Love Beat (15 page)

“How long must I wear this?”

He runs a finger along the rim of the silver frond where it clasps the swell of my right breast. “Tonight we’re hosting a Fetish Pool Party. You’re going in this. Is that okay for your image, or would you like to phone your agent?”

“And tell her I’m wearing this? No way. She’d freak.”

He grins. “Okay, then we’ll make some additions. You’ve got ten minutes to fix your makeup and do your hair. Then get back here.”

* * * *

When I come back, he eyes me for a few moments then takes a matching breast piece off a velvet stand and tries it against me. It looks like a skimpy bra. Two large sliver flowers heavily encrusted with jewels are linked with a slender silver chain that clasps under the arms and over the shoulders.

The centers of the flowers are hollow. When he fixes it in place, my nipples bulge through the small holes, giving the flowers living, rosy centers.

He caresses them lovingly, teasing my nipples and pulling them a little to stretch them even farther.

I pant slightly as they stiffen almost to numbness.

Heat flares below and slowly fades to a dull ache between my legs.

Why is this so arousing?

He’s watching me, his expression intent. “They’re also nipple clamps if I screw them up a little—” He twists the flowers, making them even tighter. I gasp as my nipples grow hard as pebbles and darken. The throb comes again.

At this rate, I’ll never get through the evening.

“Too much?” He eases the screws back just a fraction until my breathing steadies.

“Good girl,” he says softly. “Now for some mystery. Try this.”

He opens a drawer below the cabinet and takes out a length of scarlet chiffon. As he shakes it out, it flares around me, gossamer light. With swift movements he bunches it at one shoulder and drapes it front and back.

He fastens a thin, diamond-encrusted chain loosely around my waist, knotting it so it hangs modestly, covering the apex of my legs and loops a thin, matching chain of diamonds in my hair.

In the mirror, the elfin I’m staring at is transformed into some exotic Eastern princess. The colored silk floats around me but exposes my naked flanks. The jewelry glitters softly under the chiffon, hinting at splendor, showing my curves and my hollows in dazzling detail.

“Find some high-heeled sandals you can keep on in the pool.”

In my dressing room, I quickly find a pair in glossy silver. Hoping they’re pool-proof I slip them on and pirouette before him.

He smiles, his eyes narrow. “Perfect.”

* * * *

The pool party sounds like fun but yet again, it’s a glittering occasion. It’s a warm summer evening and fairy lights twinkle in the trees and bushes. Waiters slide among the guests with trays of champagne as a dazzling array of stars and celebrities gather on the terrace, cluster in the shallow heated pool and spread out over the lawns.

Many of the costumes are truly shocking with straps, leather and studs exposing a great deal of pink, bronzed or milky flesh, some of it
striped
. Many people are wearing masks, some are in evening dress and a few in the pool are in kinky swimwear.

Everywhere, the newly trained subs and Doms are keen to show off their skills. Under the watchful eye of Nera and her assistants, one or two are already teasing each other with whips and floggers.

Among all these lewd and fantastical costumes, my chiffon is pretty and practical. The jewelry blazes underneath in a dramatic statement of veiled, erotic wealth. I draw envious looks.

In the pool I’m soon splashed from head to foot. When it’s wet, the whisper-thin silk clings, shockingly transparent, but it quickly dries.

“You look amazing, Tunis, like a fairy princess. Are those real diamonds?” Mel and Ben look shocked as I joined them. Jake glowers from the other side of the pool then reaches for his camera.

As I greet the team, I fend off eager questions about my costume and my jewels.

Mel, stunning in skin-tight, bright blue latex, red hair flowing, fills me in on the team’s activities.

It seems Ben’s now deeply attracted to Nera—his training session Domme—much to Mel’s fury. Jake’s moodier than ever, while Mel’s consoling herself over Ben’s fling by attaching herself like a limpet to Garth Delaney, male lead in the coming movie and her all-time pin-up.

“And I’m going to extend that interview. But I’m not sure how to ask him.” Just then Mel’s jaw drops. “
Omigosh—
Tunis, don’t look. It’s
him.
”

A ripple of excitement runs through the crowd and I spin round.

The Panther.
He’s on the terrace—a fearsome, terrifying gladiator with flowing black hair and a braided beard reaching halfway down his powerful, oiled chest. His feet are bare and he’s wearing only his trademark hood and a black leather loincloth. A coiled bullwhip hangs casually over one shoulder.

I freeze as he scans the crowd and his gaze falls on me.

And I thought I was safe.

Mel puts an arm around me. “Hey, it’s okay. We won’t let him get you.”

Then a strange thing happens. From all around us, women are leaving their partners and moving forward. Soon he’s mobbed and starts signing autographs. Nera fights her way through to murmur something to him and he glances up with a grin. Or is it a snarl? The crowd backs off a little.

Nera turns to the crowd and makes an announcement.
He’s going to give a display.

I stare spellbound as a space opens up on the terrace and at Nera’s direction, two of the women haul a third forward and hold her by the arms. It’s Eileen, the pretty little redhead, the other star of the movie and the intended occupant of the harness I’m wearing.

The crowd surges closer. Mel’s grip on my arm tightens. “Tunis? Don’t look.”

I have to look. It’s my dream made flesh.

The Panther waits, poised and still. Women scurry around him and the crowd grows quiet then he slowly unfurls the whip. It looks enormous. The tail end alone seems several feet long, the business end near the handle, powerful and thick.

Yards away the quivering Eileen is being tightly held. She has her back to him. Her arms and legs are spread wide, firmly clasped by willing helpers, her plump little rear fully exposed. Her pretty face is a picture—a mixture of fear, hunger
and excitement
.

I know the feeling.

The Panther takes a step forward and, in one lithe move, his body uncoils. The whip follows his arm with a sudden crack, its whole length unfurling in a single, fluid movement. The thin tip lands on Eileen with a force that makes her jerk, even though the fist gripping the whip handle, sole source of the blow, is yards away.

I see instantly how the Panther got his name. His single flash of uncoiled power is unleashed in a move so graceful that I feel a lump in my throat.

He lands two more blows then turns to the crowd with a smile, coiling the whip with a flourish and slinging it over one shoulder. The crowd roars applause. He bows to Eileen, now blushing and restored to the protective arm of her lover, Jo. The fans crowd back for more autographs and cell phone photos.

But before they close in, he holds them at bay with an upraised hand. His eyes glitter through the gaps in his hood as he touches the coiled whip to his forehead, and he looks straight at me in a final salute.

I turn away, shaking.
He knows I’m here.
He knows who I am.

And he’s just like my dreams…

I swallow.

“Hey, this is Tunis, right?”

I spin round as Garth Delaney holds out his hand.

“So glad to meet you at last, Tunis. Saw you by the pool. Hey, how about a dance?”

Mel looks on in disbelief as the star leads me to the center of the pool. Others follow and soon we’re surrounded as Jake’s camera whirrs away in the background.

As we dance, I slip in some questions and find he’s surprisingly normal for a star. “It’s a lotta fun here, honey, but I miss the kids. And back home the wife’s getting, you know,
edgy
. So I’m leaving tomorrow.”

I accept another cocktail from the tray of a passing waiter. As I open my mouth to reply, a rich male voice cuts in from somewhere just behind me.

“Shame. The party won’t be the same without you.” Cade steps smoothly between us and lifts the drink out of my hand. He takes a sip, eyeing me over the rim. “You’ve had enough.” He touches my arm and arches an eyebrow. Startled, I nod a brief farewell to the star and turn away with a quickening heartbeat.

Cade’s eyes scorch briefly into mine.

What?

I feel heat flare between my thighs as my arousal rebels against the torment of his fabulous jewelry, reminding me of its dark purpose—to make me ready for him, eager to submit.

He looks ahead, as if our leaving the pool together is mere coincidence. He speaks too low for others to hear, but his low growl is already making me pulse and ache.

“I’ve watched you flirting with other men for long enough. Now it’s my turn. Get upstairs, now. I’ll follow in a few minutes. Wait in the middle of the room, eyes down, hands clasped behind your back. And don’t touch anything. I want to undress you myself.”

* * * *

When he walks in, I’m standing as commanded. When I’d come in, I’d taken a few minutes to freshen up, but I’d hardly needed to. In the mirrors I’d looked bright-eyed, pink-lipped,
eager
.

I had lacked only one thing—and he’s on his way up.

The instant his eyes fall on me I can tell
he knows.
He’ll always know. He plays me like a violin.

The chiffon comes away first. He simply rips it off. It floats down to the floor like scarlet smoke. He runs his hand lightly over my belly and down to the apex of my thighs, his fingers slipping inside me, intimate, searching. “You’re so wet I can
smell
you. Delicious.”

I groan as he quests higher, his hand brushing agonizingly close to my center. A shaft of pleasure shoots all through me, setting up ripples of excitement but leaving me aching, unfulfilled, endlessly denied.

“And the jewelry? How is it? Tell me.” He’s being serious now, an artist testing his materials, the scent of my juices simply a measure of his success, like the smell of paint on a canvas. “You found it arousing?”

“Partly. And so was something else.” I arch my neck as he gently cups my breasts, teasing my stiff, swollen nipples.

He frowns. “What else?”

“You, watching.”

His jewelry’s designed to torment me, but the real torture was his steady gaze while I tried to move and talk normally as I wore it. His hungry eyes have burned into me all evening, underlining the signals shooting all through me from his disturbing design.

He’s eyeing me now with satisfaction, like I’ve passed some kind of test. “I think we can safely say this piece does the business.” He unfastens the harness and the breast pieces and replaces them in the glass case, closing the doors on their splendor and turns to me with a stern, remote expression. “Keep your hands behind your back and your head down. You are required to be graceful, humble and obedient at all times during submission. Understood?”

His voice is quiet, slightly sinister. This is new. I’m unsure what to think of this but my body has already decided. Down below I start to pulse with excitement.

He leads me to the service elevator at the far end of the apartment and jabs at the buttons. Once more the journey is swift, far faster than the elevator in use at the front of the house.

As the door opens, I see the dungeon laid out ahead of me in all its harsh detail, the racks of canes, the rails of whips and straps, the glitter of chains and the gleam of cable. The flat surface of the spanking bench yawns, an invitation and a threat, and at the center looms the circular platform with the loops of chain, the trapeze and the evil snaking ropes.

Within minutes, my wrists and ankles are cuffed and secured to wide, sturdy loops of chain from the ceiling and fastened to two stout rings on the floor. He angles the lighting so that it falls directly on me. In the mirrored far wall I see myself suspended like a butterfly caught in a web, displayed for his pleasure.

But he’s in no hurry to begin.

He’s still barefoot from the pool, his ankles glistening and wet. Now he slowly removes his shirt and strolls over for a leisurely inspection of the whips. He touches them with loving fingers, letting the strands of one slide over his hand, running a finger over the braided leather handle of another, his expression absorbed and thoughtful.

He knows them well. He handles them with the reverence of a master craftsman for his tools.

At last he makes his choice and unhooks it from the rail, turning toward me with a gleam.

Excitement and sheer naked hunger clutch at my insides.

All at once it’s no longer a dream. It’s about to get vividly, painfully real.

Chapter Twelve

In the dungeon, Cade seems to change. He’s more commanding, more powerful—but absorbed and focused, an artist at work. My body is his palette, the implements around us his tools. The final result—pleasure, pain and maybe release—is his art.

But maybe I change too.

He trails the whip along the inside of my leg, letting it slither over my sensitive breasts and along my taut, aching arms.

“This is a fairly mild whip, used on livestock. More direct than the flogger, more accurate than a horsewhip, more sensual than a crop.”

With a sudden flick of his wrist it uncoils and the end of it snaps on my bottom, making me cry out.

It’s more in surprise than pain. It stings, but not too badly. I relax a little as he slides it over me again. “Hush. You’re very tense. Relax. This takes time. I want you to enjoy it.”

Enjoy
it? Is he mad? The whip snaps again. This time it taps the back of my thighs, leaving a thin streak of heat. With an effort, I control the urge to cry out as it trails once more over my belly and my nipples.

“How does it feel? Tell me. I have to know.”