The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (17 page)

Why?
 
I wanted to ask, but it somehow seemed rude to do so, especially when he was talking more to himself than with me.
 

He must’ve read the question in my eyes, because he said, “Personal reasons.”

“They’re truly beautiful,” I praised, turning back to the paintings.
 
“I think almost everyone can see themselves through these paintings.”

“That’s the idea.”
 
He was silent for a few moments.
 
“Miss Fordham, have you ever been rejected by someone you loved?”

I spun back to him.
 
Huh.
 
What a strange thing to ask a total stranger.
 
There was no emotion in his voice, but the flicker of pain that seared in his eyes told me that it had happened to him, and that that was the base of losing his passion for art.
 

Yes, I had been rejected by someone I loved.
 
My mind flashed back to my childhood, when I overheard my parents arguing one night.
 
My father confronted my mother, enquiring about her sudden disappearances during the day.
 
In tears, she admitted that she had been seeing another man.
 
She begged for forgiveness, asked for another chance.
 
That would have been fine, except that it wasn’t the first time she’d cheated on Dad.
 
It had happened before.
 
Many times before.
 
My father, out of love, forgave her every time.
 
His love for her was stronger than his masculine pride, but it nevertheless hurt him.
 
Furious, my father stormed out of the house and didn’t show up until the next day, drunk and miserable.

It hurt to see him brooding around the house, so I rushed over to him, wanting to comfort him, to show him that I loved him, but he pushed me away.
 
He turned angrily to me, his eyes moving over me with clear distaste.

“Go clean your room,” he yelled drunkenly.
 
“You fat slob!
 
You’re nothing but a fat slob.
 
Tell me, what have I done to deserve such a lazy and ugly kid?”

I was seven years old at the time and a little on the chubby side, but that soon changed.
 
I went on a diet and lost ten pounds in one week.
 
You’re probably thinking that a child so young wouldn’t starve herself to be thin, but when you’re desperate for your father’s approval, you’d do anything, regardless of your age.
 
My weight loss made no difference to my father.
 
He didn’t call me fat anymore, but he continued to call me ugly and carried on rejecting me.
 
I was never good enough for him, so I gave up.
 

Over the years, my father and I had hardly ever spoken.
 
My mother called often, and I asked her how he was and she told me he was fine.
 
I once asked her if I was really his daughter.
 
Her horrified reaction told me that at least he hadn’t been forced to raise a child that wasn’t his.
 
I never did find out why he detested me so much.
 
Perhaps he simply didn’t love me.
   

“I apologize, Miss Fordham,” Quinn said, his voice jolting me back to the present.
 
“I didn’t mean to upset you.
 
Sometimes I forget that we’re here to have a good time.”
 
His silvery eyes gleamed with forceful joviality.
 
“Come.
 
Let us make haste.
 
David’s asked me to come fetch you.
 
He’s got a surprise for you.”

He crossed my arm over his and carefully ushered me toward the noisy area at the club, where people milled around tables, drinking and playing card games.
 
I edge around a woman whose perfume scent was so thick it made my eyes water.
 
Stifling a sneeze, I scanned the club, looking for Seton, but I didn’t see him anywhere.

“How do you like my establishment?” Quinn asked me.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise.
 
“You own this place?”

“Yes.
 
It inspired me.
 
What better way to capture people’s uninhibited nature and sexuality than at a fetish club?
 
Unfortunately, this place serves no purpose anymore.
 
But the chaps seem to enjoy it, so I’ve carried on with it.”

“And how long have you and Seton been friends?”

“David’s been my friend since university.
 
We went to Cambridge together.”

We walked slowly around the room, making our way to the—the stage.
 

Shit!

Apprehension shuddered through me, and I tried to rip my arm from Quinn’s, but he held me tight, refusing to let go.
 

“Relax, Miss Fordham,” he said soothingly.
 
“You’ll enjoy this.
 
Trust me.”

He practically dragged me to the center of the stage, his arms curving around my waist to hold me steady.
 
I squinted at the people surrounding the tables through the glaring lights from the oil lamps.
 
The guests were laughing, talking and, more important, ignoring us.
 
Well, there was that, at least.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Quinn’s voice boomed through the noisy room.
 
The laughter and chatter came to a slow end.
 
“This lovely young woman is an exhibitionist.
 
According to my good friend, David Seton, she wants to be fucked in front of a roomful of people.
 
So, we’re about to make her fantasy come true.”

Cold dread bit through me as Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of black silk.
 
He moved in front of me and smoothed a large, callused hand over my cheek as if to comfort me.

“Hold out your hands,” he commanded.

Despite my trepidation, excitement surged, and I held out my hands as he tightened my wrists together.

I waited tensely, wondering what else he would do.
 
I scanned each table at the club, searching for Seton.
 
Damn it, where was he?
 
Was he going to leave me here like this?
 
Was he going to watch me get fucked on stage?
 
Was that the plan?

I turned wary eyes back to Quinn.
 
His gaze flicked over to the ceiling, where a lever of sorts dangled from wooden hedges.
 
He glanced back at me, silvery eyes traveling slowly down my body.
 
I adjusted my mask with my bound hands, feeling a rush of mixed emotions as I felt my body respond.
 
Hmm.
 
Maybe I shouldn’t fight this.
 
This had been my fantasy, after all.
 
But I wished I could fulfill it with Seton.
 
Quinn was gorgeous and all, but he wasn’t Seton—my master, the one who should be here with me.
 
So where the hell was he?

Quinn grasped my elbow and positioned me exactly where the lever was situated.
 
He reached up to it, pulling down the lever and bringing it to everyone’s line of vision.
 
A flurry of claps and cheers came from our spectators, and I felt my insides liquefy with heat and anticipation.
 

Quinn slipped my bound hands into a metal hook, and I gasped when he released his hold and the lever shot up, positioning my arms high above my head and thrusting out my corset-clad cleavage.
 
My breath grew labored as I watched everyone watching me, arousal seeping its way within me in waves.
  

 
With one hand firmly on my shoulder, Quinn lifted his other hand and caressed the top of my breasts.
 
His fingers were warm against my skin, sending slivers of desire down my belly.
 
He reached inside the corset, extracted the nipple chain, and gave it a rough pull.
 
Pleasure-pain flooded my body, and I couldn’t suppress a low moan of approval.
 
He smiled seductively as he unlaced my corset, gently lowering the upper half so that my breasts were exposed.

“Now for the pièce de résistance,” he murmured, loosening his cravat.
 

He was about to blindfold me with it when a velvety-smooth voice thundered, “No blindfolds!
 
She wants to see the people watching her.
 
The blindfold would defeat the purpose.”

My body trembled happily as Seton emerged from the saloon and charged into the stage.
 
His spectacles and cravat were gone.
 

“Missed me, darling?” he asked once he approached me.

His hands encircled my waist, pulling me against him.
 
I gasped when he rubbed his erection against my aching sex.
 
A shiver tore through me when he stepped back and smiled at me, his green eyes twinkling with pure mischief.

Uh-oh.
 
I knew that look.
 
In the short time I’d known him, I knew that look meant he was up to no good.
 
He leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss across my lips, then stepped away.
 

“I’d say you’re about ready,” he said, inspecting me.
 
Seton and Quinn exchanged smiles that spoke of bedevilment just moments before Seton uttered, “Raven’s trainees, please step forward.”

Raven and four youngish men stepped onto the stage.
 
They stopped in front of me, side by side, naked lust and admiration flickering in their eyes.

Raven smiled at me, eyes a pair of glimmering obsidian stones.
 
God, she really did look like a raven.
 
“All right guys,” she said to the four men, her voice commanding yet gentle, “get to it.”
  

           
The men stepped forward and began to touch me everywhere.
 
One of them kissed my shoulders slowly, teasingly, his lips trailing a hot line to my earlobe and grazing his teeth over the sensitive flesh.
 
Another one went straight to my breasts, yanking the chain.
 
My breasts jutted outward with the movement.
 
My third tormentor moved behind me, large fingers probing my anus.
 
The fourth person, a mousy blonde-haired guy who didn’t look a day over twenty-five, flicked his tongue inside my other ear.
 
The man toying with my breasts closed his mouth over one nipple and sucked in as he pulled on the chain.

           
Pleasure shattered me, sparking through my body with bursts of fire as every nerve ending sprung to life.
 
I glanced over at the people watching us, and my pussy responded uncontrollably, swelling and moistening with need.
 
Their loud cheers and leering eyes were an aphrodisiac—and they fueled me to flaring heights.

           
The sexual torture went on for what seemed like ages.
 
Hands and tongues swept over my skin.
 
They touched, caressed, teased, pinched, probed, flicked, until I almost exploded in a storm of sensations that washed over every corner of my body.
 
I growled my pleasure and wiggled in my restraints, body quivering and head spinning.

           
The four men had touched every part of me, except for my clit.
 
They had purposefully left out my most sensitive part—the part that guaranteed an instant orgasm if probed and flicked the right way.
 
I had a feeling that Seton knew this, and that he’d instructed these people to ignore that one vital part of my anatomy.
 
I turned my gaze away from the leering crowd and focused on Seton.
 
He stood in a nearby corner, watching me as his cock appeared and disappeared in his fist.
 
His trousers were held in place by the belt, only his privates were exposed.
 
His jaw was clenched and his eyes bored into mine, studying my reactions to the heady ministrations.