Love Beat (35 page)

Soon I’m released to move freely, and I dart and twist to avoid him. The onlookers love this. But the whip’s flicking tail licks and snakes everywhere, even at the hands of an expert, and somehow each hissing stroke echoes in my groin and sets up an agonizing ache.

Soon I’m burning up with arousal
.
I crave each new blow, praying the jolt will grant me release.

I’m eternally denied.

At last he coils the whip, walks over and presents me with the phallic-shaped handle.

We’ve gone over this. At the end of each display, I’m supposed to kiss it in token respect.

I jerk my head away.

For a moment or two, the invisible onlookers hold their breath. Then he turns abruptly and strides off the stage to a chorus of shouts and applause.

There’s no real audience, only passing technicians and assistants, but even they’re impressed.

He’s a star.

I slump forward in my chains, exhausted.

At that moment the lights dim to signal the start of a six-hour break. My bonds are unfastened, and I’m led away for a rest.

My first day is over.

* * * *

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Cade, freshly showered and furious, is pacing our room. Even without the Panther costume, he’s almost as fierce as the real thing.

I’m drenched in sweat and still shaky. I shrink into the chair and sigh. “They want a show, don’t they? So we give them one.”

He pauses by my chair, his face like thunder, his bathrobe a poor cover for his huge, twitching erection.
This affects him too.

“You’re supposed to submit at the end of a session. That’s the convention. Subs don’t answer back.”

“Well, guess what? This one does.” I glare up at him, my nerves a riot of strange, unexpected emotions. I’m angry too, and I’m aroused—possibly more than he is.

Maybe he knows. Maybe that’s
why
he is.

Since we started doing this, I’ve been consumed with lust. It fires my will, gives me strength.

And now it wants satisfaction.

I glance down and lick my lip suggestively, rising slowly to bar his way. He stares at me as I press against him, thrilling to the feel of his powerful erection jutting between us. I sigh as his arms fold around me.

Right now he’s got everything I need…

As I move in his arms, his eyes fill with heat and his lips part. When he speaks, his voice is deep and edged with menace. “I know what you want. So do I, but you’ll have to wait. You chose to do this, but I make the rules. If you defy me in one way, I’ll discipline you in another. No sex until afterward. Save your strength for show time. You’re going to need it.”

“
What
? You can’t mean it?”

He takes my face in his hands and touches my face and neck with his lips—slow, tiny kisses soft as whispers while down below I’m burning up with rage and frustration.

He smiles, his eyes calm, his erection anything but—a cruel reminder who’s in charge here. “I do mean it. And right now you need a shower.”

It takes a while and it leaves both of us more aroused than ever, but he stands firm—in both senses.

Afterward he makes me eat a little. Later in bed he curls round me until I sleep.

* * * *

The following day our sessions start for real. This time there’ll be only brief comfort breaks.

It’s so intense that during massage, I sleep soundly. Even a few minutes are enough to refresh and revive me, help me face each new onslaught.

Sometimes he pauses to give me a rest, letting the whip slide over my skin in a teasing caress, firing my arousal even higher. I lean back in my chains—my eyes closed, my breath ragged—taking long juddering breaths while he comes close and whispers low to avoid the microphones. “Are you okay? Safeword if you have to.”

I hiss back, my lips barely moving. “I’m fine. Don’t stop.”

Another time he moves in again, his eyes glittering behind his mask, his jaw rigid. “For fuck’s sake, Tunis, this is not a contest. Submit, damn it.”

But whenever he challenges me to kneel, I still refuse.

Nera reports our battle of wills is a big hit. Viewing figures soar.

She even shows me a grudging respect. “You’ve got more than guts, Tunis. You’re a genius.”

I vow to redouble my defiance.

Prove him wrong.
I can do this.

Last year, an eternity ago, the Panther and all he stood for terrified me. Now something else terrifies me—my hunger for him
.
Whenever he appears, I quiver with need.

It flares the moment he arrives on stage, and it becomes my secret weapon. It fires my will and sustains me throughout his attack. During our breaks he tries to make me see sense—my defiance is dangerous—I’ll overtire. I’ll do myself lasting damage. It has to end.

But tonight I sense a new edge to his manner. I brace myself. As he pulls his arm from behind his back, I feel my stomach clench.

He’s brought two whips
.

I’ve no time to prepare as he unleashes both, unfurling a ferocious mass of hissing leather. One grips me around the ankle while the other snakes in hot, searing coils around my waist.

For a second, his body poses with athletic grace as the lashes slide harmlessly away then he draws them back and launches again.

His skill is dazzling. An excruciating display leaves me panting and running with sweat as applause erupts from beyond the glass. He turns and bows, his chest heaving while I brace myself for his next assault.

He signals to the assistants to chain me up again then he steps back and takes aim with both whips together, the ends curling in precise, agonizing symmetry, coiling first over my breasts in stinging spirals of fire then around my waist and thighs.

Between the double blows, he pauses just long enough for me to recover then lunges again, his body connecting so beautifully to the line of the snaking whips that I can only look on in wonder.

It’s like the pain comes directly from somewhere deep inside him and the terrifying whips are just extensions of his will, jets of flame launched from his gut.

But now I realize where the blows are heading. I’m helpless in their path, hauled wide open by the taut, merciless chains as the ends of the lashes edge, infinitely slowly, up the insides of my legs.

With terrifying precision, the snaking tips curl at last into the apex of my thighs, slide away and surge again. Moments later, with a final, intimate flick, they meet in my cleft and my orgasm erupts like a volcano.

I buck and sob, my juices running in streams down my thighs. He coils the whips and calmly looks on, arms folded. Assistants race on to loosen the chains and I sink slowly to my knees. He moves up close and instead of the whip handles, he presents his erection, sheathed in unforgiving black leather.

Exhausted, limp, drained of resistance, I lean forward and kiss. The gleam of triumph in his eyes is the last thing I see before the room slides sideways.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cade is gazing down at me, his face gaunt with worry. “
Tunis.
You scared me half to death. Are you okay?”

“Of course she’s okay. She just fainted. That’s all. No surprise after all that. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Nera appears over his shoulder. She sounds gruff, but she looks worried too.

Brother and sister exchange a look then Nera quietly ushers the masseuse out of the door. “We’ll give you a moment.”

I’m lying in the massage room, the small recovery room just off the dungeon. I gaze up at him, my heart full. Our display is over. Now I can rest.

He’s peeled off the mask and his hair stands out in dark, sweat-soaked curls all round his head. The lighting in here is harsh after the soft, atmospheric glow in the dungeon. The sharp light etches hollows in his cheeks and gleams on his oiled, powerful shoulders.

“Was I okay?” I manage a shaky smile.

A flicker of emotion crosses his face, and he touches his lips to mine. “More than okay. You were sensational.”

“You too.” I sit up, clutching the sheet over my sweat-streaked body. It soaks through in dark patches.

His face contracts in alarm. “Hey, easy. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been under a steamroller.”

He grins and touches his lips to my forehead. “Me too. Don’t ever let me agree to another bullwhip session with you—not before I get a pacemaker fitted, anyway.”

* * * *

Back in our rooms he runs a deep, scent-filled bath. I try to protest. I can walk perfectly well. But it’s fun being spoiled.

We lie together in the water, weary but blissful, saying little. When we finally get out, he swathes me in towels, scoops me up and carries me into his room, laying me reverently on the quilt like some precious object.

His wet, glorious body looms over me like some ancient sculpture, perfect, honed—his erection jutting into me whenever he draws close.

“You’ve not eaten much today. I can order some food. Are you hungry?”

I bite my lip.
Yes, but not for food.

His eyes gleam, like he knows. “Every time we met on stage, I wanted to eat you whole. Now I’ll do just that.”

He parts my legs and drops kisses along my thighs and across my belly, making me shiver. Soon his eager mouth fastens on my groin, and I lie back and groan as heat courses through me. Another climax, after such intense emotion and so many sensations, rockets through me in seconds. As my spasms die away, he flips me over and hauls me up by the hips. His erection juts, burning hot against my opening, still slick with juices and pulsing with need.

He pauses, letting its girth and its heat torment me, teasing me with small, impatient thrusts as my muscles haul at him, willing him to fill me.

Instead he leans over, his breath hot on my neck and takes firm hold of my heavy breasts, plumping them with his hands and squeezing my nipples until I whimper.

“A word of advice. Next time you face a Dom with a bullwhip, be very”—he plunges inside then slowly withdraws—“
very”
—he lunges again, harder this time, making me cry out in delight and shock—“careful what you say. And if he says
submit
”—he plunges harder, hauling my hips even higher so I moan aloud—“you do it. Or you might just find yourself being fucked like this.”

With a few strokes more, he pauses then comes with a shout, filling my belly with honeyed heat. It seeps into my weary muscles and is instantly followed by wave upon wave of deep, contented sleep.

* * * *

“I once dated Brad Pitt.” I smile up at the ceiling.

“In your dreams.” Cade is lying next to me, his arm cradling my head. We’re still panting, limbs laced together from our latest encounter.

It’s nearly dawn. We’ve slept, made love and slept again. Now, in the small hours, we’re lying together, contented and idle. We’re playing a game.

“I once bought a hardware store.”

I giggle, ludicrously happy. “Nonsense. And don’t pretend you like DIY.”

He grins briefly. “You’re right. That’s untrue. I fancied one of the assistants.” He kisses my cheek. “And I bought the whole chain.”

I kiss the edge of his armpit, thrilling to his warm, animal smell. “I once kissed a frog. But he never became a prince.”

“No? You amaze me.” He nuzzles my neck. “I wanted to whip your ass the second I met you. That was before I masterminded your career so I could.”

I stare up at the ceiling as his words sink in. Slowly the smile fades from my face and with it, my tide of happiness. I sit up and peer at him in the dim light from our single bedside lamp. “You did
what
?”

He smiles lazily up at me. “You heard.”

I stare down at him, numb with shock. “That’s untrue, right?”

He shuffles up on the pillows, his long, naked body glowing and glorious. “No, it’s true. Why? What’s the matter?”

“You masterminded my
career
? How?” Ice seeps through me.

His smile twists into scorn at the corner of his mouth. “How do you think? I own the network. Audience figures can be massaged, producers told whom to hire and when. It was just a matter of time.”

I spring off the bed and search through the rails for my clothes. I bring an armful back with me and start to dress with swift, angry movements.

“Tunis, what are you doing?” He leaps off the bed. “Are you going somewhere? At this hour?”

I don’t trust myself to speak. I fasten my jeans, step into my trainers and shrug on my jacket. As I reach for my case, I snap it open and pile in the rest of my things, the gowns and underwear all jumbled together, the shoes stuffed in anyhow.

“I’m leaving. I’m horrified you did that.”

Tears are close. I fight them off. “I’ve worked hard at my job. I thought I was good at it. I thought I was a success. I thought I was bringing you something—talent, ambition, success—whatever. I thought I was somebody. But Janice was right all along. I’m a nobody.”

I glance back at him from the doorway. “Thanks for reminding me.”

His face contorts with shock. “
What?
You
are
a success. They even watch you abroad.”

“Yes, but you did it all. I’m just a…toy.” I slam my case shut and haul it off the bed. “What is it with you, this mania for control?”

He bars my way. “What are you doing? You can’t go anywhere now.”

I glare at him. “No? Watch me. I can’t stay here. I’ve got a job to do. I’m wanted in post-production. Next time, get yourself a blow-up doll. It should be easy enough to control that. And find one you can whip.”

I blunder past him, snatching up my bag as I go.

“Wait.” His eyes flash. Now he’s angry too. “Take no notice of Janice. You’re not a nobody. Don’t
ever
say that about yourself. And here, you’ll need this.” He tosses something over to me.

By some miracle, I catch it.

It’s my phone.

I slip out of the main door into an eerie gray world. It’s nearly dawn. The park’s shrouded in thick white mist full of weird echoes, muffled birdcalls and odd rustling noises. Treetops poke through like islands in a lake.