Wild Licks (10 page)

“Chuffed? That means happy, right?”

He chuckled. “Yes, sorry. I try to speak American but sometimes I fail.”

That made me laugh. “You never sound American to me.”

“Oh, but I've learned to say things like ‘in
the
hospital' and not to say words like motorway or”—he searched for a word—“telephone.”

“Telephone? That's perfectly American.”

He glanced at me. “I've never heard an American say
telephone
. You just say
phone
.
”

“Oh, hmm. That might be true.” I pointed to the fork ahead. “Try the left one this time.”

“Assuredly,” he said, and I laughed at how British that sounded.

“I get the feeling your parents were kind of controlling.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “You could say that. My father demanded strict obedience of everyone around him, staff, wife, and family alike. I can't say I took well to it. Being forced to go fox hunting was mild compared to his efforts to get me to date the girls he chose for me.”

“Chose for you?”

“Yes. If I thought he was inhumane to the poor fox, you should have seen his attitude toward the young women he hoped to use as bargaining chips with their fathers.”

“Oh my goodness, you mean like arranged marriage?”

“I mean exactly that, except perhaps for the ones he wanted me to woo until he secured whatever he needed from their families and then he wanted me to break off the relationship in order to get some other man like him to dangle his daughter in front of me. Sordid. The entire idea is sordid.”

Hmm. Perhaps I understood a little better where his aversion to dating heiresses came from, even if it really didn't apply in my case. Maybe I should hint to him just how different things were in my own family. “I'm at the opposite extreme. My father's barely taken any interest in my relationships.” I wondered if I should tell him about the dungeon in the basement, too. Now wasn't the time for that, though. We had a formal process about inviting and initiating people into the secret that was the Governor's Club. We were on the highway toward the city by then, and I decided maybe we should switch to some safer subjects. “So how is the album recording going?” I asked. “That's what you guys are up to, right?”

He shook his head. His hair was loose and I wondered if he'd object to me running my fingers through it—later, when he wasn't driving. “We haven't begun recording yet. We're still rehearsing and writing material. I don't want to enter the studio with a producer until I'm happy with what we've got to show him.”

“Ah. So you're something of a perfectionist?”

“No,” he said, but I had a feeling it was an obligatory denial. “I know when we sit down with the producer, their urge is always to make a lot of changes. My hope is if the songs sound truly outstanding, they'll leave them alone.”

“But isn't the producer kind of like the director on a film? He—or she—isn't the writer or actors but oversees how the whole thing comes out?”

Mal shuddered. “Unfortunately, yes. While I appreciate a professional whose job it is to ensure we sound our best, I'm also aware that their priorities and ours may clash.”

I realized if I kept asking him questions, he'd keep talking and that would give me an excuse to keep looking at him. He had a sharp chin and cheekbones but a sensuous mouth and gorgeous eyes. “How can your priorities clash?”

“Ours is to express ourselves through music. Theirs is to make the corporate overlords happy. When these two things can be accomplished by the same action, it's a harmonious relationship. When they cannot, it's a living hell.”

“Was the last album harmonious?”

“After we fired one producer and got another one.” Mal gritted his teeth. “My doing, mostly. It's usually me who argues with them the most.”

“I never would have guessed,” I said, teasing him gently. I was pleased to see he gave a self-deprecating smile, his long, glossy hair sliding over his shoulder as he dipped his head. “It's excellent you care so passionately about the music.”

“Maybe it's the one blessing from growing up in a well-heeled family,” he said. “I can make my decisions based on the purity of the music and not on money. I mean, of course I want the band to succeed, but we have to succeed artistically for me to be happy.”

“That makes perfect sense.” We lapsed into silence while I thought about what that must be like, pouring so much of yourself into a project and not knowing if it was going to succeed or fail. Maybe if I got some decent roles in films I'd find out.

“And how have you been, since our last date?” he asked. It had the ring of another of those etiquette school questions. I supposed he'd been taught to draw a conversation partner out by inviting her to talk about herself if she fell silent.

“Pretty good,” I said. “I've been doing some soul-searching about my career, and I'm still figuring out what I want.”

“Oh?” He glanced at me. When I didn't answer right away, he prompted, “Soul-searching?”

“Yes, about my as-yet-nonexistent career in acting,” I said with a sigh.

“Ah. I would think you are ideally suited to succeed in that endeavor,” he said.

“I know. Blond, skinny, and well connected.” I held in the urge to shrug. “I had a wonderful time doing theater at school and summer stock plays, that kind of thing. I really enjoy acting. But I feel like using my family name to get roles is…cheating.”

“Ah,” he said with an understanding nod. “Because then you'll never know if they believe in your artistic merits.”

“Exactly! Oh my gosh, exactly.” Why couldn't Ricki understand that? I was so relieved that someone did. “So far no one has really believed in my merits anyway, since I still haven't gotten a part.”

He cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably. “You do realize if we keep doing this, keeping your identity a secret will be impossible.”

Adrenaline surged through me as I thought for a second he was referring to “Excrucia”—had he figured it out? But when I didn't answer immediately, he went on and made it clear that wasn't what he meant.

“If we continue to be seen and photographed together, your face will become well known. Even if you audition under an assumed name, they'll know who you are.”

“I know, I know.” I settled myself back in the bucket seat, trying to restore calm. “I think I've resigned myself to giving up.”

“Being an actress?” He sounded alarmed.

“No, no, I mean giving up trying to keep it a secret. After all, if I got a big role, that would let the cat out of the bag anyway, right? I'll still use a stage name, but I guess I better start working my family connections. I just filmed a promo video for my sister's media development company, so that's going to put my face out there, too.”

“Any director would be a fool not to hire you,” Mal said with an edge of protective vehemence in his voice I didn't expect.

“Oh, you know, half the time they think they know who they want for a role anyway, and no matter how good you are if you don't match what they have in mind, you've got no chance.”

He wasn't dissuaded. “They simply don't know talent or beauty when they see it.”

I found myself blushing and looking out the window. Mal had just called me beautiful and talented. I was starting to think he really liked me.

My heart was aflutter. But did he know the real me? He did but he didn't. I was suddenly afraid that telling him I was Excrucia was going to derail what felt like…something. Something I dearly wanted but didn't dare hope for.

The Hingham party would have been a difficult chore without Gwen by my side. Instead the evening was an unexpected pleasure. Gwen was charming and funny and even when she tried to put on a suave, sophisticated air, somehow her nerdy bluntness was never entirely suppressed, making her a delight—and a different kind of torment. I found myself making excuses to touch her, to shepherd her away from photographers with an arm around her shoulders, to help her down to the dance floor with a hand in hers.

I was not a fan of the music they were playing, but I was a fan of dancing with Gwen. I ignored the exhortations of the DJ to do whatever dance moves were being dictated, and pulled her waist against mine and twirled her as I liked. Seeing her smile with delight, knowing that my touch brought her a moment of euphoria: These are the bright moments of life, the moments worth living for.

They were a torment for me nonetheless, knowing that tonight I would go unfulfilled, having explicitly told her that our relationship could not be sexual. She had accepted the terms. If I were to make a move on her now, I'd be violating her expectations. No doubt the reason she was being so flirtatious tonight was that she felt safe in inflaming me, knowing that I would keep myself in check.

The time to let the Need rage would be at our next tryst. If she knew that I knew her identity, then that was where she would expect this raging ball of lust growing in my center to be directed. And if she didn't know? Well, that was where it should be directed in any case. That and into some very aggressive songs.

As I drove her home, I found myself seething with lust and burning with a dark rage that I fought to keep buried deep. This was the very rage that I needed most to protect her from, the destructive urge that always rose eventually if lust burned long enough or hot enough. I toyed with the idea of unmasking her, bringing it all into the open, and then burying myself in her as the only way to quench that flame. She would submit to my demands, I was sure. But no. That was exactly how I had pushed too far, too fast in the past. No one should merely be a repository for a lover's poisonous emotions—no one you truly care about, anyway.

I pulled up to the mansion feeling badly that I'd turned so stiff and cold to her on the drive home, that my good-bye was so awkwardly delivered. She patted me on the arm as if to say it was all right and then exited the car.

I rolled down my window. “Gwen.”

She came around to my side of the car. “Yes, Mal?”

I lost my mind. I grabbed her by her suede vest and jerked her mouth to mine, half biting her lips in a kiss so rough it provoked a whimper from her.

By all gods and monsters, had I gone insane? I pushed her back from the car and sped away in a squeal of tires and smoke.

I stumbled into the house, giddy from the kiss and wondering just what was going on inside the dark and twisted mind of Mal Kenneally.
It's so obvious he wants me. Me, right? Not just some groupie?

After the giddiness wore off, however, I started to have my doubts. Maybe he was just impulsive with all women. Maybe he couldn't help himself. Maybe it had nothing to do with me and Mal was simply a lustful cockmonster.

If so, he was the lustful cockmonster I couldn't wait to hear from. At the Beach Bash he'd said “next week,” so I knew he'd be contacting me soon, and a few days later Excrucia got an e-mail from him.

The message came on Wednesday afternoon. I'd been sitting in the gazebo, looking through audition listings online on my tablet when I saw the alert pop-up indicating that Excrucia had mail.

I forced myself to go into the house, put my glass in the sink, and then walk slowly to my wing of the mansion. I wanted to run and slam the door and dive into bed to read it, but I didn't want anyone to think something was up. A couple of servants were around, as was Ricki. So I tried to act normal until I got on my side of the door.

Then I dove into bed and logged into the Excrucia e-mail account.

Attached was a map to a hotel in Los Angeles and a room number. I sent back a “yes” immediately and then realized I had better check my calendar. It was clear, thankfully.

I hurried to the bookshelf in my bedroom to look for the book where Excrucia battles the Linder Mage. It had been years since I'd read them and some of the books were missing. I bought the whole set in ebook format.

The scene I was looking for was in book three. Excrucia at that point has been studying magic, but because of her past as a concubine, she's treated poorly by the other women studying with her. When they are attacked by the mages of a more powerful school, she is chosen to be a sacrifice, sent to the Linder Mage as a tribute.

I had to search for the actual description of what the women wore and when I found it, I had to read it twice. Was this really what I read as a kid? “From a chain around her waist hung a cunning contraption of silverine, allowing for the passage of necessary wastes but preventing the entry of any intrusion into her sacred space other than the contraption itself. A wrap of the finest silk encircled her hips and loins and another her chest and shoulders, with a short cloak covering it all, exposing only her bare knees down to her feet.” As a child, I'd read “her sacred space” as merely the area between her legs but reading it now I realized a chastity device had been inserted into her.

And what was
silverine
? In the books it was a metal forged with magic. I Googled chastity devices and decided chrome or stainless steel would have to do. I would need a fire-engine-red wig, too, and some colored contact lenses. Time for some shopping, quick.

The hotel was upscale but out of the way and very private. I pulled into an underground garage and took the elevator up to the front desk where they had an envelope waiting for me. I felt a little like a hooker taking the envelope, which clearly held a hotel key, while carrying my bag of clothes for sex. Well, Excrucia had been a concubine, right?

Upstairs was a bland but large hotel suite. One wall was glass overlooking the valley and the curtains were all the way open. I closed them in case someone, anyone, could see in and looked around a bit more. I recognized the leather bag on the couch as Mal's, but I didn't dare touch it. There were no obvious ropes or bondage cuffs attached to the bed or anything like that.

It wasn't quite ten. I got out the pieces of my costume and spread them out on the bed, but I wasn't ready to put it on yet. Everything I had read about the chastity device said it
should
be comfortable to wear for long periods of time, but I still wanted to wait to put it in. The insertion piece was a chrome ball on the end of a short stalk that jutted up from a metal piece that ran between my legs. The ends had loops for a leather harness to go through, but I'd improvised with some chains and clips (thank you, pet store) that fit over my hips. The whole effect when I was wearing it was that I had on a stainless steel thong.

I got out of my clothes and paced up and down nervously. What was he going to make me do? Was he going to be cruel like the villainous Linder Mage? The sex all took place offscreen in that book, but it was strongly implied.

I reminded myself of our deal. I'd get all the sex I wanted if I agreed to his price of pain.

Nnnnnf.
Just thinking about it was making me wet. Maybe it was time to put the chastity device in after all.

I went to the bathroom to put it on and didn't even need the bottle of lube I had brought. All I needed was to think about Mal being cruel to me and my insides were gushing.
I know this fixation on pain probably isn't healthy,
I thought,
but damn it feels good.

And the chrome ball felt very good going into place.

I wrapped the long scarves of silk I'd bought around me, one like a sarong and one around my breasts a couple of times and then tucked in. Nothing too fancy. And then I put on the cape. That had been the hardest part to find, but I'd ended up with what had once been part of a nurse uniform.

Then I paced around again. He hadn't said where I should be in the room. Should I be standing, sitting, or kneeling? I checked the book again.

Excrucia had been sent to the tower to await him. As she sank to her knees, a great calm descended as she surrendered herself to her fate.

Kneeling, then. I knelt on the rug near the couch, facing the door, but a great calm did not descend over me. This position pushed the chrome ball farther up inside me and if I rocked my hips slowly, I could give myself a deep, sensual stimulation.

So much for “chastity.”

I fell into a slow rhythm of it, hypnotizing myself with it, until I was shocked to hear the click and hum of the door lock engaging. I glanced at the clock.

Midnight. He was right on time.

I forgot I had intended to bow my head as he entered. Mal stormed into the room, a vision of fury, head to toe in leather, a shiny medieval-looking dagger in his hand. Had I not been so aroused, he would have looked terrifying. Instead, he looked gorgeous and my mouth hung open in awe.

“Witch,” he spat, and hauled me onto the bed by the collar of the cape. The button broke as he threw me down and he tossed the cape away, leaving me covered only by thin silk. Though he never broke character, I could see the way his eyes swept up and down my skin and that he liked what he saw. “Temptress. Spy. You think I'll succumb to your charms?”

My mind raced. This wasn't in the book. This was what went on behind closed doors. I wondered how many times Mal had fantasized about this and whether I could live up to that fantasy. I raised my chin. “I am yours to do with as you will.”

“We'll see about that.” He tore the silk off me with his hands and then held the point of the dagger to my throat while he pretended to examine my skin. “You have no mark of evil on you.”

No, I had goose bumps from the air on my bare flesh and the way his tongue darted out to touch his lips as he looked at me hungrily. “The magic we practice is not evil. It's the same as yours, only we're women,” I improvised.

“If that's so, then why are you caged thus?” He tapped the dagger against the metal of the chastity belt.

“That is to keep any interloper from entering where he is not invited.”

He tugged on the chain, making the metal of the device rub against my clit. “Then tell me, Witch, am I invited?”

“I told you. I have been given to you. The device is yours to remove or to leave as you wish.”

He sneered. “Perhaps I shall leave it in place until I am convinced you harbor no demons under your skin. Lie flat. Arms out. Legs wide. Make any move to cover yourself or close your legs and I will throw you from the tower.”

Oh yes. His commands affected me as strongly, maybe even stronger, as they had the last two times, sending waves of desire deep into my center. God, I wanted him. I spread myself in answer, wondering if I was about to feel his belt again or what. But he unzipped the leather duffel bag and drew out a suede flogger. I felt almost relieved seeing such a familiar sight. We had lots of them in the dungeon, and Madison had tested a few of them out on me for fun. Suede wasn't particularly challenging—in fact, it could be quite soothing.

He swung the tails in an even rhythm, covering my breasts, my belly, and my thighs with blows—
thwap, thwap, thwap
—a pleasurable sensation overall, waking up my skin and senses. I sank into the rhythm, letting the blows rain down on me without resisting.

When he stopped, it felt like all my skin was throbbing. I arched upward with a gasp as he ran his fingernails down my breastbone and stomach—they were sharp! When I looked in surprise, he twirled his fingers before my eyes—each was tipped with a shiny metal claw.

He then dragged the claws all over my sensitized skin, down the insides of my thighs and around my swollen breasts, pausing to pinch teasingly with the needle-sharp tip against each nipple. It was like knife play, only more sensual, and I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into a lust-addled haze.

Suddenly another flogger sound drew my attention half a moment before the tails—these of hardened leather—bit into my inner thigh. I screamed. Each of these was as painful as the end of his belt had been last week, but they hit all at once.

But I remembered his command not to cover myself or protect myself. The flogger bit again, this time closer to my snatch. And closer and closer. I knew what was coming. He was going to whip me right on my swollen clit and pussy, like he had with his belt, only this time I was even more exposed.

In fact, he didn't feel I was exposed enough. “Bend your knees and put the bottoms of your feet together.”

Now I was wide open. Except for the chastity device. I was almost thankful for the metal that shielded my clit and inner labia from the worst stings. It was probably the only reason I was able to stand it.

When Mal said pain, he meant pain. The thought was surprisingly freeing. He wasn't expecting me to beg for it, nor for mercy. He was expecting me to take it because that was our agreement. I loved it, loved how the burn of each stroke seemed to leave my whole heart and soul on fire, yearning for him.

“No sign of demons yet,” he said with a growl as he tossed the flogger aside. I felt the sharp tip of one steel claw tapping against the chastity device. “Remove this.”

I unclipped the chains and slid the metal free of my body. He took it from me and laid it aside. When he returned, he gestured for me to spread my knees again.

And began flicking a sharp claw up and down on my clit. I sucked in a breath, caught between how much it hurt and how aroused it was making me. I was surging up my arousal scale to a whole new measure, it felt like.

“Are you going to come?” he asked, his voice hard and almost scientific.

“Y-yes! I think so—” I had barely finished saying that when my words turned to a long wail of release. I rode his hand as he ground his knuckles against me, letting me eke out every last shudder of pleasure.

When I opened my eyes, he was staring down at me as if entranced.

“It would appear you have driven a demon from me, my lord,” I said.

He blinked, remembering the scenario. “Indeed. But I remain concerned that one still lurks deep within you. Spread your legs again. I must examine you.”

I lay back again and opened my knees. This time he attached four clips to my labia and stretched them open by clipping the other end of each chain to one of my nipples or my inner thigh. The clips bit into my skin at first with a pinching sensation but the feeling soon turned to a deep ache.

He fingered me first, then held up the dagger in front of me. I swallowed and he gave a small nod, as if reminding me he'd promised no permanent damage. He ran a finger along the edge of the dagger, showing me that despite how wicked it looked, it was blunt.

He slid it into me, his gaze boring into mine as he pushed it inch by inch into me, and then with his fist around the blade, he fucked me with it. It was one of the hottest things I had ever done in my life and I think if he'd been touching my clit I would have come again right then.

Then he pulled the blade free and licked my juices from it.

Hotttt
. I desperately wanted to slip my hand between my legs and rub my clit.

He unbuckled the leather vest armor he was wearing and shrugged it off, baring his chest, and then unzipped his leather pants but didn't take them off. “Only one way to really get deep inside you,” he said, sounding somewhat breathless, more like Mal and less like a character.

I nodded in reply, praying that he would take the clips off before fucking me.

I almost got my wish. He rolled on a condom and penetrated me with the head of his cock first. And then he tore away the clips, which hurt like a motherfucker. But the moment he tore them away, he drove all the way into me and began banging me hard and deep. Is it any wonder that pain and pleasure were all mixed together in my mind?

Everywhere the clips had been touching me was pure agony, while his cock driving into me was pure pleasure, and my overworked nerves counted it all as one.