Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion) (6 page)

Groaning, he got to his feet and padded away. When he returned, he rubbed cooling cream into the fiery flesh of her bottom. “You have such tender skin,” he commented. “So sensitive.”

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder. Now her ass was red, with several angry-looking lines. More what she’d expected this morning. It barely hurt, though, probably because she still rode some sort of endorphin high. That had been spectacular. She sighed out a long breath and caught him watching her intently.

“Was that okay?” he asked.

She scooted a hand out and laced her fingers with his. “Miguel, that was more than okay. It was an out-of-body amazing event.”

He smiled then and she realized he’d been worried. He ran a gentle hand over her bottom and she hissed at the sting, feeling it now. “My tender virgin.”

“Hardly that.”

“In so many enticing ways.” He bent to kiss her, high on the cheekbone. “We’ll have to go carefully on the next two.”

“Do there
have
to be four? I mean it’s just a crazy song.”

“Yes. Those are the rules.”

“Obsess much, Miguel?”

He smiled, but his eyes were hard. “You have no idea, Roo.”

A little shiver went through her at the intensity. At the same time, she got it. More than one person had accused her of the same.

“All right. Two more spankings. Remind me to leave instructions over where to ship my remains.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “What now—nap in the shade? Then perhaps a swim, a little spanking and sunset cocktails then the dancing I owe you.”

“And then once more unto the breach.”

“I think you like it more than you pretend.”

She closed her eyes, letting the lassitude seep through her. “No comment.”

* * *

He woke her from a deep and boneless sleep. Surprised to see the sun already lowering in the sky, she started to get up, then stopped when Miguel shook his head, pointing sternly to the pool deck.

Her groggy mind taking an unduly long time to catch up, she nearly asked a question, but the strict lines of his expression showed that he was in no mood for negotiating. With a quiver, she obeyed, sliding off the lounger onto her hands and knees. With his bare foot, he pressed her head down until her forearms were flat, her brow resting on her hands. The sense of unreality—her thoughts still scattered from the heavy afternoon sleep—swamped her. She wasn’t sure who she was, where she existed.

There was only him and the primal desire to please him.

Soft, yielding and barely awake, she hardly registered the first stinging slap of the paddle. But the tears came immediately, welling out of some deep place that remained still open, that she hadn’t had time to board up with her conscious mind. This time it was no struggle to hold still, she simply knelt there while he punished her, weeping for all the times she hadn’t cried. For all the little wounds that had never healed.

She was still sobbing when he stopped. When he sat on the hot tiles next to her and gathered her into his lap, his sweat combining with her tears, while he rocked her.

After a while, empty, she managed to raise her head. Faintly embarrassed, she wiped her wet face and he gave her the room to do it.

“Sorry,” she said. “I really don’t know what came over me.”

“It happens like that sometimes,” he replied, staring off into the scorching blue sky. “We’ve probably been going too fast. One of my failings.”

“And here I didn’t think you had any.”

Now he glanced down at her, keen eyes darkly amused. “One could only wish.”

She sighed for the truth of that.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “We can skip the rest of the program, if you need time to yourself.”

“No.” The firmness of her tone surprised them both. “Dinner, dancing and one more spanking.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in his musky man scent, and kissed him long and hard. “Those are the rules.”

* * *

They both needed to clean up for the evening. Miguel produced a set of sweats for her to borrow—proving there
were
clothes after all—so she could run down to her room for a dress and to get her make-up. The suite felt slightly stale and abandoned, a little forlorn. The lovely—and far from cheap—room managed to seem drab in comparison to the penthouse.

How quickly one’s standards could be corrupted.

It didn’t help that she felt like a different person from the one who’d first checked into this room. She hadn’t thought about anything work in what seemed like forever. It was good.

He’d said elegant, so she put on the best dress she’d brought—a flirty black number with a fluttering skirt excellent for dancing. She gelled her hair into spiraling curls and added dangling gold earrings. Black eyeliner, much thicker than she usually went for, and a deep red lipstick she’d bought on impulse and never worn. She looked surprisingly good, considering the extended crying jag. But she felt light and unburdened, leaving a happiness behind that shone through in her bright eyes and tanned skin.

No one from home would recognize her and the idea oddly pleased her.

* * *

Miguel greeted her with a glass of champagne, his keen gaze assessing her. “You look spectacular. Still up for more?”

She tossed back the wine with a grin. “You haven’t scared me off yet. You look most handsome yourself.”

He wore a black suit this time, cut in lean lines, with a gleaming ebony tie against a matching matte silk shirt. An expensive-looking belt circled his hips, wicked leather with a dark inlaid buckle. Seeing her notice it, he stroked his fingers along the braided surface and smiled suggestively. “For the final spanking. So you can be prepared this time.”

She wished she hadn’t guzzled the champagne, because she could really use another sip. Desire rushed through her, clean and hot. “Maybe we should just stay in.”

He took the glass from her and set it on the counter. “Turn around.”

Was he going to do it now? Her heart stuttered, but she did as he said, closing her eyes when he drew down the back zipper of her dress and let it slip down her body to pool on the floor.

“No underwear,” he instructed and set the jewelry and vibrator boxes on the counter, then poured them both more champagne. Taking his, he sat on the couch, crossing his long legs. “Strip, give me your bra and panties, then put your jewelry on.”

Feeling a bit like the floor show, she stood naked but for her heels and applied the nipple rings and clit clamp to herself for the first time. It wasn’t as easy as it looked and she would have been a little embarrassed by her fumbling if he hadn’t watched her with such avid hunger in his face, idly toying with his belt buckle. Instead of abating his intensity, their escalating games only seemed to be bringing out the wolf in Miguel. He hardly resembled the worn and slightly frazzled lawyer she’d met on the plane.

As soon as she inserted the bullet, he slipped a hand in his pocket and clicked it on to a low level. Then he tossed back the rest of his glass and stood. “What are you waiting for?” He grinned at her.
All the better to eat you with.
“Put your dress back on. We can hardly go dancing with you naked, tempting as the image might be.”

Flustered, having forgotten entirely about dancing, she pulled the dress on and waited, almost shyly, for him to zip it up. In the elevator, he wrapped an arm around her waist and nuzzled her temple. With the other hand, he cupped her breast through the silk, compressing the ring around her nipple so that she squirmed against him, his warm chuckle huffing against her skin.

“You delight me, Roo. Have I told you that? An unexpected pleasure.”

“I’m feeling rather delighted myself,” she answered, pleased and flattered. Odd how the nature of their fling allowed them to be honest with each other in a way she rarely found in relationships. No expectations or tests for future longevity. Eight more days of pleasuring each other and they’d move on. It allowed for a kind of openness she could rarely afford.

The evening passed in an erotic haze. Miguel kept the bullet at least on low, sometimes kicking it up during a slow dance, supporting her while she concentrated on not coming—something made infinitely more difficult by the way he whispered wicked suggestions in her ear, while nipping her lobe with sharp teeth.

They ate, drank and danced under the stars, Miguel treating her with a casual sexual ferocity and extravagant romance that combined into a heady mix that overcame her as much as the titillation of the clamps and bullet. He held her close, running casual hands over her hips, reminding her what they both knew, that she was naked but for an easily removed dress and that it was because he wanted her that way.

Sometime long after midnight—technically breaking the rules, but she wasn’t going to point that out—they rode up in the elevator and Miguel slipped his fingers around her wrist, tightening there.

The doors opened into the quiet penthouse and he led her into it, then pressed her to her knees without a word. Something about his unspoken commands affected her more deeply than anything else. As if what went between them was beyond words.

Her arousal screaming up to another level entirely, she knelt and watched him unbuckle the belt, looping the soft leather around his hand.

Now she knew what it would be like and already part of her craved the high. She wanted this, even though her already sore bottom burned at the thought of still more punishment. He tapped the end of the belt thoughtfully against one palm, his anticipation barely restrained. Then, flicking a finger at her, indicated she should remove the dress.

It wasn’t easy, without his help with the zipper, but he seemed to enjoy watching her movements. When she was naked, dress tossed aside, he nudged her knees apart with the toe of his expensive leather shoes. Obligingly she spread her thighs, unable to tear her gaze from the tapping leather. He guided her hands behind her neck and stroked her back so she arched it, thrusting out her breasts, gilded by the tight gold rings. The room was so silent she thought she could hear the gentle surf, stroking the shore.

After an interminable time during which she posed for him, he urged her onto her hands and knees and, with a startling crack of the leather on her upturned ass, sent her crawling to the bedroom. The belt licked at her as she crawled, her nipples and clit unbearably swollen against the clamps, and she thought she might never get there, trying to race ahead of the whipping belt that drove her, mindlessly, to his bed.

She crawled onto it, panting, but not in tears like before. Instead, this time, each crack of the leather on her skin seemed like gasoline on fire. Lying face-down, she writhed on the cool sheets, almost welcoming the sting, keening along with it, anticipating the pleasure to follow.

“Kneel up,” he growled and she became aware that he’d stopped. Scrambling up, she knelt on the bed facing him. He held the belt in front of her face and, without knowing why, she kissed it. Smiling in satisfaction, he slid the leather around her neck, loosely threading the belt through the buckle so it dangled between her aching breasts.

Slowly, he stripped out of the suit, and she watched with famished patience. Naked, he rolled a condom onto his erection, laid his hands on her shoulders, pushing her inexorably back, so that, with her knees still bent under her, her back arched. Holding her like that, he plucked the rings from her nipples with his teeth, keeping her still while she writhed and whimpered. His hand delved between her legs, pulled out the bullet and snapped away the clit clamp in one nearly brutal move.

He plunged into her while she was still recovering, pulling her trapped feet from under her and thrusting her knees high as he pounded into her. She clung to his shoulders, transfixed by the feral light in his eyes, letting herself be taken.

“Sing, little bird. Come for me and sing your sweet song.”

Giving into the orgasm like she gave into him, she gave voice to the raw intensity of her pleasure.

December 29
Fifth Day of Christmas
Five Gold Rings

When she awoke on her fifth full day of vacation, Miguel slept next to her, buried face-down in a pillow, barely draped in a white sheet. The morning sun poured in like liquid gold, burnishing his dark skin, making him into a lean sculpture of a man.

Once again she congratulated herself on such a fine vacation find.

Letting him sleep—for surely he needed it, given the way they’d spent most of the night before—she took a long, refreshing shower. He hadn’t moved by the time she emerged, so she wandered naked out onto the sun deck. The discreet servers had come and gone while they were out last night, cleaning up the dishes and clearing away all evidence of their long Saturday of decadence.

Copying Miguel’s method, she called down to room service and asked them to send up breakfast in the elevator. In the mood for a big Sunday brunch, she ordered everything that sounded good—and made sure they put it on her room tab.

When Miguel emerged nearly an hour later, bleary-eyed and sexily rumpled in the white silk pajama bottoms, it was her turn to hand him his coffee—black and strong. He took in her plate—heaped with biscuits, sausage gravy and eggs, next to a half-demolished Belgian waffle with amaretto-caramelized bananas—and shook his head.

“I was starving.”

“So I see.” He kissed her on the forehead, sat and began to fill his own plate. “I’m surprisingly hungry today, too.”

“All that exercise yesterday.”

“Indeed. Speaking of which, how are your...tender areas today?”

He seemed to be much more relaxed today. Expansive, with all signs of the wolf bled away. She wiggled her naked bottom on the chair. “Not too bad. Kinda sore.”

“Not surprising. We’ll save more strenuous activities for tonight. Care to do some sightseeing?”

“Yes!” She pointed a forkful of waffle and whipped cream at him. “But I’m not going naked.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.” He smiled, that charming lawyer grin that meant he planned to get his way. “I know exactly what you’ll wear.”

It turned out to be a simple oufit—a white, thin cotton halter sundress, reminiscent of the dress Marilyn Monroe wore in the famous skirt-blowing-up scene. Tilda put it on, then tied the halter a bit more loosely so her nipples didn’t show through
quite
so much. However, when Miguel added the gold clamps to her nipples, he made the halter tighter than she had. She thought about arguing propriety, since they were going out in public, but he had her holding the full skirt over her head while she straddled his lap and he stroked her clit to throbbing life before slipping in her silver bullet and clamping on the alligator clip.

By the time he let her go, she was campaigning for another day of sex by the private pool and had forgotten about how the dress looked. He promised her the five gold rings for later in the day, told her to stop whining or he wouldn’t let her come for the rest of the week, and whisked her into the elevator.

They traveled around, playing tourist in the various shops. And he teased her, too, sliding a hand inside her halter to tweak her clamped nipple when no one was looking, sitting next to her at their waterfront table for a late lunch—ostensibly so they could both enjoy the view—but more to lightly rub her swollen clit under the tablecloth.

When they returned in the afternoon, Miguel suggested sunset cocktails on his private terrace and she readily agreed. “Though it’s not sunset yet.”

“We’ll find a way to pass the time.”

His warm hand rested on the small of her back, guiding her into the glass elevator. He pulled her into his arms for a searing kiss, her stomach swooping, not only from the rapid ascent. The ties at her neck slipped away, leaving her suddenly bare breasted, the gold spirals winking around her tight nipples.

“I love dresses like this,” he grinned with a wicked slant, then slid his hands up under the full skirt to squeeze her naked bottom and press her against his erection. He had her panting in moments, only the ding of the elevator doors opening penetrating her senses. “However, I’d like you to go take this one off. It’s time for your rings. Meet me in the master bath. Wear nothing at all—not even jewelry.”

Deeply curious, that thrill of suspense quickening her blood, she hung up the dress and met Miguel in the spacious tiled bathroom. A jewelry box of mirrored gold sat on the counter. He positioned her in a narrower alcove, in front of the walled glass mirror. She looked surprisingly lean and brown in the reflection. The circular clamps held her nipples upthrust, glinting like primitive jewelry, and the gold clip on her clit showed through the damp curls at the vee of her thighs. Her face held a wild, sensuous expression, characteristic of her recent transformation from Type A CEO to...what? Sex slave wasn’t something she wanted to be, much as she loved the games they played.

Miguel handed her the box and stood behind her, watching in the mirror while she opened it. She’d guessed this one then. A gold torque necklace encircled four smaller rings, bracelets and anklets. All were simple, polished metal bands, light and flexible, but clearly sturdy. To close, one end inserted in the other, forming a seamless circle. She sighed, for their beauty and for how deeply the symbolism both moved and frightened her.

He smoothed his hands down her arms. “Yes?”

“It’s not a gift, right?” For some reason, it seemed important to establish that. “Just for the game, just for this week.”

A shadow crossed his face and he nodded, a bit curtly. His hands, though, remained gentle, trailing down to span her waist and brush over her hips. “For the next week, however, any time we’re together, you will wear them and you’ll think of me when they touch your skin. You’ll remember how you feel when I put my hands on you.” He urged her stance wider, pushing two fingers to scissor her clit. She shuddered and dropped her head back on his shoulder.

“Yes,” she agreed. Meaning the acquiescence in every way. Just for this week.

Without another word he took the box from her and knelt down. He fastened one gold loop around her ankle, the lock snicking closed. Then he edged her foot closer to the wall. A latched hook was inset, that closed easily over her anklet. She would not be able to tug away. He repeated the process with the other foot, so she stood splayed in the alcove doorway.

Her hands followed suit, stretched up on either side of her head, elevating her ribcage and making her stand on raised arches, so that she panted for breath, her breasts seeming to swell with each inhalation. Her heart pounded at the sight of herself, bound and displayed like this. Miguel’s burning gaze only drove her further into the land outside the boundaries of her mind.

When he locked the collar around her throat, she felt again like his captive, ready to do whatever he demanded.

He poured some oil into his palm and slicked back her hair, making it darker and sleek against her skull. Working slowly, he coated her body in the oil, until her skin gleamed golden brown in the subtle lighting. She moved under his hands, not speaking. Transformed into someone else. A pet who only felt and responded.

He hung heavy gold earrings with a Mayan look in her pierced ears and attached a golden chain to the collar, letting it dangle between her breasts, the loop handle brushing her navel. When he set the silver remote on the counter, she simply accepted the teasing vibrations of the bullet inside her, moving in an undulating dance.

Miguel pulled out a leather strap, thinner than the belt had been, and began lightly stropping her with it, letting it land here and there on her skin, following the primal rhythms over her movements. It didn’t hurt so much as remind her of her helplessness. The way the strap kissed her, wrapping here around her thigh, there flicking the side of her breast, conspired to add a level of static to her thoughts. White noise that blurred them away.

When Miguel stopped, set the strap on the counter and turned off the vibrator, she simply waited, beyond anticipation. He released her and took up her golden leash. She blinked at him, uncertain, and he kissed her, running a fond hand over her oiled hair.

“Cocktail time.” He smiled.

Walking with her and holding her leash, as naturally as he held her hand on the beach, Miguel led her out to the terrace. Torches had been set up around the pool and lit, their flames paling against the sunset. A table for two, also surrounded by blazing torches, sat at the rail, looking over the ocean where the sun lowered in slow magnificence. Miguel held her chair with perfect manners, dropping the leash so it once again dangled between her breasts.

He’d arranged for sangria with fruit and the gold foil umbrellas. A platter of appetizers tempted her. They sat and watched the sun sink into the ocean, while the torches blazed into brighter light.

When full night fell, Miguel took her leash and led her to a frame of poles that stood at one end of the torchlit pool. He attached her to it as he had before, displaying her like an exotic decoration. This time he strapped her harder. Time expanded. Or slowed. Became endless. He paused to strip off his shirt. She hung there, stretched so tightly she couldn’t move, while he moved around her barefooted in his linen slacks, sweat pouring down his chest.

He worked the strap on every surface, even sending teasing licks to her breasts and spread sex, grinning when he made her cry out. They didn’t speak. They’d moved beyond words. When he dropped to his knees before her in a worshipful pose, she accepted his mouth on her as yet another sensation, rippling through her like water, like the torch heat on her body, like the sting of the lash.

She knew better than to let herself come.

By the time he lowered the frame, so she lay spread-eagled on her back, the tiles warm on her behind, she’d moved beyond the hope of orgasm. She only wanted him to keep taking from her. He stood over her, a dark silhouette against the leaping flames, fitting a condom over his cock and taking her in, in all her conquered glory.

He crawled over her on all fours and delicately placed his teeth on her taut nipple. Knowing what would happen, she braced for it. Using only his teeth, he scraped the spiral clamp off her left nipple. She whimpered, thrashing her head. Then she held her breath when he sucked off the other. She screamed when the clit clamp released, then again when he scooped out the bullet and replaced it with his cock, convulsing helplessly around him, the immobility making it all that much more intense, the orgasm seizing her like a wild animal, its jaws rending her apart.

Miguel covered her mouth with his, riding her bucking body, sweat slicking their skin, until they both collapsed.

“I’m sorry.” She finally found the breath to say it. “I came without permission.”

He chuckled, a dry, totally sated sound. “This one time, I believe I shall let it go. But only because I, too, lost my head in the moment and forgot that rule.”