage to Roman.

“It’s the rules of the evening,” he says with a grin. “The saloon girls are required to serve the Doms however they’re instructed. If she’s careless or doesn’t serve him adequately, the Dom has the right to discipline her. And as you can see, Rose just spilled beer on Stefan. I think he was rather lenient myself.”

Holy shit. I’m doubly glad I’m not a saloon girl, although Rose has a pretty pink flush to her face, and her nipples are hardened points as the burly Dom sets her back on her feet.

A few minutes later, I’m not so sure which role is worse as Roman leads me over to join the rest of the cowgirl submissives at the mechanical bull.

“One hundred extra points will go to the submissive who stays on the longest,” Logan announces.

“I have to ride that thing?” I ask in horror.

Roman’s fingers are on my back, and as I feel the whisper of cool air across my breasts, I realize he’s removed the bustier. “Bareback,” he whispers in my ear, pushing me forward.

The next thing I know I’m being helped onto the fake bull as a crowd gathers around the mat. Roman comes to stand next to me. “Have you ever ridden one of these before?” he asks, his voice low.

“No!” I say wildly, clutching the pommel of the saddle with both hands.

He gently disengages my left hand. “You can only hold on with one hand.” He chuckles. “Hold this one in the air for balance. Squeeze your thighs together tightly to hold yourself on the bull.” He winks. “You should be good at that. Keep your upper body relaxed.”

Before I can protest or ask any of the thousand questions that are running through my head, he steps away, and the bull starts to move. I grip the pommel tightly with my right hand, squeezing my thighs together like a vise. I’m so focused on staying on the bull, I don’t have time to feel self-conscious about the fact that I’m topless in front of all these people. The bull whips around in a circle, and I somehow manage to stay on. Then it begins to buck slowly, and I try to do what Roman said and keep my upper body relaxed and move with the bull. I settle into the rhythm as soon as I realize it’s kind of like riding a horse—albeit a completely unpredictable and hyper one. I work at keeping my balance, shifting my weight in the opposite direction that the bull is moving.

It picks up speed, lurching and spinning, and I hang on, desperation and stubbornness powerful motivators. The men are cheering wildly, and I realize that my breasts are bouncing obscenely with each jerky movement of the bull, my bare ass popping up and down on the bull’s back suggestively.

“That’s it!” a male voice on the sidelines cheers. “Ride it like you’re riding Roman.”

The image of me on Roman, my thighs squeezing him as I buck against him, flashes in my mind, and I lose my concentration. I go flying off the bull, landing in an awkward but unhurt heap on the thickly padded mat at Roman’s feet. He helps me up, pulling me to his side.

“That was downright impressive, Avalon,” he says approvingly, tilting my chin up with his finger so I’m looking at him. There’s pride in his eyes, and I feel a rush of pleasure at his praise. His voice lowers. “I’m looking forward to a personal demonstration of that later.”

I flush, my heart still pounding as we watch the rest of the girls take a turn. Not surprisingly, Desiree is the crowd-pleaser, although I’m seriously worried she’s going to give herself a black eye with her own boob, but the only one who comes close to staying on as long as me is Rebecca.

Logan says the final times will be announced a bit later, and we head over to another area of the vast room where a crowd has gathered. Tessa passes us, carrying a tray filled with drinks, and stops to give me a quick one-armed hug. “You were fantastic!” she says. “Rebecca was close, but you definitely stayed on the longest. And you looked better doing it.” She gives me a wink and continues on toward a group of men a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rebecca watching us with a venomous look on her face. With a snide smile, she sticks her foot out as Tessa walks by. Unable to see over the tray of drinks she’s carrying, Tessa stumbles and falls. She would have crashed headlong into a table if Michael hadn’t caught her, but the beers go flying.