My Liege of Dark Haven (12 page)

As harder vibrations hammered against her clit, need washed over her. “
Di te perdant
!”

He laughed. “The gods won’t destroy me for playing with a pretty little fluff.”

Great
. His fancy education had included Latin. The vibrator hummed, increased, then stopped. Hummed, increased, stopped. Cycling up and slowing before she could come. She inched closer to a climax, shuddering with the feeling of inevitability.

But she couldn’t get there. She was stuck. Teetering between
No, I won’t come
and
More.

He pulled her closer to him, and she pushed her forehead against his chest, panting for air. Just come, she told herself. Only, her brain wouldn’t stop, and her body wouldn’t obey.

She felt him kiss the top of her head. “Thinking again, Abby? Look at me now.” His grip on her wrists tightened.

She looked up.

“Do you realize I can do anything with you, touch you anywhere…and you can’t get away?” The ominous glint in his eyes demanded that she try.

She futilely struggled and couldn’t escape. Couldn’t even make him exert himself. The knowledge shook her, cracked the container holding her thoughts, and they drained away.

Under her skirt his hand moved up. His thumb pressed on top of the vibrator, adding more pressure, even as he slid his fingers through the right panties’ leg hole. He circled her entrance with a slick finger, then firmly pushed inside.

Like a kite ripping free in a high wind, the ruthless penetration spiraled everything out of her control.

He thrust into her harder, pulled back, thrust again, and she shuddered, clenching around him. As unyielding as his grip, his black gaze trapped hers.

Another finger joined the first, and the slight stretch, the determined invasion, was too much. Her body went rigid as everything coalesced and dragged each nerve into one bright, bright moment of sheer sensation. And then it all fireballed, rolling outward, searing her veins, her nerves, and her skin with wrenching pleasure.

His fingers twisted inside her, stretching her, while his thumb pulsed the vibrator on her clit, and another wave of pleasure hit, and another, until she was shaking and gasping for air.

After easing out, he licked his fingers with a pleased sound. “You’re as sweet as I thought.”

Although he turned the remote off, the hum lingered in her bones. A tremor shook her.

“Shhh.” He released her wrists, cuddling her like an unhappy kitten.

She stared at him, knowing if he let her go, she’d fall. Only she was already falling, pulled off balance by his eyes.

A scream from nearby broke her paralysis. As she wrenched her attention away, the room came into focus. Music and moans and sounds of blows. People talking quietly. Some walking past, glancing at her and Xavier.

Her spine straightened. He’d made her come, right out in front of everyone.
Again
. Feeling furious, she tried to wiggle upright.

“I want to hold you now, Abigail.” His voice was low, his faint accent adding an exotic element. “However, if you’re that energetic, I’d be happy to test every variation the remote has. I believe there are ten.”

Oh, absolutely not!
She gave him an appalled look.

And he burst out laughing, full and open and surprising.

In the periphery of her vision, she saw people turn to stare at him.

His focus on her didn’t waver. He petted her, stroked her hair, traced his finger over her collarbone and down between her bare breasts. When he curved his hand around her left breast, his gaze was intent on her face, making her feel more naked than if she’d stripped completely. He watched her as his thumb brushed over her nipple.

Deep inside, her body responded to his touch as if he’d picked up the string and was reeling her kite in.

He smiled; then his thumbnail scraped the peak lightly. Her back arched as heat blossomed low in her belly.

She heard a tiny sound and realized the watch on his wrist was vibrating. He frowned, then kissed her forehead. “I need to check on something upstairs.”

“That’s fine.” Coldness swept through her. Emptiness. “I’m ready to head home.”

He studied her before shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

“What?” With him steadying her, she managed to stand. Her breasts wobbled as she staggered a step. She was slick between the legs, and the sadistically designed panties kept the hard vibrator pressed against her very sensitive clit. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re not functioning on all burners yet, Abby.” He enfolded her in a soft, laundry-scented blanket from the service pedestal. When he pulled her closer and kissed her gently, her willpower flowed away like ashes in a strong wind. “You’ll remain with me until I know you’ve recovered.”

As they walked toward the stairs, she realized he might be right. The floor seemed to be moving up and down, and only his arm around her kept her going in a straight line. The books said submissives might have an altered mental state after painful scenes like spanking or whipping. “We didn’t do anything intense. You didn’t hurt me, so I should be fine.”

“You had no pain, but you went through some nasty emotional shifts, little fluff. And then—did you know you’re beautiful when you come?” He smiled down at her and traced a line over the heat in her cheeks. “Look at you blush.”

Upstairs he guided her around the tables to the center of the room, where a woman straddled a wooden board. The width of the board was so narrow that the top edges disappeared between her outer labia. She wore a big sign proclaiming BAD SUBMISSIVE.

Tears streamed down the brunette’s face, and she choked on sobs, obviously trying to stay quiet. People detoured around the area, some commenting loudly about “brats” and disrespectful submissives, their voices filled with disapproval.

Anger flared in Abby. “What are you doing? You let—”

“Sit here, Abby.” Xavier pulled a chair out at an empty table and set down a bottled water. When he withdrew his arm, her knees buckled, dropping her onto the chair.

After speaking to a man sitting at a nearby table, Xavier strode over to the tortured woman.

Abby managed to get halfway to her feet before dizziness knocked her back down. Head spinning, she gripped the table. But Xavier was standing in front of the brunette, so maybe he would do something.

If he didn’t help the poor woman, he’d find out what a scene really was. Everything in Abby cringed at the thought, but her mouth pressed together. She’d do what she had to do.

“Harmonie.” Xavier had crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me what you did wrong. And why.”

“I tried to get the Doms to fight over me.” The submissive shook with her sobs. “Because I wanted more attention. I’m sorry.” She bowed her head; the tears never stopped.

Xavier stayed silent as seconds ticked by, and Abby’s anger grew. “Accepted. If you see the Doms and if they permit you to speak, you may apologize and tell them I handled your punishment.”

Relief spread across her face. “Thank you, my liege.”

Xavier nodded to the man who at the table. “Mitchell, if you would…”

Mitchell walked over to a control box. The board lowered. With an arm around the woman’s waist, Xavier released her arms and lifted her off the device. She turned her head into his chest, sobbing frantically, and he held her, letting her cry.

Abby sighed at the sight. A man who wasn’t afraid of a woman’s tears. Then her fury rekindled.
That poor, poor woman
. What kind of a horrible torture was that? And Xavier had obviously ordered it.

Carrying a blanket and bottle of water, Mitchell spoke to Xavier. “I’ll take her to the quiet room and get her stabilized.”

“Thank you.” Xavier passed her over, saying, “You may return anytime after tonight, pet.”

As he headed back to Abby, she heard the woman ask Mitchell, “Was I quiet?”

“Hardly.” The Dom snorted as he guided her away. “But you tried. He let you off easy, love.”

Easy?
Abby couldn’t believe he’d said that. Tears still ran down the woman’s cheeks, and she staggered as Mitchell assisted her across the room.

Abby glared at Xavier when he sat down beside her. “Why would you do that to someone?”

Not answering, he glanced around, assessing what was going on. His gaze returned to her. “That was punishment, Abby.”

“But I thought…” She would far rather be hurt and get it over with than be put on a board and left to suffer. With a sign. Humiliated. “I thought submissives were whipped or spanked. Not something like that. It was horrible.”

“That’s called riding the wooden pony. For some subs, their Doms’ disapproval is punishment enough. Some need pain. However, Harmonie enjoys being whipped. And she’s also rewarded by receiving the complete attention of a Dom.” He motioned to the hanging board. “This left her isolated and embarrassed, essentially a painful time-out.”

His logic didn’t alleviate the shaking inside Abby, the feeling she’d been wrong about him on some basic level. She felt as if she’d opened the door to a friend and found Freddy Krueger instead.

“What you occasionally see in a public place is known as
funishment
, and it’s a type of play. A sub acts out and gets punished, but in a way they both enjoy. It’s harmless as long as they acknowledge it’s for fun—and the Dominant likes that behavior. Most don’t. Subs usually know how far they can go and won’t cross the line from cute sassiness into true disobedience or disrespect, since the last thing a true submissive wants is to embarrass her Dom.” He drank some of her water and set the bottle back on the table. “Harmonie’s behavior wasn’t sassy or cute.”

“So you hurt her.”

“I did, and hopefully enough that she won’t repeat the offense.” His eyes were level…and shadowed. She’d started to learn to read his face. He hadn’t enjoyed inflicting pain on Harmonie.

Relief swept over Abby. A wave of fatigue followed, and she sagged in the chair.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed. “You’re exhausted. Did you drive here?”

“Taxi.” She yawned. “I need to go home.”

“Yes. You do.”

As she scrubbed her palms over her face and tried to remember where she’d left her clothes, Xavier talked with someone, then rose and scooped her out of her chair.

“Hey!”

“If you wiggle, I’ll drop you.”

She froze. The floor was a long, long way down, and despite her ample padding, a fall would really hurt.

He took a couple of steps before his lips quirked. “I don’t mind if you breathe, pet. In fact, I recommend it.”

Oh
. No wonder her ears were ringing. She hauled in a breath and heard him laugh.

* * * *

Xavier glanced at Abby. After tucking her into his sports car, he’d tilted back the seat, and she’d dropped off two seconds after giving him her home address. The sight of her sleeping, as trusting as a child, squeezed something deep inside him.

Following the GPS directions, he reached a quiet residential area of Mill Valley. The neighborhood was mostly two-story clapboard houses built in the nineteen hundreds. Hers had been converted to a duplex, he realized when he helped her up the walk. Taking the key from her clumsy fingers, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. The scents of flowers, cleaning solution, and a rather pungent odor greeted him.

The light revealed a room with delicate floral wallpaper and the graceful curves of French furniture. A gilded mirror hung over a whitewashed fireplace with an eccentric array of antique candlesticks on the mantel. A worn needlepoint carpet covered part of the hardwood floor. The ambience felt oddly like a school friend’s home in the south of France.

Mouse-like squeaks came from the far corner. “What have you got in here?”

“Puppies. I foster puppies for the animal shelter. They have a better chance of survival if not exposed to the germs there, especially since they don’t get their mother’s milk.” She yawned. “I have to feed them now.”

Of all the endings to the night, this wasn’t one he could have foreseen. Huffing a laugh, he crossed the room. In a children’s plastic pool, five round balls of fur stared up at him with hopeful black eyes. They were barely the size of his fist. “Where’s their food?”

“The legendary Master Xavier is going to feed puppies?”

She really was adorable. “I have a feeling you’ll fall asleep halfway through.”

“I’m fine.” Her defiant shake of the head didn’t succeed in making her look more awake.

“Of course you are.” With a snort of amusement, Xavier pushed her toward the high-arched opening to a dining area, then into the kitchen. Creamy yellow cupboards, stuccoed walls on three sides with a faux stone wall behind the oven. Dark granite counters and shuttered windows. Painted tile backdrops. Woven baskets and bright ceramics. “That was France. This is Italy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m betting your private school was in Europe.”

“Clever girl.” She kept surprising him. One moment she was filled with confidence, sharp as a new-forged blade, and then she’d change…like now.

“Um.” She looked at him uncertainly. “Would you like some wine?”

“Thank you, pet, but no. I don’t drink.” His mother’s people were Native American, but it was his pompous French father— “My father was an alcoholic.”

“Oh.” Her look of sympathy wasn’t unexpected, but the compassionate pat on his hand was. “It’s hard when parents aren’t up to the job.” Moving sluggishly, she mixed a tiny amount of thin gruel. “Can you give them this while I get the bottles ready?”

“Certainly.” In the living room, he set the dish in the wading pool, then moved it when a puppy tried to walk into it. “Drink it,” he advised.

The pup planted its butt, stared up, and whined in an obvious
give me a bottle
demand. Scooping up the ball of fur, Xavier studied the serious expression. Dark eyes, silky, curling hair, folded-over ears. “What breed?”

“We think they’re mostly spaniel and poodle. Someone left them in a box outside the shelter a week or so ago.” Abby knelt down, surrounding herself with small bottles of milk.

When he took one, she gave him a startled look as if she still didn’t believe he’d help.