To Master and Defend (The Dungeon Fantasy Club Book 2) (10 page)

The sound of his thrusts, his balls slapping against her tender flesh, combined with her moans, sent her into the stratosphere. She was one big ball of need. He pummeled her ass. Sweat coated her skin. Her pussy quivered. Her breasts ached. His hands moved up to grip her sensitized breasts, rubbing the tight peaks encased in clamps. She keened when he released both nipples. Lava thundered in her veins and she came apart. Flames erupted in her pussy, her ass shuddered against the furious pounding of his cock ramming inside her. His hands kneaded her swollen and painful nipples. She was sure she'd have bruises on them from the rough treatment.

He didn't give her a chance to come down from her orgasm; just kept his brutally fast pace, pistoning his hips in rapid succession. The orgasm never seemed to wane, only increase with the furious ass fucking he was giving her. He penetrated her ass, thundering his length as it throbbed, thickening as he neared his own release. One of his hands snaked down to her pussy, stroking her nether lips, rubbing the tight bud, playing with the clamp.

Volts of electricity surged inside her pussy, the walls clenching, quivering, and then he released her clit from the clamp while he slammed inside her ass. She screamed her orgasm. Wave upon wave smashed her system to bits as she rode the shattering crests as he plunged in rapid sequence, the hot seed of his own release spurting, pouring hot jets of cum inside her back channel.

The world receded as the flutters and spasms dwindled. He held her close. His head rested in the crook of her neck, holding her tight, still embedded in her ass. Her limbs were limp and she sagged against him. Tears streamed from her blindfolded eyes.

She was in another realm of existence, feeling weightless and spacy. She moaned a little as she felt Tobias withdraw his penis and body from her. She barely noticed as he undid her restraints, removing the blindfold. She would have collapsed into a puddle on the floor had he not scooped her up the moment the cuffs were unshackled. He hoisted her into his arms, cradling her close, and padded into the bathroom. Stepping into the shower, he gingerly placed her on the bench and started the water.

As the hot water streamed down, he filled a washcloth with soap, knelt before her and washed her everywhere, including her most intimate parts, cleaning away the semen and lube. His fingers in her hair, as he shampooed and rinsed her, were out of this world. She was too weak to stand on her own and allowed him to care for her. It was a wholly unique experience. She didn't believe she'd ever been so fully and tenderly cared for as he shut off the shower. Enveloping her in a fluffy white towel, he rubbed her body dry.

He carried her from the bathroom, depositing her in the bed, sliding in next to her. He held her close as she drifted off, kissing her temple.

"Get some rest, sweetness," he murmured against her forehead.

Her eyes slid closed on a sigh. When was the last time she had felt this happy?

Chapter Seven

When Ophelia opened her eyes for the second time that morning, she discovered herself alone. If it weren't for the muscle soreness and tenderness in her posterior, she would have chalked last night up to a dream. A really explicit, highly erotic, mega-watt fantasy, but a dream nonetheless. Except it had been real; every single mind-blowing orgasm.

The power Tobias held over her, his ability to melt her insides and resolve with merely a glance, made her uneasy. She had surrendered everything to him without question last night; her body, her soul, and part of an organ she'd thought long buried. Was she that dependent upon his praise, his acceptance, and his touch? He'd blustered past any barriers she had and decimated them as he fucked her into the stratosphere. The admission from his lips that he was a Dominant, had made a puzzle piece fall into place. But was what they had a basis for a relationship, or just good times between the sheets? His upset over her leaving him after their first night together had been real, she'd felt it.

One of the reasons why she seldom dated, apart from her obsession with eighteenth century fictional men, was because too many of the men she'd interacted with were weak-willed ninnies. They were more adept at discovering the latest metrosexual craze than they were at being a man. That didn't mean she wanted an asshole, far from it. Los Angeles had its fair share of men who thoroughly believed they were God's gift to womankind, moving from one beach bunny fashionista to the next in search of a perfection they would never find. Yet even those men, when pressed, lacked surety of confidence in themselves.

Whereas Tobias entered a room and every other male dimmed in comparison. She had never questioned what he was going to do to her last night, and then once again this morning. A part of her trusted him inexplicably, knowing that he would push her to her limits, and test her, but never break her. Where her fear really lay was in letting him see the truth, know about the horrible thing she had done that had repercussions she still felt to this day. Six years ago, she'd killed her parents. She was the reason they'd died in that car accident. It was her greatest shame. One she would never escape.

If it hadn't been for her temper tantrum the night before, they might still be alive. She'd been marginally upset over the fact that she wanted to go to the ski lodge with her friends at the start of her senior year. It was an annual tradition that seniors at her high school did each year, and Ophelia had wanted to ride with her tight clique of friends. They were all meeting up early for lunch before meeting the bus caravan to Big Bear Lake. When her parents had explained they couldn't get her to her ski trip until the designated school meet-up time, Ophelia had thrown a temper tantrum, screaming at them how unfair they were when all she needed was a ride to meet her friend's parents.

If she'd been less of a spoiled brat, then they never would have rushed on the way back from their appointment the next morning. Never would have lost control of their SUV and rolled it down an embankment off the 405. She'd shut off after that, her emotions went into hibernation mode, and she'd stopped living. There'd been days on which she had wished she'd been with them that morning.

Then, in a strange turn of events, somehow, someway, the flogging had soothed some of her raging guilt more than any of the tears she'd cried over the last six years. Ophelia didn't understand it. Couldn't wrap her brain around why she'd had that specific reaction to the punishment. And it left her with so many questions about who she was at her core that her knee-jerk reaction was to burrow back inside her protective shell until the feeling dulled and passed. What did enjoying the flogging, the pain of it a balm to her senses, make her? Deranged? Sadistic? Or just plain pathetic?

Tobias had taken such tender care of her after their lovemaking. She'd never had a man wash and tend to her that way, ensuring that she was comfortable. Her heart fluttered beneath her breast. If she weren't careful, and didn't rein this relationship onto even footing, she'd lose herself in him, ceding him emotions she'd thought had died long ago on the 405.

Emerging from the bed, her muscles protested the movement. Her body felt like she'd run a marathon with a survivalist obstacle course included, she was so sore from last night. In all the carnal indulgences of the previous night, she'd almost forgotten the main reason she'd flown five thousand miles. Although her sister's announcement had changed everything, and Ophelia wondered if she should even try to talk Zoey into coming home. Would she even listen to Ophelia at this point?

She took a few minutes to dress and get ready for the day, noticing tiny bruises on her hips in the shape of fingerprints. Her bra chafed against her raw, slightly bruised nipples. And she couldn't even begin to think about her bottom being covered in lash marks. Just seeing the reminder of Tobias' fevered attentions made moisture flood her sex and her knees tremble.

Oh, she had it bad for him, and what was more, she knew it.

Ophelia vacated the room and went in search of Zoey. Last night, she'd been so jet lagged and exhausted from her travels, she'd barely taken note of the home she was in. Grand didn't even begin to describe it. The ceiling's moldings were lined with gold filigree. The heavy oaken doors and frames displayed some of the finest inlaid scrollwork this side of a museum. The halls had glossy wooden flooring in an aged mahogany, complete with oriental carpet runners spanning the immense length of the hall. The cream-colored walls sported artwork and all manner of historical artifacts.

She stepped into the elevator, her brain still not at a functioning level, and pressed the button on the bottom. The doors closed soundlessly. The conveyance whooshed as it descended, a slight ding sounded as she reached the first floor. The doors slid open and she exited without really thinking, not minding her surroundings. She was too embroiled in her own inner turmoil to pay attention. She glanced around, casting her gaze up and down the area she was in. This couldn't be right at all. Shaking her head, Ophelia reflected that she really shouldn't be unleashed upon the world without coffee. It was like she had stepped off the planet. The hallway was dim, with low LED light panels along the floor and ceiling. The walls were made of see-through glass with black curtains shrouding the rooms, giving the hall an unearthly gleam.

She thought she had taken a wrong turn or been sucked into a time warp. What was this place? That was when she heard it. A garbled moan, followed by the sound of flesh connecting sharply with flesh. What the hell? As if pulled by marionette strings, Ophelia padded forward to where the hall opened up into a nightclub of sorts. It made her think of Dungeon Pleasures back home. Curtains fluttered as she passed, stirred by air currents, and she caught glimpses of outlines moving, her mind sure she wasn't seeing couples mid-coitus.

It was there in the center of the room, on a raised dais of sorts, with a rather impressive crowd for the middle of nowhere Scotland; that Ophelia saw maybe thirty or so people had gathered, reclining on leather couches as a woman was being disciplined on a spanking bench. She was bound with leather straps in a kneeling position, completely bared to the spectators. The rosy cheeks of her bottom flushed bright red from the man's hand as he whaled on her backside. A second man stood near the woman's head, bare, his chested finely coated in sweat as he thrust his dick inside the woman's waiting mouth.

Her face was positioned in such a way that Ophelia couldn't tell by sight who the woman was, but she recognized the voice coming from the woman moaning on stage. Shock blasted her system as she raised her gaze, spying a leather-clad Declan as he brought his hand down with another loud crack. The other man, the one in the throes of ecstasy as he thrust his cock inside the woman, she didn't know. But she knew the woman. Her world tilted and she was speaking before her brain connected with her actions.

"Zoey?" she cried. "What the hell is going on?"

The crowd gave an audible gasp at the intrusion, which should have set off warning bells in Ophelia's befuddled brain, but it didn't. It only seemed to make her interruption resonate that much more in the space. Declan grimaced at Zoey's startled cry, staring daggers in her direction. The ginger-headed stranger yelped and withdrew his dick from her sister's mouth, with pain slashing his features.

"Remove her from my club immediately, please." Declan nodded toward Ophelia as her sister began to sob on stage.

Tears streamed down Ophelia's face. What the hell was wrong with the whole scenario? Why was her sister, of all people, acting submissive? Why hadn't anyone warned her? They'd all acted normal. And why did she feel like she didn't know Zoey anymore—or herself, for that matter? Mom and Dad had not raised them to be this way. Had their deaths caused herself and Zoey to need the darker side of sex?

At first, Ophelia didn't recognize the man from the audience was who stood and marched over to evict her from the spectator sport happening until it was too late. Tobias Ford glowered at her with all the fury of a thunder god bent on meting out death and destruction.

"I've got this one, D. Take care of your little sub." Wrapping his hand around her, Tobias ushered Ophelia out of the center area, retracing her steps back down the hall and then into the elevator. Tobias didn't say a word to her, but she could infer by his rigid stance that he was pissed.

Well, bully for him.

She should be the one who was pissed off. They should have better security measures in a place like this. Not to mention, Tobias had seen her sister naked. As much as she tried to rationalize it in her mind, Ophelia couldn't seem to. Whatever this freak show was, she was finished. No way in hell would she raise her child in an environment like this.

How could her sister do that? Allow something like that? And Lia felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world because she'd submitted to the same type of degradation, minus the extra man and crowd on the scene, a few short hours before. Scotland, Tobias, witnessing her sister like that—it was all one big horrible mistake. Ophelia never should have come here—or left her house seven weeks ago, for that matter. Then all of this could have been avoided.

Tobias didn't say a word, maintaining his 'silent as the grave' façade as he ushered her back to her room. He stayed silent, pulling her across the room to the couch. That damn thing. She'd love to set that thing on fire. What was it with the two of them and couches anyway? She assumed he was going to sit and talk with her, like reasonable adult human beings treating each other with respect. Ophelia couldn't have been more mistaken. It was why she didn't put up a fight and tolerated his iron grip on her arm as he led her from the den of inequity.

Instead of having her sit next to him, he pulled her face-first across his lap until he had situated her bottom across his thighs. With one hand he held her wrists in a vise grip, and with the other he drew her pants and panties off, shoving them to her thighs until her bare bottom was exposed.

She bucked at his firm hold. "What the hell do you think you are doing?" she cried indignantly.