Ruthless

Chapter 18

Can we skip the flogger?

April 6

Saturday night

“You going to be okay tonight?”Donovan looked serious as he put his hands on my bare arms. We were in Kristin’s home, about to walk out and head to the Glass House for our second night of bondage fun. “I hate the idea of you going through any more of what you did last time.”

The way he studied me—it was more like he cared what happened to me. Not because of me being a woman, but because he really cared.

“I’ll be fine.” I tilted my face up and smiled, trying to reassure him.

My smile faded when I saw the change in the way he was looking at me. His gaze fixed on my lips as he raised his hand and cupped my cheek in his warm palm. He moved his thumb from my mouth and across my cheek in a slow caress.

The sudden thudding of my heart and the catch in my breath caught me off guard. All I could do was feel his hand on my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. His scent of spice and leather and man intoxicated me.

Did I move? Somehow, I had melted into the warmth of his body, and the hard muscles of his chest pressed against my much softer breasts.

He slipped his hand from my face into my hair and I gave a small cry of surprise when he clenched his fingers tight. At the same time, he grasped my hip in his hand and pulled me to him.

Because of the way Donovan had first touched me, I’d expected a gentle kiss, but there was nothing gentle about this man. His lips came down hard on mine, and he thrust his tongue into my mouth while kissing me with fierce intensity.

The whole house felt like it spun around us.

I loved it. I wanted more of it. I wanted every damned thing he could give me, and I kissed him with just as much intensity. I ran my palms over his chest, his biceps, his shoulders. I needed to feel every part of him.

His hands pushed up the back of my dress and he palmed my bare butt cheeks as he dragged me closer to him. Harder. Tighter.

My body was on fire. How many times had I thought about being with him since I met the man?

Countless times.

Every day.

Every time I looked at him, was near him.

We’d barely known each other for, what, a week and a half? But it felt like I’d wanted him forever.

He tasted so good, so masculine, so Donovan.

How long did we kiss? It didn’t seem long enough when we drew apart. I couldn’t take my gaze from his, my lips still parted in wonderment, astonishment, and need.

He stroked my cheek again. “I love your green eyes, the way you’re looking now.”

I swallowed, not a smartass retort coming to mind.

Donovan’s mouth quirked in a way that made me smile. “We’d better get to the Glass House.” He gave me a critical, but teasing look. “You might need more lipstick.”

I grinned. “That’s because you’re wearing it.”

April6

Saturday night

My head still reeled from the kiss thirty minutes later, when Donovan—now Sire Dunning—and I arrived at the Glass House. The House was owned by Jason Strong, our next suspect.

During the week since our adventures at the Crystal Twilight, we hadn’t found a thing on Tarantino. We’d pulled as much intel as we could on Strong and Cabot, too, but were coming up with big fat zeros. Except for the fact they were all heavily into BDSM according to our sources and our own observations. But that part didn’t mean a whole lot when it came to running a sex slavery ring. Could be they just enjoyed kink and a lot of it.

The interior of the nightclub lived up to its name— everything was clear and frosted glass, with green, blue, orange, and yellow lights reflecting from strategically placed colored bulbs. The place was a little rowdier than Tarantino’s, but still extremely classy.

Once the host checked our names on the guest list, he escorted us directly to the very back of the nightclub, to a set of heavy, thick, frosted-glass doors.

We reached white granite stairs that wound to a floor above the nightclub. As my stiletto heels clicked on the stone, I held my hand to my belly. The silky midnight blue wraparound dress was a reminder that my clothes probably wouldn’t be on for too much longer.

This time I’d come prepared, though, after visiting an adult store with Georgina earlier today. We’d found a mega-sexy, very revealing outfit that I had on beneath the dress. The beauty of the getup was that it completely covered my breasts and all the important parts of my bottom half. It was as if I was wearing a bikini connected with strips of black Spandex down each side. No slip, lots of grip, worked for me.

I stayed one step behind “Sire Dunning,” as I’d reluctantly agreed to earlier, and brought my fingers to the black leather collar now chafing my neck. Because I was supposedly a slave with a Dom, I had taken off the ankle cuff. Martinez had provided this collar, designed with a signal-jammer and a download device similar to the ones in Donovan’s wrist cuffs.

Thank God, Martinez hadn’t put a D-ring on the damned thing. I’d probably seriously hurt anyone who tried to put a leash on me.

My mind wandered to Donovan’s incredible kiss. I still felt the imprint of his lips, and his taste was on my tongue.

Since I had to walk behind him anyway, I admired Donovan’s backside as he took each step. His muscular ass flexed beneath his black leather pants. His shoulders and back muscles made my mouth water as I watched him move.

Rock music floated from above us. When we finally reached the upper floor of Strong’s establishment, I couldn’t keep my gaze lowered. My eyes widened with astonishment.

Downstairs didn’t even compare to this. It virtually was a glass house. Walls of patterned, mostly frosted, glass made up the individual rooms opposite the frosted walls in the greeting area. Carefully arranged colored lights made the frosted walls glow green, blue, yellow, and gold—much prettier than downstairs. In random areas clear glass swirls broke up the frosted glass.

It was nothing short of stunning, and I had to force myself to close my mouth, which had hung open at the sight.

Glass art stood everywhere. Crystal statues as tall as the ceiling watched over everything, and statuettes mostly towered over me on glass pillars of all sizes and heights. The pure white carpeting stretched across the floor and glass topped the end and coffee tables. A naked crystal woman statuette held up each glass surface.

An open bar took up one wall alongside the main room. Frosted glass lit up by colored lights made up the bar top, in keeping with the rest of the area. I smelled marijuana along with the scent of alcohol. Tarantino’s place had been clean as far as I knew. Here it seemed patrons participated in a little more.

A Dom with two slaves sitting on a white couch in the corner confirmed that suspicion. The Dom cut three lines of coke on a mirror with a razor blade before he and his two subs each took a turn snorting a line.

Crap.

When I’d been undercover in RED’s narcotics division, I’d had to do some dope to get in with the gangs, just like I’d had to allow myself to be stripped and flogged publicly to gain entrance to this BDSM world. I hoped drugs weren’t on the menu for tonight.

My mind spun as I stared at all the amazing glass decor and wrapped my thoughts around the drugs. It took me a moment to notice the silhouettes of people behind those mostly frosted walls.

If my eyes had gotten any wider, my eyeballs would have popped out as I watched silhouettes of people being flogged, spanked, and other things that I had no clue about. Who could miss the sex as the shadows went at it.

How had I not heard the moans, the cries of ecstasy, the shouts of pain, along with the commanding voices of Doms, over the rock music? The music filled the room at a decent level, not earsplitting loud.

Even though I could only see their dark silhouettes, I still felt like a voyeur. I glanced at one of the glass walls, where a powerfully built moving shadow made it clear a man flogged a woman as he raised his arm, and the silhouette of the whip came down.

High-pitched screams came from the other side of that glass wall and I hoped the sub enjoyed whatever whoever was doing to her. It sure didn’t sound to me like she was having a good time, but what did I know?

From what Danica told me, and Tarantino’s statement, everything this exclusive group participated in was “safe, sane, and consensual” sex. Everyone had a safe word. But if they used it, they were out of the club. Permanently. So, did that make people do what they might not want to? I guessed that it was ultimately their choice—take it or leave it, literally.

“Does your slave like women?” Jason Strong’s voice startled me into looking up. Other than the deep chocolate color of his eyes, he really was a Vin Diesel lookalike. He frowned at me and I lowered my gaze. “Does she like to watch you get sucked off by other slaves?”

The thought of Donovan being with another woman in any way made something squeeze tight inside my belly.

Donovan paused and looked at me. I could see him through my lashes.

“That’s right.” Strong hooked his thumbs in the loops of his leather pants, the loops holding up a thick leather belt. “You only met a week ago, so you probably haven’t had a chance to explore.”

More and more the thought of being with another woman or watching someone giving Donovan a blow job churned my stomach and made my body heat.

“Neither appeals to me, Master Strong.” I tried to keep my words low and contrite. “I prefer to be with Sire Dunning.”

“You weren’t given permission to join this discussion.” Strong brought his hands to the skull-shaped belt buckle. “My belt will be all over your ass if you say anything else.”

No more whippings. No more whippings.

Usually, from what I understood, protocol called for a sub’s Master to approve of another Master touching his slave. But from what Tarantino had said, and Strong’s actions, they and Cabot believed they were above that little bit of protocol because they owned these BDSM clubs.

I acted as contrite as possible. “Yes, Master Strong.”

“I’ve got two slaves waiting right now. It’s your first time here, though, so let me show you around the Glass House’s special addition.”

Strong led us from the main room, around a glass wall, and through a maze of glass rooms, some without doors, but with wide doorways and crowds of onlookers. Some rooms had frosted doors and silhouettes of BDSM activities on the other sides.

Strong gestured toward various themed rooms as we passed them. “Naughty schoolgirl room includes a blackboard and school desks. Cops and criminal play in this room, which even includes a black-and-white cruiser in it.” I could see the outline of a car and the flash of red and blue lights through the glass blocks.

We moved toward another, much larger, room with fainter shadows that seemed to be moving in circles. “Inside here is the ponygirl arena and puppygirl play area.”

I’d read about and had visited BDSM playhouses that catered toward Masters and their ponygirls or puppygirls, and I really hoped that wasn’t on the menu.

Ponygirls were outfitted—bit and all—just like ponies and completely treated as such. Puppygirls were treated like dogs, put on a leash to go for a walk, eating out of a dog food dish, and so on. Some people in the lifestyle really got off on it, but I wasn’t one of them.

“Hardcore bondage here, where the sub is tied up thoroughly, with absolutely no way to untie herself. And there’s the ménage room.” Strong gestured to another wall. “And this room”—he pointed toward yet another—“is dedicated to traditional dungeon fare.”

I saw the image of a crystal St. Andrew’s cross through the frosted glass and the swirls of clear glass.

“The restrooms are down that hallway, just past my office.” Strong pointed in the direction of a brightly lit glass corridor, and my ears most definitely perked up at the words, “my office.”

“This is the spanking room,” Strong said as we followed, and I winced. “And this is one of my playrooms.” He grinned as we reached a closed door that was only frosted glass from my eye level up. Which meant it wasn’t very high.

“Slave Kathy is waiting for a good flogging.” Strong pushed the door open. “Slave Janice can suck you off, Dunning, while your slave watches.”

At the thought of watching Janice with Donovan, my whole body burned more. The thought of any woman going down on him made me want to clench my fists tight around Strong’s neck.

The door swung shut behind us as we walked into a room where two naked, collared women lounged on the white furniture that wasn’t exactly traditional furniture. By the restraints and odd positions of the pieces, and from my research on the Net, I knew this furniture was made for more creative activities than sitting down and relaxing with a glass of chardonnay.

Through the walls on either side were silhouettes of people whipping, spanking, and going at it. Their voices, cries, and moans carried over the glass walls.

On one couch perched the beautiful redheaded slave Kathy, the one who’d oiled me up and prepared me for the show last week. I swallowed and my heart beat faster as my three-inch heels sank in the plush white carpeting. Oh, hell. There was no way out, was there? I would have to watch that gorgeous black-haired woman on the settee with Donovan.

I swallowed. Damn it.

Not after that kiss. Not when he’d been making me feel the way I now felt around him. Maybe it was irrational after knowing him for such a short time, but right now I wanted to claim him and say, “Mine!”

Wasn’t that normally a he-man type of reaction?

Well, nobody said I was a lady. Often.

Donovan didn’t look at me when we came to a stop and he spoke. “It’s been a while since I’ve had one of my slaves watch another slave giving me a blow job.”

I tried not to let my jaw drop as Donovan continued, “But slave Alexi hasn’t had a chance to go down on me.” He looked directly at me, and this time my eyes widened beneath my lashes. “I’d like my slave to have that honor while slave Janice watches.”

The room seemed to tip and I almost stumbled.

Me, going down on Donovan in front of other people? That kiss had made me want to taste him everywhere, but with an audience?

Strong winked at Donovan. “Kinda partial to that little sub, aren’t you?”

Donovan looked at me, his eyes intense. “Yeah.” He moved closer, and my heart beat faster and faster. “I’ve been waiting for this all week.”

He looked like he meant it, the way he was studying me, and I shivered as he brought his hands to the ties of my wraparound dress. It fell to the floor, a deep, dark blue against the creamy white carpet.

“She’s so friggin’ hot.” Strong had crossed his arms over his chest and was watching me and Donovan. “Let’s get a good look at that great set of breasts we got an eyeful of last week.”

Flames licked my body at the memory, and every place I’d been struck seemed to burn blazing hot again.

“Look at me, slave Alexi,” Donovan commanded, and I raised my eyes to meet his. My lips parted and I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to taste him, to feel him.

As our gazes held, Donovan put his hands on my shoulders and pushed the straps of my outfit down low enough that it fell away from my breasts to my hips. My nipples grew tight as air touched them, then they grew tighter yet when he brushed the back of his hand over my nipples.

“Kneel,” he commanded. “Unfasten my pants.”

I barely had the presence of mind to say, “Yes, Sire Dunning,” before I was on the floor and his crotch was close to my face.

It surprised me how steady my hands were as I unfastened the button on Donovan’s leather pants and unzipped them. And then he was in my hands.

Nothing seemed to exist as I went down on him and took him deep into my mouth, as far as possible. The sting of his hold on my hair excited me.

Everything grew more intense as he gave a low growl and climaxed. He gripped my hair even tighter before giving a long, shuddering breath.

My gaze met his, and I smiled at the shock and amazement on his face.

“Damn, that was hot.” Jason Strong’s voice jerked me to the present. I’d been lost in the moment I’d just shared with Donovan and had forgotten anyone else was in there with us.

Would my body ever stop burning?

“Your slave gives the best head I’ve seen in a while.” Strong came up close enough that his crotch was nearly in my face, too. From the corner of my eye, I saw Janice scowl, but then Strong’s next words had me ready to bolt from the room. “I’d like slave Alexi to go down on me.”

“No.” Donovan’s voice was hoarse, the word immediate. “Slave Alexi needs punishment for making me climax too fast.” He grasped my upper arms and his fingers dug into my flesh as he jerked me to my feet. “Then I’m going to fuck the hell out of her.”

“This time.” Strong’s voice was disappointed, but serious. “Around here we share with the host.”

I stared at my toes, not daring to look at Strong and give him an excuse to carry through with what he really wanted.

“I’ll show you to a private room,” Strong said, and I let out a silent breath of relief as he opened the door. Donovan tucked himself back into his pants, and I scooped up my dress before following them both out.

Air cooled my bare nipples as we walked, but fortunately my bottom half was still covered. I clutched my dress to me, wanting to raise it to hide my naked breasts, but I knew that would get me into trouble, and in this place I so didn’t want to invite any.

Once we had walked a little way down the glass-walled hallway, Strong nodded to an empty room that actually had a door Donovan and I could close.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Although our silhouettes would show everything we did. And “they” might be watching through the glass, so we had to make it look good. Our signal-jammers, whenever we chose to turn them on, would screw with cameras and microphones, but they couldn’t hide us through frosted glass.

Strong closed the door.

Donovan and I were alone.

The brilliant blue of his eyes had turned a darker shade of cobalt. He stared down at me like he’d never seen me before. Like he hadn’t just given me the most incredible kiss of my life only an hour ago. Like I hadn’t just given him a really good blow job.

He gripped my shoulders and jerked me to him so fast it startled me into crying out, and I lost my balance on my heels and fell against him. Then his lips were on mine, muffling the sound.

His tongue invaded my mouth, this time in a way that could really be called harsh. Formidable. Conquering. Demanding. Like he was staking a claim and telling everyone, including me, that I belonged to him.

Like hell.