Under His Spell (8 page)

N
ICKY SAT RIGIDLY UPRIGHT
on James’s couch. He hadn’t said much before he disappeared. She was to wait for his return. She was to wait naked until he returned. He hadn’t said anything beyond that. She probably could stretch out on the couch and watch headline news if she wanted.

She didn’t.

It was very odd, she realized, this arousal that simmered through her blood and liquified her belly. In her normal life, the last thing she would ever do is sit still without her cell phone, without access to e-mail, without thinking or planning or managing. This whole situation was very bizarre, said the tiny, thinking portion of her brain.

So she turned it off. She consciously closed her eyes, put herself firmly in the middle of her hot tropical beach, and let everything else just disappear. There wasn’t a conscious
click
in her head, but the effect was the same. She was a woman stripped of all ability to function on her own. Her naked body was a reflection of that internal state. Her doll-like position on the couch was also a
manifestation of the blank state of her mind. Her only thought was anticipation.

That, and that she was probably making a wet spot on his couch.

He returned while her eyes were still closed. She heard him enter the room, but she didn’t want to look and disturb the near silence of the moment.

“Don’t move,” he ordered.

“Yes, master,” she whispered.

“I like seeing you like that. Except for the shoes. Put your shoes back on.”

“Yes, master.” He clearly had a thing for black pumps. She leaned down and slipped them on. They were rounded-toe pumps with a flirty bow. Cute, but serviceable, and not so high she feared she’d break an ankle on a factory floor.

She frowned at the thought. Her mind was trying to gain a foothold again, and she had no desire to go there. So she settled back on the couch, her eyes closed once again, and she pulled up the island heat. Between one breath and the next, her mind blanked to nothing.

“Just to be clear again, Nicky, you’re enjoying being forced, right?”

“Yes, master.”

“But forced how? Do you like it rough? Cold, even?”

She tilted her head, wondering. She didn’t know, and frankly, she didn’t like thinking about it. This was something for him to decide. Then she would decide afterward what she thought.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said, his voice growing louder as he moved closer. “And answer without thinking. Have you ever done anything like this with another man?”

“No, master.”

“Have you ever explored any of your fantasies before?”

“No, master.”

“None of them? Why not?”

Questions, questions. She didn’t like that his questions made her think. That defeated the whole purpose of being here in her island pleasure place. But he’d told her to answer quickly without considering, so she let her mind blank as the words flowed. “Bad girl, bad Nicky. Have you done your homework? Have you finished the report? Have you paid off your debts?”

“Hmmm,” he said. He was standing in front of her now. She could feel his island god heat. “That’s the truth, but that’s not the whole truth, is it?”

“No, master.”

“So what is the truth?”

“Nicky has bad taste in men.” She was beginning to squirm in her seat. All these questions were cutting too close to thought, forcing her to a place that wasn’t her island paradise. And yet, in a bizarre way, it felt right that he ask. Jimmy always asked questions, he always cut to the heart of things. That was one of the reasons she liked him so.

“Stop moving,” he said firmly from right in front of her.

She stilled. Then she felt his hand on her face, his fingers gentle as he stroked her cheek, her jaw, her mouth. His thumb lingered on her lower lip, brushing back and forth, back and forth in a mesmerizing motion. “You’re safe here, Nicky,” he said, his voice low and deep. “You’re also smart, capable and beautiful. You deserve a man who knows that and reveres you for it.”

His words settled into her bones, strong and powerful
because on this island he was god. And because he was god, her confidence strengthened, her core grew stronger, and—oddly enough—she settled deeper under his spell. She liked it here. She liked what he said. And most of all, she liked how she felt when he touched her.

“So you want to explore, Nicky?”

“Yes, master.” Inside she was smiling. Enough thinking, enough talking. She wanted to know what he would do to her next.

He slipped a blindfold over her eyes. It was satin, she realized, and cool. It caught on one of the pins of her updo and she felt him push her bun left and right as he began delving into her hair.

“How many pins are in here?” he groused.

Then it was down and the satin blindfold tightened against her eyes. Her hair was flattened against her scalp, clearly knotted in places, probably an unholy mess, but it didn’t matter. She was what he commanded, and she smiled at the thought.

Her right nipple exploded with sensation. He had flicked it with his thumb, and she gasped in reaction. But she didn’t move. She wasn’t allowed to move.

“Your nipples are tight. Are you cold?” he asked.

Her legs were abruptly shoved apart and she was pushed back against the cushions of the couch.

“It’s hot here,” he said.

Good god, that felt amazing. She was spread open. Would he—

He shoved his fingers inside her.

Yes!

“It’s hot here, too.” He spoke casually, almost as if he were indifferent. Except she knew he wasn’t. She knew it!

He moved his fingers around, and her bottom tight
ened in reaction. She was lifting up to him, begging for more. Then he withdrew, and she mourned the loss. But she didn’t say anything. She’d been commanded to be silent, and that completed the fantasy. If she couldn’t speak, then there was no need to think of something to say.

“Stand up.”

She did. He didn’t help her. It was a little awkward given that she couldn’t see, but she managed it. Then he took her arm and tugged her forward. He wasn’t forceful, neither was he tender. He simply led and she followed. Her heels sunk into the carpet, then they clicked on tile, but not the hallway kind. This sounded more like…kitchen. She was in the kitchen.

She heard a door open. It was a heavy one. She knew because she could hear the suction as he pulled it open, and there was a brush of cold air as if he were taking her outside.

Outside? Naked? She tensed, pulling back when he wanted her to go forward.

“Nicky? I want you to move forward.”

There was a question underneath his order. He was really asking if she trusted him to keep her safe, no matter what game awaited her on the other side of the door. And below that question was the deeper one. Did she want to stay in this blissful, thought-free state?

Yes to both. She trusted him and she didn’t want to think right now. Perhaps never again. So she took a step forward, but he stopped her by tightening his grip on her arm.

“Say it. Say yes, master, or the other word.”

“Yes, master.”

“All right, then. This way.”

He pulled her forward. She stepped as he directed, but
her heel caught on something at the threshold and she stumbled. Her body lurched forward, and she squeaked in alarm. She reached out with her hands, but already knew she wouldn’t be fast enough. And she couldn’t see!

He caught her around the waist. She’d thought of him as just a disembodied voice, as a hand on her arm dragging her forward. But now he was a man, his body strong and hard as one arm wrapped around her waist and the other supported her front just beneath her breasts. She could feel the muscles of his forearms, the hard press of his fingers on her ribs, and then the solid bulk of his whole body as he braced her against him so that she could find her footing.

It took a long time. She was surprised at how disorienting losing her sight was, and so she fumbled at getting her feet under her. The edge of her heel slid on the flooring, and she realized it was concrete. Like in a garage. But that was a distant impression that did little to penetrate the feel of his body supporting hers.

He wore his same clothing, an old tee and soft jeans. He liked comfort, she could tell, because the fabric was gentle on her naked body. Her head had banged against his shoulder, but as she stood, she was able to lift herself higher until her forehead brushed his chin. Or perhaps he leaned into her, tilting his head so that he prolonged their contact?

She didn’t know, and she found she didn’t care. He was holding her, touching her, and each sensation built one on top of the other until he was the wall against everything else. He was her world, and he made her safe. That’s what she remembered even as he pulled away from her until she was standing alone again.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, master,” she returned.

“Then come forward and climb onto this table.”

He touched her lower back with a light brush of her fingers. It was enough to give her direction, but not tell her where he was. It didn’t matter. She now knew he would be there if she needed him. Right now, she didn’t, and so she stepped forward to touch a cold Formica table.

“Up on your knees.”

“Yes, master.”

She fumbled her way up onto all fours. The toes of her shoes had little traction on this table, and the Formica was hard on her knees. Her fingers found the edges—just a little wider than shoulder width—and she wrapped her fingers around the lip and gripped tight. She couldn’t keep her knees together, but she wasn’t spread completely wide. She settled into a stable pose, feeling her breasts sway beneath her.

She’d barely gotten settled when he pushed a finger deep inside her. She arched and gasped in reaction, but it didn’t dislodge him. She didn’t want to, especially as he wiggled a bit, pulled out, then pushed two fingers back in.

“God, you are so ready, Nicky, I could do you again, just like this.”

“Yes, master,” she gasped, hoping he would do just that. He was still plunging into her, moving his fingers as he wanted while she arched her back more, hoping he would find something to do with her clit.

“I could, but I don’t think that would be the perfect orgasm. At least not for you, would it?”

“No, master.”

“Very well, then. Let’s keep exploring.” He withdrew from inside her, though he stroked his wet fingers
around her bottom, and up along her spine. She felt his other hand on her right breast, idly toying with her.

She waited, her body tight with anticipation and wet with desire. But she didn’t think. In fact, she was beginning to believe she would never think again. Her only task was to wait and experience.

Though she still managed a mew of distress when he lifted his hands away from her completely.

“Turn over. I want you to lie down on your back.”

“Yes, master.” The awkward flip over on this narrow table made her heart beat faster and her breath catch. But she accomplished the task without help. She now lay on her back on the hard table.

“Lift your head.”

She did as she was bid.

“Now lie down.”

He’d placed a thick, rolled towel under her neck. It didn’t provide much cushion, but it did make the situation less uncomfortable. And while she was relaxing into the towel, she felt something cold click around her left wrist. Her hand was down by her hip, and he jerked it abruptly upright so she could feel the cold bite of a handcuff on her wrist. Then he let it drop to land on the table. A moment later, she felt another cuff slap around her other wrist. She was now bound to the table.

“Widen your knees,” he ordered.

Her legs had been pushed demurely together, but now she rolled her knees outward.

“Wide,” he said. “As wide as you can.”

“Yes, master,” she murmured, then tried to push her heel into the table for leverage. It slid uselessly away. She had no traction at all. So she simply tightened her outer thighs, shivering slightly as the cold air hit every part
of her groin. Her legs were spread wide, but it required her lower stomach muscles to keep them up in the air.

“Nice flexibility,” he commented, and she felt warmed by the compliment. Then she heard some strange noises. He was doing something to the table, but she couldn’t tell what. And her abdominals were starting to tremble. She might be flexible, but it had been a long while since she’d taken the time to do stomach crunches.

She felt his hands, large and warm on her right leg. Then something thick and hard like leather wrapped around her thigh, just above her knee. He shifted, bracing her knee against his stomach. She could tell by the way his jeans provided a lip to rest her weight on. She felt the strap tighten and buckle. Then he released her leg so that it dangled off the side of the table.

He moved away, not touching her anymore. Her lower back arched slightly with her leg hanging off the side. And when he repeated the process on her other side, she ended up fully stretched, her breasts pushed to the sky with her groin open and her legs dangling uselessly over the edge.

“Try to move off the table,” he ordered.

“Yes, master.” She did, and it was impossible. Her hands were shackled, her legs spread open. She couldn’t get any leverage anywhere. The most she could do was grip the table tight enough that her thighs hurt where the edge cut in against her flesh.

“You may stop now. You are cuffed and bound to this table, Nicky. I can do anything I want to you, and you can’t stop me.”

She could, though. She knew she could with her one word, but she didn’t say it. She didn’t even think it.

“You are completely and wholly at my mercy,” he continued. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes, master.”

“Perfect.” There was the rustle of fabric and then the creak. Was he getting on the table? Yes, she definitely thought so.

She felt heat and movement. His forearms braced on either side of her head, pulling a bit at her hair. She felt his groin settle on her mons, the wet feel of latex a bizarre contrast to the heat of his body. He was naked and lying on top of her, and the skin-to-skin heat was wonderful.