Read Knots (Club Imperial Book 4) Online
Authors: Katherine Rhodes
Knots (Club Imperial Book 4)
Knots: Club Imperial 4
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2015 © Katherine Rhodes
Published by Beau Coup Publishing
http://beaucoupllcpublishing.com
Cover by JRA Stevens
For Beau Coup Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
The man kneeling inside was in perfect submissive position.
She was already intrigued by him, just from that alone. Circling the wonderful torso, free of tattoos and scars, her assessment and acceptance hinged on a few simple questions. “Did he come from a house?” she asked quietly.
“No,” Franz said, “or none that we know of. He's been paired with a few of the others, but he called and requested you the other day.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Shibari,” Franz answered. “He called and asked if you had any specialties.”
“So he likes being bound.” She smiled. “Anything else?”
Franz nodded. “Always the mask. It was a condition of his. He wouldn't agree to the tribute unless you agreed to the mask.”
The mask was fascinating. She stepped into the room and circled him. He was wearing a tailored, loose silk, full-hood mask, with the eye mask tied up and back so he could see.
For the moment.
“And what have his other mistresses said about him?”
“Very obedient. Very willing, and a very high tolerance. No one has heard his safe word yet. Which is surprising, considering who he has been subbed with. Jaida, Amaryllis, Jemma...”
They both saw him shudder at Jemma's name and she smirked. “Perhaps Jemma was near to hearing it.”
“Mistress,” came a deep, sultry, resonant voice. He was seeking permission to ask a question.
“You may speak,” she said.
“Mistress Jemma was not near my limit of what I enjoy, but rather at the limit of my ability to stand dispassionate, disinterested handling.”
Franz pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not the first time I've heard that about her. But as for your subject here. Are you interested, Dusty?”
“To use my Shibari?” she asked. “I think so, as long as Mister... John Smith was it?, realizes that it is not something that is done and undone in the place of an hour. He will be here all night.”
“That was made clear. In fact, Mr. Smith was very happy to hear it.”
Dusty nodded. “Very good. I agree to the mask, as long as the blindfold is mine to control as well.”
“It is, Mistress,” John said.
Dusty took the crop in her hand and slapped him hard on the ass. He didn't flinch at the hard sting. “I did not ask you, John. Speak only when you are spoken too.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“We have the shibari room set up?” Dusty asked.
“We do,” Franz said. “He must remember to tell the room administration when he wants that room booked for this. I know we don't have many who want it, but there are enough it could be a problem. John, am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Dusty?”
“We have an agreement.”
“Excellent. I'll leave you to your interview.” Franz backed out of the room and closed the door.
Dusty circled the sub on the floor slowly. His eyes were down, and he was unmoving. He was very well trained. “Your real name isn't John Smith.”
“No, mistress,” he answered.
“I'm intrigued by this game you want to play, so I'll go along with you. I am going to explain the rules of the Shibari room. Are you listening?”
“Yes, mistress,” he said.
“First, the room must be booked. I will not work on a shibari creation anywhere else. That room was designed to my specifications and I can be the most creative in there,” Dusty informed him.
“Second, shibari is an art, Mr. Smith. It will not be rushed. The more complicated the designs will take me hours. If you do not think that you can hold submissive for that long, do not bother me with a request for a complicated design.
“Third, do not expect that I will tie you up and let you right back out. You have sat for me for that long and now you are where you want to be. You will remain in the creation for no less than two hours.
“And fourth, if there is anything else you wish for me to entertain while you’re in the room, you will write the request down and leave it on the side table. We are not here to discuss your proclivities and desires. We are here to indulge them.”
She was standing directly in front of him. “I don’t deal in bullshit, Mr. Smith. I don’t have the time or desire to do so. I very much enjoy shibari. I can get lost in the intricacies of the ropes just as much as my subjects. It is my delight to bring you the joys of silk ropes. But as any other room in this building, it is necessary for you to choose a safe word. I am assuming that the ropes are not your only desire in this, as you have visited with several other mistresses. Am I correct?”
“Yes, mistress,” he said.
“Since I do not wish to mince words or waste time in talking, I will request that you give me a list of your hard limits and your soft limits. A person who cannot write down his desires is not a man I wish to assist. Is that clear?”
“Yes, mistress,” he said.
“Then when I see that you have booked the room, I will expect that we have an agreement, Mr. Smith.” She walked around him one more time, and slapped the crop on his ass, hard. “Now. Shall we play?”
“I would enjoy that, Mistress.”
“You have read your contract,” she stated. “No intercourse on the premises. No exceptions.”
“It’s understood, Mistress.”
“Do you have a previous safe word?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he said.
“Tell me.”
She was shocked when he hesitated for a moment, but her knees nearly gave out when he spoke the word.
“Applejack.”
She’d had a childhood dog named Applejack, and named him after the cereal. She looked down at him, and approved of the word despite her shock. “Very good. And since I have not had time to read your application, nor you time to write your letter, what is your pleasure this evening?”
“Ropes, Mistress,” he said. “And a flogger.”
Dusty nodded agreeably though she knew he couldn’t see her. She opened the top-most drawer in the chest of drawers. Her favorite flogger lay coiled on top. Next to it were several lengths of rope, and she pulled out two shorter ones and a carabineer. She neatly arranged them on the top of the dresser and glanced back at the man in the mask. He was deliciously muscular, and possessed of himself. He knew what he wanted.
Dusty moved around the room. Every room in Imperial was set up the same: a chest of drawers with a lamp, a Queen Anne chair in leather, a side table. There was a spanking bench moved to a corner, as well as a multipurpose bench which could handle several different positions. The back wall had a St. Andrew’s cross on one side and several other wicked looking sets of hooks and chains. There was also a small cot and nightstand opposite the chair and dresser; that was for the client. Sometimes, they needed a moment or two to compose themselves. It was also an effective place for aftercare; Dusty never let the subs leave until she had made sure they were tended to.
She grabbed the shorter length of rope and walked up behind him. “Hands up,” she said.
He had them up and crossed quickly. She was impressed she didn’t even have to tell him to cross them. She wound the rope in a crisscross pattern around his wrists, and pulled it tight with each loop. She heard little grunts from him with each pull, and she smirked. He liked the ropes tight.
“Stand,” she commanded, once she had finished binding his wrists. He rose gracefully and kept his head down; his erection was visible through his boxers, and she smiled. He even knew that rule already- never fully naked unless told to be. She grabbed the ropes and lead him over to the wall, pulling down a hook. She slipped the carabineer through the rope and latched it to the hook. The chain retracted and pulled his arms up over his head. She walked back over to the dresser and grabbed the other two pieces of rope.
She bent down and tied one to his right ankle tightly, then hooked it to the wall. She repeated the process on the other side. He would now only be able to move his legs further apart. She leaned against the wall next to him. “Mr. Smith, do you require more rope?”
“I will wait for the shibari room, Mistress.”
“Good,” she said, and walked back over to the flogger on the dresser. She swished it a few times, and swung at his lower back with a soft hit.
“Mistress.” His voice was heavy. “Please, with my ass naked.”
Dusty smiled. She tossed out the flogger in a trick she had taken time to learn and perfect-- it yanked the boxers down and exposed his firm, pale ass. She could certainly appreciate that. And her little trick elicited a groan from him.
She set her feet and flicked the flogger at him again. He barely flinched with her first hit. She approved; he liked it harder than most. She added more strength to the next hit. He groaned this time, and only flinched a little.
Oh, she was going to enjoy this client. She set her feet and really let the flogger fly.
“Oh, how perfect. Come on out, everyone! Come and see the whore Nathaniel has been dating!”
“You are a psychotic asshole,” Tessa growled at him. Cece agreed.
“Come on!” he said, motioning to the people who were hiding with her around the corner. “Come on. She’s always willing to take on new clients. Get a taste of the mistress's whip. She's very good at dealing with you if you've been very bad.”
Cece wanted to run out and punch him in the balls. How dare he, he of all people, insinuate that Tessa was a whore. She played by the rules, always. She was part of the lifestyle, the right way. People paid her serious cash because she was so good--
“I am not a whore, Lance. I never was and I never will be.”
“You're deluding yourself,” he said. “But then again, I guess I don't really care since I'm taking you with me.” He looked down at Nathaniel. “Take a good look, Natey. Your slutty little delight is mine. And for good measure the whole of your friends and family now know that she is a Domme who likes to beat and hurt and men.”
Cece felt her stomach plunging into her feet. Lance was forcing who she was, what she did, on bystanders who did not understand what the lifestyle was about.
“Isn't that why
you
want her?” Nathaniel asked. “Isn't that the whole reason you're chasing her down and taking her with you? You want her to hurt you. And you know what?” He turned his head from his position on the ground and looked right at her. “Emmy, beat the shit out of him. Whip him. Flog him. Make him feel every ounce of pain you know how to give out. Drive him to the edge of insanity and never let him come back.”
Cece sucked in a breath as Tessa did the same.
He knew!
Nathaniel knew and was still in love with her. Lance looked horrified, and snarled. “She's mine! She'll never listen to you! She's going to do exactly what I want her to!”
“She'll never listen to you,” Nathaniel never looked away from Tessa. “She belongs to no one.”
The gun twitched in Lance's hand. Cece saw it and Tessa caught it out of the corner of her eye. She knew that twitch. It was the one that happened just before he couldn't and wouldn't stop himself from pulling the trigger. He was staring at Nathaniel on the ground, and it was Tessa’s perfect opportunity.
Cece watched as Tessa took it; she clearly knew Lance as well as Cece did. Tessa yanked the whip off her hip, dropped it, and with a quick flick of her wrist, she snapped it out at him. Bullwhip! A full size bullwhip! Thank God; Tessa knew how to use whips and a full size one? Lance didn’t stand a chance. She aimed for his wrist, and it was clear she had hit the target when the blood welled on his forearm by the wrist.
He whipped his head around and she snapped the whip again, wrapping the tip of the whip around the barrel of the gun he was holding. She pulled back hard, but before she could rip it out of his control, he pulled the trigger.
Nathaniel screamed and jerked on the ground.
Cece felt the cold run through her veins and saw Tessa lose control. She pulled the whip back and the gun popped out of Lance's hand. She snapped forward and slashed him across the chest. She took a step forward and snapped again, this time on his upper arm. Another step, another snap across his thigh. She stepped closer and closer and flicked the whip around like it was a part of her.
“You fucking asshole,” Tessa screamed.
“What are you doing?!” he yelled.
Tessa screamed at him. The words were lost in the wind, but what she did was clearly seen. With every sentence she snapped the whip either across him or just barely missing him. She snapped the whip up over her head, and was finally close enough to plant her heal on his neck. And suddenly everyone could hear her again: “How many women have you killed?! How many have you raped and killed and fucked after you killed them!? You're accusing me of being a pervert. Fine! I like the lifestyle! But at least I don't kill people or fuck dead bodies!”
Cece had both hands over her mouth in shock. She had never imagined that Tessa Saint would lose control like this. She was ready to kill Lance, and while some part of Cece knew it was wrong, there was a much larger part that wished she could grab her whip and help Tessa finish him off.
Tessa leaned down and punched him in the face. “I will not ever be used against my will again! I will never go with you! I would rather die than ever have you lay a finger on me again!”
Franz put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back away from him. “Enough, Emmy! Enough. You've won.” He pointed to Lance.
Lance was terrified of her, the white of his eyes showing like a spooked horse and his lips drawn down in a grimace. There were welts and open cuts all over him; there was blood all over his clothes and he was bright red because her foot was cutting off his air.
Tessa gasped and stepped back, realizing the situation. Nathaniel’s brother had Sylvia in his arms, one of the body guards had the other woman down, another was waiting for Lance and the third was taking care of Eric. She looked over to Nathaniel.
He wasn't moving.
“Oh, God,” she gasped, falling down next to him. “Nathaniel!?”
Killian shoved everyone out of the way and tore up the gravel drive, diving for the unmoving Nathaniel. His brother was trying to get over to him but Bradley Albright had appeared and was holding him back. Killian shoved Tessa out of the way, screaming, “Call an ambulance NOW!”
Tessa fell over to the side as Cece pulled out her phone and leapt out of the crowd, dialing the emergency number. Killian ripped Nathaniel’s pants wide open and there was actually pulsing blood from his leg. It would surge and recede.
“Motherfucker, it’s the femoral,” he said. “He’s bleeding out!”
Chantal came tearing forward and grabbed the whip that was now on the ground. “Tie it off,” she said. Cece managed to get all the information to the 911 operator in a single shot. There were apparently already cops on the way; someone from inside had called about the gun shots.
“We need needle and thread, fast!” Killian took the whip and tied it above the leg as best as he could. Albright spoke into a walkie and less than 30 seconds later someone else came tearing to the area with a first aid kit, and put it next to Killian. “Knife, water, sponges or cloths. Something. We’re going to lose him.”
Cece shot straight up in bed. She was going to relive those moments forever, watching Nathaniel nearly die, watching Tessa’s world nearly crumble around her. Her nightmare: the whole world finding out that she was a Domme. She would be exorcised from Pittsburgh.
She thumped back on the pillow. She wondered if the nightmare would ever go away.
* * *
“To Emmy and Nathaniel!”
The raucous little group let out quite the whoop and lifted the shots to the sky. Cece watched as Tessa and Nathaniel stared into each other eyes, the unyielding love coming off the two of them in waves. Even she couldn’t help but smile, and her eyes landed on Killian as he stood next to them.
“If I may,” he called to the audience. “I would like to say something.” The group, made up of the some of the wealthiest families around Pittsburgh, settled a moment later and turned to Killian. “Emmy and Nathaniel have been through a hell of a lot in the past year and for them to come out this end together and more united than before is nothing short of a miracle.” He picked up his beer. “To the miracle couple, may every year find you happier, may each month bind you closer, may each week find you joy, may each day the sun shine upon you, and may each night be filled with unbridled sex in at least three different positions!”
The whole group whooped and laughed again, and Cece saw Tessa--
Emmy
pale and hide a giggle behind her hand. Nathaniel instantly turned bright red and lifted his glass. Cece hid her smirk and saw Morgan, Olivia, Amaryllis--
Chantal
and Tyrone do the same behind their glasses of wine.
But her own smirk fell a moment later.
Diane Hamburg had wrapped her arms around Killian, and was smiling a wicked grin. A victor’s grin. Cece tossed back the rest of the glass and put it down on the table. She excused herself and walked to the private restroom for the party.
She stared into the mirror.
They don’t understand. Killian would never take a second look at me. Diane is perfect and gorgeous.
She swept a tired hand over her face, and sighed.
“Are you ok, Dusty?” came Emmy’s voice quietly from the door.
Cece turned and looked at the gorgeous woman standing there. “Oh. Hi. Yeah, I guess so.”
“I saw you laughing but the instant you saw Diane…”
Damn. “Well, she and I don’t really get along. You haven’t been in the circles long enough to catch that. It’s a… long standing disagreement.”
“In other words,” Emmy let the door shut, “you think she’s a bitch.”
Cece laughed. “Yes, exactly.”
“Well, for the record, she
is
a bitch,” Emmy said.
Cece laughed again, and leaned against the wall, oddly comfortable around Emmy. Perhaps because she knew she didn't have to pretend there wasn't a huge swath of her life that didn't exist. “Diane and I came to different conclusions about life in fifth grade, and we've never been able to resolve our differences. I'm the black sheep of my family, anyway, so it's been pretty easy to steer clear of her.”
“A Domme is the black sheep? No. Say it isn't so!” Emmy put a dramatic hand to her forehead and the women shared a laugh. Emmy sobered a moment later. “Dusty, I really...”
Cece held up her hand. “Hang on. We're not in the club and we're probably going to be seeing each other socially more than once in a while. My name is Frances, but everyone calls me Cece. Cece Robbe.”
Emmy stuck out her hand. “Emmy Westerly.”
Cece laughed and took it. “Not like I haven't known you for three years or anything.” She paused. “Are you leaving the club?”
“Sort of?” Emmy questioned herself. “I'm going to be working the office with Franz now. I'm going to help with the books and scheduling. There, you can still call me Tessa. But anywhere else, I'm Emmy.”
“It's... nice to talk to you outside the club,” Cece said.
“I'm getting used to the vanilla world.” Emmy glanced at the door. “Nathaniel helps a lot.”
“Oh does he?” Cece teased.
Emmy laughed. “He has a certain interest in some of the proclivities, yes. But it's more than that.”
“You two are disgustingly in love.” Cece made a gagging noise to tease her. “I can see it. And Emmy, you deserve it.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I have to get back out there, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You tossed that wine back!”
She laughed. “I did. Diane does that to me.” Cece opened the door for Emmy. “I'll be out in a minute. Just have to actually use the bathroom.”
Emmy nodded and smiled. “We'll have to do lunch one day!” Cece agreed and watch her walk back over to the tables and she let the door close. She stepped into the stall, and put her head in her hands. If she wasn't trained... she would have broken down, right there.
It wasn't Diane. It was Diane
all over Killian
like cheap suit. Diane was every man's dream: blonde, busty, a huge family fortune, and every advantage she didn't have. Killian's whole family adored her and it was a forgone conclusion that they were going to get married just as soon as Killian's career started to take off. He was only a year or two from that.
And here she was, mostly in love with him for years. He was a dream, and she was... Well. She was the black sheep. She was not only the black sheep of her family for not flaunting her trust fund, but she had a master's degree, worked a 9 to 5, she had never had a boyfriend she could bring home to her parents, she didn't buy into the bullshit of the 'charities' that her mother and sister ran, and she lived her own life.
Killian would never look at her. No one ever noticed Cece.
The door popped open, and Cece heard a few voices walk in and she recognized Diane immediately. And now she was stuck there.
“Who are these women?” Diane's friend Tory asked. “I mean, this woman comes out of nowhere and brings all these odd-balls with her.”
“They are so... odd,” came another voice Cece identified as Saundra.
“Well, Cece seems to get along with them,” Diane said.
“Exactly,” Tory said.
They all had a giggle at that one.
“Can you believe that Nathaniel is going to marry her? She doesn't have money, she doesn't have a family except for that odd little sister of hers,” Diane said.
“Well, at least he's not marrying that horrible Harpy he was dating for so long,” Bridget said.
“That harpy is in jail for the forseeable future,” Tory said. “Good riddance.”
“Do we have to throw a bachelorette party for her?” Saundra asked, the exasperation clear in her voice. “If I'm going to go to a strip club, I'd rather go with you all. I don't think they would really enjoy it the way your supposed to enjoy mostly naked men. Like they don't appreciate a hot body.”
