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Her moan was less inhibited this time, and she couldn't stop the twitch of her hips. Rising, he moved the chair, guided her hand to clasp the top of it, leaving her in a supported position as he went to the bed, returned with the tether. She'd woken without it attached and had frankly missed it, enough that she lifted her chin to make it easier for him to hook it to the collar she still wore. His gaze on her was proprietary, pleased with her, and that was all her mind could handle now. With those vibrations between her legs and the clover clamps squeezing her nipples so painfully, there wasn't room for anything else. Which she was sure was his intent.
He shoved the alligator paddle into his back waistband. "Blindfold goes back on now. We're going to my private room at Club Sin and I want you focused on all the things I'm going to do to you there."
Darkness descended. Everything was the throbbing in her nipples, the stroke of electricity across her pussy. The sadistic man made her walk, and it was difficult, all those sensations making her unbalanced. But he had his hand at the small of her back, the tether wrapped over his knuckles so it was a consistent, distracting pull against her throat.
Back to the hallway. Through her arousal and confusion she heard a door open and he ushered her over the threshold. She thought they passed through some sort of connecting room, perhaps a storage area, because she scented cleaners, old wood. Then they were back in another hall with plush carpet, and tropical scents that suggested the same kind of venting system as in her room, allowing the aromas of the island's nature preserve down into these lower levels. But her sharp ears caught something else, reminding her what she'd heard in the elevator.
The thrum of music and the sound of a whip striking. A cry of pleasure, of pain. The scent of sweat, of sex, of need and want. Her senses were acute, so she knew they weren't in the club yet, but quickly approaching it.
She was blindfolded, going into an area she didn't know. Her nostrils were flared, taking in every scent, her hearing on full alert for noises. How did she know she wouldn't be set upon by enemies, no matter that she was the only vampire here? She couldn't trust anyone but herself. His world was not her world. Her world was little different from that of a rabbit in a thick wood, the creature never able to relax her guard against lurking predators.
"Easy." Garron had his hand on her again, was stroking. "I know it's tough for a fighter to be blindfolded when you aren't familiar with your surroundings. Just a little while longer, my lady. Just a short exercise in trust. I won't let anything happen to you. Or creep up on you." His hand dropped, cupped her buttock to give her a pinch. "Except me."
She couldn't retort to that because her senses were focused on another human, close by. As if he could read her thoughts, he filled in the blanks. "It's Bridget. This is the staff entrance into the club, but we keep a manned desk here in case someone wanders down the wrong hallway. Mr. Vardalos values the privacy and safety of his guests above everything else."
"Good evening, Master Garron. Your room is ready." The woman had a purring voice, one that made it clear she appreciated everything about Master Garron. Kaela barely resisted the urge to show her fangs.
"Thank you, Bridget."
Moving forward again, she followed Garron's lead through a door and into another hallway where those thrumming drumbeats and the scents of pleasure and need grew even stronger.
"Club Sin has several large main rooms with a lot of beautiful equipment, and private curtained alcoves around them, but it also has two wings of private rooms. We're about to cross a section of the main club to get into my wing, but we'll be sticking to the fringes."
"Your admin sounds like someone you've sampled before."
"Bridget is a submissive, yes. I've had sessions with her before. The staff practices together, enjoying one another so we remember why what we do is never just about playing a role and getting a paycheck." His grip dropped, caressed her upper buttocks. "She and I don't have a relationship, my lady. I'm unattached."
It didn't mollify her, and it should have. Actually, she knew it shouldn't have bothered her in the least. He was dedicated to her for ten days and that was enough. That was all she could ask.
"We're about to enter that main area. There won't be anyone close enough to us to engage us in conversation. Nor will they. No one will be touching you but me. All right?"
She nodded, then remembered he wanted to hear words. "Yes."
He opened a door, brought her through. It felt like they stepped from the doorway through a wider opening, perhaps an archway into a bigger room.
The door had significantly muffled the noise. Here the music vibrated through the chest, the soles of the feet, and those sharp cries, the snap of a whip, were far more vivid. She found herself focusing on Garron's hand on her hip, her back, his body brushing hers, like a focal point to walk a tightrope. She didn't realize she was leaning into him like a storm shelter until she inadvertently stepped in front of him. If his arm hadn't been around her waist, she would have tangled up and tripped. Before she could get flustered by that, tear off the blindfold, he came to a halt. She was surrounded by the hum of conversations, of commands given and received, of whimpers and sobs, gasping breaths. But no casual conversation. Despite the distant thrum of dance music, this area was intended to give Doms and subs the ability to connect.
She should be freaking out, and she was, somewhat, but all those sounds inundated her with images as well. Images of herself doing whatever the subs she couldn't see were doing. Garron holding the whip, the key to the cuffs, his hand to the back of her neck, his gruff orders to spread her legs.
When he'd caught her, she'd turned toward his front, her arm folding against his chest. Now her fingers curled in his collar, discovering he'd donned a shirt before he left her suite. Once again he was fully dressed while she was naked, except for his collar, the stimulator and the nipple clamps. To anyone watching, she'd look like a sex slave. His. He stroked her back, her ass. He used his other hand to tweak the chain connecting the clips, gave it a little tug that sent searing pain through her nipples. But the reactive jerk of her hips increased the more immediate threat of the clitoral stimulator. "Oh..."
She sucked in a breath at the flood of feeling, of panic. She was going to come. "Garron."
He slid his fingers between the stimulator and her pussy, pinching the wet lips in a way that cut that intense sensation, yet the direct contact of his hand upon her became the catalyst. She had a short, intense mini-climax against his fingers, pressing her mouth against his collar bone to muffle her groans. He cupped the back of her head, holding her as she shivered and jerked against him.
"Fucking gorgeous," he said against her temple. "That's just the way I want to keep you tonight. I want you so mindless and needy you'll come from the touch of a feather. But only if I'm the one holding it."
She braced her forehead against his chest, fighting to pull herself together. Everything she'd imagined and more, Garron was doing to her. How was it that Theodosius Vardalos hadn't asked her about her fantasies, hadn't had her fill out a questionnaire of limits and preferences, yet this male seemed to pick up on so much, keeping her spinning? He said he used his instincts, and she believed it, because she felt like she had his total attention in a way no man had ever paid attention to her before. Uncanny.
She was still throbbing, feeling like she could come again in no time. She was sure he knew that, but he was leading her onward, making her do her best to walk upright with all those pleasant and less than pleasant stimulations keeping her to a hobble. Then they were out of the public room and back in another quiet hallway. A code was punched in, and he'd eased her into a room, closed the door. This was his room. It had that same sandalwood aroma that Garron carried on his flesh, as well as a light rosewater scent, clean linen...lavender. Was it from the efforts of a cleaning staff, or from the mix of whatever oils
and lubricants were probably available in the room?
"So this is where you do sessions with other guests, other staff members."
"Yeah. Mostly. Though a lot of them prefer public floor play." He touched her face, turned her toward him. "But for these ten days, my submissive has me all to herself."
He'd picked up on the edge to her tone. If he'd been smug, she could have shot back a barbed response, but he sounded satisfied by her need for possession. That only twisted her irritation into a more compelling, more confusing need.
He used the tether to lead her across the room. Gripping her wrist, he guided her palm until it met the stone wall, telling her he'd taken her to the back. A chain rattled and he fitted a cuff to her wrist, some kind of steel that fit snugly. Not tightly enough to press against her wrist bone, but too small for her to slip the cuff easily over her hand. He threaded the chain into a frame above her, lifting her arm out to her side and just above, securing her bent arm at a 45 degree angle. After he did the same to the other, he knelt and spread her legs past shoulder width, cuffing them to the floor.
Rising to his feet, he inserted his thumb into the hinge of her mouth. "Let's take care of these fangs."
Though she tried to jerk her head back, startled, he slid a metal bit between her lips, strapped it around her head. "You may be stronger than hell, but my guess is your enamel breaks like anyone else's. You won't be trying to bite your way out of that unless you don't care about that pretty smile."
He balanced the abruptness of that by stroking her back, her hair. This time it was to do more than enjoy the lustrous strands, though. Separating them out into three thick ropes, he began to braid them. She was impressed by how efficiently and swiftly he managed it, even as little shivers of sensation chased one another up and down her spine as his fingers brushed her.
He'd left the blindfold, nipple clamps and vibrator in place. The vibrator was still humming against her clit. With all these different forms of stimulations, he was trying to get her worked up higher than even last time, she was sure. Her legs and arms were spread, cuffed in place, and her trembling was back. It was ridiculous, because nothing could truly hold her. Or could it?
