Flashback

FLASHBACK

by Ella Ardent

Welcome to the Plume – where members are
bound by desire

and fantasies come true…

With the Plume in ashes, the members find
their options for the future shaped by their respective pasts. Will
Rex move past his infatuation with Joanna to find true love? Can
Joanna and Mike save their relationship - or is there no going back
after their experiment in fulfilling fantasies? If Athena relives
her past, will she choose a life with the Count - or will she
demand more of him than he can offer?

* * *

FLASHBACK

An Erotic Novella

Seventh in the Plume Series

By

Ella Ardent

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Ella Ardent

All rights reserved.

Without limiting the rights under copyright
preserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in
or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form,
or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,
or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the
copyright holder and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of
this book via the Internet or via any other means without the
permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not
participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted
materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

* * *

Books by Ella Ardent

The Plume Series:

Submission

Surrender

Seduction

Deception

Exhibition

Exposure

Flashback

The Wedding
Trilogy:

The Best Man

Always a Bridesmaid

Forever Bound
(Coming Soon)

* * *

Flashback

By Ella Ardent

Table of
Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

* * *

Chapter One

Athena couldn’t believe how closely the Count
had copied her grandmother’s house. She stood in the living room -
the one her grandmother would have called the front parlor - and
easily believed she had stepped back in time. She was amazed by his
attention to detail. The house was precisely the same.

The Count had left her alone, purportedly to
discuss some detail with his staff but probably to give her time to
recognize his achievement. It was late in the evening, and quiet in
this residential area. Athena could almost hear the house
breathe.

She looked, seeking something that was out of
place.

She didn’t find one.

Athena’s grandmother had adhered to the same
color scheme as Coco Chanel- everything in her home and her
wardrobe had been caramel and black. Everything. This room was no
exception. The pair of sofas that faced each other before the fire
were upholstered in butterscotch damask, their legs of dark wood
beautifully carved. The walls were paneled in wood of a paler hue
of gold; the pictures were line drawings, scenes of 19th century
London, framed in austere black. The heavily carved fireplace
mantle was made of dark stone, veined in beige: she stared at it
for a long time, astonished that there could be two the same in all
the world. The carpet was thick, a Persian in muted tones of golds
with a bit of charcoal. It was thick enough that footsteps made no
sound. The drapes were heavy velvet, lined, and dense enough to
buffer the sounds of the street outside.

The room was disorienting in its accuracy.
Athena almost expected to hear her grandmother’s voice or the moan
of some patron caught off-guard by pleasure.

It soothed her in an unexpected way. Life had
been simple when she’d lived at her grandmother’s home. She’d hated
it, but all the choices had been made for her. She’d rebelled, but
that had only led her to the Count and his discipline - another set
of rules. She hadn’t been responsible for much of anything, a gift
she hadn’t appreciated at the time.

Athena sipped her champagne and let the
stress of the last month slide away. For just a moment, she’d
pretend to be young and irresponsible again.

It was easy. In fact, she was surprised when
she glanced down at herself and saw her adult figure, the ripe
breasts she hadn’t possessed in those days. She hadn’t realized the
Count had spent enough time in her grandmother’s house to remember
so much. This room made her reconsider her assumptions about him.
Was the whole house so accurately rendered?

Why would he go to so much trouble? The Count
never did anything without a reason and a feat like this must have
an objective of great importance.

Was it true that he loved her?

Athena was still skeptical, after the way
he’d cast her aside all those years ago. He’d claimed her once and
disappeared. Was it unfair to doubt his explanation? Had her
guardians really kept him away? Had he really intended to give her
time to grow up? Or had he been disinterested in her, as she’d
always believed? Once she’d believed anything he told her, but he’d
changed that himself.

The Count loved innocence. She knew that.
Athena also knew that she hadn’t been innocent in a long, long
time.

If ever.

Did he want her? Or was she just a symbol of
something else?

Athena strolled the perimeter of the room,
sipping her champagne, her body tingling. So many memories. In this
setting, she couldn’t fight them off - and didn’t want to. It had
been in her grandmother’s house that she had learned the
intoxicating combination of pleasure and pain.

And the Count had been the one to teach her.
Athena caught her breath.

Mr. Rossini. She recalled her astonishment at
seeing her Italian teacher in her grandmother’s parlor, this
parlor. Every girl at school was infatuated with him, and Athena
hadn’t been alone in shivering with delight when he said her name.
She remembered the thrill of that night...

But no. The Count was trying to manipulate
her. She put her glass down with a decisive click. He was trying to
recreate a moment in time that was gone forever, to better serve
his own purposes.

Athena became impatient with her own
gullibility. This house had to be a trick. It couldn’t be
exactly
the same as the other. That was impossible,
especially given the many secrets her grandmother’s house had held
captive.

She would prove it and break the spell.
Athena crossed the room to the wall on one side of the window. The
carving of the wood was so similar that the paneling could have
been taken from her grandmother’s house. It was so easy to remember
the first time she’d seen the hidden panel open, its treasures
displayed.

That night.

The night it had all begun.

The night her mother had given her to the
Count.

Athena’s heart skipped and her chest
tightened. She could see a younger version of the Count standing by
this panel. He hadn’t actually been that much older than she, but
wiser in the ways of the world. In her mind’s eye, he choose a pair
of black leather gloves and donned them slowly. She could see him
make his choice as she stood before her grandmother, trembling with
fear and excitement.

It had been the first time. Novelty had been
the source of that night’s power.

Athena slid her fingers along the underside
of the chair rail, feeling for a lever she knew wouldn’t be
there.

But it was. Her eyes widened in shock.

She depressed the lever and caught her breath
when a crack was revealed in the paneling. Exactly the same. Athena
opened the door in the paneling and stared at the contents of the
flat hidden panel. An array of paddles, whips and riding crops was
hung there. The tools were all black, their handles bound with soft
leather, and the cabinet was lined with caramel velvet.

Identical, but no longer mysterious to
her.

She touched the handle of the bullwhip and
swallowed, her mind flooding again with the memories.

Athena is tall for her age, has far too much
red hair but even more fury at her situation. She resents that her
parents died unexpectedly and feels betrayed by their absence. She
hates them for abandoning her and she despises her grandmother’s
house, where she now has to live. It’s all perfect and elegant -
and as cold as ice.

Just like her grandmother. Athena hates her
more than any of this, more than her new school, more than her
stupid uniform, more than this awful house.

Athena’s grandmother sits opposite her, a
tall woman who moves with precision. She is a stranger. Her hair is
the color of ginger and her eyes are green. As cold as jade. She
surveys Athena over the rim of her tea cup, her rings glinting and
her disapproval clear.

She puts the cup into the saucer with an
audible click and sets it aside. A uniformed maid scampers to take
it from her hand. Athena’s grandmother barely notices the maid.

Snotty old bitch,
Athena thinks.
So
sure she owns the world. I’ll show her she doesn’t own me.

“
And I don’t have time for children,” her
grandmother says crisply. “Although I suppose something will have
to be made of you.”

Athena’s tone is strident, rebellious. “I’m
seventeen, not a child.”

Her grandmother’s brows rise. “And thus, a
minor. I have no choice but to allow you to stay here. The
solicitor has made that clear.” Her voice hardens. “You will have
to do exactly as you are told.”

“
I’m not doing anything you tell me. I
don’t want to be here either.”

“
We have no choice.”

“
I don’t care. I’ll run away.”

“
How thoughtful of you to give warning of
your intentions,” her grandmother says calmly. “I’ll have the locks
checked every night and ensure that you are escorted to and from
school.”

Athena is on her feet, her hands knotted into
fists. “You’re not going to lock me in!”

To Athena’s surprise, her grandmother smiles.
“We’ll see about that. I know a good bit about discipline, young
lady, while it appears you know very little.”

Athena is mutinous. “You won’t discipline me.
You won’t!”

Her grandmother is not in the least bit
daunted. “We’ll see about that.” The sight of her cool confidence
sends a shiver of dread down Athena’s spine.

What will this woman do to her?

“Close enough?” the Count asked, and startled
Athena out of her reverie.

* * *

Joanna awakened to find herself stretched out
on her back. It felt like satin beneath her. She was on the bed in
that cell that Eric had set up, the one she and Mike and Eric had
visited earlier. She tried to move her hands, but found them bound
together above her head, locked into leather cuffs that were lined
with luxurious fur. Her ankles, too, were secured together and
fastened to the footboard. She was stretched out taut and straight,
not exactly uncomfortable, but unable to move.

Where was Mike?

Mike hadn’t come, she remembered in a panic.
It had been Eric who had tied her down. Her heart fluttered in fear
and she struggled against her bonds, even knowing it was futile.
She thought of screaming, but was sure it would only annoy her
captor.

She was terrified.

Eric came out of the bathroom just then and
smiled. The expression wasn’t reassuring. He was drying his hands
on a towel and cast it aside as he walked toward her. “Sleeping
beauty awakens,” he said, stopping beside the bed to look down at
her. He was only wearing jeans, just as he had been before, but if
anything he looked more unpredictable.

She could see his erection, straining against
the denim. That wasn’t s good sign.

Joanna wriggled, unable to stop her impulse.
“Let me go.”

“Not yet.” He dropped on to the bed beside
her, then ran a hand over her breasts. “We have to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you. You tricked
Mike and me into this and...”

Joanna was silenced as Eric locked his hand
over her mouth. Much to her dismay, she couldn’t wriggle free.