Freefall (The Indigo Lounge Series, #5) (12 page)

I swallow the ball of anger rising into my throat. “First of all, I’m glad you rose to the occasion of the time change. If you’re going to be a chef on this boat—and that it is looking mighty precarious at the moment—you need to know that you’ll be called to cater client’s needs at all hours. For the two weeks you’ll be on this yacht, your time won’t be your own. So if that’s an issue for you, then by all means, feel free to leave. Secondly, and listen up because this is important. I’m no fucking schoolgirl. I’ve earned my right to be here, just as you’ve earned the right to call yourself a chef. And lastly, Mason Sinclair isn’t in charge of hiring staff for this project. I am. I don’t give a damn what he promised you. If you want the gig, I’ll consider you and you’ll hear from me
tomorrow
. If you don’t, I’m sure one of the bodyguards can make sure you find your way back to the airport.”

His face has been tightening as I spoke and he erupts into a flood of French, which I’m sure is as disparaging to women as his English had been moment ago.

When he reels to a stop, I raise my eyebrow. “Sorry, was that a yes or a no?”

“Where is Sinclair? I will speak to him and him alone!”

I wave him toward the door. “Of course, but nothing he says will change what I’ve told you. Goodbye, Monsieur Delacroix.”

He sniffs like a startled bull and strides out.

The moment the door slams behind him, my breath shudders out and I look down to see my hands shaking.

What the fuck is wrong with men?

What the fuck is wrong with Mason Sinclair?

My mind zeroes on the person responsible for these tumultuous feelings cascading through me. I toss the pen I’m holding onto the table and stride toward the door.

Whether he likes it or not, Mason Sinclair is about to get another piece of my mind, even if I have to interrupt a testosterone bonding ceremony between him and Delacroix.

I reach the lower deck and pick a random hallway. As I pass one of the sleek square portholes, I see Delacroix getting onto one of the launches, his face still set in angry lines. I allow myself a smile before resuming my search for Mason.

After several hallways and peering into several adult entertainment rooms, I take the stairs to the next deck below. Again, the rooms are empty save for one where the construction crew is working. I’m beginning to think I was wrong in assuming Mason was on board when I spot one of the bodyguards.

I assume he’s just patrolling the deck but once I approach the farthest point in the aft section where the spank room is located, I realize he’s blocking the door.

He glances at me and an uneasy look flicks across his face. “Hi, Miss Benson.”

He can’t be older than twenty-one or twenty-two, but he’s built like a Sherman tank and looks like he can take down a brick wall with one kick.

“Hi, have you seen Mr. Sinclair?” I ask.

His neck reddens a little. “Umm, yes.” He thumbs the door behind him. “He’s in there.”

I resent the small quiver of excitement that tingles through my belly. “Thanks,” I say, and step toward the door, expecting him to move out of the way. He stays cross-armed and shakes his head.

“Sorry, Miss Benson. Mr. Sinclair left strict instructions not to be disturbed under any circumstances. It was why I said no to the chef when he wanted to see him too.” His face is now flushed bright red and another feeling crawls through my belly, a feeling that tastes suspiciously like jealousy.

I stare hard at the black door. “And what exactly is Mr. Sinclair doing in there?” I ask through clenched teeth, even though I don’t need a crystal ball to divine the answer.

“I...umm, not sure...exactly.”

I turn my glare from the door to the guard. “What’s your name?”

“Umm...Daniel, Miss Benson.”

“Daniel, do me a favor and step aside, please.”

He swallows, and I watch him weigh the consequences of refusing my request for a few seconds before he steps aside.

“Thanks. And you don’t need to stick arou—” We both freeze as a loud whoosh sounds through the door, followed by a long, ragged,
feminine
moan.

The memory of Mason’s hand on my ass slams into my brain, and my hand is turning the handle to the door before another thought forms in my head.

I stumble into the room and exhale in shock at the sight before me.

There isn’t just one, but
two
women with Mason. He has his back to me and his upper half is bare and dripping with sweat. The redhead next to him is naked save for the tiniest red thong I’ve ever seen, and her eyes flick to me as she rakes her nails down Mason’s back before sliding her fingers into the backside of the tight, black leather pants he’s wearing. Mason doesn’t react to her touch, most likely because his attention is riveted to the other woman in the room.

My eyes swing to the woman—an Asian beauty with small breasts and a breathtaking face—and see the stark hunger and arousal on her face. She’s completely naked and standing on the platform with the three sides I’d asked him about during my tour yesterday. It looks no different than yesterday from what I can see. The middle partition is still covered in that curious shiny black surface and the two sides that would provide privacy are standing open.

I return my gaze to the woman and see she’s fully immersed in the long whip in Mason’s hand. She whimpers when he lifts his free hand to her face and brushes back her jet-black hair. His knuckles caress her cheek, her jaw, the side of her neck.

Her eyes remain downcast on the whip the whole time, but her scarlet lips part. “Please, Master. Again.”

“No, wait for it,” he replies, his voice a ruthless blade, but it also holds a promise of rich reward. The whip twitches in his hand and her breath shivers.

“Master, please...I want to come.” Her nipples turn to hard points as she whispers the words, and her whole body quivers as Mason traces a finger down to her belly button and circles the delicate hole.

“Is that disobedience I hear?” he asks softly, his voice bleeding power and menace.

She shakes her head immediately. “No, Master.”

“So you’ll come when I’m say and not before?”

Her body quivers. “Yes, Master.”

“Open your legs,” he instructions.

He flicks the whip and her eyes dart after the movement, anticipation almost eating her alive. When he brings it back to rest against his thigh, she lets out a broken moan.

Mason’s hand leaves her face and he presses a button on the apparatus his sex slave is leaning against.

My eyes drop to her stomach and thighs and I see bright red welts crisscrossing her skin. My stomach roils, but the nausea I expect never surfaces. I should be sickened by the sight of such brutal treatment, by the sight of a woman who’s obviously being debased.

But instead, a hum rolls through my body as my eyes stay on the lazy curl of Mason’s wrist as he jerks the whip. The woman also shows no signs of distress. Just...pleasure.

He presses a button on the structure and the shiny surface comes alive. It vibrates against his slave’s back, then she sinks back as the material swallows her halfway. Her eyes widen in wonder and she gasps at whatever sensation she’s experiencing.

Mason presses another button and arm-like protrusions rise from the sides and curve over her body. One moves over her breasts and torso and the other slides along her thigh. The arms flow with a beauty that’s hypnotic to watch.

“Oh!” Her face contorts in bliss and her breath pants out. Mason watches her for a moment before he raises the whip and brings it down between her legs.

She gasps out another moan and her whole body shakes with the effort it takes to keep her orgasm from erupting. Her eyelashes flutter wildly and her mouth wobbles with the need to beg.

I can’t be here. I need to leave, turn away from the visceral sight.

But my feet won’t move. I watch a tear slip from one eye and drip down her cheek as Mason flicks the whip again.

I want to scream at him to stop. To give her the release she needs. At the same time acrid jealousy pours through my stomach at the pleasure she’s receiving under Mason’s hands.

Keely

M
ason whips her between the legs one more time, then growls, “Come. Now.”

His voice triggers her release and full-bodied shudders cannon through her. The artificial arms keep her from falling and Mason presses another button that makes her scream with pleasure. After a minute, the arms release her, and he catches her as she falls.

My galloping heart takes in the scene before I glance at the redhead. She’s watching me with narrowed, assessing eyes and her fingers are still out of sight below his waistband where she’s caressing Mason’s skin. As I watch, she shifts closer and rubs her C-cup breasts against his arm.

“Master, we have a visitor,” she murmurs in his ear.

“Dammit, didn’t I say I didn’t want to be disturbed?” Mason’s voice is deep and rough and the woman who’s just orgasmed is a dead weight in his arm.

“Mason.” I attempt to say his name, but my voice is hoarse and indistinguishable.

He whirls around with the woman still in his arms, and his eyes meet mine over her bowed head. I see his expression for the first time and my heart slides into my throat.

He looks feral, his eyes almost inhuman they slide over me. He looks primal and viscerally male, and I hate myself for being turned on by the sheer animalistic aura vibrating from him.

“Keely.” The throbbing power with which he says my name sends a tremor through me. His lips curl slightly as he rasps, “What do you want?”

“I...” I stop and run my tongue over my lips. His eyes flicker and narrow a shade, but he continues to trap me in his gaze. “I wanted...I want to talk to you.”

“And whatever you needed to say to me couldn’t wait?” he asks softly.

The woman in his arms lets out a little sigh. My eyes dart to her and then to the redhead before meeting Mason’s gaze. Something in the hazel expression dares me, taunts me, sets my insides on fire with a tight, grasping need I can’t explain. No matter how much I try to deny it, something about him pulls at me like a black hole sucks stray objects into its orbit.

“No, it couldn’t,” I reply, trying to summon back the anger that propelled me to this room in the first place. But I can barely remember the reason for seeking him out.

All I feel is the blood rushing through my veins, the thick smell of power, sex and domination in the air. And what the dangerous cocktail is doing to me. My skin has grown taut and a pulse hammers through my clit with enough force to vibrate through my whole body. I can barely breathe as I stare at Mason.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice still radiating that low, effortless power, like a spider web in the dark, growing, spinning, drawing me ever tighter into his unbreakable grip.

He continues to stare at me, and the connection between us vibrates with the gravity of the question in his eyes. He’s not asking if I’m sure I want to talk to him.

What he’s really saying is—
Are you prepared for the consequences of me sending my pets away?

My gaze slides to the one in his arms who’s recovered enough to support herself. She’s staring at me, albeit with hazy, just-come-harder-than-I-ever-imagined eyes. Another lance of jealousy makes my teeth grind as I glare at the redhead, who’s staring back at me with daggers in her eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Shit, I don’t know what I’m letting myself in for, and part of me is terrified. But all I know is that I don’t want to leave this room. Not while Mason is in here with these two women, giving them pleasure I’m not even sure I want for myself.

Mason stares at me for another full minute, all the while still holding on to one pet and letting another rub herself all over him.

When his lashes sweep down, my stomach lurches, certain he’s about to refuse my insane request.

“Amber, Mae Ling, you heard the lady.”

Amber’s eyes flash deadly fire at me. “But Mason, I haven’t had my turn yet.”

Jesus
, it’s now past four. If she hasn’t had her turn yet, did that mean Mason had been working on May Ling since lunch time. My stomach flips again, and my fists clench by my side as I stare him down. His mouth twitches, but his eyes are dark golden hooks, pinning me where I stand.

My feet may not want to obey me right now, but my mouth works just fine. “Let’s get one thing clear. If you and I are going to do this, you need to promise me that it’s going to be an exclusive thing. You,” I point at Mae Ling, who’s now fully awake and eyeing me with equal venom as she hangs on to Mason’s waist. I take another step, ready to fully immerse myself in a bitch-off if that’s what it takes, “if you want to keep those dainty little hands, get them the fuck off him right now. You too, ginger,” I sneer at Amber, who’s entertaining the idea of changing Mason’s mind by rubbing her crotch against his hipbone.

Mason tenses at my use of the F-word, but I don’t care. Whatever punishment he wants to dole out can come after I’ve skinned him alive for making me feel like some jealous bitch in heat.

They both look to Mason for direction, but his gaze never wavers from mine. After a tense moment, they both step back warily, sensing the volatile emotions whipping through the air.

Clothes are gathered and hastily donned and heels click past me before the door shuts behind me.

The knowledge that I’m alone with Mason slams into me as he slowly advances. My eyes drop to his solid neck, his golden rock-hard shoulders and pecs, to the ridged torso that I sense didn’t come from the gym but from sheer hard work. A few scars crisscross his body—sports injuries or everyday wear and tear. I don’t have time to dwell on it because he moves closer, and my eyes are drown lower, to the black leather and the evidence of his state of mind.

My hands slam out in a fiercely protective motion. “If you think you’re coming anywhere near me after servicing your goddamn pets, you’re seriously nuts.”

He freezes and his nostrils flare with anger. “What the hell—?”

My laughter cuts him off. “You really were going to just take off with me where you just left off with them, weren’t you? Do you want me, Mason?”