Richard's Reign (Book 6): Enthrall Novella #3 (Enthrall Sessions) (10 page)

I gave her a look of understanding and handed her the small shot glass. “You’re happy. Cam’s happy. It’s a good day.”

“What about you?”

I gave a thin smile. “I’ve survived this far.”

She threw the drink back. “I owe you everything, Richard.”

“I could say the same.”

Her gaze searched for Cameron and she frowned when she couldn’t see him.

“Looks like he got a call,” I said. “You’re going to have to roll with it.”

She gave a nod.

“Mia, I didn’t always treat you right.” I reached out and played with a golden strand of her hair like I always used to.

Realizing how this might look to the others, I withdrew my hand.

“They were challenging times for us all, Richard. I wasn’t exactly easy with my emotional block and stuff.”

“Please, Mia,” I said, “I need to know we’re good.”

“I’m the one that ended up with your best friend. I’ll always be sorry I hurt you—”

I pressed a fingertip to her lips. “Another shot?”

“You didn’t drink yours?”

I handed it to her.

She looked at it with caution. “I have to check with Cameron.”

“I dare you.”

She lifted the glass to her lips and rested it there flirtatiously and then threw it back, her mouth gaping at the burn, that look of pleasure mixed with pain not so dissimilar to those times when I’d thrust my cock deep inside her.

Her face flushed from the liquor.

“There’s the Mia I love!”

That blush lit up her neck like a post-fucked glow and it made me smile. I’d be sending her back to Cameron like that with a tell-tale hint of a tryst.

“You look so beautiful,” I mouthed, knowing I’d scare her.

“I better go find him.”

“Yep.”

“Will you be okay?”

I gave a nod and watched her make her way toward the exit. I searched the many faces for Emma, who no doubt would be hot on Mia’s heels.

I pulled out my phone and found Andrea’s number, sending her a text.

Ready for your first session?

The texting icon flashed away and then came her answer:
Yes, sir.

My thumbs glided across the screen:
Change of venue.

We’re not meeting at Enthrall?

No.
I weaved through the crowd as I texted.
Pendulum.

CHAPTER 11

“PENDULUM DOESN’T EXIST,” I told Andrea as we stood in its dark foyer.

With a flick of my fingertip I turned on the lights. Above us, the multicolored ceiling of glass rained down a reflection of oranges, blues, and delicate hues, complementing the elegant dark wood décor and darker floorboards.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Glass art boutique.” I arched a brow.

“We’re here to buy glass?”

I grinned at her.

“This is a front?”

“Very good.”

“Is this place like Enthrall?”

“Similar, but exclusively for members who can never be seen at Enthrall.”

“So if anyone gets caught coming out of here?”

“You were merely perusing the collection of fine Italian glass imported from Europe.”

“It’s lovely.”

“And to view their full collection is by appointment only.”

She lowered her gaze. “But of course.”

“And no, you don’t get to hear who the members are.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“You were.”

She giggled and hurried into the center, her head tilted back to view the spectacular display. She spun around, arms out, and shards of light sprayed down prisms upon her.

She stopped suddenly. “Is anyone else here?”

“Only us.”

She relaxed again and continued to spin, her dress fanning out, her hair falling over her face as she laughed her joy.

This Manhattan Beach residence sat snugly amongst the other million dollar homes, with its not so regular history, and its remarkable clientele that would make any black book melt.

Reserved only for those in the public eye, its members needed the assurance of solitude and discretion. Politicians, the finest sportsmen, world famous businessmen, all with a lot to lose and therefore this private house served as the finest secret society.

Although I’d never been an official member, my connections saw to it that I had access should I ever want it.

With Andrea’s hand in mine I led her along the sweeping hallway.

We paused before the elevator and I punched the button.

“Where does this lead?” she whispered.

“We’re alone, Andrea, we can talk normally.”

Excitement flushed her cheeks.

Usually a master and his sub would be greeted by a senior dominant, a member of Pendulum, who would remind them of the rules and hand over the keycard to the lowest levels.

I, however, owned a keycard.

I took hold of her left arm firmly and escorted her into the elevator. “This place is unsupervised. Which means I can do anything to you.”

The doors slid closed.

She fell into my arms, and nestled her face against my chest, her breathing soft, going with the mood, trusting.

“Let’s get you prepared for your session,” I said. “Then we’ll talk about what you’ve learned from your homework.” I lifted my head back to see her better and said sternly, “You did do your homework?”

“Mostly.”

“What does that mean?”

“I read a little.”

“And?”

“I wanted to try out a session with full emersion.”

Leaning back against the elevator, I felt it jolt to a stop. “Do you know what you’re really asking for?”

“Role play?” She bit her lip.

I reached out and traced her mouth with my fingertip. Her tongue flicked out, a sensual act of readiness.

“Very well,” I said.

She fell against my chest again in a hug.

“Full emersion means you do what and when I say.”

She peered up at me. “I know.”

“You will not be entering the lower level of the club on your feet, Andrea. Prepare please.”

She fell at my feet, head bowed, trembling.

I knelt before her and tipped her head up. “Do you want to tell me your safe word?”

“I don’t…I’m not sure.”

“What you’re feeling is normal. Anticipation for what’s about to happen. Settle into it. I’m not going to promise you I won’t push you hard because this is what you’re asking of me.”

“Yes, I am.”

“So, let’s begin. Your safe word is?”

“Mercy,” she stuttered.

“But I won’t be giving you any mercy, Andrea. Choose another.”

“Glass.”

I rose to my feet, towering over her.

With another slide of the keycard the door opened. I stepped around Andrea and exited the elevator, and gestured she was to follow.

Elegantly, and on all fours, her movements were slow and sure as she crawled after me.

At the end of the hallway before the red door, I ordered her to stand. Exerting total power over my sub too soon during a session would give her time to question and possibly change her mind. I needed to distract her and as she’d no doubt be intrigued with what lay on the other side of that door, this was a good place to start.

With a turn of the handle I gestured she was to go on ahead.

The room appeared simple enough, lavish with its fine Italian leather chairs, complimented by the long studded sofa, the theme of dark wood providing the air of a gentlemen’s club, wooden floorboards strewn with Persian rugs. This looked like any regular anteroom, except for the artwork hanging on the walls - historical erotic photos of those who’d indulged in BDSM in the 1800s.

With a wave of my hand, I motioned for her to view them. She walked on ahead and stopped at each one, occasionally glancing back my way.

In the center of the coffee table sat a long wooden box.

From within I removed a studded black diamond collar.

Andrea returned to my side, and went to kneel.

“No, I want you to stand for this.”

I left the collar on its box, with light catching those dark jewels and sending a shimmer over the table.

“Time to undress,” I said.

She stood still as I unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. I unclipped her bra and then pulled down her panties. She stepped out of them to help me. I tucked them into my pocket.

“Next time we meet, no panties,” I said.

“Yes,” she said nervously. “I mean okay.”

I brought the collar over to her and secured it around her neck. The choker looked beautiful on her, a rare antique piece worth millions we’d borrow for the evening.

“Divert your gaze,” I whispered.

“Sorry.” She glanced at me. “Should I call you Master now?”

“Now would be good, yes.” I flicked a stray lock of her hair behind her shoulder. “Stunning.”

Her eyelids flicked. “Am I allowed to talk, Master?”

“With permission.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“I know that surrendering is not easy for you,” I soothed. “You’re an empowered woman. But let’s just say that for one evening you let go, and give your body over to me?” I lifted her chin. “Give yourself to the one man who will worship you completely?”

A noise startled her and she snapped her gaze to mine.

“It’s an old house,” I said.

“No one’s here?”

“No. Just us.” I ran my thumb around her areola and she trembled. “Your master’s job is to protect you. Security is tight. No one can enter without a key. I have access to the security cameras. The caretaker sweeps for bugs prior to us entering.”

She looked surprised.

“Well, this house is designed to entertain presidents. So we take every precaution.”

My fingers trailed lower, over her abdomen and slid down to touch her sex. Gently, I eased open her labia and examined her, running a fingertip along her sleekness.

“Good,” I said. “Still, I believe what I’m about to show you will inspire you even more.”

Her eyelids flickered at my touch.

“You admitted you have a secret?” I said. “Before we proceed any further I need you to tell me what that is.”

She shook her head.

“Andrea, keep nothing from me.”

“I’m ashamed to say it.”

I tugged on her collar and brought her face up to mine. “You will tell me.”

She leaned into my ear and whispered it. “I’m afraid, Master, afraid when I wake up in the morning. Afraid of doing the right thing. Afraid of not doing the right thing. I live in fear every day. I know it’s irrational. I just can’t shake it. Nothing helps.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’ve been so protected all my life. Maybe that’s why? I was always kept out of harm’s way.”

The downside of privilege; wings so clipped she’d never know what it was like to fly.

“This is the most daring experience I’ve ever had.” She leaned against me. “I’m going to trust this. Trust you.”

“Good.” I broke her gaze. “When we first met at your party you seemed so confident, so willing to please me?”

“For the first time I didn’t need to act. I could just be me.”

“With me you are your authentic self?”

“Yes, I promise. I couldn’t believe how safe you made me feel. Ethan told me you would.”

“Have you tried talking to anyone about this?”

“I’ve tried everything. You’re my last hope, Richard. I tried valium but I can’t work when I’m on it.” Tears streaked her cheeks, and I wiped them away.

Enthrall had drawn another broken-winged sparrow our way.

My usual instinct was to turn away, give her over to another to heal her, but Andrea needed a breakthrough.

Taking her through this session could very well ease her angst if done right. She’d leave here high on endorphins.

“Widen your thighs a little.”

She responded; her breaths short and sharp.

To heal such a subconscious fault line, more thought was needed - a session like no other.

My fingers entered her and I stroked her G-spot.

Her expression mirrored bliss. “Master, don’t turn me away, please.”

“You must give yourself over to me completely.”

“I will.”

“Body and soul.”

“Yes.”

“Very well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I have something very special to show you.” I removed my fingers. “This room, everything you see in it was transported from France. Even the wood paneling. And then placed exactly as it had once been in the house of Madame Pen.”

“Pendulum?”

“That’s right,” I said. “The name comes from the private club in Europe and also represents what we do here.”

She looked at me, curious.

“Show me.” I gestured.

She blushed wildly, her delicate fingers easing apart her labia.

“Remain in that pose, understand?”

She gave a nod.

I strolled on over toward the marble fireplace and on the wall to the right of it, I nudged aside the painting. A flick of a button and a screen lowered from the ceiling.

I pushed another button and from the rear of the room a flickering projector lit up the screen, the black and white film playing out before us.

Andrea’s stare locked on the image, her jaw slack, her eyes wide with wonder, her blush wild on her cheeks. She threw a glance at me.

“This was filmed in 1897,” I said.

The flickering erotic black and white film shone brightly. A pretty young woman was naked and bound with rope, hanging from the ceiling. She was swinging to and fro. Before her a twenty-something man faced her, dressed in an old-fashioned suit, his jacket long and well-tailored, revealing the elegant fashion of that decade, his pants open at the groin, his erection rearing out of dark curls.

Her swinging stopped.

Standing directly behind her was another man dressed in similar clothes, only his cock was buried deep within the woman now, his hands holding the rope above her and pulling it back so he held her there suspended before him. He let the rope go and the woman swung toward the other man in front of her and he caught the rope and stilled her. As she came to a stop before his groin, her mouth opened to welcome him in, and she sucked furiously, providing that historical blowjob with a French flair. He tilted his hips forward and rocked into her.

Giving her the freedom to work her mouth up and down, the man concentrated on holding the rope, his gaze of affection on her.