Slave to Love (30 page)

Chapter 20

Brushing aside her tingling nerves, Caro followed Mick through the living room of his friend’s incredible mansion. He still had her on the leash, or she would have stopped to admire the gorgeous furniture and the paintings on the walls, flip off her four-inch heels and sink her tired feet into the plush pile of the luxurious rug.

Somewhere a clock chimed 1:00 a.m.. They’d left the club early.
Maybe they’d actually get some sleep tonight
.

It was obvious Mick was familiar with his surroundings and knew exactly where he was going. Carrying the red kit bag he’d brought from the car, he led her up a highly polished wooden staircase to the second floor, flung open a pair of solid double-doors and announced, “The playroom.”

Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She tried to back out of the room, but Mick held her leash firmly. “Where are you going, my lovely pleasure slave?” he murmured. “Change your mind already?”

In the depths of his eyes she read his wicked intent.

She tore her gaze away and looked around her. Jutting out from one of the corners of the large room was a huge wrought-iron bed, bolted to the floor. Everywhere, chains of diverse length dangled from the ceiling. Various pieces of wooden and metal apparati where a person could be tied up were placed all around the remaining space.

Giant, square video monitors were mounted in the center of each of the walls, and around them hung a clutter of clothes, jewelry, and dozens of every imaginable type of restraints, whips, paddles, handcuffs, feathers, quirts...and a large number of items she had no idea what were. Along a low shelf marched an awesome array of packaged items: dildos, vibrators, sex toys, and mysterious bottles of liquids.

Playroom? This was a
bondage dungeon
.

Fear welled up inside her. No, not of Mick, but of all...this. Things were going way too fast. Yes, she wanted Mick desperately. And she’d already acknowledged to herself that she enjoyed the edgy fantasies and outrageous sexual acts he had compelled her into experiencing with him.

But this was different.

If she consented to this, she would be tied up or strapped down and helpless against anything he wished to do to her.

Anything at all.

I’ll be the Teddie Killer...

A vision of Mick’s face as he’d told her he was too dangerous to love blazed through her mind.

Could she trust her own judgment, that he would never hurt her? That he would stop when she shouted “Detective” if he went too far?

And just how far was too far?

Completely unnerved, she managed to whisper, “What will you do to me?”

Mick tossed his kit bag under a sink in the corner, then stepped close to her, put his hands on her bare skin and ran them over her body slowly, caressingly.

“Anything I want.”

She shivered.
She
wanted to run like hell. But some indefinable thing within her soul stopped her. Something ravenous and, yes, needy.
For him
.

He rubbed the backs of his fingers over the tips of her breasts, catching the nipples between his knuckles. “Scared yet?”

He squeezed. Streaks of lightning shot through her from his fingers to her clit.

“Yes,” she admitted. She wanted to run so badly she couldn’t understand why her feet simply refused to let her.

“Good.”

God.
Because she wanted this
. Wanted to experience what it would be like to be completely in another person’s power.

In
Mick’s
power.

Something deep and dark within her trembled violently, a tiny voice asking,
do you really trust him
? Do you trust him with your body?
With your life
?

Yes
, she answered.
She did
.

“This way.” He took her arm and led her to a door in the corner.

“Ladies lounge,” he said. “Get ready for a long night.” He tipped her chin up. “I want you in scarlet lipstick. There should be matching nipple rouge. Use it.”

She swallowed, fighting down her panic over her decision—one he’d given her no time to consider. “I’ve never—”

He cut her off. “You have ten minutes to prepare yourself.”

The door snicked shut behind him and she found herself alone in the opulent bathroom. It took her a full minute to gather herself enough to move, another five to hurriedly freshen up. That left two to locate the right shade of lipstick in a cabinet stocked with packages of new cosmetics and apply it. She knew if she didn’t obey Mick he’d punish her. The thought of all those instruments on the wall made her heart pound like thunder. What would he do?

She rooted shakily through the unfamiliar tubes and pots of erotic make-up to find nipple rouge. She’d just taken the wrapper off the correct color when Mick walked back in.

He looked different.

His latigo harness was gone, his chest bare. His skin gleamed as though rubbed with oil. He’d changed his pants, too. The conservative leather trousers had been replaced by a pair of black rawhide motorcycle chaps, meant to be worn over jeans. But under Mick’s chaps was just...Mick.

His genitals hung free between his legs, large and proud as a stallion’s. A thick band wound around the root of his balls; a network of narrow, studded straps caged the length of his penis. Already thick, it began to stir at the sight of her.

“Defying me so soon?” he asked.

She shook her head, dragged her gaze from his rising cock, saw him looking at her breasts.

“No!” she rushed to say. “I— I—” She held up the small pot of scarlet paste.

He indicated the mirror. “Go ahead.”

She turned to the glass, opened the jar, tried to still the shaking of her hands. “I don’t— I’m not—”

“Shall I do it for you?”

Her voice cracked when she whispered, “Yes.”

He came up behind her, close, close. The rough, split-cowhide of his chaps scratched against her bottom and the backs of her thighs, catching on her silky thigh-high stockings. They’d be ruined. She didn’t care.

He put his arms around her waist, eased the paint pot from her trembling fingers. His stiff shaft eased into the cleft between her buttocks; the round metal studs on the cock strap poked into her sensitive flesh. He was hot as a brand, thick as the double barrel of a shotgun. Her backside tingled with frenzied excitement, eager for its probing.

She wriggled forward to escape the unfamiliar, embarrassing feelings.

He pulled her back. And held her fast.

It reminded her of when he’d held her at the crime scene, just like this, when she was puking. Even in her misery she’d been acutely aware of his hard body pressed up against her spine, had felt the unyielding ridge of the erection he’d pretended he didn’t have. And wanted nothing more than to have him shove it into her.

“Tonight you’ll deny me nothing,” he said, and spread a dollop of scarlet on the tip of one nipple, then the other.

She quaked. And knew he was right. “N-No.”

“No, what?”

“No...Sir.”

He grunted and plucked a short-bristled paintbrush from the counter, held it just over a nipple. He looked at her in the mirror, making certain she was watching. He rubbed his cock deeper into her cleft, up and down, then touched the tip of the brush to her areole. An agony of bristly pleasure burst through her as he stroked it around and around her pink nipple, turning it the color of a bullfighter’s cape.

He reloaded and started on the other. She sobbed out her breath. “Mick, please...”

His eyes flicked to hers. “Stop?”

“No.”

“What, then?” The brush tickled over her, back and forth, around and around. The words froze in her throat.

He considered his artwork in the mirror, turned her to face him. “You have such pretty nipples. But you’re so excited, they’re half their normal size. I think I’ll make them bigger.”

He sat her on the cold counter, dipped his brush, leaned over and worked on her breasts with delicate strokes like an artist at a canvas, enlarging the appearance of her areolae. It was all she could do to sit still.

“You’ve done this before,” she said breathlessly, pique overtaking fear.

“Once or twice.”

“With your friend Su?”

He inspected her again, then gently blew on her breasts. “Su and I aren’t lovers.”

“Just friends,” she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“No. She’s my teacher. Hold still.”

He smeared a sweet-smelling gloss over her reddened nipples, eliciting a moan. “What’s that stuff?”

“To set the color. So it won’t lick off.”

She groaned in anticipation. “But you’ll try, I hope.”

“Stand up.” She did as she was told. “Bend over and grab the edge of the counter.”

She did that, too, watching his reflection behind her. This position never failed to fill her with lust. Make her want the man standing behind her to—

He pushed her feet far apart with a boot, spreading her legs wide.

“What does she teach you?” she asked, partly to distract herself, so she wouldn’t beg.

He slid his fingers between her legs, and into her. “She’s a dominatrix,” he said, shocking her.

His fingers probed her deeply, and pulled out the small vibrator. Then he fisted his cock and slid it slowly, deliberately, inside her. She moaned in instant pleasure. The cool bumps of the metal studs and the crisscrossing leather bands scraped into her with strange, erotic sensation.

“You let her whip you?” she managed.

He hilted roughly, making her cry out in a storm of pleasure-pain.

“No. She lets me watch.”

She gripped the counter, white-knuckled, struggling to hang onto her concentration. Because she sensed this was important. “Watch what?”

He pulled out, pushed back in. She groaned deeply, her focus beginning to crumble.
So good
.

He withdrew completely and her empty passage throbbed with loss. She instinctively moved to follow, but his hand on her spine prevented her from straightening.

“I watch while she disciplines her clients,” he said, jerking her back to the subject of his teacher.

“Why?” she asked, bent at the waist, clutching the counter, her derrière presented to him as she dreaded his answer. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings, awaiting the pleasure of his whim. Awaiting the words she knew were coming.

“So I can learn,” he said. “To be a good Master to you.”

Her heart zinged and her body felt suddenly weightless, swept through with an overwhelming feeling of inevitability.

Unless he’s been trained as a Master...

“For me?”

“You knew,” he said. “All along you knew. You saw me watching you. Waiting. Knowing one day you would belong to me, body and soul. And now you do. You’re mine, Caro. To do with as I will.”

Terror streaked through her heart. Along with a sense of rightness. Frightening, petrifying rightness.

“Do you trust me, Caro?”

She wanted to cry. “Yes. I trust you. You know I do.” Her knees were like liquid.

“That’s good,” he said again. “But I’m going to make you prove it to me.”

“H-How—?”

He picked up a tube from the counter and squirted some of its contents into the valley of her bottom, then slid the small vibrator through it, up and down, soaking it with lubricant, spreading the slickness through her cleft.