But he didn’t, not right away. He teased me with feathers and chains, cold and hot, soft and hard, brushing each one ever so lightly over my skin. In addition to lying on my stomach, I wore a blindfold so I couldn’t see a thing, not a single thing. The music playing in the background had harps and violins and the staccato beat was unnerving in this environment— precisely why he chose it, I’m sure. When I was so relaxed that I felt boneless, well, that’s when he took out the clamps.
My breasts were dangling from the bench. Standing, he straddled me, leaning on me lightly as he reached down and grasped them. I gasped at the contact of his warm hands and enjoyed him playing with my nips but when he started twisting and tugging, I whimpered.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’m just getting them ready for some jewelry. You like jewelry, don’t you, Ella?” he whispered into my ear, his warm breath sending fire right through my core.
I nodded—I do like jewelry—though I yet whined internally at my sore nipples when I felt the bite of sharp metal teeth on one. “Eek!” I screamed.
“Too tight?” he asked gently, but I heard laughter in his tone, as if he were enjoying my discomfort.
“Yes, too tight,” I spat out the words in a torrent but he didn’t loosen it. He just waited, rubbing my back until the pain faded. Then he took up the other one. I realized it must be almost an art form to know just how tight to make the clamp: too tight and a person could be injured; too loose and there’s no point to using it. It must be adjusted to produce just enough erotic pain to contribute to the sum total. Ian knew exactly how to gauge it.
What I was not expecting at all was the clit clamp. When he asked, “Ready for the next one?” and pinched me there, I tried to buck and evade his fingers but he’d tied me down too well—I could barely move an inch. He readied it the same way as my breasts and that, I’ll admit, was okay… fun even. Okay, it was fucking hot. But not when the clamp bit down. I squeeze my eyes shut even now as I recall the sharp sting.
The real pain was yet to come, though, for I discovered taking off the clamps is when you get the most punch. Once he’d entered me, his rhythm pushed me all the way up, up, up, and I was about to come. That’s when he reached down between us and released the lower clamp. I even scared myself with the scream I produced when I climaxed: I’d never experienced an orgasm like that before. A few beats later, he removed the breast clamps, and I came again, right on top of the first one. When the rolling waves finally subsided enough for me to regain my hearing, I heard him laugh like Satan, and then he picked up a frenzied pace again until he couldn’t take any more and let loose. Afterward, we both just lay limp on the narrow little bench, his thighs on mine, resting on a small leather support on either side of the sawhorse.
As he locked the room’s door and we headed back to his bedroom, he looked at me with heavy lidded eyes and I took note that he looked so much more relaxed now. “We need to visit that room more often, Ella, don’t you think?” His voice was smooth again, the hoarseness ironed out by sexual release. I felt a twinge of pride at accomplishing my mission.
“Mmm, maybe so,” I replied truthfully, for I also felt good, as if I’d just received a massage instead of rough sex. I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. I didn’t want to ever let him go.
Finally, tonight, with a picture of Ian in my mind’s eye, in his blue jeans and white tee shirt, barefoot with disheveled hair, tucking me into bed, I fall asleep hugging my pillow and pretending it’s his warm and comforting body. That night I dream of New York, two men, and a blond woman with long, red nails that morph into talons before my very eyes.
Chapter 43
The door to Phillips’ loft is sitting ajar as the two men warily approach it. On the way up, they discussed the various options in front of them.
“If they were all Russian, deportation would be a much more attractive path to pursue,” Ian pointed out. “With our collective clout, we could facilitate an expedited deportation order and have Natasha’s grandpa’s friends providing the welcome home. Live or die, they’d no longer be my problem.”
Daniel nodded. “True, but the brothers are Lithuanian nationals, which complicates the situation. It’s also not an ideal solution for other reasons. Even if we succeed in expediting the process, it can still drag on for months—months that could allow them time to put back-up plans into place. Moreover, you can never be sure of their individual fates. For example, even if the Russian welcome wagon took out the men, would they necessarily eliminate the women as well? Natasha is your biggest problem, or so it appears right now.”