Menage (33 page)

He'd lied - about everything - and I'd fallen for it.

'Don't hold your bream,' I said.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. Take the lady home,' he instructed the impassive driver, 'and make sure she gets safely inside.'

Joe didn't even try to convince me to see him again. My mind boiled with fantasies of tossing huge, thorny bouquets in his face - but I never got the chance.

Every time I tried to talk to Sean about what Joe had done, he remembered a meeting he was late for or a call he had to make.

I knew his defection was Joe's doing. He was rubbing my nose in it, demonstrating in no uncertain terms the power he exerted over the man who - in his absence -had become my best friend.

The betrayal hurt so badly I spent days on the verge of tears. How can he do this, I'd ask myself, barely knowing whether 'he' was Sean or Joe. How can he be so cruel?

The fact that I was looking for an explanation bothered me. Part of me believed there must be a reason. Part of me remembered the longing in Joe's face when he kissed my palm, and that part believed - even in the teeth of the evidence - that Joe still loved me.

I fought a primitive urge to call my mother and cry on her shoulder. With her middle-class, homemaker's propriety, she'd be the last person to understand. She hadn't forgiven me yet for divorcing Tom.

On Friday I claimed boss's privilege and left half an hour early. I strode down

Ice cream, I thought. I'd sweat for an hour on the
stairclimber
, then drown my troubles in a big, fattening dish of double-chocolate chip, and maybe I'd have a glass of wine on top of that!

I stomped two streets farther before I noticed the limousine crawling behind me. As soon as I did, I knew who sat behind the tinted glass. The big black car stopped when I did. Folding my arms beneath my breasts, I faced my reflection.

The window rolled down like butter.

'Get in,' said Joe.

'Go to hell,' said I.

He opened the door and stepped out, his length unfolding with the grace of a ballroom dancer. He buttoned his stylish Armani jacket and smoothed it straight. In my head, I damned him for looking so temptingly prosperous.

'Get in,' he said, gesturing me ahead of him. 'I can see you want to give me a piece of your mind. In there is the only place I'm prepared to listen.'

As incentives went, it was pretty thin. Even so, I couldn't bring myself to turn away. 'I don't trust you,' I said.

The skin around his eyes tightened. The response could have
signalled
anger or hurt. The stupid part of me chose hurt. 'Please,’ he said more humbly. 'Don't you want to know why I behaved the way I did?'

I did want to know why. The stupid part of me thought he might tell me. I climbed inside the plush grey cave. Joe slid in beside me. The automatic locks shot home as soon as he closed the door. The sound startled, but Joe distracted me by taking my hands in his and gazing into my eyes. His mood seemed very serious, like a doctor about to break some bad news.

'I'm sorry to have to do this,' he said.

'Do what?' I asked at the very moment a pair of intricate velvet cuffs slid over my wrists. They tightened almost before I registered what they were.

He covered my eyes next, then bound my ankles together. I didn't fight any of it. He was stronger than I was, and I feared he'd enjoy subduing me too much.

Let's see if he likes this game when only one person plays, I thought. I vowed he'd get no response from me: not anger and not fear.

But those weren't the responses he really wanted -just the ones I could control.

After a fifteen-minute drive, the limo stopped. Joe scooped me up and hustled me from the car to a lift, a freight lift by the sound of it. Since I was blindfolded, my ears were all I could go by. Once inside, he set me on my bound feet, steadying me when I would have teetered.

He said nothing, but I heard him breathing - deep, deliberate breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, like an athlete preparing for a race.

A strange calm settled over me, as though I weren't really involved in this drama. So be it, I thought. If Joe wants to alienate me for good, so be it. At least I'll stop pining for him.

But those thoughts flowed like ripples on the surface of a river. Other feelings ran beneath them, too murky to acknowledge. Despite my outward passivity, my skin tingled with energy and I hovered on the verge of arousal. My womb was heavy, my awareness of every sensation keen. It's the blindfold, I told myself. But I knew it wasn't.

As the lift rose, Joe wrapped a wide velvet collar around my neck. I brought my arms up - wrists together, of course - to touch it. A long leash led off from its front.

'Honestly,’ I huffed. 'You couldn't come up with something more original?'

Joe proved better at keeping silent than I. The lift clanked to a halt. He lifted me in his arms again and carried me down a long, quiet corridor. My neck ached from trying not to let my head rest on his shoulder. We must have made quite a picture - he in his suit, I in my black velvet bonds. Someone gasped as we passed, but did not try to stop us.

I could have cried out then, made it clear I was being held against my will. For a moment, the possibility excited me. Adrenalin surged through my veins. But I did not act to save myself.

This was Joe's first victory.

'Good girl.' He nuzzled the baby-fine hair at my temple. 'Now you begin to understand.'

I did struggle then, but silently, and it was too late anyway. Ignoring my squirms, he shifted me to free one arm. Seconds later, I heard a door open. He set me down inside and closed it. My struggles died. I waited, bound hands clasped before my sex. The door shut. The bolt turned. A silence fell. I imagined I could feel the weight of Joe's eyes as clearly as I felt the weight of the slave collar.

Watch me then, I thought, my skin twitching with awareness. Watch me and weep.

He circled me with slow, measured footfalls. As he did, the leash cinched under one breast and over the other. A pulse beat in my nipples, tapping my skin from the inside out. Because I refused to give way, the leather bit into my arm, crossed my back, and trussed my other elbow to my side.

The circuit complete, he covered my breast with his hand, squeezed, then smoothed a burning path up my neck and over my jaw until he reached the blindfold. His fingers brushed the edge, stroking both velvet and skin from my cheekbone to the bridge of my nose. The gentle touch spurred a soft explosion in my groin. Warm, creamy pleasure spread outward from my core, up my belly and down my thighs. I pressed my lips together to still their trembling.

'You've been good so far,’ he said, his voice another caress, 'and I know you don't like having your eyes covered. Shall I reward you by taking this off?'

He did not wait for my answer but eased the blindfold away. I blinked. I knew this place. We stood in a penthouse suite at The Four Seasons hotel.

No other hotel commanded such a view. The Swarm fountain in Logan Circles plashed beneath the veranda and in the distance, at the end of a long grassy stretch of

Probably enough to buy Joe a lot of privacy.

He knelt before me, untied my ankles and pulled off my trainers. I don't know why, but I immediately felt more vulnerable. As he rose, he untangled the leash and wrapped the end around his wrist. 'Now you can walk like a proper slave.'

I tried to laugh but it came out strained. He spoke without melodrama and with utter, unshakable confidence. My mouth closed on my pitiful attempt at mockery. When he tugged the leash, I followed.

The plush navy carpet could not steady my shaky knees. He led me past a well-stocked bar, an alcove with a built-in library, a formal dining room, and a bathroom big enough to host an orgy. Then we entered the bedroom.

The bed itself was huge. Like the rest of the furniture, it was an eighteenth-century American reproduction, carved of good quality mahogany with shells and eagles forming the primary motifs. Solid head- and foot-boards framed either end. It struck me as a particularly serious bed. I pictured Joe lying naked on the navy counterpane, his cock dark and hard, his muscles drawn tight with anticipation. I would straddle his narrow hips, take him delicately in hand and lower myself. He would moan as I swallowed the crown. He would -

My daydream broke. Something gleamed on one of the pillows. Something that shouldn't have been there -a pair of tailor's scissors.

What did Joe want with those? What could Joe do with those? Unless he'd changed more than I believed a person could change, he didn't have a physically violent bone in his body. But the scissors were there, cold and sharp, and they had to hold some threat. Troubled, aroused, and not wanting to be either, I forced my eyes away and found an image of peace.

A large picture window, curved to follow the hotel's distinctive U-shape, overlooked the sea of greenery around the courtyard cafe. People would be gathered beneath those trees, enjoying the late summer sun, drinking a tall cold one after work - innocent pleasures.

I sighed at how inviting it sounded. If things had been different, Joe and I could have sat down there. We could have held hands across the table and gazed into each other's eyes. Painful as it was to admit, I wanted that stupid, bourgeois fantasy. Except maybe, just maybe, I wanted this, too.

'Pretty, isn't it?' Joe said, then grabbed me and tossed me on to the bed.

Before I could regain my balance, he pulled a tie from his pocket and lashed my bound wrists to the eagle at the centre of the headboard.

'Hey!' I said, but he was done almost before the word was out.

I'd never seen him so aggressive. He dragged my legs apart, ignoring the aborted jerks that
signalled
my desire to kick him where it counted. Long velvet straps dangled from opposite ends of the footboard and to these he secured my ankles. He laughed when I couldn't resist a tug to verify their strength.

'Feels good, doesn't it, Katie? Feels good to meet your master.'

'You wish,' I muttered, but the bindings were working their insidious magic.

I was helpless now, entirely at his mercy. Cool air drifted between my spread legs,
emphasising
the heat of my groin. Welling, swelling, it lapped outward in thick, feverish waves. I could not deny I wanted him or that, in some secret corner of my soul, I wanted him to overpower me.

He knew it, too, damn him.

Til
take you to your limit,' he promised, in a silky growl.
Til
take everything you gave to Sean and more.'

'Is that what this is about? Besting Sean?'

He did not dignify my accusation with an answer. Smiling like the Mona Lisa, he stepped back and loosened his tie. My pulse jumped in my throat. Our eyes connected and held. His smile deepened as he slid the knot down. He threw the tie across the room.

I watched it hit the window, the huge, bare window. Did he intend to strip off without drawing the curtains? What if those tower blocks were close enough to see in?

'Don't.' Though he did not speak loudly, the order rang through the stately room. My gaze snapped back to his. 'Don't look away or it will go harder for you.'

I wasn't sure I believed him, but I didn't really want to look away, not when he removed his jacket and pulled his shirt-tails free. The stark white cloth quickly covered his erection. Not that it mattered. The instant I saw the stupendous bulge, the image was engraved on my retinas. His left trouser leg had trapped the fat knob, pulling the shaft off true. Such a personal thing to know, which way a man liked to hang his goods.

He undid a cuff link without breaking eye contact.

'As I recall,’ he said, 'you like to watch. That was part of the thrill, wasn't it? Seeing Sean and me take it in the
arse
, seeing us suck each other off or steal a little feel in the middle of fucking you.'

I squirmed on the satiny bedspread. Why waste my breath denying it? 'Are you going to talk or take off your clothes?' I said, my voice too breathy to count as flippant.

His hands rose to his collar. One button popped free, then another. Sheer black curls appeared at the base of the 'V. Button by button, he widened the alluring gap, then reached inside to massage his flat male nipples. When his hands withdrew, tiny points lifted the smooth Egyptian cotton. I remembered how he tasted there, how he felt on my palm.

His clever hands worked the last button free.

1 like to watch, too,' he said.

I didn't know why he said that. Tied up this way, I couldn't put on a show. He could, though, and did. He cupped the shirt-tails between his legs and rubbed himself through the added barrier, a roving, thorough exploration that told me - beyond a shadow of a doubt - how much he wanted touching. He kneaded the imprisoned head, a circling pinch between fingers and thumb. I knew he loved that. He used to love it when I licked him there. Was he thinking of that now? I swallowed. He was swelling even more. His hip
swivelled
forward. His voice turned rough.