30. Scarlett
THIRTY
All through the workday, I’m on eggshells.
I jump every time my phone vibrates, but only texts from Lacey come through.
Where the fuck are you???
That’s her latest one. And the morning’s been so busy, it’s not until lunch that I can get back to her.
Hey, Lace. So sorry.
C’mon, Scarlett, it’s me. You’ve been weird since we got that dress.
A lot’s been going on, I send. I’ll explain later.
Your stuff’s here, girl, she says.
I know. Trust. I’ll explain later, I text.
There’s a pause, the little dots flashing on the text screen. Okay. Let me know when. I’ll get the pizza and you get the booze. Gotta go. Glad you’re all right.
Trust. The word comes back to haunt me. Trust. I just asked my friend for that when I gave her nothing at all, and she gives me that precious commodity without question, just love.
I waver a little. I’m not—I’m not in love with him. I can’t be. I gave him my trust because I needed to. Because it’s the only thing I can do to help my cousin.
He’s our only chance, and it’s not my complicated feelings for the man saying that. It’s not even the twisted need he sets off in me.
It’s gut instinct.
The center gets even busier as the day progresses since one of the therapists is out. But it’s not until six and I’m packing up that I get another text.
From him.
Meet me at home as soon as you’re done with work.
Malone.
My heart veers sideways with a hard throb.
Did you hear from them?
A slight pause follows when the three gray dots flicker on the screen. My heart leaps into my throat.
Yes.
I stare at the outfit Malone wants me to wear. At least there’s underwear, but plain black silk isn’t his MO, at all.
If he wants me in panties and a bra, it’s been silk and lace, barely covering me at all.
Unlike this set. This… oh shit. Is this meant to be seen?
We’re going to Orchid Lane.
And I guess it makes a horrible sort of sense. That warehouse room where we found Amelia’s bag haunts me. It eats away at my mind because I know what it is, what it was set up for.
I pick up the underwear and the simple black dress. This time it’s not latex, but there is a collar and…
I walk out of the bedroom and into the living room through the open-plan kitchen.
Malone’s there, blond head down as he goes over something on his computer. And my stomach twists and turns, drops like a lead weight. He’s got some cupcakes on a plate and one in his hand that he’s eating. He puts it down on the plate, then picks up a glass of scotch and takes a swallow. Finally, his gaze lifts and slams into me.
I can’t breathe as I hold up the outfit. “What’s this?”
“Clothes.” His brow rises and heat burns through me.
“I can see that,” I say, pushing out the words. “Why?”
“Because I say so. Trust, remember?”
I grit my teeth. He stands up and walks toward me, dressed all in black and looking gorgeous as fuck. He makes my knees tremble like there’s no more strength in me, like I’m his.
Because maybe I am.
That shocks. Bites deep.
“Malone, I…” I don’t know, that’s what. I look at him as he approaches me, and he takes the clothes.
He traces the shape of my lips, then leans in to kiss me. “I fucking wish tonight could be something else, but it needs to be what it is.”
“What’s that?” Laughter bubbles up. “Fucked up?”
“Yes.”
Taking my hand, he leads me back to the bedroom and he slides my hair back while standing behind me. “Tonight I’m going to ask you to do some shit. I’m going to test your limits.”
I shake. “What?”
“No, Baby Red, that’s not how our game’s played. I need any shock to be real. All your reactions have to be real. So put on makeup, tie your hair up, and get in that outfit.” He runs his lips over my shoulder as he pulls open the robe, pushing it from my shoulders. “Fuck, you smell good. Gardenias and that sweet clean scent. It’s just like you. Simple yet complex.”
He nuzzles where my shoulder and neck meet, then lets me go, only to put the collar on. He secures it in place, just a notch too tight. I feel it. There. Pressing. And when I breathe? It’s like his hand on my flesh, squeezing just a little.
“Go and get changed.”
He takes me out to dinner first, some place where he’s known. Heads turn and I’m nervous. Even though I’m completely covered, I’m still exposed.
The collar’s simple leather and it looks like I’ve got some cutting-edge choker on. But it’s not. I know what it is, and it adds to that feeling of exposure.
I can’t even remember what we eat. He’s intent on showing me off and he’s so convincing, I can’t tell if this is him or an act.
Which I guess is the point.
He wants me to act and react as his, but as myself, a girl caught in him. “Act like you love me,” he whispered before we left the apartment.
It’s midnight when we walk through the front doors of the club. I’m not on his arm; I’m a step behind him.
I do that instinctively; I don’t know why, but it seems right. I remember seeing other women doing that with their dates the first night I came to find him.
“Drink?”
It takes me a second to register that he’s talking to me, and I nod. “Yes, Sir.”
That earns a smile as he moves in to drop a kiss on my lips. But then he turns away as he heads down the stairs, greeting a few people along the way, like a king. Down on the third level’s a different bar. This is all black down here and super exclusive from the looks of it. Leather seats, fat and round, dot the place, and there are masters sitting on them with their slaves kneeling on the floor in front of them.
Some have their slaves spread out on tables, holding drinks in their hands for their masters. There are other masters standing around, talking while slaves either stand behind, heads down, or kneel like pets at their feet.
If Malone asks me to get down like a dog on the floor, I don’t know if I can do it.
But that’s not true, because I would. And hate myself for even considering it.
He leans against the bar, and one of the girls behind there, wearing almost nothing but a pair of latex underwear and a nipple bar hurries over. She’s a redhead, beautiful and with the kind of sculpted curves I wish I had.
“Sir?”
The moment she says this, I tense as wild jealousy scorches a path in my veins.
“Scotch and a rum on the rocks.” He glances at me like he can read my mind, a little smile appearing, and I want to hit him.
Instead, I curl my hand, give him a hard look, and lower my eyes.
“Hand, Baby Red,” he says.
I hold it out and he puts something slick and cold in it. The glass.
“I’d advise you to drink the fuck up, baby doll.” I’m staring down at his feet as someone comes up to him. I see the shoes appear.
“Pretty,” says the voice, and there’s something slightly familiar, like I’ve heard it before. I almost look up, but somehow, I resist.
“She’s mine, not for sale.”
“JM. You don’t tend to come down here,” the other man says. “It’s an honor to see you on the floor.”
Malone laughs. “You are?”
“Aaron Miller, investor. And I’d sure as fuck love a piece of this place.”
I don’t know the name and Malone just says, “I’m sure you would, but I don’t have investors. If you’ll excuse us.”
Malone doesn’t say another word and he moves forward, leaving me to follow. The feet and voices fade as he leads me through a door. In here, wherever we are, the music changes to something darker, slower, more hypnotic. It’s bright, and I start to raise my head.
“Eyes down, Scarlett,” he says in his Sir voice.
It’s no louder than his regular voice, but the command is stronger, the power all his. It’s like he drains mine and my heart starts to beat faster.
“Drink up, Red.”
He shifts, moving behind me, and he ties a blindfold over my eyes.
“M-Malone?”
“Trust, Baby Red?” He frames it as a question, but it isn’t, not really. Even as he checks in, he knows he has it.
“Where are we?”
“It’s a playroom.” He takes the glass and holds it up to my lips, tipping it so I can drink. Then he takes it away and moves back behind me. His hand curls in my ponytail as he tugs my head back. “I’m going to take off your dress, tie you up, and suspend you, and then I’ll make you come.”
“Malone?”
“No words, Red. And don’t come until I command. That’s going to be the next time I speak to you. When I give you permission.” He pauses. “Nod if you understand.”
I nod.
“Stop fucking thinking, Red.” He pauses. “And kneel.”
I fall to my knees and he’s there, coming down with me, pressing up against me, hands stroking, touching, exploring.
Fear and anticipation thread through my veins as he unzips the dress, letting it fall to the ground. He stops talking and all I know is his touch.
He slides his fingers, featherlight and teasing, over my exposed flesh and it hits me; this is why I’m wearing underwear. The playrooms are the ones with the glass, where others outside can watch.
A thousand thoughts hit me, but the moment he steps in close, his hands stroking down my arms to fold them behind my back, trapping them between me and him, those thoughts stop.
He slides his mouth up my shoulders, and his hands do the same. I can barely breathe. I’m so full of everything and it quivers, just for him.
Along the collar he wraps his hand, a soft and gentle squeeze, and then he shifts it down to under my breasts, his mouth nuzzling me.
My body throbs, a blooming from my clit outward, and I wobble a little, my stomach fluttering.
Malone winds the first piece of rope around my chest, right under my breasts, his fingers smoothing over it, a sensuous, flow of connection to me. The chaotic world inside of me stills, calms.
There is only him, his rope, and his touch. The music becomes like one with me, flowing and rippling through. He smooths the rope as he sets it in place, skimming my skin and making me shiver.
He pulls it so it tightens, then knots it. He adds another layer and then another. Afterward, he takes my arms, fingers whispering down along the sensitive skin, and everywhere he touches makes heat and flame burst into breathing life within my flesh.
Malone’s mouth strokes down over my nape before he wraps and binds my arms, taking his time, each cross of the rope making it so I can’t move them, my hands tied together.
He rises, and I think he ties the rope to something as the weight of my arms shifts, but he doesn’t stop touching me, his fingertips trailing over my shoulder and my mouth.
Once more, he kneels in front of me, his body almost pressed against mine as he skims my lips with his and runs his hands down over my hips and ass.
He winds more rope low on my waist, then threads it through my thighs and up and then down again so knots sit at my asshole, and there’s one above my clit. Through the underwear I can feel the pull on my outer pussy lips, where he runs his fingers, back and forth and up to stroke my clit three times.
He slides his hands over my stomach and down to my thighs where he wraps rope around them each, up the top, and around the bottom of my ass.
It’s like he’s connecting each leg.
Suddenly, he shifts away from me, and I almost cry out. It’s like forever. It’s a moment, and he pulls the ropes slow, making me rise. He’s there. Of course he’s there to help me. I have to go on my toes.
He ties rope above my left knee, around and around, and he pulls so my leg rises up without me deciding to. He makes me. I’m balanced on one foot, but I think if I lifted that I’d still be up. He’s back, fingers skimming over my exposed and roped flesh, until he ties up my other leg, and then he pulls.
I’m suspended on a harness that he’s made, and it lifts me up, parting my legs. If I was naked, I’d be utterly, lewdly exposed.
How he’s got me literally in knots makes everything in me throb and dance, the pressure on those sensitive parts almost too much.
I’m immersed in everything him.
I’m somewhere helpless, but where my permission is power, my submission is also power, and I’m letting him wield it.
He pushes down on my back, making me turn so I’m facing forward, on my stomach, back arched. And then he folds my legs in and binds them so my toes point to my ass. My thighs are still open, and he pulls on the newest rope, winding it around my mouth, so I’m completely and utterly restrained.
He spins me and a wild euphoria slams into me as the ropes set off pressure points filled with pleasure.
Malone changes the ropes on my calves… or does he add them? I’m throbbing with need, trying not to come as he pulls that leg up high. He spins me again, trailing his fingers over me.
He pushes me downward and my face brushes against him. He’s hard. He moves me the other way, making me brush against him once more.
Then he ties up the other ankle, leaving it strapped where it is.
Time’s stopped for me. I’m undulating with the beat of the music, the rhythm of his hands on me as he keeps adjusting the ropes, changing my position, bringing me new bursts of pleasure.
I’m shaking, I need to come, it’s building in me, pushing at me.
But he doesn’t speak.
He adjusts some ties, flips me again, and I couldn’t even begin to tell what position I’m in. Up or down or turned out or in. I’m just trying not to come, and now the knot at my clit pushes against it, as does the one at my asshole.
He pushes me in big, wide swings that he somehow controls, and it rubs with each push forward, each fall back.
“Come, Red. Come for your Master.”
The orgasm bursts free. I shake and shudder, and that just sets the orgasm off deeper in me.
I can’t breathe. It’s too much. From behind the rope, I let out a high-pitched cry.
And then when I think I can’t take more, I’m hit again by something mind-bendingly big, and my whole body seems to implode with that euphoric bliss of release.
I don’t know when it stops, I’m lost in it, within the freeing cage of ropes he made.
Slowly, he undoes the gag and touches my legs with more pressure, and his hands come down over me as he frees them also.
Malone lifts me up into his arms, so I’m pressed back against him, feet and ass still on the floor. He kisses my throat, licking me, sucking on my skin, making me shudder and jump with aftermath tremors. Next, he undoes my arms and chest.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me. Then he claims my mouth, his hard cock pressed against my lower back.
I want— I want him, but I can’t move. He holds something to my mouth, and it’s water. I drink greedily, and slowly, I come down from the space I’m in.
“I’m taking the blindfold off now, Scarlett. Can you move?”
His voice is thick, scratchy.
“I… I think so,” I say. My voice isn’t faring much better.
He takes it off and he’s the most beautiful sight I’ve seen. My heart swells for him.
“You’re still high from subspace.”
I try to pull away. But he doesn’t let me.
“No, I’m fine,” I say.
He helps me up and I stagger away from him.
I look around, then down, and there are pretty patterns on my arms and lower legs, and parts of my body throb in freedom from the binding.
The room’s black and there’s red rope and a ring hanging from the ceiling. One he must have tied me to.
I look up and through the glass; people are there, staring in, some clapping.
Heat burns into my skin.
Malone leads me out, and it’s not until we’re in the middle of them that I realize I’m in my underwear and my panties are soaked.
He doesn’t stop until we reach the back of the club.
“JM.”
He stops at that and turns. I do, too. I’m still half-lost in it all and I forget until it’s too late to look down.
“JM,” the man says again. He’s holding out a card. Malone snaps his fingers and I take it. I don’t even think.
He takes it from me. “Johann Dunkel.”
“Good show,” the man says, voice greasy and slick like oil. “You know, she’d make a good star. For some highly customized media. I have clients who’d pay for that. She’s a little old, but for certain things, she’ll do, and you could make a name for yourself as her handler.”
“I already have enough money.” Malone sounds bored.
The man, Johann, isn’t fazed. “But you don’t own a porn star.”
Horror grips me with cold fingers, and I recoil.
“She’s my fiancée.”
“And?” the man says. “So?”
Malone looks at me and I stare back. “I should tell you eyes down,” he says.
“Sorry, Sir,” I say.
“But maybe you’re right.” Malone rubs his chin and glances back at the man. “She’s quality, rich, turning her into something millions might want to watch, or just a select few… could be fun. We’ll talk in my office. This way.”
I don’t move and Malone holds out his hand. It’s a command, not an ask. “Come on, Scarlett. You’ll put on a show, give him a sample.”
This is it. Trust.
I take a breath, look at this older, pudgy man who turns my stomach and makes bile rush up from my throat, and offer him a flirty smile. “Yes. Sir.”