Caged

Tilly
Greene

Designing jewelry is Gabby’s
passion. Her long hours and extreme work ethic keep her working late until her
body cries out for satisfaction. Succulent, the local BDSM club, is the perfect
place to have sex and nothing else. There are no surprises when she allows her
submissive soul out to play, until she answers one man’s call—and now she wants
much more.

Strategy and control rule Max. As
an environmental consultant he has the ear of local government officials up to
the Prime Minister and gets results. His passions, however, involve something
more erotically inclined. As a silent partner in a private club, Max has
benefits—a perk he’s grateful for when he first lays eyes on a busty beauty.

The club brings Gabby and Max
together for sex, but what happens outside its walls is more intense, real and
involves the heart.

A Romantica®
contemporary erotic romance
from
Ellora’s Cave

London, England

Exhausted and happy after a wild night of sex was exactly
what Gabby wanted to be. Making her way into the ladies’ lounge room on
wobbling legs wasn’t easy but it was a small price to pay for satisfaction.
Collapsing onto one of the chairs placed around the room, she closed her eyes
for a second.

Anonymous debauchery was what she expected from Succulent
and the past few hours had been nothing short of perfection. Nipple twisting,
pussy teasing, screaming climaxes—all while tied up and at the mercy of what
the delightful Sir had offered and she’d accepted everything with pleasure.

She’d decided to partner with someone she’d been with before
and had been a little apprehensive about overdoing their connection. She’d been
with him her last three visits to the club, three consecutive Saturdays. There
was something unique about the gorgeous man. Whatever it was had her coming
back to him for more of the passion he shared.

Maybe she should worry about becoming addicted. She had a
problem with espresso from Cafe Nero. If she could get it via a drip when tied
to her chair with deadlines, she would.

“Miss,” whispered a voice while someone tapped her on the
shoulder. Gabby wasn’t asleep but she was close.

“Yes?” she murmured without opening her eyes.

“This is for you,” a woman told her in a slightly louder
tone.

Opening her eyes, she found a blue envelope waiting for her.
Seeing “Cassandra” written in a strong hand across the front, she sat up and
straightened the robe she’d grabbed when she’d walked into the lounge.

“Thank you. Who’s it from?” The woman wore a club uniform of
white dress shirt and matching skirt.

“From your partner this evening,” she said with a smile
before turning to leave.

Alone again, Gabby found herself more awake than she’d been.
Looking at the envelope, all sorts of things involving Sir entered her mind.
The man she’d played endless hours of erotic sex games with had left her a
note. What could he possibly have to tell her in writing rather than to her
face?

She’d left him less than half an hour earlier. Whatever he
wrote had to have been on his mind while they were together.

Interesting.

Curiosity was eating at her to read the note but she wanted
to get home first. Good or bad news would be better with a cuppa tea. Gabby
made a move toward the bathing room.

Unzipping her boots, she stepped out of them and slipped the
envelope inside one of them to protect it from the water. The only other piece
of clothing she needed to take off was the cropped top she’d worn. The night
had started with her wearing a pair of short, tushy-riding shorts. Trashy biker
chick was what she’d been going for and Sir had liked it. He’d stripped her of
the shorts and tied her over a vault as soon as they were in their private
room.

She liked how the club employees worked quietly and quickly
to ensure discarded items were placed in the area of a member’s locker. Somehow
she always left with what she brought.

With the water on and a fresh bar of soap in hand, she
worked on getting her body clean. Running the soap over chest, stomach, arms
and legs, she moved on to her backside and remembered the night’s opening
scene. With her ass in the air, he’d spanked her with his bare hand. The memory
brought gooseflesh racing along her arms and down her legs.

Thinking of how the moment had ended, she smiled and turned
off the water. Gabby wasn’t there for a deep clean, she planned to take a hot
bath at home to help ease her sore inner muscles. After she dried off, she
picked up her things and made her way to the dressing room. Putting on her
street clothes, she checked the envelope was still in her boot.

Placing her boots and clothes in her carrying bag, she
closed it up and left the lounge. Once she checked out of the club, she walked
outside and down a couple of blocks before she found an open cab pulled to the
side.

“Atherstone Mews, Cromwell Road end please.” Gabby sat down
in the back and leaned against the side. For a second she looked out the
window. Nothing caught her attention. In the quiet her mind whirled with
memories of the night.

Her time with Sir had been as spectacular as the other two
nights they’d played. Gabby was glad he’d asked her to take the no-kissing
requirement off her club wristlet. The card hanging from a bracelet listed
everything the wearer deemed acceptable and what wasn’t. No other partner at
the club had ever asked for her to make a change.

She wasn’t sure why no one had ever asked, but she assumed
they took the key notations as non-negotiable, but he hadn’t.

Apparently there was flexibility in her she hadn’t known
existed. Then again, she knew Sir was special because of how he treated her
when they were together.

The man had made her feel like more than a person he had sex
with and left without a word. In their down times, he’d talked to her with
intelligence and respect. She’d enjoyed those moments but she’d also enjoyed
the fantastic sex.

Maybe his note asked to see her outside the club, maybe not.
While it went against her rules to take whatever happened in Succulent home,
Gabby thought seeing each other beyond the club’s walls would be interesting.

Either way, she’d dream of him and all the orgasms she’d had
with him. She couldn’t ask for more.

The cab pulled onto her small, cobbled road and stopped in
front of her place.

“Seven pound ninety, love,” the driver told her after he
slid open the glass separating them. She handed over a tenner and the cab doors
unlocked.

“Ta,” she said to the cabbie and stepped into the wet road.
With keys at the ready and bag in hand, she shut the door behind her. While she
took a few steps through the drizzle to her home, the black car turned around
and went back out to Cromwell Road.

Living in London amongst the hustle and bustle of the city
was what she’d wanted to do growing up and she was happy to be doing it. She’d
lucked out further with where her home was located. The old carriage house had
a long time ago been turned into a terrace. While in a quiet back corner, her
place was only a few steps from a major road. The placement made it easy
getting around. The tube was a few blocks away, but she could always flag a cab
or catch a bus.

Once inside, she turned off the alarm and set the bag
holding her naughty-biker-chick things by the door. Hanging up her coat, she
bent down and pulled the note from her boot. She looked carefully at
“Cassandra” neatly written across the envelope. The print was strong, sure.
Like Sir.

Making her way into the kitchen, she turned the lights on
then started the kettle going. By the time she’d chosen a cup and had dropped a
bag of chamomile tea to rest on the bottom, the kettle had boiled. Pouring hot
water over the bag, she let the tea steep and looked at the note resting on the
counter. Giving the bag a stir, Gabby used her finger to break the seal.

Holding her breath, she quickly read what he’d written. When
she finished, she read it again. After the third time through, she set it down
and finished making her cuppa. Less than a minute later, she took them both
into the living room to sit down. She went through it all again.

Cassandra,

Forget the
notation on your club key stating no outside contact and join me tomorrow night
at 7:00 p.m. for dinner at The Dorchester.

Max

Not Sir, the only title she’d been instructed to call him
whenever they were together at the club, but Max. Like his penmanship, there
was an essence of power, strength and assurance to his moniker. Before she
known him as anything other than Sir, she considered him sinfully sexy. Now
that she had something else to call him nothing had changed.

In the end, she wanted to call him something other than Sir,
cry it out as she climaxed. No, what she wanted was to hear him call her Gabby
and not Cassandra. The name she chose to go by at the club was meant to put a
wall between her and her partners. She didn’t want that with Max.

Picking up her cup, she took a sip and wondered if his full
name was Maximilian, or maybe Maxwell. Of course she wanted to meet him in the
real world. His physical prowess and utter handsomeness spoke to her on a level
never touched by another. Reading the request for them to meet outside the club
left her hungering for him, but there were doubts.

What if they actually did connect outside the club? She
should be concerned about her safety, only she wasn’t. Their previous
interactions had taken the issue straight out of the worry column she’d
mentally created. However, there was another idea bound to cause her to think
twice about meeting him.

If they didn’t hit it off outside the club, then there could
be problems getting together behind Succulent’s doors. If she took the
reasoning a step further, the club might also become an uncomfortable place to
visit. Gabby reminded herself the word was
might
. She hoped they worked
well together in the real world but they may not.

As she carried her empty cup back into the kitchen, her mind
moved on to work.

It was Sunday, the day before her meeting with museum
curators and she had to be prepared for anything. There were details to go
over, an outfit and her portfolio to double check, probably triple check. What
she needed to do was find some peace. She’d gone to the club to step back, work
out the stress of not knowing exactly what the meeting Monday morning would
entail.

Gabby smiled as she walked up the stairs to the bathroom and
kept positivity in her head. Thinking of Max was actually easy to do, but
saying his name in her head sent her desire skyrocketing. Maybe what she should
do was not think of him at all as there was no relief in sight.

Preparing her black pepper aromatherapy bath for a third early
morning in a row, she busied herself by once again taking off her clothes and
shoes. Once the tub was filled, she sank into the heat and let the hot pepper
work its magic on her sore muscles. As the tenderness eased from her body she
worked to keep her mind empty.

* * * * *

“I left a note asking her to meet me at the Dorchester
tonight,” Max told Shane as he sat down at the table they favored. The few
women meandering around the club’s main bar held no interest for him beyond
them being there and spending money. He was in the midst of possibly changing
his life’s path and that took all his attention.

Despite being part owner of Succulent for almost ten years,
he’d never encountered a woman he wanted to know beyond the scenes they played.
This was a new situation for him.

“What a big step. I conducted her interview when she applied.
Nice woman. Seriously, she’s the type of person a friend or neighbor gets to
watch their pet while away. I found her an interesting mix of sensually erotic,
intelligent and untouchable. Still find it hard to wrap my head around her
actually being into kinky stuff. Are you sure you want to do this?”

His partner and friend sat up to get his drink from the
table between them and pushed a scotch on rocks toward him. They’d been thrown
together as first-year roommates at university and best friends ever since. On
a night of pub crawling they’d drank loads, talked some and quickly discovered
they were both into the same kink with no place to play. At least not somewhere
they were willing to drop their pants. Back then they’d been horny young men
but sane enough to want a safe place to have sex.

The clubs they’d found were skanky and eventually Shane had
come up with a solution. He’d dropped out during their second year and set up
the club based on their wish lists. While Max had stayed in school, he had used
the money he kept squirreled away to help fund the club while getting degrees
in Environmental Science and Finance.

Between the two of them, they had a good mix of business
insight. He knew the logical practices and Shane was more practical. They owned
the building that housed Succulent and could do with it what they wanted.
Thankfully the reclamation water scheme he’d designed and they’d installed had
paid off. The original outlay of money had been earned back and saved them
fiscally on their monthly water bill. There was no asking for a better
scenario.

Ultimately, they were friends who often came at a problem
from different sides. After talking, they found common ground, which helped
them present a united front. They also got off on similar things when it came
to sex. Bondage and women, in his eyes, made for a great club. They made a good
team.

“We’ve met three times. It’s not much, but each time we got
together brimmed with quality. I believe we’ve gone beyond simply playing games
together. Yes, she gets my juices flowing. I get excited to see her and know
we’ll both leave satisfied, but there is something more going on between us.”

“You’ve had other woman more often and gone back for more.
You’re hot for her, but think beyond satisfying your cock.” Shane’s elbows
rested on his knees as he shared what was in his head before nodding at one of
the couples who walked by them on their way out.

“All I’m saying is be sure because you might end up scaring
away a good partner,” the man said before sitting back and taking a long pull
on his scotch.

“For the first time I think in my life, I want something
more with a woman than simply sex. When we’re in the midst of a scene, it’s all
about pleasure, but afterward I want more. Once we’ve both been satisfied, she
makes me think there’s a possibility of something deeper happening between us.
We talk about stuff other than what we did or are about to do.” It wasn’t hard
to share what was happening in his life with his friend. He wanted to hear his
take on it all.

“More? Deeper? Please don’t tell me you’re in love. I know
she’s a beautiful woman and plays the sex games you like with enthusiasm, but
you can’t call it love.”