He’d chosen two sets of cuffs from an attendant, and now he brought them to her. She stared up at him, barely breathing as he kept his attention on her wrists, wrapping the cuff snugly on her right wrist, then hooking it to that eyebolt. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t know how right now. She felt held there by what he wanted, what he seemed to know she wanted, and that want was growing large, capable of crushing her with its weight.
“Sshh…” he murmured, though she’d said not a word. He threaded a hand through her hair, a gentle stroke that became firmer as he tilted her head back. He was so close, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, his gaze roved over her face, her lips, making them part, making her wet them, wanting his kiss. He smelled so good, that male aftershave smell. The jacket etched the line of his shoulders, drawing her attention to the tie around his corded throat, the tie she’d tied for him. The silken, ebony strands of his hair brushed his collar, and she followed that to the smooth line of his shirt, how it delineated his chest. As he shifted, her attention went to the belted slacks, the muscular waist she knew was under that buckled strap, and even lower, to the cock she knew was already straining the fit of the tailored slacks. Her fingers curled in the cuffs, registering the unmovable force of the posts.
He stepped back then. An attendant had brought something else to him, the briefcase he’d carried into her apartment that first night. Though her back was now to the crowd, she had a sense that it was growing in size. Given the deference Jon was shown here, and the artistry and skills he’d shown her in a short time, she realized he could be a popular performer. It gave her a sinking feeling, but he’d said she was special. Different. Could she believe that? Was she hopelessly deluded and naive? And could she really resent how he’d obtained his skills, skills that had so far brought her to some of the most intense sexual experiences she’d ever had?
She started as a familiar hand slid over her lower back. She looked up into Peter’s eyes, and he nodded toward her opposite side. “I don’t think you’ve met Ben yet.”
She shifted her attention to another impossibly handsome man, one perhaps a year or so younger than Jon, with black hair and brilliant green eyes. Though not as broad as Peter, his shoulders were certainly broad enough, his fit body enough to command a woman’s attention. He wore a charcoal gray suit, an emerald tie over a black dress shirt.
“And you remember Lucas.”
Lucas stepped up behind her, so she had to turn her head, then drop it back. With a smile, he cupped her skull in his hand, let her fall all the way into his palm, a dizzying sensation as she looked up at him. “Hello,” he said.
She may have mouthed Hi. She wasn’t sure. The men were flanking her on three sides, Jon in front. When she straightened to look at him again, the serious set to his mouth heralded a shift as distinctive as if he’d barked an order, only this was a command that hummed through her blood, not needing anything as overt as sound. On instinct, she nodded to each man again, only this time she lowered her eyes, acknowledging she wasn’t surrounded merely by Jon and his friends, but four different Masters.
Remembering Jon’s questions earlier, and her own thoughts about where her boundaries were, who could touch her at his behest, she knew these had been at the top of that short list.
“Gentlemen, strip her for punishment, please. Leave the heels on.”
Punishment? It was a word capable of making her even more off center and short of breath, but she tried to calm herself with the three-point breathing, not wanting to miss a single second, even as she harbored a dark fear of the things all of it might release in her. When she’d looked into Jon’s face, seen the mesmerizing power in the blue depths, the thought of what he might be capable of unleashing inside her made her tremble.
Peter was the one who untied the sash, his fingers moving along her powdered skin, bringing her the smell of lavender. He didn’t hesitate or fumble, a man familiar with the curves and vulnerabilities of a woman. Since he lifted the fabric away from her skin as he freed her breasts, he didn’t brush her nipples, though they were erect and begging for friction. Then down to her waist, over her hips, his knuckles sliding along her skin as he brought the dress to her ankles.
When he touched her calf, she lifted her feet clear of it, one at a time. Lucas’ steadying grip was on her waist. Then Peter nudged her to a wider stance, until her heels were placed outside the range of her shoulders, putting her off balance. The pillars were adjusted, aligned with her ankles, and then they were cuffed firmly so there was no range of movement, even if she wavered like a reed in a monsoon.
Ben and Lucas pulled the top of the pillars out to form a vee angle, so her arms were stretched out as far as they could go. They adjusted them so her shoulders were pulled back, her breasts thrust out, her bound ankles creating an angle that arched her back and tilted her ass upward as well. It was an extremely sexual and open position, entirely vulnerable and arousing at once, the pillars locked in place to hold her fast.
Ben had stepped off to the side with Jon, his hand on the side of Jon’s neck. It was the affectionate gesture of a brother, similar to the way Jon dipped his head to speak back in his ear, so they could have a private moment yet hear one another over the crowd noise. Ben nodded, glanced toward her. When he’d first stepped onto the platform, Rachel hadn’t seen it in the affable body language and genial expression, but now she saw clearly what Dana had said about him. He’s probably the toughest, most hardcore Master of all of them.
It was in the intent way his gaze passed over her body, stripped except for her collar and high heels. Perhaps because of how open she was right now, in many ways, she saw a glimpse of exactly what kind of Master he was. He could judge exactly how much a woman could endure, but he’d then bring her to such an overwhelming subspace she’d leap off that edge, merely if he commanded her to do it. That was his thing. He demanded utter devotion, proof of a woman’s unconditional surrender. Oddly, she sensed he wanted a woman’s soul, but not her heart.
It was a little frightening to recognize such a thing in this defenseless moment, but Jon was here. He was her Master. He knew her heart. She was standing naked in a crowded club, cuffed to two posts. She was trembling, but any trepidation was of herself, of the sheer power of what was inside of her, responding to all this. Craving more, harder. A pressure was growing inside that needed pain, stimulation, something to release it.
Lucas stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Jon. What was the cologne he wore? It was such a male exotic scent, it made her think of Egyptian pharaohs again, as did the precise cut of his cheekbones, those intense eyes.
“Open up for me,” he said. She saw he had a gag like the one Jon had used the first night, the one shaped like a man’s cock. This one was shorter, but thicker.
Obediently, she parted her lips. As the shape of it passed between them, knowing a man’s eyes was on her, watching her take it, she curled her tongue around it instinctively. It was flavored with honey and sugar, stirring her saliva glands and making her suck a little harder. Rather than fastening it in place right away, Lucas played with her a few moments, sliding it back and then forward, watching her work the length of it. The muscle flexing in his jaw made it clear she was doing a good job of affecting him. Her body rocked toward him, even as her gaze strained to look around his shoulder. Where was Jon? And what did he mean by punishment?