Chapter 3
Three
A BDSM club.
Sofie grinned in excitement as the man guided her into the large building on the banks of the river Zaan.
Sofie had a terrible sense of direction, but she was fairly sure that, given how long they’d spent driving, they were no longer in the city of Amsterdam.
For a moment, a shiver of unease worked its way down her back. She was far from home. Far from the places she knew and the paths she’d walked. She’d come here in a car, so if she tried to leave, she’d have to walk since she didn’t know how to drive, even assuming she could find keys to one of the two cars in the parking lot.
Those worries were pushed aside by excitement as her kidnapper motioned for her to proceed him into the building.
She thought maybe this had once been an office building of some kind, given the size and the many windows. The stone floor of what had probably been a wide, shallow lobby was glossy, and Sofie slowed, nervous in her heels on the slick surface.
His hand came to rest on the small of her back and she sucked in a shocked breath. She was so rarely touched, that each time he’d put his hands on her had been startling. He touched her with confidence—as if he not only had every right to touch her whenever and however he wanted but also knew exactly how to handle her. There’d been no hesitancy when he pinned her wrists against the wall, tipped her face up, or thrown her over his shoulder.
But this…this was different. A hand on her back, guiding her, steadying her. It was a chivalrous touch, something a man would do when he took a woman out to dinner.
The heat of his palm seeped through the fabric of her dress and seemed to spread not just along her skin but sinking into her. Heat spread and pooled in her lower abdomen, and her sex throbbed.
She’d been mildly aroused but mostly alarmed when he kidnapped her from the museum. Their conversation in the car had tipped the scales all the way to arousal, and now, the gallant hand on her back was making everything worse. Her nipples were hard against the satin lining of her dress, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood up as she shivered.
“Cold?” he asked. “Or scared.”
“Neither of those is perfectly accurate,” she stated, and it was true, though she was chilly, and now that some of the excitement was wearing off, fear was creeping in.
He leaned in, exhaling against her neck. The skin there was so sensitive that just the feel of his breath against her made her legs weak.
“Or are you just waiting for me to put you on your knees and treat you like the bad girl you are?”
It was utter madness the way he was talking to her. Not nearly as mad as the way she was responding though. Every single thing he’d said had arrowed straight into her, piercing and pressing on needs and desires she’d never had the opportunity to voice or explore.
Sofie wobbled, and the only thing that kept her upright was the firm press of his hand on her back.
“This is a BDSM club,” she blurted out, and she wasn’t sure even as she said it if she was trying to remind herself or if she was asking to confirm.
“Your friend Colette told you about Club Alibi.”
Not as much as she wanted her to. Sofie had been hungry for details about the sex, but Colette’s story had focused more on the emotional aspect of what had happened between her and Landon. And while it was a great story, Sofie really had wanted sex specifics.
“I thought Club Alibi was in London,” she said.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but since you’re here…there isn’t, won’t be, only one location.”
“This is the Amsterdam branch?”
“Branch…” Andrei’s chuckle was low and almost threatening. “Yes, you could say that.”
“It looks very normal.” Sofie looked around again, curiosity muting some of her arousal.
“You expect us to keep the spanking benches down here, where anyone can see them?” He gestured to the wall of windows that looked out onto the parking lot.
“No, I guess not. But it looks like an office.”
“It was.”
Directly in front of them was a curved counter that looked like a reception desk. Behind that was a break in the tall lobby wall. She could just make out two elevators and a door marked with the stairs symbol.
“This club isn’t ready yet, but there’s enough done that Landon decided this is where we’d bring Colette once he found her.” He pressed on her back, and Sofie took a step forward.
Guided by the pressure of his hand, she skirted the reception desk and slipped through an open security gate that blocked off access to the elevators.
“You came to help him? Or to arrest her since he can’t do it anymore?”
Her kidnapper went still, hand moving from her back to her elbow as he turned her to face him. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, Landon is no longer with Interpol.”
His eyes narrowed, and his expression made her swallow hard in fear. “And how do you know that, Angel?”
“I heard him say it.”
His expression lightened, lips curved in a cruel smile as he looked her up and down. “That’s right.” He stepped closer, grabbing her hips as she tried to take a step back.
“Tip your head,” he commanded.
“I…what?”
Rather than answer, he pinched her chin the way he had back in the museum, forcing her face up and to the side. His other hand brushed her hair—which had been carefully styled in an asymmetrical style—behind her ear.
A second later, he pulled the small earpiece from her ear. Sofie took shallow breaths, staring unseeing at the floor indicator above the closest elevator as he traced the curve of her ear with his fingertip before gently flicking the dangling diamond earring she wore.
“Are these stolen?” He flicked the earring again.
“No, they’re Colette’s.”
“Which means yes, they probably are stolen.” His fingers skimmed down the side of her neck, and Sofie sucked in a shocked breath. She felt that simple touch all over, and it made her nipples tighten further.
Need like she’d never known gripped her, making her feel reckless. She’d started the night out ready for excitement and adventure, and those desires required at least some recklessness. But this? This was something else. Something more, because the need growing inside her felt like it was bigger than anything else—her sense of reason, her self-preservation.
She swallowed hard, her eyes closed as he released her chin.
“I need to get you upstairs,” he all but purred, and she loved the way everything he said sounded like a threat. It made her afraid and aroused at the same time.
But there was one thing she needed.
“What’s your name?”
The startled silence had her opening her eyes, blinking up at him.
“My…”
“Your name. I can’t keep mentally referring to you as my kidnapper.”
That startled a laugh out of him, and oh, it was a wonderful sound. The corners of his eyes crinkled just a little, his lower lip—fuller than his upper lip—curving in a way that made her want to suck on it.
“Andrei,” he said. “Agent Andrei Leonard.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Andrei.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss…”
“Vermeer. Sofie Vermeer.”
Andrei’s smile disappeared, his gaze once more predatory. “I see, you want to play it this way?”
“Playing what way?” she asked in genuine confusion.
There was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, his brows drawing together in a frown. Then he turned, stabbing the up button for the elevator.
The doors opened immediately, and he gestured for her to step in. Sofie wanted his hands on her and considered not moving, forcing him to guide her.
Her curiosity and a renewed sense of being on an adventure won out. The faster they got on that elevator, the faster she got to go upstairs and see a real BDSM club.
Smiling, Sofie stepped into the elevator.
They only went up one level, to the first floor, and when the doors opened, Sofie was disappointed.
Once again, it looked like what it had once been—an office building rather than a BDSM club.
At least at first glance.
The elevator shaft was in the middle of the building. Unlike the first floor where the elevator bank could be accessed from both sides, up here, they were forced to turn toward the back of the building upon exiting the elevator. The wide back wall of the building was solid windows, visible through the glass walls of the offices and conference rooms that lined it. The floor was concrete subfloor that bore marks from where carpet had once been glued down, and there was no furniture in the wide-open space between where they stood and the back wall.
A palette of wood and some neatly stacked tools and boxes made it clear this space was under construction, and that same pile was what partially obscured her view of the corner of the building.
Sofie took a few steps, her heels loud on the concrete floor, the sound bouncing off the glass walls to come back as an echo. She glanced around, shivering a little in the chill that was present here but hadn’t been noticeable on the ground floor. Now, she could see the dark ribbon of the river through the windows, and off to the right, a few windmills that looked far too picturesque to be anything but decorative or a tourist draw.
She froze, nearly stumbling mid-step, when she saw the playrooms that had been hidden by the construction materials until she got farther into the building.
The renovations and retrofitting had started in the far corner, with what had once been a large corner office, as well as a smaller office to one side, and a long room that was most likely a conference room in a previous life.
The smallest room had a hexagonal stage in the center, the stage made of black metal and what looked like white glass or high-shine plastic. A black dancers' pole rose from the center to touch the ceiling. The floor too had been stained black. Black metal frames were attached to the glass side walls. The frames were thin and rectangular, looking almost like oversized doorways mounted next to one another so there were three on each of the side walls for a total of six.
On the opposite side of the corner office, the conference room still looked a bit like a conference room, thanks to the long table-height solid block of concrete in the center of the room. It took Sofie a moment to identify why it looked oddly familiar—it looked like a sacrificial altar from a horror movie. It was large enough for a person to be laid out on. Padded benches and a few large steamer trunks lined the walls. A track lighting system mounted to the ceiling had a dozen small lights on it, ready to be positioned and angled to illuminate whatever, whoever, was on that stone slab.
It was the corner playroom that caused her to almost stumble.
The small angled wall that held the door into the corner space was glass, but the view was partially obstructed by a collection of paddles and floggers that hung from hooks mounted to the inside.
Two large X frames—St. Andrew’s crosses—were positioned parallel to the exterior walls but not directly up against the glass. They were set back a meter from the walls. Metal supports jutted down from the ceiling to the top of each X, holding them in place.
To one side, a plush leather chair had a thick round floor cushion on the ground in front of it. In the center of the room was something that looked almost like a gymnastics’ horse—a freestanding frame with a thick, padded top.
The floor was stained black, the St. Andrew’s crosses glossy red.
“See something you like?” Andrei murmured in her ear.
Sofie jumped, not having realized how close he was, her attention entirely focused on what she was seeing and the dark, pulsing need that beat like a drum inside her.
“Yes,” she answered honestly.
Andrei shifted so he was behind her, close enough she could feel the heat of his body in the chilly room.
“If you weren’t a thief, we’d be negotiating right now, and in ten minutes, I’d have you on your knees at my feet.”
A soft sound of need escaped her, and her sex pulsed in response to his words.
“I’m not a thief,” she stammered out.
“I believe you believe that,” he said after a pause.
Sofie wobbled on her heels, and with an aggravated noise stepped out of them. The cold cement floor was shocking against her soles and toes and she yelped.
Andrei reached down and yanked her skirt up to her knees, peering at her discarded shoes and bare feet. Slowly, he straightened, cocking a brow at her.
“I don’t normally wear shoes,” she explained.
His expression seemed to indicate that didn’t actually explain much as far as he was concerned.
Sofie wasn’t sure what else she could, or should, say. Yes, the floor was cold, but the heels were making her feet hurt, and she was so turned on, she was almost swaying?—
Andrei bent and scooped her into his arms. Rather than throwing her over his shoulder, he held her in a bridal carry. Sofie went still, awkward for a moment, but then wrapped her arms around his neck, hooking one elbow over his shoulder.
A soft, romantic feeling slid over her, and now, her pretty white dress felt just right. She closed her eyes and saw the painting in her mind. Stroke by stroke, it came together in her imagination.
Painted in the Romanticism style—heavy details, especially in the central figures, and deep shadows. Artfully draped fabric for the female figure’s white dress, maybe with a hint of Grecian style.
The in-progress image froze, like a sped-up video suddenly paused, as Andrei turned sideways pushing the door to the smaller playroom open with his shoulder.
Sofie stared at his profile in a delicious mix of anticipation and fear. This close, she could see the stubble along his jawline, the shallow lines at the corners of his eyes that would deepen as he aged.
And his full lower lip. It looked eminently kissable. Suckable.
Sofie drew in a surprised breath as he released her legs but kept a hold of her upper body. She ended up flush against him, clinging to his shoulders, her temple pressed to his jaw, her toes just skimming the cold floor.
She felt him swallow hard, and for a moment, he hugged her tighter against him. Sofie softened in his embrace, body molding to his, her face pressing against his neck. He smelled good.
Andrei’s hand grabbed her ass, startling a yelp out of her as he used his hold on her butt to lift her. Her feet touched down on the top of the hexagonal stage, which was cool but not nearly as cold as the concrete floor. He gave her ass a pat that was almost, almost a spank.
Sofie looked over her shoulder at the glossy black pole, then back at Andrei. “I don’t know how to pole dance.”
“Pity.” His gaze raked her up and down, lazy and self-assured. He reached into his back pocket. “But that’s not actually why you’re up on this stage. At least not right now.” He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
Sofie watched him fasten one cuff around her wrist, then pull her arm back as he circled around the stage.
“Back up, Angel,” he said softly.
She did as he said, backing up and pressing her spine along the pole. He clicked the cuff into place around her other wrist, her hands behind her, the cuffs looped around the pole that stretched from floor to ceiling, ensuring that she couldn’t go anywhere.
Sofie waited, needy and starting to feel impatient, for Andrei to do something more. To touch her.
Wait. First, they had to negotiate the scene. He’d mentioned it just moments ago.
But when Andrei faced her once more, it wasn’t to discuss hard limits the way she anticipated—hoped.
“I’m going to find Landon.”
“What?” She blinked in surprise.
“That was his rental car in the parking lot, so he and Colette are here. Probably in one of the private rooms upstairs. Once I find out what he wants to do with you, I’ll be back.”
“What do you mean ‘do with me’?” Sofie demanded. “He can’t arrest me.”
“No, he can’t.” Andrei leaned in, gaze hard. “But I can. I haven’t, because I can’t arrest you without arresting Colette.”
“You can’t arrest me because I didn’t do anything.” She never did anything. That was why she’d jumped at Colette’s invitation to go with her to steal the Bulgar pearl.
“I’m sure I can find something to charge you with.”
“Ah, I see. You're one of those police who makes things up in order to arrest people.”
Andrei's jaw muscle flexed, but then he smiled that cold, cynical smile. “I will admit that I consider the rules flexible. However, I would never fabricate charges. With you, I won't need to, will I? You're a thief just like your friend."
"I'm not a thief."
Andrei looked her up and down, and despite the fact that she was now taller than him, thanks to standing on the stage, she didn't feel as though she held the upper hand.
"We'll see."
Sofie was considering how to prove to him that she was not, technically, a criminal. She certainly wasn't a thief, and her father had made sure that she was not again technically, a criminal. But proving that something was not true, especially while handcuffed to a dancers' pole in a mostly abandoned building, seemed difficult.
Before she could find the right words, Andrei turned and walked out.
She was confident that Colette wouldn't implicate her, but Sofie was a little worried she might accidentally say something that countered whatever story it was Colette was currently spinning for Landon, and in turn, Andrei.
It would probably be safest not to attempt any sort of subterfuge on her own. She’d stick with the truth, whether or not Andrei believe her.
And while Sofie probably should care, and worry, about the possibility of being arrested, that wasn't her biggest concern.
No, the more pressing need was addressing this deep ache that had formed in her core. Being handcuffed to a pole was not exactly helping.
She wanted Andrei to make good on the threats, promises, he’d made so far. She wanted him to put her on her knees. Wanted him to strip off her dress and then put her back on the stage and use her body.
She wanted to feel something. She didn’t care if it was pleasure or pain.
She watched as Andrei headed back for the elevator bank, detouring not to the elevator but to the stairs, the door swinging closed behind him.
Sighing, Sofie sank down to kneel on the stage, legs tucked to one side under her white skirts, and prepared to wait.