A Kink in Her Tails (24 page)

“I’m also seriously ticked off that your opinion of me is so low that you’d think I care about shit like that.

You never asked how
I
felt about you. Did you even consider my feelings? Did you wonder if perhaps I love you too? I think I do, you know. God knows why, because you’re arrogant and bigoted, and determined to pat me on the head and send me on my way to be a good boy with someone else.” He tugged his fly shut and angrily pulled his shirt together, popping a button as he did so. He cursed fluidly.

“What would happen if I walk out of here and get run over by a truck. I end up in a wheelchair. Am I supposed to say goodbye Adele, you can’t possibly have any kind of a future with me because I can’t use my legs?”

Adele looked uncertain. “Well, I don’t think—”

“That’s right. You don’t think. You didn’t think of anything but what’s in your mirror. What’s looking at you as your image stares back at you every day. You didn’t think that maybe I loved the woman not the body. Oh no, Brian is too handsome to want a woman like me. Oh no, Brian just wants to fuck me now, he wouldn’t want to fuck me in a few years time.” He drew in another ragged breath.

“I think you’re scared. Scared shitless to take a step into what could be the best thing in both our lives.

Scared that because it didn’t work once it certainly can’t ever work again, and you’re too much of a coward to take that risk.”

“Brian, stop.”

“No. I can’t stop.” Brian’s breath choked him for a second or two. “I’m so mad right now I could chew steel. I find the one woman in the world I want to spend the rest of my life with and she tells me she loves me but it won’t work. Simply because she’s afraid she won’t
look good
. How shallow is that? And what kind of fool does that make me for falling in love with her.” He pulled his jacked free and slid into it, grabbing his keys from his pocket.

“Well, Adele. I’ve said my piece. You know how I feel. Do you still think your hare-brained notion of why we shouldn’t see each other is right? Because if you do, if you can’t see what we have together is worth so much more, then at the risk of sounding like a bad soap opera, I’ll walk out of here and I won’t bother you again.”

Adele found her lungs cramping. Her gut was twisted into a knot and she didn’t have a clue whether her throat would produce sounds. Something inside her soul was screaming, a need, a hunger, a fierce urge to take what it wanted regardless of the cost.

Brian was staring at her, a mixture of anger, desire, and pain in his blue eyes. She had never loved anyone more in her whole life, and she knew she’d never love anyone like this again.

But someone had to be sensible. Someone had to face the realities of life and square their shoulders and do the right thing. It would be best for everyone if it was her. And it would be best for everyone if it was now.

Adele rose from the table and looked him in the eyes as her life shattered silently around her and her intestines fell through the floor.

“I’m sorry, Brian.”

Without a word, Brian turned on his heel and left, the apartment door slamming closed behind him as if to put the exclamation point on his departure.

Adele sat back down at the table and looked blindly at her now-cold coffee.

She could see nothing, feel nothing. She was numb, tingly, nauseous and lightheaded. Flashes danced in front of her eyes, and she realized she was bleeding where she had bitten her lip.

The pain began.

Rolling across her body in physical waves and slamming into her head and her heart with anguished sorrow.

She’d sent Brian away for good. The one man who had brought her joy, pleasure and the best sex she’d ever known. The man who had said he loved her and the man she knew she loved.

For what? Because a twist in the hand of fate had caused her life to begin years before his. It wasn’t fair.

It
so
wasn’t fair.

A cry formed deep in her gut, erupting from her lungs like the howl of a wolf at the darkness of a barren landscape.

Desolate and alone, she folded her arms on the table, laid her head on them—and wept.

The Penthouse

Chapter 1

Simon and Eve Austen’s wedding had not been the excruciatingly dull affair he’d expected. The food had been excellent, the drinks plentiful, and the company unexpectedly pleasant.

Jason Burke had, to all intents and purposes, enjoyed himself.

He’d chatted for a while with Adam Burns and his wife Laura. Something had changed the dynamics between the two of them. There was an added sparkle to Laura’s smile and Adam seemed tranquil and content. Almost smug.

It probably had something to do with that night when he was hand fucking her in the elevator, grinned Jason to himself.

It helped to have a background of unusual experiences. It certainly helped him to recognize and identify certain behaviors.

Not that he needed any of his psychological insights when it came to watching Adele Martin and her extraordinarily handsome escort. Those two were shedding sexual heat like a maple tree sheds leaves in October. And if they made it back to Adele’s studio without ripping each other’s clothes off it would be a miracle. Jason spent a few idle moments wondering what would happen there. They seemed an unlikely couple, but very hot for each other.

And of course there was the bride and groom. Eve had finally found someone to take her mind off business.

Jason had always had a sneaking suspicion that Eve Bentley had some pretty fiery urges beneath her corporate exterior. It had been the reason he’d rather naughtily sent her that flogger so many months ago.

To encourage her to explore another side to her life. He smiled, taking a measure of satisfaction in the union they’d just celebrated. Eve was one hell of a woman, and he’d bet she’d put his toy to good use.

He’d never had the urge to find out, however. His urges lay elsewhere.

It was with pleasure that he’d found a small bottle of his favorite, very expensive scotch at the wedding buffet. In fact, he was quite surprised—it had been a couple of years since he’d actually seen this brand for sale, and he’d had to content himself with bribing friends to bring him back bottles whenever they visited Europe.

Which, seeing as Jason Burke had very few friends, didn’t exactly guarantee him a steady supply of Old Whillen single malt. He picked up the bottle and glanced around.

The newlyweds had left and the crowd was thinning out now, guests taking their leave. The sky darkened with the approach of night, and it was time to go home.

Jason figured no one would care if he “appropriated” this small bottle. A couple of fingers in one of his Baccarat crystal glasses would be a delightful luxury. Perhaps accompanied by some soft jazz, that great book he was halfway through, maybe a cigar…

Yes, he’d had a pleasant afternoon, and was looking forward to a fine finish to the day.

The elevator rode smoothly upwards, and his key flickered in the light as the key ring swung from the private penthouse lock button. Only a key could get a visitor to his home. And he had the
only
keys. The stairwell mandated by building codes for his personal safety was well concealed.

And why shouldn’t it be? He owned the building. He could pretty much do as he pleased with it.

It was a pleasant thought that warmed him as the doors slid apart and opened out onto a richly carpeted room. No entrance or hallway necessary here—guests arrived into Jason’s living space.

A huge open area held comfortable chairs and an overstuffed sofa, and fronted one wall that framed a large fireplace. Another wall was floor to ceiling windows, darkening now, as the sunlight faded from the panorama of buildings, gardens and hills in the distance.

Jason snapped the security lock on the elevator doors, and sent the elevator down with a push of the button. He was home for the night.

He crossed to the open kitchen area and tossed his jacket on the counter, loosening his silk tie with a sigh of relief and taking a heavy crystal glass from a cabinet.

Ice cubes cascaded from his steel fronted fridge with a clink and he carefully opened his small treasure, savoring the slightly smoky and peaty fragrance of the exquisite scotch.

Although the view was spectacular from his living room, this wasn’t Jason’s favorite place to spend his time. No, for that he had indulged his tastes for elegance, simplicity and his very own preferences.

He had designed his own library.

Backing on to the living area, Jason’s library was the room created from his heart. Tall bookshelves rose nearly to the ceiling, enclosed by ornate doors and the occasional piece of leaded glass. His desk was built-in, flat wall mounted monitors glowing quietly above it. His screen saver flickered planets and galaxies across the three panels, creating a work of moving electronic art that echoed some of the more unusual paintings and statues that dotted the room.

Rich burgundy carpets softened his footsteps and a well-worn leather chair set enticingly next to a set of French doors looked very inviting.

From this side of the building, Jason could see the sea. A softly glittering mass now the sun was setting, only a few pleasure boats remained, their red and green lights beginning to twinkle as night fell.

He pulled back the soft sheer curtain and looped it over a plant stand so that he could watch the darkness lick its way over his world. With a sigh of relief he sank into the chair, flicking a remote controller as he did so and filling the room with the muted tones of his favorite jazz saxophone.

Jason Burke listened to the comforting sound of the leather cushions creak as he leaned back and savored his life. He’d learned, through many painful lessons, to enjoy each and every moment as it happened. Right now was a moment to be enjoyed.

The scotch warmed his throat as it traveled down, leaving the soft smoky taste behind on his tongue. He closed his eyes for a few moments and rested his head back, savoring the burn, the fragrance of the liquor and, although he tried to stop them, the memories its scent invoked.

He remembered the first time he’d tasted it, so many years before…

* * * * *

She hung there, arms spread wide, eyes staring at him, lips wet from her tongue passing over them.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Jason asked the question after pulling her arms high above her and fixing their restraints to the pole he’d suspended from his ceiling. He wanted to use this female subject for research, not torture.

She nodded.

“Good. I am now going to remove your clothes. ” He glanced at her, seeking a confirming indication that she was allowing him to do this.

She nodded again.

Holding his breath, Jason unfastened her halter-top and slipped it down, revealing her braless body. He fiddled with buttons, trying to use fingers that had suddenly turned to jelly.

Her breasts were full, larger than he’d expected, with dark and prominent areolas surrounding hard, peaking nipples. He could feel her eyes fixed on his face as he pulled the garment free and tossed it to the floor.

Her shorts were disposed of in seconds, the elastic waist just slipping over her hips, and he pulled her panties down along with them.

She was completely naked, chained before him, and still staring at him. She had not spoken a word.

He circled her, collecting his thoughts and trying to curb his cock, which was signaling its enormous approval of the delectable dish hanging in front of it by thrusting almost painfully against his fly.

He grabbed the clipboard and re-read her questionnaire.

“You are Francesca Dalton. Twenty-one years old, junior, majoring in psych with a minor in drama. Is that correct?”

The blonde head nodded, blue-green eyes wary and still watching him, but with a hint of curiosity now showing in their tantalizing depths.

Jason struggled with his hormones. It was going to be a losing battle, but hell, he wasn’t the subject here.

He knew what his responses would be.

“You volunteered for this research study of your own free will?” She nodded again, adding a brisk no-nonsense snap to emphasize her agreement.

“You also signify that you have understood what we will be exploring during these sessions. The different facets of female sexual arousal.”

She dipped her head, again in assent.

“And specifically, sexual arousal through the use of what are known as bondage techniques.” She raised one eyebrow slightly. Jason’s spine shivered, as if someone walked over his grave.

She was a beauty. She was hanging naked before him, breasts tipped with pebbling nipples and a soft thatch of pale, neatly trimmed pubic hair pointing the way to her cunt.

Jason could smell her. The spicy tang of her body slipped into his nostrils, wended its way through his olfactory system and imprinted itself into his brain.

He wanted to lick her, taste her, inhale her arousal. Oh, and he wanted to fuck her. Really, really, badly.

But that would be in complete and absolute violation of everything his scientific research stood for. He was a Research Associate, very close to completing his thesis on sexuality and sexual response to restraining/punishing behaviors.

In other words, he was doing a thesis on sexual bondage.

His call for volunteers had elicited mixed results. With typical student fervor, several willing women had responded. One had even read the papers he’d already published.

That one had begged to be beaten and fucked.
While
she was filling out the questionnaire. Her enthusiasm had unnerved him and he’d turned her down with polite excuses.

He thought she might well have run into Luke, Jason’s housemate, and an opportunist of the first
order. He’d managed to be conspicuously coming or going right around the time Jason was
interviewing volunteers.

From the sound of things, he’d taken three of them out to dinner and fucked two. A 66% success ratio wasn’t to be sneezed at, thought Jason wryly.

Thank God Luke had missed Francesca.

“Francesca, on your questionnaire you responded to the section on your sexual experience as—um—let me see,
varied
?” Jason raised his eyes back to the woman standing so still in front of him.