Wild Licks (17 page)

“Mal, holy shit. Seriously?”

I nodded. After she was committed, I'd left for the United States and hadn't spoken to my own father since. Axel had been at university and I'd slept on his floor for a couple of weeks until I sorted a place to stay. “She used to drop hints to me all the time about breath play. I have to wonder if she had a death wish the entire time.”

“That's just…not healthy.”

“No,” I agreed. I had been looking at the beer bottle but I forced myself to raise my eyes so he'd see how serious I was. “I avoid going that far or that deep again by avoiding repeat engagements. Or I had successfully avoided it until recently.”

“You think Gwen Hamilton is like that other girl?”

“Yes.” I felt a sudden urgency to be sure he knew I didn't wish to speak ill of Gwen, or even Risa. “Listen. It's not my way to air my private affairs, especially in sexual matters.”

“I guess you didn't leave all your British traditions behind, then,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

He was irritatingly correct, but I held fast.

“That's not what I'm trying to say, but yes, your silence would be appreciated. What I'm trying to say is just…what I've told you…I would normally never speak of.”

“And it's important to you that I know that?”

“Yes.” Hearing him put it that way did make it seem a bit silly that I felt he might judge my actions less harshly because I was a polite boy at heart. Stupid. “Anyway.”

Of course our food arrived just then and we had to pause to devour a large platter of things whose names I didn't even ask about, although Chino did explain that
trés marias
referred to the three different sauces. While we ate, my mind turned the Gwen question over and over: I had a gorgeous woman at my beck and call, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do with her. Lock her in a room and use her, toy with her, demand her obedience, and if she couldn't obey to compel compliance through force…except by all indications Gwen was completely willing to obey me. Was the problem that I wanted to see her both on my arm before the glitterati and over my knee? The problem was that love was no antidote for the damage that could result when her need for pain met my need to hurt—in fact, it was throwing more gasoline on the fire. By the end of the meal, I hadn't come to any new conclusions, but at least now my belly was full and that made me somewhat calmer than before.

“I told you there was good food to be had in this town,” Chino said when we were staring at the empty remains of our plates. He then ordered a second beer for me and a cup of coffee for himself.

“Thank you for that,” I said, and saluted him with the beer in my unbandaged hand.

“Now, you were saying.”

“Yes. I was saying.” Food and drink had mellowed me, which made it marginally easier to say. “Gwen and I have been playing a dangerous sexual game, and I broke things off with her before it went too far, but she's none too happy about it.”

“Well, Gwen seems more down to Earth than your Juliet, but you obviously know her better than I do. When you say dangerous, how dangerous?”

I was blunt. “I…set to fire her the other day.”

He seemed unfazed. “You mean like we did in the video for ‘Short Fuse'?”

“Yes and no. I used the same fire-play technique, but we also had a…mishap.” I held up my bandaged hand. “And it was nearly much worse.”

“I knew your story about burning yourself cooking didn't sound right.” Chino sipped his coffee, frowning slightly. “And you're worried it'll happen again, or worse?”

“Yes.” I hunched over my beer, staring into the dark hole of the brown bottle. “That's why I've decided we shouldn't go any further, but she's resisting my decision.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. You didn't think she'd have a problem with you unilaterally declaring that something you did together was over, without her input? Are you telling me you set it up so that you were the one ‘in charge'
all the time
, not just in the dom/sub role-playing? You dictated everything in the relationship?”

“First of all, it wasn't a relationship—it was a sexual affair at best—and secondly, yes, because I'm the dom.” I held up my hand before he could jump down my throat. “And, yes, I'm not a complete idiot, I realize now—saying it aloud to you—how patently ridiculous that sounds.”

“Do you? I mean, help me out here, Mal. I'm not exactly a shining example of responsible commitment myself, so, you know, pot-kettle-black, but I really was under the impression that when people are into role-playing that there's a pretty firm delineation between when they're in a scene and when they're not. And when they're not, they're equals in the relationship. Right?”

“Right. But like I said, this wasn't a relationship.” Even as I said the words, I felt the lacerations in my heart, the yearning for a love I didn't dare admit. Instead I spoke the harsh necessity: “It was nothing more than a game.”

“And what is it now?”

“Over,” I said, and stood abruptly. “Game over.”

I tossed the hundred-dollar bill onto the table and stalked out.

Of course, a dramatic exit loses its impact somewhat when you have to wait for the other party to unlock the door of their SUV. Chino came out a few minutes later and we got in.

“So this might not be the right time to bring it up, but listen. If you're dead set on breaking it off with Gwen, I'm the last person who'll try to talk you out of it. But to get back to something we were talking about earlier, let me tell you, Mal, when you're in a mood, it's hard on all of us.”

I buckled my seat belt.

“Plus,” he went on, “how does this tie in with the fact that we're supposed to go to some kind of secret kinkster shindig at Ricki and Gwen's house?”

When the invitation to the orientation for the Governor's Club party had come, I'd accepted because at the time I had taken it to be an olive branch from Gwen, perhaps even an indication that she was moving on—that both of us should move on. A party would be the ideal situation for us both to find new play partners, would it not? But my optimism had been dimmed by her attempts to argue with me tonight. “I'll leave if Gwen can't control herself around me.”

“Okay, fine,” he said. “I'm basically saying, given what we've got on our plate right now with the album and laying down the new tracks, we need everybody working together. We can't all be tiptoeing around wondering when you're going to bite somebody's head off next.”

“I—” I couldn't really defend myself from that accusation. “I'm very passionate about what we do.”

“I know. We all know, which is why we stick with you. It's why we put up with your weird groupie shit, because when you're getting regular pussy, you're a hell of a lot easier to deal with.”

“What. Are. You talking about?” I kept my eyes on the road ahead of us instead of looking at him.

“Come on, Mal, seriously? The entire band and crew have a vested interest in making sure you get your rocks off. Whether that's with Gwen or some other way, you clearly need to be getting your freak on somehow. Mal, your sex life is unfortunately
all
of our business.”

It takes a lot to make me blush. But my cheeks felt hot and I wanted to crawl into a cave and hide. “Am I truly that difficult to get along with?”

He laughed. “Yes, Mal. You're the dragon we send the virgin sacrifices to so the rest of us don't get eaten.”

I gave Ricki the orientation checklist when we had lunch the day of the party. We were sitting at the kitchen table where we could grab a quick bite without the help of any staff. On party days they were all sent home early except for Jamison, who manned the door, and our security staff.

I pointed to the section on the paper about rope suspension. “I wasn't exactly sure what to put here.”

Ricki took a pen out of the caddy on the table and wrote something.

“What are you putting down?”

“That no one should try to use the suspension rig in the Inquisition Room without first having a one-on-one training session with an approved senior member, and there must be one monitor on duty during any scene.” She met my eyes over the top of the paper. “Though no one but me and Axel have dared to use it so far.”

“Well, this group is mostly older. You have to be kind of in good shape for rope suspension,” I said, knowing that probably wasn't the reason they avoided rope.

Ricki wrinkled her nose but didn't argue. We'd always known our mother had died in some kind of accident, but we hadn't learned that it was a bondage accident until several months ago. Ricki had been really shaken by it. I had a feeling a lot of the reason she and Axel had gotten into rope was that it was helping her work out her issues about it.

I hadn't felt the impact as hard because I didn't have any memories of our mother at all, really. When we'd found out, I'd already long since explored my kinky side. If anything, finding out my mother had been into bondage had given me something to feel kinship with her about, and it had validated my feelings a lot. You know, the acorn doesn't fall far from the oak.

But rope suspension wasn't particularly an interest of mine. Obviously there were safety concerns, too—not because rope suspension was so much more dangerous than other things, but because it would have seemed extra tragic if an accident were to occur, given the family history. I didn't like tempting fate.

Speaking of which: “So, we didn't have any rule at all concerning fire play, but I thought we should put one in prohibiting it.”

“Oh, has someone asked about doing it?”

“Um, no,” I lied. “I just saw a how-to on YouTube, and it seems to be getting popular.” Well, it wasn't a total lie: I actually had watched a YouTube video to find out more about it and concluded that generally speaking, Mal had done almost everything right. The way I remembered the accident, I'd kicked my leg and jostled his arm holding the flame and that's what had set my wig on fire. If we were ever going to do something like that again, I'd know not to wear a flammable wig and to keep still if I wasn't tied down.

But what were the chances I was going to convince Mal to get over himself enough to try it again? Slim, perhaps. He'd texted a terse message to me after the Breakwater party:
This event at your home: shall we be civil to one another?

I'd replied:
I plan to be the perfect hostess.

Two oddly sincere-seeming words had come back:
Thank you.

I took his request to mean I shouldn't harangue him about “us” the way I had at Breakwater's thing. Well, I had no intention of doing so. In fact, I'd resolved not to talk to him at all unless he talked to me first. Madison had agreed: playing hard to get was the oldest play in the playbook, but it was there for a reason.

“Make two copies of this, I guess, one for each of us?” Ricki suggested. “Then we'll, what, shred them after the orientation is done? Wouldn't want to have incriminating evidence lying around. Let's have Madison and Bradley go around with us, too, because they might think of things we forgot.”

“Sounds good. I'll update the file on my encrypted hard drive.” I took her notated version and went to make changes to it.

I called Madison while I was typing in the additions. Time to work on what we had in store for Mal, and it definitely did not involve speaking to him, though I sincerely hoped it sent a message.

“Did you read the book?” I asked her when she picked up the line.

Her voice was gleeful. “Oh my goodness, that was a book for kids?”

“Well, twenty years ago, I guess. What did you think?”

She laughed. “That was definitely the kinkiest thing I ever read outside of a porno shop. I mean, you had to read between the lines but there's so much implied.”

“I know. So what do you think? Can we do a scene with Excrucia and the Headmistress?”

“Oh, totally. There's the whole description of how the Headmistress has the two punishment floggers hanging over the doorway to the correction room. I have two floggers, a matched set, that'll work for that.”

“Awesome.” I sent my document to the printer. “You're sure you're okay with being a little more intense than we usually are? I mean, people are used to you and me playing, but, well,
playing
. As in playfully.”

“Gwen, no one in this crowd is going to be fazed by actual play-
acting
, least of all me. I mostly want to make sure it's okay with
you
.”

“I'm thinking of it like an audition scene, you know, to see if I can,” I told her. “I know I'm in good hands with you.”

Her laugh was warm and genuine. “I do love giving the husbands of the older couples something to break the ice and get them going. Their wives always thank me when we do, you know?”

“I know! This is going to be fun.” Good, clean fun. Maybe I'd find out that role-playing with other people was just as much fun as it was with Mal. Maybe the game of Let's Pretend was what really made things so intense, and I'd find that there was a way other than Mal to fill the aching gap in my chest.

Truthfully, that ache had only gotten worse since the last time we'd seen each other. You'd think seeing me healthy and unscarred would've calmed him down, but his text had made me think he was as defensive as ever.
At least he's coming to the party,
I thought. To me that meant there was hope.

Chino and I took separate cars to the Hamilton mansion but we arrived at the same time. While the butler drove Chino's vehicle down the drive to a parking area out of view from the front door, Ricki Hamilton showed us inside. She was in a blazer and pencil skirt looking almost like a stewardess from a vintage poster.

“I know you guys have been here before, but of course today Madison and I are going to show you a part of the mansion you haven't seen,” she said as she led us through the main foyer. “Mal, I know Axel's told you some but I'm going to pretend you know nothing, just to make sure I tell you everything I should.”

“That sounds like a solid plan.” I followed her to a door with a numeric keypad, Chino coming up just behind.

She punched a four-digit code too quickly for us to see and then opened the door to a stairwell downward. “This door is always locked from upstairs but unlocked from downstairs, so you can always exit if you need to, but if you need reentry, you'll need to page us to come let you back in. All guests are expected to arrive between eight and nine p.m. and the staff is here to provide continuous access during that hour.”

We followed her down the stairs to another doorway where she introduced us to two dark-suited members of her security staff who would be on duty that night. I had the feeling they were memorizing our faces. Just beyond them we met our other “tour guide,” Madison, an auburn-haired woman with the legs and posture of a Rockette dancer. Chino said something to her, but I didn't register what, too distracted by the sound of voices coming from down the hall, my ears listening instinctively for Gwen.

Madison opened the door into a bathroom. “This one has a shower stall big enough for three, but it's intended for cleanup purposes only.” She flicked on the light, revealing a tastefully tiled room. “The next one down is for actual bath or shower scenes.”

“I'm easily confused,” Chino joked. “What happens if I do a scene in the wrong one?”

Madison gave him a sharp look. “Then you might get spanked.”

“But what if I
want
to get spanked?” His smile was cheeky.

She didn't look amused. “Are you a bottom?”

“I am if it means a pretty girl like you looking at my ass,” he said, adjusting his jeans.

“Chino,” I said in my have-some-respect voice.

Ricki, at least, seemed to appreciate my effort. “There'll be plenty of time to flirt later, guys.”

“I'm not flirting,” Madison said at the same moment Chino said, “Who's flirting?” so that the word
flirting
matched up. Then they both bafflingly said, “Coke!” at the same time and then burst out laughing.

“Is this some American courtship ritual I'm unaware of?” I asked Ricki.

She was smiling and shaking her head. “You could say that. Come on, let's continue and they can catch up.” She turned on the light in a changing room that had wood-paneled lockers and electronic code locks. A matching leather corset and thigh-high boots, richly dyed a reddish cinnamon brown, were sitting on the polished wood bench. “We of course prefer if people arrive wearing their discreet, usual clothes and wait until they're out of the public eye before they slip into something less comfortable.”

Was the outfit Gwen's? I couldn't help but picture her, the way her golden skin would look against the brown leather, remembering how her back had looked while laced into the corset she'd worn to the Beach Bash, the knife balanced on her back as she'd awaited me in the trailer like a gift…

Waiting to be torn open,
I reminded myself.
No. We're not going down that road again.

Now I was certain I could hear her voice, and a part of me was aware we were drawing nearer to her.

As we entered the main room, I saw her, leading Samson and Ford on a similar orientation tour with another man I did not recognize. I immediately wanted to know who he was. Gwen merely waved to us as she led them out the other side of the room, leaving us in a wide open socializing area that reminded me of a gentlemen's billiards room or library, except there was no billiards table and only a few small bookshelves set into the walls. Everything was dark-paneled wood and leather, with a bar that seated four, several low leather couches, and a Catherine wheel against one wall.

“Who was that with Gwen?” I asked Ricki, trying to sound casually curious instead of agitated.

“That's Bradley, one of our other hosts. You can bring any problem or question to any one of the hosts, or to me or Gwen of course.”

Oh. An employee. How sensible. “How did you hire them? I can't imagine the job listing.”

Ricki smiled. “My grandfather hired them. I'm not sure how he found them, but they're great. Now, play is allowed in this room, but we generally keep it to the equipment, not the seating area. Let me show you the Catherine wheel, which can be locked so it can be used like a Saint Andrew's cross.”

I watched, trying to act as if I were paying rapt attention, but my mind was wandering the back hallways, wondering what Gwen was telling my bandmates.

She was probably telling them exactly what Ricki was telling me. Most of the rules seemed to be common sense, but the Hamiltons made no assumptions that their guests knew everything (or anything) about safe sex. Chino and Madison caught up and Ricki walked us through the kit in each room, which included not only condoms but also dental dams, gloves, and disinfection supplies, and also drilled us on several other rules, including no fire play, never leave a person alone in any kind of bondage even for a minute, and a full rundown on earthquake preparedness.

I still hadn't gotten accustomed to living in a place where the Earth might suddenly decide to heave. But like so many thoughts, it was necessary to shove it to the back of my mind in order to carry on with day-to-day life.

Like the thoughts about what I wanted to do to Gwen Hamilton. Tonight would be the ultimate test of whether I could keep a lid on that Pandora's box, wouldn't it?
This is good for Gwen,
I told myself.
This is a safe environment where she can't get herself into too much trouble. That Bradley person is a trained professional. Surely that is all she needs…

I discovered I was clenching my fist, which was still sore from the burn, though I only needed a simple Band-Aid now. I forced my hand to relax, forcing myself to pay attention to Ricki's words as she brought us to another doorway.

“This is a new room we just opened up that had been storage. We thought it would be fun to have a medical play room that really looked like a doctor's exam room.” She stepped into a small room that was an impeccable re-creation, right down to the drawer of sterilized and packaged instruments. Medical play was not my cup of tea—too precise and fussy and anti-erotic for my style—but I appreciated the attention to detail.

Then there was the large room that was made up like a, well,
dungeon
,
complete with faux flame sconces and iron manacles set in the stone walls. That was more to my taste. “We call this the Inquisition Room,” Ricki said.

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Chino said with a sage nod.

We returned to the main room after that, prompting Chino to ask an actually intelligent question. “Do you serve alcohol at this bar?”

“We do,” Ricki said, “though we don't allow anyone who's drunk to play, and no drugs. This crowd gets high on the endorphin rush and tends not to drink much in the way of alcohol to begin with. Any other questions?”

Yes,
I thought to myself.
Isn't it a bit…odd?…to run a secret bondage establishment with your own sister?
Instead I said, “It all seems very well organized.”