Cataphilia
Authors: Caitlyn Willows
Amber Quill Press
www.amberquill.com
Copyright ©2010 by Caitlyn Willows
Lydia stood before the Eiffel Tower on the edge of a crowded tour group of obnoxious Americans, bored out of her mind. She'd been promised a trip she'd never forget, an adventure to boggle her mind and warm her on cold nights. There was nothing adventurous about this, despite the night that showed the landmark in all its glory. Her nerves crawled, her temper spiked, and if she had to listen to the guide's nasal tones one second longer...
"Lydia?” A deep voice rumbled through her. Right behind, heat rising over her as his breath tickled the shell of her ear. A presence ready to claim her, to bore into her very soul.
Her heartbeat kicked into double-time. “Yes?"
Eyes downcast, she turned her head slightly, but could see very little of the man, despite the streetlights and the continual stream of vehicles passing. He wore a dark shirt and trousers and tempted her with the scent of Brut. Her body trembled. That was the scent worn by the first boy she'd ever made out with. A romping session outside the school gym on a moonless night that found her pressed against the brick wall and her boyfriend dry humping her crotch to orgasm, while his tongue lashed around hers and his fingers groped her breasts.
"You're to come with us,” another voice replied, softer, tempting, but with just as much command. There was a familiarity about it, and Lydia turned toward the newcomer. Again, dark obscured his features and his clothing helped camouflage him in the night.
"Why?” The word came out on a whispered breath. Yes, their approach intrigued her.
"Your adventure awaits."
The first man stepped closer, fingers dusting across her elbow, dissipating the scant barrier her long-sleeved cotton blouse provided. Goose bumps flared over her skin, riffling the hairs to attention. That's when Lydia dared a full look in their direction.
Both wore fedoras and, beneath those, Zorro-type masks covered their features. Mystery men with broad shoulders and sculpted muscles that rippled beneath their shirts and made a girl want to wrap her arms and legs around. Yes, her trip to Paris was already looking up.
"Who are you?” Lydia was up for adventure, but she wasn't stupid.
"We're cataphiles.” The second one's smile showed off his dimples. Recognition spiked through her.
"Mark?"
A slight nod confirmed her guess. “So much for the disguise."
Her best friend and sometimes lover. He'd suggested Paris. Shoot, he'd even driven her to the airport. Then clearly hopped the next flight to join her.
She looked at him in puzzlement while he doffed the hat and whipped off the mask. Long fingers ruffled his brown hair into place. He stuffed the disguise into a canvas duffel draped over his shoulder.
Dozens of questions flooded her mind, but only one came out. “What's a cataphile?"
"Someone who loves the Paris underground. You wanted excitement and adventure.” He swept his arms out to encompass the city. “This is it."
"What ... what are we going to do?” Lydia hated when her voice trembled.
The deep voiced man leaned in. “Baby ... we're going to fuck you."
Oh God! Brent!
Rugged, tanned and scary as shit. Mark's other best friend. The one whose dark eyes devoured her with looks that said he knew what she looked like naked, even though he'd never had the pleasure. The one she'd secretly longed for, yet feared because Lydia knew she'd never measure up. Brent was born to have a trophy woman at his side, not a mousy petite bookworm like her. He lived in her fantasies ... and Mark knew it. Hell, he knew all her deep-dark fantasies, her wants, her goals, her fears. He'd done this for her. Love swelled her heart. Lust did the same to her clitoris.
Brent lost the disguise as well, passing it over to Mark to place in the bag. One swipe of his broad hand smoothed his hair into place. His dark eyes glittered with the promise of ... God, she couldn't begin to imagine of what. Too many thoughts and fantasies swam through her mind.
"Come.” Mark pressed his hand to her ass and squeezed in a rhythm that simulated another act she loved—one that involved her facedown over his knee with her backside bared. The man knew how to give the perfect spanking.
Lydia's breath hitched. She clenched her thighs to fight the rush. That subtle pulse only doubled her predicament. She chided herself for her lust and ordered her blood to cool, her heart to stop racing. Neither listened.
Brent loomed over her now, barely two inches between them. Somehow Mark blocked her from behind and she hadn't realized he'd closed the minuscule distance between them. The heat was enormous ... sweet in its own bizarre way. She imagined herself stripped bare and laid out for their pleasure, their tongues, their fingers ... her toys.
"Do you want it? Us? Inside you? Making you come until your screams shake the foundations of the city?” Mark's hot hand swooped up her back, then down to the curve of her buttock once more.
Her body clenched of its own volition. Need poured through her. They were alphas all the way ... and they were here for her. She was sorry she'd ruined the surprise by outing their identities. What woman didn't fantasize about two hunky men abducting her for a night of ravishment? But then, Lydia wasn't foolish. She'd never have gone off with strangers, no matter how alluring the sexual fantasy might be.
"I do.” Another breathless reply. She was lost.
Brent's nostrils flared. Lydia wondered if he scented her arousal over the Paris night. She sure as hell felt it, dampening her crotch, pooling between her thighs, and threatening to soak the white cotton panties she'd worn under her shin-length paisley skirt.
"Good. Then come with us.” A sharp swat to her bottom punctuated Mark's words.
Arms guarded her back as the men flanked her. They guided Lydia down the street, matching their long strides to her shorter ones, but never once slowing the pace. She expected a cab to be waiting around the corner to whisk them away. None appeared. Only darker streets the farther they walked. So dark Brent flicked on a flashlight he'd had buried in the pocket of his black trousers. Her heartbeat kept time with the taps of their leather soles on the street.
It felt like they'd traveled miles in a few minutes when the men stopped before a black door on a small building that resembled an old telephone box. It opened easily when Brent twisted the knob. A dark void swallowed his flashlight beam.
"Not far now.” Mark urged her forward with a press of his hand to her back.
Lydia anchored her feet to the ground. “No."
"It's all right.” Mark smoothed his hand over her shoulders. “We're going down into the catacombs."
That's what he'd meant when he'd said they were cataphiles. She'd thought he was teasing, that it was part of their seduction. She never imagined he intended them to go below the earth!
Lydia shook her head hard. “No, we're not. No way in hell.” Fear replaced lust. “It's too dark. It'll collapse. No."
"We'll be safe where we're going.” Brent stood at the portal. He reached for her hand and tugged her forward.
Lydia remained rooted in place. “No."
"This is for you.” Mark's breath tickled her neck. He licked the tendon beneath her ear, then nibbled the lobe ... then bit it.
An ache spiked through her.
Still...
"You don't understand.” She hauled in a breath, then another, trying not to hyperventilate and not succeeding very well.
"We do understand.” Brent grabbed her shoulders in a gentle grip. “Breathe, Lydia. Look at me.” He snapped his fingers. “At me. Look."
A command. Scary and intense as he might seem to her at times, Lydia knew he was someone on whom she could depend. One of Mark's best friends, and Mark wouldn't allow her to come to harm. She focused on those dark eyes and his words.
He rubbed soothing circles on her shoulders, calming her. “Breathe. In ... and out. In..."
She pulled in a deep breath.
"And out..."
And slowly released it.
"I understand.
We
understand,” Mark repeated. He guarded her from behind, giving her heat and comfort. Hot hands covered her hips. Instinct and need made her press against him. There was more comfort in the erection now poking her back.
Brent moved in, covering her belly with his hard cock. “You're safe with us. You know neither of us would ever put you in jeopardy. Will a blindfold help you past the entrance? Do you want to safe-word us?"
Safe word ... oh my God ... he really is a Dom!
How long had Mark known? This wasn't just an adventure. This was an introduction into a lifestyle she'd only toyed with. She could step through the door, swallow her fears, and experience it ... or walk away and never realize what she'd been missing. Few things scared Lydia more than the dark, but she knew she'd regret this chance the rest of her life if she didn't do it.
One safe word and it would all be over, right here, right now. No, Lydia didn't want that. She knew she'd never forgive herself if she didn't experience what they were offering tonight. Somehow, she had to fight her fear of dark, closed-in spaces. Maybe that was also Mark's intent—to help her finally get past this fear. To give her a victory she needed to move past a stagnant phase of life.
"No safe word.” Her voice trembled with the declaration. A flare of empowerment lit her belly. Fear crawled toward it. “I'm afraid, though."
"We've got you,” Mark said.
They sure did, wedged between them so tightly Lydia knew nothing could pull them apart.
"Blindfold?” Brent asked.
Facing her fears was one thing; seeing them quite another. There was only so much Lydia could bear at the moment. “Yes, please."
And with those words, Mark placed a satin mask over her eyes. The feel of it comforted her, providing a steady constant with which she was intimately familiar—satin nighties, satin bindings at her wrists and ankles, Mark's tongue leisurely exploring her. Yes, she could do this.
Before she could ask how she was going to find her way down blindfolded, Brent bent and tossed her over his hard shoulder.
She let out a tiny squeal at the suddenness of the action. The sound earned her a sharp whack on the ass. Warmth spread. God, she wanted another.
"More,” she gasped out.
"I would love to.” Brent rubbed his hand over her bottom. “I've been wanting your sweet ass bared to me for months, growing pink and hot under a very sound spanking. But we don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves right now. After all, what we're about to do isn't exactly legal. We don't want the local police to find us sneaking into the catacombs before we finish our quest. Now do we?"
"There ... there are other places.” Like her hotel room. Her nice, safe hotel room.
Mark cupped her face and nipped at her lips. “But none are as adventurous and that's what we promised."
He kissed her quickly, flashing his tongue over her lips, then pulling away when she opened her mouth for more as Brent eased her feet to the ground and braced her against the wall of his body.
"Maybe we'll be caught,” Mark whispered, lips raking down the column of her throat. “Maybe the policeman will want a taste of you for himself. Maybe he'll
punish
you for violating the law. Thrust his baton into your pussy while he wields a leather strap over your ass."
Lydia squeezed her thighs against the rush, realizing too late the folly of that action. Brent inched her skirt up ... up ... up, grinding his erection into the small of her back each time he gained more material.