Platinum (Facets of Passion) (10 page)

“Since you can’t be trusted to hold still,” he muttered, doing the same to her other foot.

She resisted the urge to apologize, letting her widely splayed legs and sex do it for her. He adjusted her hips on the workbench so the hard edge pressed into her pubis, idly stroking her dripping folds as he did so. Then he wrapped soft rope around her waist, stretching the ends out to secure them over the edges, to the wooden legs, binding her securely in place.

“Chin up.”

She lifted her head, hair tumbling messily into her eyes and he came around the bench. He slipped something soft under her chin, bringing her eyes level with his groin. He was naked now, his cock at half-mast, turgid and heavy against his lean thighs.

He set a velvet box on the bench in front of her and snapped it open. On the black satin rested silver—no, surely they were platinum—bracelets and a space where the anklets had been. No key in sight.

The bracelets were open-ended, finishing their graceful arcs in small circles at each end. Delicate padlocks rested on the satin too. Taking the bracelets, he fit them snugly around her slender wrists. She remembered all those measurements while she’d clung to the satyr. He padlocked the cuffs, each click of the locks singing through her. He passed a slender chain through them and drew it under the table, securing her there too.

She went limp, held in place by his bonds, just another medium for him to work, surrendering to the artist.

He set three more things on the workbench for her to see. A knife, a sparkling glass phallus and a plain brown leather belt.

Steel tapped each in turn. “First, I cut your clothes away—the price you pay for failing to strip before you crossed the line. Then this goes up your tight little ass. With it in place, I’m whipping you with this belt. Anything to say?”

“You’ll owe me a new outfit.”

Surprised out of his black mood, Steel laughed and pulled the hair out of her eyes. “Honey, I would love to see you in a dress I picked out. I have just the thing in mind.”

Taking a black leather tie, he secured her hair into a tail at the nape of her neck, then propped one of those cheap full-length mirrors against the pillar in front of her.

“Just in case you want to watch.” He tapped her nose, like she was a good pet.

Taking the three things, he moved behind her. She did watch him, sleekly muscled, rough as his hands and the stubble he never seemed to quite shave away. Working briskly, he slid the knife under the silk of her skirt and top, slicing them away. Her bra followed with a quick flick.

His expression intent, he examined her naked bottom, splayed open for him. Eyes flicking up to catch her gaze in the mirror, he flashed that bad-boy smile at her. “Not so ladylike now, huh, Miss Althea?” He gave her bottom a playful smack, watching her expression, then dipped a finger into her dripping pussy and worked it into her anus. She pressed her lips together, as if she could stop him that way. Of course, she couldn’t and the invasion rippled through her, an irresistible penetration.

“Oh yeah,” he whispered. “This is going to be very fun. Watching you come apart.”

Removing his finger, he grabbed a bottle of oil and drizzled it over her upturned bottom. She hissed at the chill of it.

“Too cold?” He cheerfully rubbed the oil over her skin, working it into all her crevices with equal enthusiasm. “Don’t worry—we’ll heat you up quick enough.”

He drenched her with more oil, coating her bottom and thighs, sliding his fingers into her passages so that she would have wriggled if she could have. Instead, utter immobility made the desire more overwhelming. She watched him oil the glass phallus, reveling in her inability to stop him. She needed to be unable to stop him.

When he pressed the glass tip against her anus, he again caught her gaze in the mirror. His eyes glittered with lust and something else, his mouth in almost a grim line. His cock was high and hard again. The phallus pressed in, widening her to the point of pain, and she groaned, a jagged, broken sound.

He paused, assessing her, then pushed deeper, the phallus touching her in places she didn’t know she could feel. He seated it fully in her, impossibly deep, until she felt her muscled ring close around the indentation at the end. Holding it in her. He patted her bottom.

“Good girl. You’re a natural. How does it feel?”

Through the haze she saw him toy with it, moving it inside her so she groaned. He gave her a little spank. “Pay attention. Tell me how it feels.”

She wanted to weep. She wanted to beg for more.

“Full,” she finally whispered.

He grinned. “Yeah. Now for a little bit of the belt, just to take you apart another notch.”

“I haven’t disobeyed.”
Not
down
here
, she mentally amended, knowing full well that she’d broken something else between them. She watched him toy with the belt, flexing it in his hands.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, darkly amused. “Perhaps. And yet I have this need to punish you, Althea. To know I can make you feel.” He caressed her bottom. “To see this gorgeous white skin blush with pain. And this pretty pussy weep with pleasure. You and I—we’re the same. One day you’ll stop denying it.”

He stepped back and cracked the belt across her cheeks. The sting rocked her, turning her inside out, bringing instant tears to her eyes. And doubling her already impossible arousal. She waited for the next stroke, but it didn’t come. Opening her tightly clenched eyes, she found him watching her like a barely leashed beast. The sexuality nearly exploded out of him now, his cock rock hard and his knuckles white around the belt.

“Say it now,” he commanded through gritted teeth. “Say your safe word now if it’s too much.”

It cost him to stop, to ask it. He was on the edge of control. But she knew he would stop. Any time she asked him to. And he wanted this. So badly the sweat poured down his chest, his pecs bulging with the tension.

“Do it.”

With a snarl, he did.

The belt fell on her, with repeated smacks that blended together into a blur of pain and pleasure. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her desire ballooned out of her immobile body, somehow transcending her flesh.

He tossed the belt aside and slammed into her. The extraordinary completeness of having Steel inside her along with the phallus shattered her, exploding her outward, yielding everything, giving up everything to what he wanted of her.

* * *

She floated in a delicious, unthinking limbo while Steel moved around her, unfastening her from the table. He left the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, though, and the phallus in, so she knew he wasn’t done with her.

Bonelessly, she sank to the floor when he lowered her, wobbled onto her knees when he instructed her to. He clipped her hands together at the small of her back and returned to stand in front of her. More sated now, but with a lingering hint of grimness in his face.

He’d ditched the condom and cleaned himself off, so his cock glistened wet, not erect but twitching and full. He cupped her cheeks and rubbed the ball of his thumb over her lower lip.

“This too. Open your mouth.”

She obeyed, but a flutter of trepidation clutched in her stomach. He’d been going to teach her, hadn’t he?

She searched his face, uncertain.

But he fed the head of his rapidly hardening cock into her mouth, holding her head still, his face in a rictus that looked nearly like pain. She tried to take it in, trying to relax, but she became aware that her bottom hurt and she was sore and she wanted that damn phallus out already.

“Take it, princess,” Steel hissed, hands hard on her face, “take all of me. You’re going to suck me and swallow me.”

She wanted to. She thought she wanted to. But she found herself pulling away. Trying to.

“Don’t you deny me,” he growled, “or I’ll whip you again.”

Abruptly she gagged, wrenching herself out of his grip.

“Stop!” she cried. “Platinum. Stop it all now.”

And she burst into heart-wrenching sobs.

Chapter Ten

It was like she’d dumped a cold bucket of water on his head.

In other circumstances, the look on his face would have been comical. Instead it was just awful. He dropped to the floor, pulling her close, a torrent of apologies falling from his mouth.

She seemed unable to do anything but weep, for the shame, the embarrassment, her many failures.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She chanted the mantra.

“No, baby, no.”

“I don’t know why—” She hiccupped and he stopped her, pressing her head against his warm chest.

“You don’t need to. Just relax. Let it go. Hang on.”

That last she thought was more comforting nonsense, but he got up and left her there, shivering and naked. Quickly he was back with a blanket and a key. She huddled in the soft warmth while he unlocked the cuffs around her wrists and ankles.

“No,” she said when he reached for her bottom. “I’ll do that.”

Unable to meet his face and the remorseful guilt she saw there, she tottered to the bathroom and leaned on the little sink, trying to let her nerves settle. Her hair looked like rats had gotten in it, but she still had not brought a brush down. She needed some truce time, to walk past the taped line and take care of some of these things.

Which meant she planned to keep doing this. Despite it all. How interesting.

She drew a deep breath.

Finally, she splashed cold water on her face, steeled herself and pulled out the phallus—not easy with the slick surface. It
was
dirty and she wiped it off with toilet paper.
Animals
full
of
piss
and
shit
and
blood
.

That was Steel’s world, not hers. He had the grim childhood. The criminal friends. The deviant sexual practices.

And she had…something much prettier on the surface. Glossy. Clean. Manners and balls and watercolor landscapes just like all the other watercolor landscapes in every gallery housed in every historic building.

She rinsed the glass phallus with soap and water and set it on the sink to dry, wishing she had a bit of Clorox to disinfect it. Then she took a deep breath and opened the door.

Steel waited with a voluminous black robe that he held open for her. Her lips wobbling with the smile, she stepped into it and tied the sash, turning to face him.

“Why always black?”

He paused. Not what he’d expected her to say. Then he stroked her cheek with a finger that visibly trembled. “The contrast is irresistible.”

She nodded.

“Althea…” He took her hands, rubbing his thumbs over the white skin, stark against the black sleeves. Ghostlike. As if she weren’t quite real, either. “I apologize to you. I lost control. Something that shouldn’t happen.” He laughed, ragged. “Something that’s never happened to me. It’s unforgivable I know, but—”

“Apology accepted,” she interrupted. “After all, you warned me. Twice.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, but—I just kind of went a little crazy. I think I’m wound up over you. I don’t know where my head’s at half the time.”

She studied him, the abandoned boy under all that tough exterior. “We haven’t done much in a normal way, have we?”

His brown eyes flashed to hers, uncertain. “No. I guess not. That’s my fault too.”

“Just stop.” She sighed. “I’m tired.”

“I’ll let you go then.”

“Not that way—can we just do something normal? Talk maybe?”

He tilted his head a little, bemused. “Want to order a pizza? Have some beers—or wine—and just hang?”

She did. It sounded perfect, actually. She nodded.

He glanced around. “I could set up some chairs and—”

“No,” she decided abruptly. “Come on upstairs. We can sit in the rooftop garden. It’s a lovely evening. I think.”

“You sure? You don’t have to, because of what I said today. I was out of line.”

“No. I mean—I’m sure. I mean, please come up.”

He nodded, slow and measuring. “Okay. I’ll order the pizza and change clothes. What do you want on it?”

“You choose. I’ll leave the doors unlocked.” With a surge of affection, she rose up on her toes and kissed him, savoring the fact that she surprised him.

She fetched her glasses and climbed the stairs, looking over her shoulder to see him watching her, his brow knitted.

Upstairs, she brushed the snarls from her hair and changed out of the robe into white short-shorts and a pink T-shirt. The cats padded to the windows suggestively and, though the evening was warm, there seemed to be a nice breeze off the water, so she killed the AC and opened up the tall windows, including the French doors to the little garden deck.

A knock on the door made her jump and she realized no one really ever came in that way. She opened the door to Steel, large in her doorway, pecs bunched against his black shirt and biceps corded as he held the red and white cooler. His hair was wet, his chin free of stubble and he smelled of bay rum aftershave. Stepping back to let him in, she commented that she did own a refrigerator.

“Bet there’s not any beer in it though,” he replied, setting the cooler on the polished wood floor. “I told the pizza dude to come up the alley and honk—wasn’t sure how you usually do it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a pizza delivered.”

He gave her a mock-astonished look and shook his head, then spotted Artemisia in the window. “You have a cat?”

“Yes—two.” So strange that he knew so much about her and not the daily stuff. “That’s Artemisia. Tassi is out in the garden.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, crossed the room and scratched the cat’s ears, to her ecstatic delight. “You named them after the warring painters?”

“They had a contentious relationship as kittens. One minute snuggled together, the next spitting and hissing.” She shrugged. “It seemed appropriate.”

“You never mentioned you have cats.” He scanned the series of rooms, sharp eyes taking in the funny angles she loved, the décor, pausing on the various pieces on the walls. He seemed big for her space, all that intense male energy in contrast to her wicker furniture and pale watermelon throws. But Artemisia arched her spine into his hand, blinking in feline adoration. Apparently his charm extended to all females.

“It’s kind of a cliché, isn’t it? Aging single woman, lives alone with her two cats.”

“Darlin’, you are the least cliché person I ever met.”

“I doubt that.” Funny how this felt like a first date. Even while her bottom still stung from his belt. She went to pour herself a glass of white wine. “Want a glass for your beer?”

“Nah.” He pulled out a can from the cooler, popped the top, took a sip and set it down on her counter. Water from the ice created a little pool and she itched to grab a coaster, though the moisture wouldn’t matter to the polished granite. “Do you want to talk about what happened downstairs just now?”

“No!” she gasped and gulped the wine.

“We have to,” he told her, quietly. “I screwed up, I know, but—”

“Not yet,” she interrupted him. “Tell me, did you study art history? That you know obscure Italian painters.”

“I read a lot.” He tucked his thumbs in his jeans and turned in a slow circle. “So where’s your stuff?”

“My stuff?”

“Your paintings, drawings, whatever. Since we’re getting to know each other.”

Her face flushed. “I destroyed them all.”

His intent gaze fastened on her. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact I did.”

“No.” He shook his head slowly, eyes serious. “You kept something. One or two—the ones you love most.”

She looked away.

“Aha!” He pounced. “I knew it. I want to see them.”

“Absolutely not!” She drank from her wineglass too quickly and choked a little.

He came around the counter and snugged his hands around her waist, holding her loosely and ducking his head to try to look into her face. “Aww…come on, baby. Let me see. Please?”

“You don’t understand.” And she felt helpless to explain. “They’re just…terrible. I can’t bear to see you laugh at them.”

“I won’t laugh,” he promised, suddenly solemn. “I would never, ever laugh. Not at you and not at art. I’ve been there, I know what it’s like—to hang yourself out there.”

He would. It must have been something to show his work to people, before anyone signed off on it being art instead of porn. But then, he was clearly so much braver than she was, in so many ways.

“In my bedroom closet,” she sighed.

“Lead the way.” He gestured grandly, with a little bow.

She dragged her feet, not sure why she was doing this. While he surveyed her bed, with the fanciful wrought iron posts and white lace curtains fluttering in the breeze, she opened her closet and took out the set of carefully wrapped paintings. She set them on the dimity spread, all three of them. Taking a calming breath, she unwrapped the brown paper from each one. Then stood and studied them, not looking at Steel, terrified of what she’d see in his face.

Trying to assess them objectively, she still saw what was always there. The colors were muddied, the lines all wrong. Derivative, uninspired. Poorly executed.

She sighed. “Say something.”

His hands slid around her waist and he pulled her back against his chest, kissing her temple. “They look like you smell.”

Her laugh surprised her. “That’s absurd.”

“Not at all. I knew nothing you have hanging up was yours—and I would have known these. They whisper of you. Like rosewater and lemonade and that slanting light just before sunset. But I don’t see all of you here.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s more to you than this. You know what I see in you.”

A tremor passed through her at the thought of those wild and insanely erotic moments in the basement that he’d captured on canvas. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

“No worries.” His lips trailed down her cheek and his tongue touched the shell of her ear, sending pleasant shivers down her spine. “Tell me—why are they so small?”

“They’re the usual size for watercolors.”

“But didn’t you tell me small is harder for you to see?”

“I’m surprised you remember that conversation.”

He turned her in his arms and looked at her, sadness in his gaze. “I remember everything about you, lovely Althea.” His lips brushed hers, tentative, asking a question. She slid her arms around him and he relaxed into it, lavishing her with tender kisses.

Broken by the sharp honk of a horn.

“Pizza guy,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’ll go pay and meet you on the porch?”

“Okay. Just let me wrap these up.”

“You don’t have to hide them away, you know.”

“I do.” She pulled out of his arms and she knew her smile must look sad. “For my own peace of mind, I have to.”

It felt weirdly normal, sitting out on the deck under the warm sky, surrounded by her potted flowers, eating the meat-lovers pizza and chatting with Steel. He dropped the topic of her art and, thankfully, didn’t bring up any of the basement activities, either. They talked about little things, town gossip and the often bizarre politics of the art world.

They lapsed into quiet. In the full dark, crickets chirped, and a lovely jasmine-scented breeze blew in. Romantic and lovely.

“I’m sorry that I freaked out,” she offered, finally.

“No, honey. I told you—I’m the one who broke the rules. I knew that was an uncomfortable thing for you and I just
had
to go there…” Disgust at himself ran through his voice and she laughed. “I’m glad I amuse you.”

There, at least he sounded more like himself. She reached out and took his hand, cold and damp from the beer he’d been holding.

“You always do, don’t you? I think that’s part of why you fascinate me. You just have to take a little more, to push the boundaries, to shock and unsettle people.”

He was quiet. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“Until you terrify your girlfriend, that is.”

Her heart warmed. Despite the oddness of their relationship, she was his girlfriend. He was right to expect to come to the ball with her. “You didn’t scare me. I just…have never liked doing that. I don’t know why.”

“You don’t have to know why. It just is. We all have our things.”

“I’m sorry. I know that for guys it’s the best part.”

Steel laughed, full-throated. The neighbors would hear.
Let
them
, part of her whispered. Her own voice.

“Althea, darlin’—it is
not
the best part. Guys who think that are just assholes.”

“But it’s nice.”

“Of course it’s nice. It’s just not everything.”

She’d never had a conversation like this with a man. It felt freeing. Fun.

“I like it when you do it to me,” she told him. “I want to be able to do it for you.”

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t ever have to, as far as I’m concerned. Despite how I behaved, I don’t ever want you to do something that doesn’t turn you on.”

“You stopped. When I said the safe word, you stopped immediately. I think I should have said it sooner.”

A dry chuckle coughed out of him. “Uh, yeah. That would help, sweetheart.”

“I want to try again. You said you could teach me.”

“Tonight?” He sounded surprised, but also—yes, excited. His thumb passed over her palm and she could practically feel his skin warming. “You’ve been through the wringer. We don’t have to do everything right away.”

“Tonight.” Before she started obsessing about it. “But on my terms.”

“Name the terms,” he breathed.

“I want you to wear those chaps and your motorcycle jacket. Nothing else. Meet me in my bedroom.” Exhilaration spun through her. This is how it felt to take control. Good. Powerful.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “And may I say, I love the way you think.”

* * *

She lit candles, covering them with hurricane lamps to amplify their glow and protect the flames from the warm ocean breezes. She put on a white negligee Abby had given her, just a simple column of silk, and let her hair fall loose. On impulse, she slipped on very high pearl sandals. Then she just waited.