Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ginevra
O f all the places I imagined Blake would keep this piece of shit, the basement of Leonidas Gentleman’s Club wasn’t one of them. Yet here we are, beneath the glamorous Greek-style columns, crystal chandeliers, and gold leaf paint, in the dark bowels of earth and rough stone.
The space is dry, like an ancient tomb. Electric sconces set into the walls illuminate this torture chamber that’s well-equipped with shackles and chains, a drain in one corner that emits a rank odor.
In the middle of it all, Carl dangles from his restraints, stretched onto his tiptoes. His chains vanish into the vast space of darkness above him. He’s naked, his entire body one enormous bruise. In fact, I’m pretty sure his bruises are bruised. The layers of discoloration, some fading, others fresh, saturated color, make my stomach roll.
Completely at odds with the scene before me is a black velvet throne-like chair on a small platform, positioned a few feet away from Carl. Gold scroll work decorates the arms and high back. It belongs in a Renaissance castle, not down here.
I glance at Blake. “What’s with the chair?”
“That’s for you.” He takes me around the waist and lifts me into the enormous seat. My feet don’t even reach the floor. “I had them bring this down here for you. You should be a queen on your throne while you deliver punishment to this vile creature.”
I stare at Blake for a long moment. He really is slightly unhinged. I love it. Things like this… this is how I know he loves me.
“I love you,” I tell him.
He drops a kiss to my forehead. “I love you more.”
I settle onto the throne, feeling like a fucking queen up here. The velvet’s smooth beneath my fingers. I sit up straighter. I’m in charge here, and this is my court. A new sense of strength rushes through me and I feel more like myself than I have in weeks.
Blake comes to my side so that we’re both facing Carl. He hasn’t moved since we entered the room, and I wonder if he’s actually still alive or not.
“What shall we do with him?” Blake keeps his voice low, even though it’s just us down here. “How do you want me to hurt him, magpie?”
I let all my anger, all my hurt, and the sense of being violated course through my body and embrace all the emotions that rise. Letting my imagination run wild, I think of stabbing him over and over until he bleeds out, of cutting off his dick and making him choke on it, of having someone take him against his will until he’s bloody and sobbing.
The fantasies, the possibilities keep coming. Though are they really fantasies when I can utter the word and make any of them a reality?
A sensation of dark empowerment sings in my veins. I was victimized by Carl, but I’m not the victim here today. I’m the Angel of Death and Vengeance. I’m the Queen of Revenge. I’m Carl’s worst nightmare—a powerful woman.
Which is why I don’t want to kill him, as temporarily satisfying as that would be. He needs to be a living example of what happens to men who have no respect for women, to men who think they’re untouchable because of their position in society.
Finally, he stirs. His puffy eyelids open, his gaze landing on me. The chains rattle as he struggles against the restraints. “Gin, you little bitch. You can’t do this to me! Tell them to let me go!”
Hmm. Why don’t his pleas move me? Maybe because he’s such a fucking asshole.
Blake steps up to Carl and backhands him across the face. “Don’t you dare speak to my wife like that.”
Carl’s eyes widen. He glances at me, then at Blake, and back again. “You’re his w-wife?”
I bob my head.
Apparently, he didn’t get the memo that I’m now Ginevra Baron, wife to the notorious and feared man called The Black Baron—for the lack of light shining in his soul.
“I-I didn’t know.” Too little, too late, Carl. I’m annoyed how he’s only afraid now because of my relationship with Blake. He’s only cowering because he’s afraid of my husband. That’s about to change. I want him to be terrified of me.
Behind every great man is a vengeful woman.
“Blake, darling, pull out your knife.” I instruct from my cushy throne. “You’ll also need something to cauterize the wounds.”
“Wh-what?” Carl tugs at his chains. “What are you going to do?” His panicked gaze darts between me and my husband, as Blake’s knife appears in his hand. “Tell him to stop, you crazy bitch!”
“Cut out his vile tongue.”
Blake grabs the tongs, forces Carl’s mouth open and stretches out his tongue. In one fluid motion, he brings the knife down and slices through the spongy meat. Carl screams, choking on his own blood. He screams even louder when Blake presses a red-hot iron to the gushing wound.
I barely give Carl a moment to recover before catching Blake’s eye. Pointing at Carl’s flaccid dick, he nods, then cuts it from the man’s body.
This time, Carl passes out. The abrupt silence soothes my jagged nerves. I’m not a violent person—usually. Blake cauterizes the wound, then diligently cleans his knife.
I lean back in my chair. “You can have him returned to his parents now. Just make sure he knows that if he tries to come after us, we’ll kill him.”
“I think he’s bright enough to understand, but I’ll make sure of it.” Blake sneers at Carl’s limp, blood smeared body. “Do you want to keep anything for a souvenir?”
“Are you serious?” The idea of having even a drop of Carl’s blood on me is repulsive, much less anything… larger.
Blake shrugs. “I just want to give you everything and anything your heart desires. There’s no limit to what I’ll do for you, or what you can have. Some people like to collect pieces.”
“I’m definitely not one of them. But there is something…”
“Anything.” His brilliant blue gaze steals my breath away.
“I want to go back to the club, to that room where it happened.”
“Are you sure?” His brow furrows.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and nod. “I need to face what happened or it will haunt me forever. I’m done with Carl, but that room and everything that happened there, I need to be there again.”
“Then let’s go.” He lifts me from the throne. I slide down his hard body, inhaling his spicy cologne, until my feet touch the floor. Blake drops a kiss on the top of my head, then takes my hand and we walk away from the mutilated man, almost like this is an ordinary day. I’ve known violence all my life, but I never thought I’d be the person dealing out justice in this way.
Being in this room sends a shiver through me as my memory replays everything that happened here. The pain and fear Carl put me through, the glass shards in my feet, and even how Blake came to my rescue—again.
But that’s not what I want to remember at this club or in this playroom.
I face Blake. “Let’s make new memories here.” I glance around the space, taking in all the fun possibilities, and knowing immediately which one we’ll enjoy the most. “Tie me up and fuck me. Make all the painful memories go away.”
“That, I can do.” Taking me by the shoulders, he presses a kiss to my mouth. “Do you remember your safe word?”
“Cupcake,” I murmur against his lips.
“Good girl. Now I’m going to do something to you I haven’t done before.”
I frown up at him in confusion. “You’ve tied me up before.”
“Not like this.” He steps away from me, gathering up a bunch of coiled ropes. “This will take a little while, but it will be worth is, so be patient.”
I eye the rope. In the past, he’s preferred binding me with his silk ties, or even handcuffs, but never actual rope.
“Do you trust me, magpie?” he asks, his intense gaze boring into mine.
“Yes. Completely.”
“Good. Take off your clothes, then I want you on your knees.”
I do as I’m told, stripping, then sinking down onto the plush carpet. Blake positions me where he wants, then slides the first section of rope across my chest. It’s not as coarse as it looks. The fibers glide over my skin with silky softness. I release the breath I was holding and relax into my husband’s touch.
He expertly binds my breasts in a series of knots that form a crisscross pattern over my chest and shoulders. My arms he folds behind my back, then secures them in place with short lengths of rope. Moving lower, he creates intricate knot-work on my torso, between my legs, and round my thighs.
Each glide of the rope feels like a lover’s caress, each knot a firm embrace. I thought at first that the bondage might make me feel too constricted. Instead, I’m surprisingly able to let go, emotionally, mentally, and physically. I give myself over to Blake with complete trust.
The feeling is freeing, liberating in a way I’ve never fully experienced before.
When he has me bound the way he wants, a satisfied hum vibrates from his chest. He’s still fully dressed, while I’m not only naked but restrained and at his mercy. The power imbalance sends a thrill through me.
I let out a surprised squeak when Blake lifts me into his arms. He carries me over to the suspension frame, where I’m secured by my chest, waist, and ankles until I’m floating in the air. Suspended, the sense of weightlessness and surrender shoves the remains of my negative thoughts from my mind.
I’m completely present, submitting to the here and now.
“Good girl.” Blake caresses my sensitive flesh, and I shiver. All sensation feels heightened right now. Dipping his fingers between my spread thighs, he finds me wet. “Perfect girl. The binding was foreplay for you, wasn’t it?”
I murmur an incoherent response, too lost in all the sensations to form a clear thought, much less words.
Blake teases my clit, and an orgasm hits me out of nowhere. My entire body tightens and shudders, and a long moan leaves my parted lips. Coming while bound and suspended is unlike anything I’ve felt before—total vulnerability.
My husband barely gives me a chance to catch my breath before he lines himself up and pulls my soaked, throbbing pussy onto his cock. He rocks us, gently swinging, until I take every inch of him. He’s in control of our pacing and the angle. Wrapping my hair around one of his fists, he eases almost all the way out before pulling me onto his hard length again, over and over.
Slowly, he continues his seductive torture. Every nerve ending in my body flames to life, verging on sensory overload as he diligently, reverently fucks me.
I whimper and moan his name, begging for more, until he finally snaps. The room fills with the lewd sounds of our flesh slapping, his grunts and my gasps. When he pinches my clit, fireworks explode behind my eyelids and white-hot pleasure steals my breath away. My cunt pulses around him and he follows me over the edge, tensing, he spurts hot cum deep inside me.
This, all of this, is exactly what I needed. This experience overrides everything else about this place, overshadows my past trauma so thoroughly that what happened before is a distant memory. One that can no longer haunt me unless I give it the power to do so.
I may be forever fucked up, but therapy has made me stronger, more resilient, and capable. I’m no longer ruled by the traumas of my past. They don’t cut as deep as they once did.
And this man, my husband, has helped me through so much. His love and devotion fill all my gaping wounds, making me whole in a way I never thought possible.
Catching our breaths, Blake buried deep in my pussy, he slowly rocks us. His deep voice growls in my ear, “Round two. Come for me again, magpie.”