TiedandTwisted (2 page)

Chapter Two

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

Music vibrated from the walls and leather pounded flesh.
When the man was good with his arm and had enough stamina to maintain a steady
rhythm, the two sounds twined around each other and became one. Tonight, the
Dom was neither good nor able to last. The second time the tongue of his riding
crop struck behind her left knee, Jovanna gasped and gave her signal for the
man to stop. Two more blows fell before club staff interceded and made the man
back down.

Spread-eagle and bound, she didn’t bother to swallow a growl
of frustration. A night at Bondage was supposed to be her escape, pleasure and
pain to distract her from the break-in, a release of hormones to help her sleep
after two nights of wondering whether Paul had hired someone to come after her.
Now, however, the only release she craved was release from the braces pinning
her wrists and ankles to the ceiling and floor.

Mikal, the handler assigned to her care, stepped in front of
her, close enough to be heard over the music. “Someone else is asking to play
you. Do you want to try once more?”

Jovanna exhaled. She couldn’t see the “someone else” in her
limited field of vision. Usually appearance didn’t matter and she preferred
anonymity, hence her arrival at Bondage alone and her request for one of the
submissive handlers to see to her safety and care. Her request specifically for
Mikal, whose dark, Scandinavian good looks and intimidating build kept most
newbies at bay and the cockier tops in line.

Tonight her patience wore thin and need wound tight around
her good manners, pushing the edges of her willingness to bottom for just
anybody. Too bad Mikal didn’t play. Despite his apparent distance from the
activities of the club, she sensed an aggressive need behind his green eyes.
He
would do very well with a whip. “Is he capable?”

“Yes. I’ve seen him work. He’s not new.” Mikal glowered. “I
apologize for the last one. He’s a guest of a member. He won’t be readmitted.”

“I’ll stay.” After months of building her relationship with
Mikal, she trusted his judgment. He’d served her before and proven his
experience on more than one occasion. That experience manifested in the bottled
water and straw he produced after she gave her consent. Jovanna sipped
carefully, enough but not too much, before he took the bottle and backed away.

Eyes closed, she drew several deep breaths and tried to
force herself to relax. The music, heavy drum beats and bass lines without
lyrics, should have provided a focus. Just as she found a pattern for her
breathing, she sensed movement behind her, low to the ground. Warm, confident
hands settled above her ankles and began to knead her calf muscles. She tensed,
surprised by the new Dom’s approach. In response, he worked her muscles more
deliberately.

Strong fingers dug deep into the tightest knots she’d
acquired during her earlier brief session. He gentled behind her knees, careful
with what must be a nasty welt after the previous top’s wildly misplaced blow,
and was less gentle with the long muscles of her thighs. His hands were
decidedly rough by the time he reached her ass. He squeezed and separated her
cheeks, revealing the cotton strip of her navy blue thong. Her chin dropped to
her chest as thrill shot back through the limbs he’d just loosened.

She hadn’t come to Bondage for fucking, but when the pad of
his thumb pressed against her through the thin cotton, the rhythm of the music
became something else—hard, deep, an echo of the pace he would set as he thrust
into her. Her nipples tightened beneath the backless halter she wore to cover
her breasts. Her pussy fluttered and creamed. Goosebumps spread across her skin
as if he’d already worked through the ring of muscle he massaged, as if he’d
already settled deep in her ass.

But he hadn’t. She’d specified no sex and Mikal would see to
it that her rules were followed. The man behind her worked his thumbs up to the
small of her back and grasped her waist, gripping lightly as he stood. The
cotton of his shirt whispered across her skin and his body heat warmed her
shoulder blades.

“What are you looking for?” he murmured. “Oblivion or
clarity?”

Despite his warmth, a shiver tickled down her spine. Cool
fingers of déjà vu followed the shiver. Something was familiar—not the words.
She knew nobody had ever asked after her desires with such insight before.
Something, though. Maybe the way he stood behind her, promising and protective.
Jovanna turned her head toward him. He remained out of sight, nothing more than
a body behind her and a shoulder in her peripheral vision.

She moistened her lips. “Oblivion. Can you deliver?”

Calloused fingertips traced the curve of her jaw. “You don’t
have to challenge me, sweetheart. Delivery was my intention all along.”

He spoke in low tones, his breath hot at the curve of her
neck. Jovanna swallowed and bowed her head without another word. Submissive.
Consenting. He tucked her hair behind her ear and stepped away.

Anticipation began as a small, hard knot in her stomach.
While he chose his tools and his position, the knot grew, bigger and bigger,
until it throbbed behind her ribs. The pounding bass of the music slid over her
easily now, its rhythm coaxing her thudding heart into the same pace.

His first strike landed unexpected but welcome, solid across
the cushion of her ass. Jovanna bowed her spine, shoved her hips back for more.
He played with her but didn’t tease. Instead, he drew a deliberate pattern of
lashes across her skin—hard, solid blows for the larger muscles, light taps for
more sensitive spots.

She appreciated that he established a pattern. There was
something to be said for the element of surprise but she didn’t want to be
alert. She wanted to sink into it, float free in the ache. Over and over, he
brought the tongues of the flogger down on her skin. His arm didn’t falter and
she lost track of his pattern. Her muscles remembered well enough to liberate
her conscious self, however, and the club’s music dulled to a hum in the back
of her mind, its bass lines swallowed by the whoosh of air and rewarding burn
behind her.

Liberated from external concerns, her focus shifted. The
Dom’s strikes penetrated deeper than skin and vibrated toward her physical
center. Each blow delivered a ripple of sensation, tiny shocks connecting with
her clit. She strained to squeeze her thighs together but the ankle restraints
held her in place, spread-eagle and without the pressure she needed for
release. A light slap landed across the front of her thigh. Jovanna jerked,
surprised by the change in his pattern.

“Enough?” he asked from behind. His palm slid across her
stomach.

Jovanna swallowed. She didn’t want their session to end,
but— “I want to come,” she managed.

“Want or need?”

The intimate rumble of his voice at her ear eased her back
into the fuzzy, vibrating headspace she’d discovered. She relaxed against the
solid presence of his chest and dropped her chin to her chest. Throat dry, she
whispered, “Need.”

Somehow he heard. Or read the shape of the word on her lips.
Jovanna didn’t care how he picked up on her response. She only cared that his
touch glided lower and long fingers fanned across the triangle of her panties.
Off to her right, a large, dark figure stirred. Mikal. She shook her head
slightly to warn him away. Her rule was no sex, not no hands. She wanted her Dom’s
hands, tilted her hips until the lips of her pussy pushed into his touch and
the ripples of sensation gathered into a bright starburst of pleasure.

Her entire body bowed for the rush, so sweet and deep it
dragged her back into the floating space she’d found at the end of his flogger.
The cuffs that secured her ankles and wrists bit into her flesh. The small pain
added yet another layer of texture and she embraced it, sucked it in on gasping
breaths.

Awareness returned gradually, with her pussy still throbbing
and her muscles quivering. She blinked at the club logo embroidered on the
collar of the black polo shirt in front of her eyes. Mikal reached above her to
free her wrists from the overhead bonds and caught her when her muscles failed
to hold her upright.

“It’s over?” She sagged against the handler’s chest while he
wrapped her in a thick, soft blanket. But she knew the answer.
He
was
gone and she missed him, wanted his soothing hands instead of Mikal’s
impersonal touch. Her skin continued to pulse along with her clit nerve endings
still reacting to the slap of leather and the squeeze of a strong hand. Her
head and her body were operating on different levels.

Mikal said something in reply, his bass voice low and
comforting. Experienced and good at his job. He led her from the scene and into
a small, dimly lit room with a couch. Jovanna tried to catch a glimpse of her
scene partner but Mikal’s efficiency aborted her dazed visual investigation. He
bundled her onto the couch with the blanket and a bottle of water and started
rubbing her down in silence.

“It’s Friday,” he said. “You’re at Bondage.”

“Yeah.” Eyes closed, she nodded to signal awareness of her
surroundings. Soon she relaxed into his soothing, impersonal touch. Against her
better judgment, she asked, “Do you know who he is?”

His hands paused on her calves. “You’ve never asked before,
Jo.”

She shrugged and drew the blanket more securely about her
shoulders. “Never been worth asking before.”

Mikal hesitated before saying, “If you still want to know tomorrow,
I’ll tell you then. Decide when you’re back in your own head.”

Solid advice. She should take it. Still… “Will you send a
note for me?”

* * * * *

No names, no penetration. Complete anonymity. No aftercare.
Those were the rules set forth by the staff member assigned to Jovanna’s
safety. If he wanted to play, he had to agree to the rules.

He’d wanted to play.

From the moment he’d noticed the climbing ivy vine inked up
her left leg from ankle to knee, he’d known her identity. His cock had hardened
instantly. Yeah, he’d wanted to play. Bad enough to agree to the rules.

Keeping his word as he walked away with the image of some
other man bringing her out of subspace—

“Hell,” he muttered into the narrow mouth of his beer
bottle. Walking away had been hell.

Across the narrow cocktail table, his friend and club
manager Sam Fletcher chuckled. “Does someone need a pass to the Blue Suite?”

David briefly glanced up at the balcony overlooking the
social area of the club. Blue bulbs in the light fixtures gave the private
section of the club its name. A few men lingered together against the rail but
the real attraction of the Blue Suite lay in the shadowed rooms that opened off
the balcony. Each room held a willing, eager bottom tied up and waiting in
hopes of being fucked. Preferably by a stranger.

“Does she ever go up there?” Images of Jovanna spread out
with her ass in the air, her pussy wet and open, jacked him up to a new state
of arousal. He’d been uncomfortable before. Now the stiff ridge of his cock
crossed the line into painful.