Chapter 30

Chapter

Thirty

Alright, Mr. DeMille. I'm ready for my close-up. I channel the iconic Gloria Swanson as I enter the Spice Room, camera on. Zed told me it's placed in the corner, offering viewers a more limited scope of the room and the, ahem, action. He also informed me I could allow up-close-and-personal devices, to which I rolled my eyes and gave him a polite but profanity-embellished no.

It's been days since I lost my V-Card, during which I squirmed in my chair while Darien ate a slice of watermelon in the most salacious way possible, strolled the beach with him while he picked up shells, comparing their pink lining to the lips of my pussy, read aloud the most explicit passages from the stack of erotica he left in my room while I sat under a tree with his head in my lap, and waited on him like a personal servant while he dined with other Masters, Lorenzo among them.

Interspersed within Darien-time, I'm pinioned to a post for sass, spanked through rows of tables for dropping a tray of appetizers, muzzled during a game of bocce ball for heckling, and put on a leash at the heels of my nemesis when I threw sangria in her face. Needless to say, I've got some pent-up anger and lust brewing in these loins.

Darien dismisses Zed and leads me to the chair—I use the term loosely—hanging from the ceiling. I look at the bolt holding the contraption up with a good dose of distrust. Light as a feather, I am not. Though I do hope Darien gets as stiff as a board!

I ease my curves into the slingback chair, testing its strength before putting my full weight on it.

"It'll hold two of you," Darien murmurs, lifting a leg and strapping it into one of the stirrups.

"I doubt that."

He laughs and kisses the arch of my other foot before securing it. My arms are next, the swing rocking with every movement. The position feels like a gyno chair, but the rocking brings back memories of our interlude on the ocean. I have a feeling that's the point. Like then, a camera captured my throes of ecstasy. I don't mind as much that it'll capture more. Every fan means I'm that much closer to Pages and Pastries. And getting closer is incredibly pleasurable.

My friend and roommate Lily was right. I just needed to let my freak out.

Darien gets matches and a candle. I'm immediately suspicious. He sets it aside and slips a blindfold from his pocket, covering my eyes as I open my mouth to protest.

"Surrender," he whispers, and I swear his voice has power.

I settle into the swing, listening to the whisper of his clothing and feeling the heat of his presence. There's a strike, then the scent of sulfur. My heart rate increases. The floor creaks beneath his weight. Then nothing. Only the soft huff of his breath.

When the first drop of wax hits my chest, I yelp, expecting fiery heat. But it's warm. The feel of it sitting on my skin is like an itch I want to scratch. Another drop hits my breast, then my nipple. The chair starts to wriggle as I shift my weight, trying to escape and, at the same time, trying to get closer to it.

Darien dribbles a line of wax down the center of my chest to my mons. I freeze in the chair, terrified and excited at the thought of a drip hitting my clit. I'm left hanging, literally, when he moves to my inner thigh.

My head drops back with a whine of complaint, and I hear him chuckle, imagining his rueful smile. Droplets of wax hit my thighs, calves, the arches of my feet, my toes, and then he stops. The wax figure of Eden is apparently complete, and she's none too satisfied. I grumble, then soften my breathing to hear his subtle movements.

Wax hits my chin, and I gasp, jerking my head back. Then, like a glutton, I tilt my chin, inviting more, and he doesn't disappoint. Darien drips warm wax down my neck, to my tits, then back to my mons. I shift my hips, causing the swing to rock. I hear his body shift and feel his breath on my belly. My hips twitch in anticipation.

A droplet hits the lips of my pussy, and I moan. My clit throbs. I want his finger, the handle of the crop, the strands of the flogger, his tongue, something, anything to hit that swollen nub and make me come. He laughs softly at my mewling.

When he uses the tip of his nail to pick hardened wax from my pussy and mons, I grip the straps at my wrist and swing the chair toward his face. He grabs my legs, pinning me in place. I hear the sound of fabric falling to the floor.

Then he's there, between my legs, the tip of his cock rubbing against my pussy. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes!"

Darien enters me slowly, the thick head of his cock slipping inside me, then retreating, teasing me with slow, shallow thrusts. Every movement makes the swing rock. He rubs my clit with his thumb as he tests my ability to take him. I whimper with pleasure when he grabs my hips and enters me fully, stretching me, his pelvis bumping my clit.

The chair swings as his cock slides in and out, slick with my arousal. He pinches my nipples, his ass flexing as he pushes deeper, harder, the slurping sounds of my pussy swallowing his cock filling the quiet. The chair swings as he licks his thumb, then moves his hand back to my clit, rubbing the slick digit across my swollen flesh.

He works me into a frenzy, and I cry out, my pussy spasming with the strength of my orgasm. Darien holds my hips, thrusting harder, faster. My tits jiggle with the force of it. I hang onto the straps, feeling another climax building. He stops, crashes to his knees to lick my clit. His tongue flicks and sucks. I writhe helplessly, suspended in the chair, as his fingers part the lips of my pussy so he can work my clit to a thunderous orgasm. I scream with pleasure, hips bucking when he fingers me to the finish.

Darien stands, a growl of need rumbling in his chest as he thrusts his cock inside me again. My head lolls against the slingback, hands gripping the straps as his hips pump, turgid flesh slamming into me over and over, hips grinding against my mons. He's so deep I feel like he's part of me. He gives a guttural moan, pelvis grinding into mine, then shouts my name, his body bucking with release.

The sound of our panting fills the quiet.

"I like this chair," I say when I can catch my breath.

Darien laughs. "I do, too, now that you're in it."

My heart squeezes. He's dangerous. If I'm not careful, I could fall for him, and he could leave me shattered. But this place is all about surrender. When he claims my mouth as he removes the blindfold and then slides his hands to the straps to unhook my arms and legs, I decide I need to let go. Who knows? Maybe he'll surprise me. Lord knows he's done that time and again already!

Like before, he takes a wet cloth and wipes me down, taking time to remove all the droplets of wax and the remnants of our passion.

He leads me to the bed. "Lay with me."

With pleasure! I stretch out on the soft linens, rolling to my side when he puts his arm around me. I don't mean to fall asleep, but the slow beating of his heart combined with utter satiation is better than melatonin. I'm out in minutes, drooling on his chest shortly after.

A loud popping sound startles me awake sometime later. Arms cinch around me, and I squeak when they squeeze too tightly. Pop, pop, pop! Boom! Sizzle! Fireworks.

I tap on Darien's arm. "You're squeezing me."

He doesn't ease up, so I look at him, really look at him. It's like the pop of the champagne bottle. He's frozen, eyes wide with panic.

"Darien?"

The sound of his name has an immediate effect. His arms loosen, and he blinks, dropping his chin to his chest and giving me a crooked smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Of course I am. The fireworks just startled me." He sits up, and I watch him stride across the room, where his shirt and pants are in a puddle on the floor.

I want to pry. I'm terribly nosy. There's a boundary I'd be trying to cross, and I know he wouldn't take kindly to the intrusion. But I know he wasn't startled. He's hiding something. Oliver knows what it is, but he's a dead end. So is Zed. Besides, I shouldn't be asking someone else about Darien. I'm nosy but not a gossip.

I watch him pick up a phone. The moment is over. My squire will be here in minutes. I crawl off the bed, wanting to reach for him, to ease whatever haunts his soul. It's as the thought coalesces that I realize I've already fallen. I'm his.

Now, I want him to be mine.