Love Beat (24 page)

Cade smiles again and releases my hand. “Here we are. After you.”

The climb up the spiral stairs is long, and I try not to look out of the tiny windows that show the ground getting smaller the higher we go. As we reach the viewing chamber, my heart’s racing, not entirely from the climb.

And I’m still puzzled. “So we change up here then go back down to the stage?”

He strides about the room, shrugging off his jacket. He flings it onto one of the flat seats under the broad windows.

In the distance Beat Hall looks festive and cheerful, colored pennants flying from all the turrets. Far below, the guests are milling in the grounds, bright dots among the endless green. From up here the stage looks like a toy, with tiny marionette figures on it.

I turn away from the windows, feeling sick. Instantly he turns me round to face a large screen set up in one of the octagonal bays. It shows Mel and Ben performing their act.

Cade puts an arm round my shoulders and holds me close. “Don’t look down. Keep your eyes on the screen.”

I stare spellbound at Ben, hooded and masked, twitching as Mel lays about him with a riding crop. The expression on her face is one of intense concentration. The expression on his is of utter, blissful content.

As I watch, gauze screens behind me lower to cover the windows, dimming the light and blurring the terrifying views. Now the strongest light in here comes from spotlights trained on what looks like a corner of a film set. It has a camera set up on a tripod, a white umbrella to diffuse the light and a wide patch of bright, rumpled satin heaped with a pile of matching cushions.

Cade lowers the sound. “This is our communications tower. We can pick up satellite signals and radio frequencies. And the security TV cover’s based here too.”

“Making you the ultimate control freak?”

“Making us the most secure venue for rock festivals in the country. That’s how we keep ahead of the market. Today we’re going to perform up here. Our every move will be relayed to the giant screen down there in the grounds.”

He gestures to the large screen, where Mel and Ben, their routine over, are now taking a bow. “At the same time it’ll play in here, so you can watch as we do it.”

I shudder. “Cade, I’m not sure I can do this.”

He takes me in his arms, his expression unreadable. “Hey, you’re a performer. We’re just putting on a show. Do you trust me, Tunis? Tell me.”

I gaze into his eyes as images from the past week flash through my mind—his fury on the footbridge when he thought I was in danger, taking charge of Janice, shifting heaven and earth to trace Sonja when he thought her life was threatened.

Do I feel safe with him? I kiss him gently on the jaw. “Yes,” I whisper.

“And you’ll perform for me?”

I gaze up at him, my heart full. He’s done so much—everything I’ve asked of him and far, far more. I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

I can do this.
I owe him.

It’s as if I lit a fuse. Instantly his expression changes and he becomes purposeful, focused, issuing instructions, outlining precisely what he wants. “You’ll make a sequence of moves, positions, poses. While you do it, I’ll move around you and tap you with the cane—lightly while you hold position, then sharply when I want you to shift. You can pose any way you want but I want you to create a kind of—ballet.”

How exciting
. We’ve had no rehearsal time so this will be entirely off the cuff. My mind fills instantly with ideas, movements and shaped sequences. He orders me to strip and do some warm-ups while he watches.

“We’ll both wear masks—and you can try out some jewelry. It’ll be an interesting workout for some of the new pieces.”

* * * *

In half an hour we’re ready to start. I’m limbered up now, eager and glowing. He fastens me into the silver harness, the salacious leaves twisting and curling around me. The wicked pointed fronds press into my groin. Every move makes me pulse and throb.

I step into a pair of high heels in turquoise snakeskin, the color sharp and vibrant against my skin, and when I put on a bright, jeweled mask, crowned with brilliant turquoise feathers, he adds a twist of matching chiffon to cover my hair.

My costume’s completed with elaborate silver nipple clamps designed as clusters of leaves to match the harness. He pinches and teases my nipples a few times, smiling as I wince, then screws them in place.

“I’ll leave them looser than normal. We’ll be performing for nearly an hour. Clamps that really do the business have to be pulled off after about twenty minutes, and I’m guessing we’ll have our minds on other things so we may forget. I’ll just slip into costume and we’ll make a start.”

The camera’s running now and I catch sight of myself on screen. I perform a few simple moves to test out the jewelry. It’s very constricting, and the constant pull down below makes my every move an agony of arousal. My breasts look huge, glittering in their jeweled cages, my nipples rosy and swollen among the finery.

He covers my modesty with another surprise—a silver fig leaf. This one hangs from a thin silver chain that loops over my hips in a graceful drape. It’s held in place by a ridged stem that fits directly
into my sex
. I have to clutch it in place. Instantly it sets up a maddening pressure—and I’m already pulsing with need.

I look like some exotic bird, glittering and graceful, my face masked in bejeweled splendor, my hair veiled in chiffon, my body all a-glow—and deep down I’m on fire.

This will be fun.

At that moment he comes back in and I gasp. “You look sensational.”

He’s naked to the waist and wearing black leather jeans and a menacing black mask. He’s flexing a slim, whippy cane.

His low growl raises the soft down along my back. “You too.”

He moves up close, his long mouth stretched in a wide grin. Behind the mask his eyes glitter. “Ready?”

I drop a kiss on his breastbone, at a point right between his pectorals. I move my thumbs over his tiny nipples and thrill as they sharpen into hard little nubs. “I can only hope so.”

He smiles briefly. “Me too. Just one more thing before we start. I want you to wear this.”

He holds up a flimsy, glittering spider’s web of diamonds, with a soft, silver-colored ball about halfway along. The brilliants catch the light and spray rainbows all over the ceiling.

It’s beautiful but I know instantly what it is.

“
A gag?”
On no.

He frowns at my evident dismay. “We’ll work to a sound track, but I don’t want you crying out. You might give us away. Just think of it as jewelry.”

He slips it into place. Once more the ball, smaller this time, fits behind my teeth. The diamond web arches away from my lips in a graceful network. It looks like spun sugar, but the piece in my mouth feels as rigid as a horse’s bit.

With a light, cynical smile he adds some flashy earrings and touches me lightly under the chin. “Perfect.”

In the mirror I sparkle in the spotlights. The effect is spectacular. He looms at my side, a menacing, leather-clad Captain Hook to my jeweled, naked and very vulnerable Tinkerbell.

The cane in his hand quivers ominously.

As the music begins, I ease into position on the circle marked out on the floor and begin to dance. After a few experimental stretches, he moves up close and silently indicates I must kneel then tilts up my chin with the tip of the cane. I look up at him and shiver, as a shimmer runs over me—part dread, part arousal—and partly the thrill of performance.

The music is Ravel’s
Bolero
, used often for display dance. It’s a classic sound picture of macho man at his most controlling—the toreador twirling his cloak. As the rhythm pounds through my brain, I lose my fear and I’m consumed by the music, my limbs finding patterns and shapes in the space around me and blending them into sequence to create dance.

I recall seeing this ballet in Paris, and I set up a deliberate pulse, catching the beat.

Soon it matches my own heartbeat, my rhythm perfectly in sync. And as I move, the cane begins to fall. At first the touches are light, teasing, the cane swishing in the air around me, its fearsome hiss sending shivers through me.

I tease it and seduce it, offered first one breast then another, turning this way and that, using the power of the music to control the urge to flinch as it lands, remembering to hold position when it taps, shifting into a new pose when it stings.

At the start, I focus on it and my dance turns into a duel, a battle of wits between the cane and me as I lure its snap then twist away. But soon I sense impatience in its master—the sinister, shadowy figure wielding it. Slowly he draws closer and his parted legs tower over me as I twist and writhe, laughing softly behind my gag each time I outwit him.

The music’s on a loop, but at last it swells toward its frenzied climax. I hear his breath hiss through his clenched teeth and with a final swish, he lands a double tap at each side of my slit as the cane lands twice in rapid succession.

It feels extraordinary. I’m so aroused now that I have to steel myself not to come, keenly aware we have an audience.

I scream against the gag and suddenly the music is over. As he passes between me and the camera he eases the ball out of my mouth and lets it slip down onto my neck, where it nestles at the base of my throat. The diamonds either side loop into a graceful necklace.

In the silence he murmurs low, as if to himself. “We’re done. Stay on your knees then swivel round to face the camera and smile. Put your hands behind your back and take a bow. Keep smiling.”

I obey in a daze, seeing myself smiling on screen like I’m somebody else. He looms behind me, his face in shadow. He stands with his legs astride, arms folded, the cane dangling from one wrist.

“That’s it. We’re off air.”

The shot pans out to show the audience far below are cheering and shouting at the giant screen in the park where Cade and I are posed in freeze frame, taking our final bow.

I hear him give a low chuckle. “I offered our set as a simple filler between acts. But from the look of it, you’re the star of the show.”

I spin round to gaze up at him. He tilts up my head and stoops to kiss me on the lips. When he pulls away I see his face crease into a frown.

“Does that always happen when you dance?”

“Does what happen?”

His frown darkens. “I’m not sure. You…changed.”

I dart him a playful look from under my lashes. “You too. You look very scary in that.”

His eyes narrow and his voice drops to a sinister murmur. “You were defiant. Definitely a breach of the rules.”

I start to rise to my feet but I feel his foot on my shoulder, pressing me down.

He’s smiling at me strangely, his eyes glittering behind the mask. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere. That was just a demo. Now for the real thing.”

But our display’s over. Surely he can’t mean
—
?

Some instinct tells me he does. All at once the tower room seems silent and still.

Cade looks down at me, his eyes full of heat. “I’m guessing you enjoyed that.” His rich, dark voice flows around me.

His skill created the display but it was mine that made it art, turning it into ballet and an unexpected triumph. Now he switches off the camera and gently removes my jeweled gag. He stands over me, his chest heaving.

I tingle all over where the tip of the cane teased and snapped on my skin. My nerve endings fizz like champagne. I feel almost as heady as if I’d drunk some. I beam at him. “Was that the surprise you meant—that I’d
enjoy
it?”

“So—did you?”

I feel my cheeks burn. “Maybe.” My husky whisper hides a torrent of feelings, some of them entirely unexpected. I’m on top of the world—and oddly emotional. I want to laugh and cry all at the same time. With an effort I manage a bright smile. “Quite a surprise.”

“I think you surprised us all. But now playtime’s over.”

My smile slowly dies away.

“Lose the mask.”

His voice is low and quiet, his expression stern.

Alarm clutches my belly. “What are you going to do?”

Behind the mask his eyes glitter dangerously. “You broke the rules. Defiance earns a correction. You might have been on camera, but you were still under instruction. Did you think I’d forgotten? You’ll get six strokes on your thighs, three a side. And we’ll try out a new position for this.”

He instructs me to lie down at the center of the circle and hoist my body and my legs upright into the air like I’m doing exercise cycling. He takes his time tapping me into position. When he’s satisfied that my toes arch far enough and my knees are straight, he makes me splay my legs.

“Wider. I want full access.”

He really means it. Indignation burns. This is so
unfair
, only minutes after such a triumph.

Then I stop myself. It’s all my fault. Maybe the caning display aroused him. It sure aroused me.

He tried to give this up.
He told me so.

Tease the tiger, you risk a bite. And now, against all reason, I’m so jumpy and excitable and deeply, hotly aroused that I’m looking forward to it.

Our caning display was a triumph—and a prelude. Like he said, just the warm-up. Now I want more.

“
One.”
The first blow lands with a snap, stinging on my sensitive skin like fire. The sound lingers far longer than the sting. I close my eyes, savoring the sensation.

I open them to see him watching me, trying to gage my reaction, to see how I’m doing. Not just for his pleasure—he has to
.
He’s my Dom.

But it’s an effort to meet his gaze. Oddly, I’m ashamed of him seeing my reaction.
I’m ashamed of my pleasure?

“Two.” The cane lands again. As I tense the gleaming silver ivy leaf jolts in my groin. The metal’s warm now, the silver so smooth I’d have forgotten it but for its precise, unmistakable pressure.

I’m building to a climax.

Even the sight of him doing this turns me on. Can I really be
enjoying
this?

As the third blow lands, he draws away and starts to trace patterns on my skin with the very tip of the cane. “How does this feel? Good?”