Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 2) Page 7

  He could make everything sound so logical, as if all the answers were right in front of me. “You wouldn’t talk about it, Marc. You had a lot of opportunities to tell me the truth about her, including when you saw her note the other night.”

  “I left out one part of the story,” he said. “Nobody tries to commit suicide unless they’re unstable to start with.”

  “One part of the story. A pretty important part, don’t you think?”

  “And one that’s absolutely none of your business.”

  He pushed his chair back and grabbed his plate. With a clatter of utensils and glasses, he cleared the table around me, grabbing the serving platter and setting it on the island with a clang.

  “She was your last submissive before me,” I said, my voice unsteady. “How is that not my business?”

  He put a cutting board into the sink and leaned his hip against the counter. “Do I ask about your ex-boyfriend? Do I expect you to tell me every detail because you’re sharing my bed? For fuck’s sake, Sophie, you were with him six weeks ago. That’s a lot more relevant than a relationship that ended when I was barely out of university.”

  I stared at my lap where my napkin lay, twisted in my hands. What would Marc think if he knew Trevor had been inside the other apartment just a few days ago?

  I could tell him right now, but he’d never trust me again after what I did today. And I wouldn’t blame him.

  “I wish you would ask about him,” I said. “I wish you wondered what my life was like before I met you.”

  He crossed his arms and his biceps bulged. “All right, then, tell me this. What were you doing with a loser like that? He didn’t make you come in two years, but you stayed with him until he fucked somebody else. Why? Do you really think so little of yourself?”

  Though I wanted to snap out something defensive, I couldn’t. I’d asked myself the same question a thousand times. “No, Marc. I thought so little of him.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said, the skin between his eyebrows creasing. “Then why move in with him?”

  In a quiet voice, I admitted what I could hardly admit to myself. “As long as I was with a man I didn’t really care about, I didn’t have to worry about losing him.”

  It didn’t make sense even to me, but since breaking up with Trevor, I’d felt almost nothing at all. After finding out about his affair I’d cried only twice, mostly from humiliation and embarrassment.

  Most of the pain I should have felt was mysteriously absent, which meant that other things were absent, too. Love. Deep attraction. Real emotional attachment. I’d never been that invested in any man and now I knew why.

  It was an amazingly effective way to avoid sadness and grief, two emotions I’d had enough of for one lifetime.

  “It wasn’t a conscious decision,” I went on. “I’m sure losing my parents was part of it. I didn’t realize how I felt until after Trevor and I broke up, when I was trying to understand what went wrong.”

  Marc stared at me, his gaze dark and penetrating. “Is that what you’re doing here with me?” he asked. “Not caring too much?”

  I should be so lucky. “I don’t know,” I said.

  He smiled, a slow, skeptical curve of the lips. “Come on, Sophie. If you didn’t care you wouldn’t have hunted down my ex-girlfriend.”

  I flushed, hating how easily he saw through me. “I like to know who I’m dealing with. There’s nothing wrong with protecting myself.”

  “You wasted two years protecting yourself with a guy who meant nothing to you. What happened to your parents was terrible and unfair, but you can’t fix it with men you don’t give a shit about.”

  I smirked. “Weren’t you doing the same thing, dating women you didn’t really want? How was that different?”

  His mouth was a tight line. “Because it was. I was hurting people and I wanted to stop. But this isn’t about me, Sophie. It’s about you keeping secrets and lying to me.”

  “While we’re on the subject of secrets and lies, it took you ten days to tell me how I came to France.”

  “And I’ve apologized sincerely more than once. I have yet to hear ‘I’m sorry’ come out of your mouth tonight.” He glared at me, his eyes narrowing into silver slits. “What were you thinking, going to talk to Lydia? How did you find her?”

  I could hardly meet his gaze. “On the Internet. It took about two minutes.”

  “And she just told you everything? Did she explain the note?”

  “She said she wanted to warn other women,” I said in a hushed voice. “She said all of your ex-girlfriends went crazy over you, that she wasn’t the only one.”

  He looked at the ceiling and sighed. “All of them?” he said, eyebrows lifting. “Every single one?”

  “She mentioned one who had a miscarriage and another one who went to your office crying.”

  “That’s two, Sophie, three if you count Lydia. This is what happens when you get third-hand information from a woman with an ax to grind. A misunderstanding based on rewritten history.”

  “But I didn’t ask her about your past. I went to see her just to –”

  He shook his head impatiently. “I’ve heard enough. It happened years ago and it’s finished.”

  He turned and walked out, leaving me at the table alone. After five minutes of heavy silence, I put my plate in the sink and followed him to the bedroom. He stood at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” I asked quietly.

  “Get undressed,” he said.

  “What – no.”

  His eyes were sharp as a hawk’s. “Did you just say no to me? Because that’s exactly what you agreed not to do.”

  “I know, I just…I need to take a shower.”

  His mouth tightened. “Naked on the bed. Now.”

  “Don’t you think we should resolve this first?” I asked.

  He dropped his shirt to the floor. “That’s what we’re about to do.”

  “I mean by talking.”

  “No more talking. Take your clothes off.” He looked at me with such authority that my insides quivered. I shouldn’t want him now, but I did, almost against my will.

  Maybe I’d wanted him to find out about my meeting with Lydia to provoke his reaction. To see how far I could push him, and how strong his response would be.

  After his moodiness last night, I wanted the old Marc back, the Marc who wanted to fuck and restrain me. And now, thanks to my not-so-secret meeting with Lydia, I had him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who could make things go his way.

  My legs shook as I slipped off my dress. If he could spank me for nothing, what would he do when extremely pissed off?

  I stood in the black lace panties he’d laid out that morning, feeling the soft frilled edge against my skin. He raked me with seething eyes and practically growled. “Everything off but the shoes.”

  Slowly, I stepped out of the panties and waited for his next order. I could already see the stiff evidence of his arousal through his jeans.

  “You’re beautiful tonight,” he said. “Beautiful and extremely disobedient.”

  “Where do you want me?” I asked in a thin voice.

  “On the bed, face down. But first, come here.”

  He put an arm around my waist and pulled me roughly to him. I felt his smooth, hot chest against my breasts, and the cold buckle of his belt on my belly.

  He pushed my mouth open with his tongue, sucking my lips between his teeth and biting them until they felt bruised and puffy. Stepping away, he inspected me from head to foot, reaching out to squeeze my already-hard nipples and setting fire to my nerves. I tried to repress a whimper but couldn’t.

  “It sounds like you’re ready to submit to me,” he said, fingers still on my nipples. “Are you?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  Last night I’d relented to his desires with hardly a whisper, walking blindfolded into a private club and spreading my legs on command. Tonight I would be the challenge I knew h
e wanted.

  “The way you say ‘maybe’ sounds exactly like ‘yes’,” he said. “Is it? I don’t want any more misunderstandings. We’ve had enough of those today.”

  He trailed two long fingers across my abdomen and down between my legs. My heart fluttered like a trapped bird. I held his gaze, refusing to admit that I was more than ready – I was sick for him. Our argument had kindled a burning need to be close to him again, to sweep away the confusion and turmoil of the last two days.

  “Is your refusal to answer a battle of wills or a tease, Sophie?”

  He touched me delicately, opening my sensitized flesh and probing with his middle finger while his thumb slipped over my clitoris. “You may like to keep secrets from me but your body isn’t capable of it. It always tells me what I want to know.”

  “What is it telling you now?” I whispered.

  “That it loves being mine. That it finally knows what it is to be properly fucked. Now, stand where you are. It’s probably better than the bed.”

  “Better…for what?”

  “Tying you up in knots and doing with you what I please.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to do that anymore,” I said quickly. “Last night changed your mind.”

  “As usual, you’ve overridden my self-control. You know, everything I do to you is because of your power over me. Do you like that, knowing you have that kind of power?”

  His finger was pushing inside me now, making it hard to speak. “I have no power over you at all,” I whispered.

  “Oh, but you do,” he said, his face close to mine. “You have the ability to distract me from everything else, to completely obsess me. Everything about you gets under my skin.”

  “I don’t do it on purpose,” I said.

  “No, you don’t. That’s what makes it so effective.” He gave my neck a lingering kiss, sending electrical pulses down my spine.

  “Now it’s time,” he said, “whether you’re ready for me or not.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Instructing me not to move, Marc went to the closet and took out the red rope. I had a sudden instinct to run and escape whatever harsh punishment he had planned, but it vanished just as quickly.

  What Lydia had felt for Marc – the unquenchable need to be possessed – I felt it, too.

  Where he was concerned, Lydia and I had too much in common. I’d do anything to feel the white-hot connection we’d shared last night, and if that meant letting him shackle me, so be it.

  He stepped up behind me and drew my arms behind my back. “Hold the elbow of the opposite arm in each hand,” he said, “like this.” He positioned me so that my palms were up, my arms crossed over each other.

  “I don’t know how long I can stay this way,” I said.

  “You won’t have to. The rope will do it for you.”

  I felt a tugging in my shoulders as he wrapped the rope above and below my breasts. It rubbed against the center of my chest, where it was sure to leave a burn.

  “Simple overhand knots,” he said, “but they look so beautiful next to your flesh.”

  I had to brace a foot against the end of the bed to keep from being pulled over. The knotting and looping went on for several minutes until I felt so constrained I began to sweat. At least with the collar I’d had the movement of my arms.

  Though I could hardly expand my ribs enough to breathe, I would not panic. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me beg to be freed.

  “Come,” he said, taking me by the waist. “Look at yourself.”

  He led me to the floor mirror and switched on the muted light of the lamp. My eyes were shadowed, my skin milk-white. None of it – me, Marc, the rope snaking around my torso – looked real.

  I was his captive, his wicked girl, his naughty, high-heeled prisoner.

  My entire upper body was wrapped tightly, my breasts framed in blood-red rope. Once he bound my ankles – and I knew he would – I would be helpless, his property for as long as he wanted me.

  “This is what happens when you keep secrets from me,” he said. “Are you sorry you did it?”

  “Yes,” I said, my heart contracting with regret. “I should have asked you about Lydia. I never should have gone to see her. And I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”

  “I forgive you,” he said, kissing my temple. “I’ll always forgive you, Pet.”

  “This is forgiveness?”

  “My interpretation of it, yes.” He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re frightened tonight, aren’t you? I see it in your eyes.”

  I nodded.

  “Frightened, and very lovely. You have no idea how lovely you are. I’ve seen photographs of submissives bound this way, but they can’t touch the woman standing in front of me.”

  Watching us both in the mirror, he ran greedy hands over my bare breasts and hips. “I’m going to have your ass tonight, and you’ll give it to me without argument,” he said, with no change in tone. Smooth, cool, absolutely in charge.

  A quick shudder went through me. “Why tonight? To punish me?”

  “And to pleasure you. And myself.”

  “I’ve never done it,” I said, though I’d always been intensely curious. “Does it hurt?”

  “Only if you resist me. You have to give yourself to me completely and trust that I’ll do what’s best for you. You do trust me, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, turning my head to look up at him. “I’m not sure you’ve given me reason to.” His jawline was sharp as a blade against the pale light.

  He kissed my temple. “Tonight, I will.”

  After wrapping a shorter piece of rope around my ankles, he pulled a chair in front of the mirror and bent me over the back of it. The top hit me in the solar plexus, just below the tight strips of rope. Other than his hands, the chair was my only support.

  “No tingling or lack of feeling?” he asked, checking one of the knots for tightness.

  I shook my head. My shoulders ached and my wrists burned, but I refused to complain.

  He reverently kissed my shoulders and the back of my neck. Yesterday, in the long, bleak hours before our night at the M Society, I’d have given anything to feel his lips on my skin. Now I knew his kisses were a prelude to something dangerous. Of course, anything was better than sitting miserably by myself in the kitchen. I had Marc’s attention, however ruthless it might be.

  I gasped when I felt his fingers, which were cool and slippery with lubricant.

  “Ass up,” he said, smacking my behind lightly.

  I tilted back my hips. Softly, he spread the sticky fluid until I was saturated with it. No man had ever touched me so intimately, or with such firm, gentle strokes.

  “Relax,” he whispered. “I love every part of you. Give it all to me.”

  He took my hips in his hands and pulled me against him. “What a gorgeous, round ass you have,” he said. “I’m sure every man who sees you wants to fuck you just like this.”

  His heavy, hot tip pressed insistently against my slick flesh and I recoiled on instinct.

  “Don’t fight me,” he said, forcing my hips back and upward. “You couldn’t even if you tried.”

  Impossible though it seemed, he was going to enter me – and I was going to bend over and let him. I blew out a long breath and imagined myself opening for him, receiving the man who became my master every night. He was massive in my mouth and between my thighs, but from behind he was practically a barbarian.

  Thrusting gently, he entered me a little at a time, allowing me to breathe slowly and expand. Underneath my fear was the joy of giving him what he craved.

  “That’s right,” he whispered against my ear. “Let me take you.”

  I’d never felt so totally captured by a man, or so in love.

  I bit my lip to keep from saying the words as he filled me with his immense shaft. I love you, I love you. Moans ripped from my throat, high-pitched cries I hardly recognized as my own. I couldn’t even pretend to have the control
I’d had with Trevor, the detachment that let me feel only what I chose.

  Marc controlled every movement – his and mine. Freed from responsibility, I could give in to every sensation.

  “Oh, Marc,” I whispered, my head tipped back against his bare chest. I couldn’t tell where pain ended and pleasure began as he plundered me, his moans deep and guttural. Then my body opened for him and a profound pleasure took over.

  “Tell me you like it in your ass,” he said in my ear.

  I told him, and felt him swell to an almost unbearable girth.

  “Say it again,” he said, driving himself deeper. “Again. Again.”

  “I love it,” I said. “You feel so big and hard inside me.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “Be careful. I won’t last long if you keep talking like that.”

  I smiled, reveling in my ability to undo him. “I love being punished in my ass,” I whispered, letting go of every inhibition.

  “Sweet Sophie. I knew you would.”

  I glanced up and saw him watching me in the mirror. Our eyes locked in a spellbinding connection that felt like a narcotic in my veins.

  It wasn’t just the exquisite sight of him, the slashing shadows under his cheekbones or the ink black of his lashes. This was deeper than sex, deeper than words. Whatever it was – chemistry, love, the lure of sexual danger – I’d never felt anything close to it. I didn’t want to live without it.

  “You know what I think?” he said, slowing the thrust of his hips.

  “What?” I asked, still riveted to his reflected gaze.

  He slid a hand around my chest and rested it on my heart. “I think you need to be submissive to me. It unlocks something in you, doesn’t it? It breaks down the barriers you use with other men. You can’t use them with me because I won’t let you. I force you to feel something.”

  I knew without thinking that it was true. Every time he spanked or tied me, he tore away more of the armor I’d built up. With him, I was raw emotion, pure sensation, a soul stripped bare. No man had ever been able to get to me, until Marc.

  I nodded slowly, my lips parted. In the mirror, they glistened like wet rose petals.