Red Handed (11 page)

On display, she was naked, completely bared to him with her knees spread wide enough for him to witness her extreme arousal.

It was wanton and dirty. And she loved it.

With a match in hand, Cole lit a green candle and held it over her.

She held her breath, afraid to move.

The first drop of hot wax hit her stomach, right above her belly button. Her body bowed, the shock of it drawing a soft cry from her lips. The wax's heat quickly dissipated but left her aware of her sensitive skin.

“Too hot, darlin'?” he asked. “If it is, say the word, and I'll stop.”

She shook her head. “No. Don't stop.”

He licked his lips as he tipped the candle over her breastbone, dripping the wax between her breasts and lower, down her belly. Her legs. Her arms. He blew out the candle and lifted another one over her, trailing the wax in what seemed like circular patterns.

The heat in his eyes created a hunger in her she'd never known. For his lips. His touch. His cock. His heart.

Every. Single. Piece.

She knew she was playing with fire in more ways than one. Cole DeMarco was a dangerous man. Her enemy. A man who had sentenced her father to death and left her alone in this world. No matter what he did to her body, no matter how much she wanted to surrender, she couldn't forget what she was here to do. She had to get the bank account information and save Tasha. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find the evidence to prove her father had been innocent.

This was role play. A consensual game between two adults. He didn't truly want her. She was simply a canvas for his art, no more than a prop for him to use in his photographs. For all she knew, he photographed all his trainees. Made them feel special. Made them feel beautiful. Made them want to submit to his commands.

Cole's expression turned feral, his eyes darkening, narrowing, and his lips flattening into a straight line. “Let's turn those red nipples a deeper shade, shall we?” Wax dripped on the sensitive skin, lighting up the nerves and sending shockwaves deep within her pussy.

She threw her head back and moaned, the fine line between role play and reality blurring.

He dropped to his knees, his face hovering only inches over hers. His thumb swiped across her bottom lip and plunged past, brushing her tongue before sliding back out again. “Your lips . . . I wonder what they'd look like after sucking on my cock. They're already so plump. So fuckable. I can't resist them anymore.”

And then his mouth was on hers in a bruising crash of passion and aggression that made her heart sing and her body soar. He tasted sweet, like red licorice and cola. His tongue teased hers, touching and retreating, teasing and promising.

All too soon, he pulled away. She breathed heavy, her mind and body at war with one another, and her body winning. Why did he kiss her?

He picked up the candle again and held it directly over her pussy, so close she could feel the heat of the flame. He stared at her between her legs and licked his lips.

The hot wax hit her labia. Her pulse raced. Then those lips that had been on hers curled into a feral smile.

Heat enveloped her clit as the wax made contact. She shuddered. A throbbing began in her clit, and the muscles in her abdomen tightened, her arousal spiking to an all-time high. She needed more. Needed him.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice raspy.

She gazed into his eyes. “Please make me come, Master Cole.”

His nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated, making his rich cocoa eyes turn ever darker. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his lips pressed into a straight line.

He scooted down her body and settled himself between her legs, but he didn't undress. Using his thumbs, he spread the lips of her pussy apart and examined her as if it held the key to ending world hunger. The cameras continued to flash and snap, recording every moment. It was dirty. Wanton. Sinful.

He blew a stream of air over her clitoris, and the small breeze caused her pussy to throb. His thumb brushed over the bundle of nerves as lightly as the previous air. Apparently, he wasn't done torturing her.

Torture had never felt so good.

He dipped his fingers lower, gathering her wetness, and slid those fingers back up to her clitoris, squeezing it between his forefinger and thumb. A throaty moan passed through her lips.

She wanted to grind herself against his fingers, but even without him stating it, she instinctively knew he wouldn't allow it. She'd begged him to make her come, and unless he requested her to do something, she was to lie here and permit him complete access to her body. He'd take care of her on his own time table, and there was nothing she could do to change his mind.

Her firsthand knowledge of sex was limited to experimentation with one man, Davis, her TA in art history 101. Lost after her father's arrest, she was desperate for companionship. And Davis had been desperate to pretend he wasn't gay. The sex had been painful and awkward. Their brief affair ended when he'd entered into a committed relationship with his male roommate.

He sunk a finger inside of her. “You're drenched. Is this all for me, Danielle?” He added another, stretching her.

“Yes,” she admitted honestly. “I've been wet since the moment I stepped into your office yesterday.”

“I promise I'm going to take care of you, baby, and as I told you, I never break a promise. But right now, I want to play with you a little bit more. See how hard I can make you come. You've got to hold back until I say you can let go, yeah? Because I don't want you simply to come. I want to watch you shatter.”

Hold back? Was he kidding? How the hell could she stop herself from coming? It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him it was impossible, but instead, she answered, “Yes, Master.”

A growl erupted from his throat, and then he was on her. He peeled some wax from her clitoris before sucking it between his lips. His fingers slid high inside of her and rubbed. It was as if someone had plugged her into an electrical outlet. Her thighs shook, and her heart hammered so loudly and so quickly, she felt as though she'd pass out. Heat built in her pussy. Growing hotter and hotter until it boiled. Every muscle in her body clenched with the need for release.

His tongue worked its magic on her clit. Flicking it over and over in time with his fingers, which continued to massage the sensitive spot inside of her. With soft reverence like a prayer, his name spilled from her lips, her subtle way of begging him to push her over the edge.

He buried his face into her pussy, groaning as he ate at her.

She couldn't hold on much longer. The dual sensations caused by his fingers and tongue, not to mention the sounds of his licks and his moans, were pushing her closer and closer to climax. It didn't seem possible she'd held out this long. That she hadn't already come and come hard. She should've known he'd get his way. He wouldn't be satisfied until she shattered.

He hooked his pinky around the bottom of her pussy and dipped it between her bottom cheeks, exploring the sensitive skin. She jerked, the touch short-circuiting her brain and making her crazed for more. Even though she didn't use the words, he answered her anyway. It penetrated her, creating a slight burning and awakening a whole lot of nerves she'd never known existed.

It was too much. She couldn't take anymore.

He lifted his face. “Come, Danielle.” When he licked her clit hard with the flat of his tongue, she had no choice but to comply. She felt the orgasm from the tip of her toes to the top of her head and everywhere in between. Her entire body pulsed and quaked. Her toes curled, her hands clenched, and her eyes rolled in the back of her head. It was that good.

She didn't come. She exploded. Broke apart.

Just as he'd promised.

She shattered.

Chapter Twelve

C
OLE REMOVED HIMSELF
from between her legs and stood. “Stay there while I clean the wax off you.”

The cameras had stopped their snapping of pictures. Cole turned off the studio lights, dimming the space. Her eyes fluttered shut. She wanted to escape and go back to her room for a shower, but she didn't have the energy. Breathing deep, she listened to the sounds Cole made as he moved around the room.

She felt his presence beside her moments before he brushed something across her lips. “Open up.” He popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth. “How are you feeling?”

She sighed. “Tired.”

He chuckled and fed her another piece. “Eat a little more candy.”

An orgasm and chocolate. No wonder people came here for slave training.

“I'm going to rub some baby oil on your skin to help soften the wax and then scrape it off with a comb.” He kneaded the top of her breasts with his oiled hands.

“I get a massage too?”

“How's that?”

“Heaven.” As his hands inched lower and stroked the area that included her nipples, she opened her eyes to an up-close view of Cole's covered erection. “Do you need me to take care of it?”

He stopped for a brief moment and hissed out a breath. “I'm good. Let's get you cleaned up, and I'll take you back to your room.”

Her heart slammed against her breastbone. “Or you could take me to yours,” she offered, guilt and hope snaking together as she seized the opportunity to access his residence.

He avoided her eyes. “I don't allow any slaves in my private residence.”

The words sliced through her like a machete. He'd reverted to his Master voice, speaking as if this was a rule he'd had to repeat a thousand times. Silly of her to think for a moment she meant more to him than a slave. “Right. Of course.”

“If I could, I would.” Using the comb, he removed pieces of wax from her chest. “I have to have clear boundaries, or I'd never have any space to myself.”

“It's fine, I get it.” She gritted her teeth and lay as still as possible, trying her best to dissociate from her body as she would in a doctor's exam. Cole worked in silence, completing the process of removing wax from her skin. When he got to her pussy, she clamped her legs together. “I'll get that off myself. If you don't mind, I'd prefer to return to my room for a shower.” A warm one that would erase the chill that had settled in her bones.

“Danielle . . . ” His lips flattened into a firm line. “I hope today helped you feel beautiful.”

For a short time, she'd almost believed it was true. “You certainly did your best to make me feel that way.”

As she sat up, he reached behind him and grabbed a plastic bottle, then held it out to her. “Drink some water before you stand.”

“I'm not thirsty.” She hated that she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn't help it.

“I'm not asking, Danielle. Drink the water.”

Sighing, she uncapped the bottle. “Yes, Master.”

After she'd taken a couple sips, he slipped his arm around her back. “Up you go.”

She squirmed away from him. Why did he have to act as if he cared? “I don't need your help.”

“Too bad you don't have a choice. This is what we call ‘after-care.' After a scene, it's the Master's responsibility to attend to the slave's needs. Blood sugar drops, and you can experience dehydration.”

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Chocolate and water.”

“Yeah. Chocolate and water. A blanket. A hug. A ride home or assistance to a room. Whatever's necessary to ensure the health and welfare of the slave or in this case, you.” He picked up her clothes off the floor. “Turn around.”

Her breathing hitched as he encircled her chest and slipped her arms into the straps of her bra before hooking it in the back. Her skin felt tender, as if she'd spent too much time in the sun. Finding after-care to be far too intimate for her taste, she shivered when he helped her into her skirt and blouse.

He slowly spun her to face him and took her hands in his, interlacing their fingers. “Tomorrow, I'd like to show you the photographs.”

“Of course.”

He steered her through the gallery, a painful reminder of her status in his world, then past the jagged mirrors, where she discovered her disappointment was etched on her face. She didn't understand why she cared so much about Cole's intentions. They both had a job to do and a role to play. If anything, today had served as a reminder that everything that happened here may have looked, smelled, and felt real, but it was simply a mirage. As long as she remembered it, her heart would remain intact.

After Cole locked the gallery door, he splayed a hand on her lower spine and directed her to the kitchen, so he could take her upstairs to her room. A glance at the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway and the people littered around the main floor told her it was nighttime. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Had they really been in the studio all afternoon? No wonder she was so tired.

As they passed the foyer, a harried Gracie ran up the stairs from the dungeon, taking two at a time. Strips of black leather-looking material crossed in an X over her breasts, barely concealing her nipples, and ran down her sides until it merged with a piece that covered the juncture between her thighs. “Master Cole, we have a problem. Anthony Rinaldi has asked Cassandra to join him for electrical play.”

Cole stiffened and removed his hand from her back, his jaw tightening and eyes narrowing. “He knows he has to go through me or a dungeon monitor to scene with a trainee.”

“Yes, Master, but he refuses to listen,” Gracie said. “Not to mention Cassandra is arguing with the dungeon monitors as well.”

It figured Cassandra was at the root of the problem. The woman was literally a glutton for punishment.

Cole yanked his cell from his pocket and dialed, then raised it to his ear. “Michael, will you please have Anthony Rinaldi and Cassandra brought upstairs to my office?” He disconnected and frowned, his anger morphing into concern. “She wants to try electrical play with him? Have you explained he's a sadist?”