Page 40 of Vienna Bliss

Alena touched it with her fingertips as Alexander adjusted her collar for her.

“A simple leather collar…”

“I had one, but I believe you threw it into the lake.”

“I did.”

“Then the pearls will have to do.”

“Alexander, this isn’t—”

Her breath caught on a gasp as his hand came up between her legs, his palm cupping her naked sex. His middle finger slid between her labia and dipped into the moisture that had pooled at her entrance.

“This isn’t a negotiation, Alena.” His dark gaze met hers in the mirror, and the rest of the objection died on her lips.

“What do you say?” His finger tickled her clit

“Thank you, Sir,” she gasped, arching into him.

Alexander pulled his hand out from under her skirt. She watched in the mirror as he licked his finger.

“Actually,” he murmured. “I may enjoy this game. Shall we?”

When he offered his arm, Alena took it, and, wearing his collar, nipples hard and pussy wet, she followed her Dom to their meeting with a terrorist.

* * *

“Absolon, will you join me?” Alexander stood in the doorway of his curator’s office.

Absolon looked up from his computer. He was a mild-mannered looking Frenchman who wore glasses and always looked meticulously put together, though his style was more casual, leaning towards tailored shirts and slacks with a waistcoat or scarf as an accent piece.

“Mr. Wagner, of course. Is there anything wrong?”

Was there more to that question? If Alexander hadn’t known what the man was doing, would anything about him in this moment have alerted him?

No. It wouldn’t have. Without Alena’s investigation, Alexander would never had suspected this man. Quite frankly he didn’t know him well enough, or think of him often enough, to have any insight into his mannerisms, despite the many years Absolon had been employed by his family.

“No. I have a task for you.”

Absolon’s brows rose above his round, gold-framed glasses. He stood and followed Alexander down the short hallway to a large unused parlor at the far end of the building. His household staff needed far less space than his Wagner Global offsite office did, but given the layout of the building, both entities had the same amount of space. It meant that everyone who managed his home, from the chef to the drivers, had space within this suite, be it an office or a bedroom. Even still, there were empty rooms, and Alexander had decided to use this small parlor, which, due to its location on the back corner of the building, had only two small windows that looked out onto another building rather than the park.

Alexander opened the door, then forced himself to pause and let Absolon precede him in. Both Alena and Rolf had insisted on this, because they wanted Absolon to take in their carefully crafted tableau.

Alena sat on a low stool to the right of a stately wing-backed chair, which was angled towards the ornate fireplace surround. Her head was bowed, her feet were bare, her shoes neatly beside one another and tucked off to the side. Her legs were tucked to the side, but her knees slightly spread, and the skirt was hiked up just enough to show off the lace tops of the stockings. It was chilly in this room, and the points of her hard nipples were clearly visible through the thin silk of the shirt.

Nothing about her posture or position in the room was normal, but it also wasn’t overtly “BDSM slave.” She wasn’t naked, in obvious bondage, or otherwise looked like she was waiting for the cameras to start rolling on a porn shoot.

Alexander was watching Absolon closely, and saw when he went still, and then stiffened with surprise.

There was another possibility—that they were wrong, that Absolon was somehow being used, and that he might object to what he thought Alexander was trying to do, and would alert the authorities. Interpol was waiting to intervene if that happened.

Alexander hoped it did. He hoped that a man he’d trusted, whom he’d let into his home, wasn’t actually associated with a group of religious extremist terrorists.

Then again, from what Interpol had told him about these particular terrorists, they believed that women were meant to be subservient to men, that women in power was the source of much of the world’s current upheaval. If Absolon sympathized with those ideals, he likely wouldn’t object to Alexander treating her as a possession, and wouldn’t have any idea that the basis of a BDSM relationship was consent. He would think the slave auction was real, even though those people they’d invited who weren’t Interpol agents would be told it was all part of a fantasy role-play between a consenting Dom and sub.

Alexander walked around Absolon and took the seat by Alena. He gestured to the chair across from him and Absolon walked over and sat, all without taking his eyes off of Alena.

“This Friday, I’m holding an auction,” Alexander declared.