She leaned closer to him. It appeared he’d lift up to increase the chance of contact but he abruptly stopped.
Not stupid.
A quick learner.
“Is your cock getting hard again for me?”
There was the hesitation, the hint of anger at the indignity, before he hissed out, “Yes.”
“A quick recovery.”
“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, somethin’ I think I already shared … Mistress.”
He was getting his fighting spirit back.
A quick recovery, indeed.
“You please me, Olivier.”
“I’d please you more with my mouth.”
“I hope that’s true, chevalier.”
She lifted a hand as if she was going to stroke his hair, he tensed to allow her to do it, but she dropped it.
That got her the controlled snarl.
Yes, a quick recovery.
“I hope that’s true,” she repeated. “Saturday, please arrive at nine-thirty sharp. Ask the front desk staff to share with you my instructions. They will be fully briefed. I’ll meet you when I’m ready.”
His head jerked slightly. “We’re done?”
Oh yes, he wanted more. Even coming that hard for her, he wanted it now.
Amélie beat back a smile.
“Yes, my beast, until Saturday. I’ll send a member of staff in to untether you. It’s unusual, and only a punishment, when I ask my toys to clean up. So no worries there. The staff will see to that too.”
“You’re leaving me here,” he stated flatly.
“Yes.”
“Like this?”
“The staff is responsive. I’ll make sure they see to you immediately.”
He very much didn’t like that.
“Amélie—”
“They’re discreet, Olivier, obviously. They’ve seen it all. If the room is black-blinded, they’re not allowed to share what they see in these rooms even with each other, much less members. They’re exceptionally professional, and if not, they’re in the middle of a lawsuit.”
“Mistress Amé—”
She lifted a hand, finger extended, taking it a whisper away from his lips, and he stopped speaking, focusing on the promise of a touch.
Incomparable.
Magnificent.
Then, in a fluid movement, she rose to her full height.
With unhurried strides and without a look back, a foolish move that would be too tempting, she walked out the door.
three
Black Box
OLIVIER
The next day, Olly stood, leaning a shoulder against the open bay, his head bent, his eyes on what he’d looked up on his phone.
Chevalier: Knight. Soldier. Cavalry. Horseman.
Horseman.
He wanted not to smile but he couldn’t fucking stop himself from doing it.
That room she’d led him to, to scare the shit out of him. The stall. The bridles hanging from its sides. The padded benches, vaults, saw horses with wide cushioned tops instead of two-by-fours.
Chevalier.
Fuck, he was in over his head.
He didn’t understand what was the big deal. He thought he could handle it. With stupid-ass, cocky certainty, he’d convinced Barclay of it, Jenna, but not Whitney. That bitch had a mean streak and when he’d asked her to do what she’d done for him, he figured she did it to set him up to take a fall, either getting caught and bounced from the Honey or getting his ass right where it already was after one session with Amélie.
Over his head.
He blew out a breath, shoved his phone into his back pocket, and looked into the Phoenix sun streaming down to bake the pavement outside the firehouse.
He wasn’t going back Saturday. He wasn’t going back at all. He’d been approved by that huge fucking black guy for a scholarship but he’d still had to pay a membership fee based on his earnings and that shit stung. It cost a fucking fortune. If he didn’t go back, which he wasn’t going to, it would be a fucking fortune for one night strapped to the floor having his ass paddled and his dick jacked.
That fortune worth every penny.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself, knowing that last thought should give rise to others, others that would change his mind, and he couldn’t allow that.
He was not ready for this.
He didn’t think he’d ever be ready for this.
Amélie had put him through the wringer and she knew the potency of everything she did, every look she gave him, every word she said, every fall of her sexy-as-fuck sandals on the wood floor.
And she’d guided him to the single most phenomenal orgasm he’d ever experienced in his life.
But she’d asked what he didn’t particularly like for the sole purpose of using it against him. Opening the shades. Stretching the cheeks of his ass. Then leaving him on that floor to experience the humiliation of that girl coming in and letting him loose.
Amélie had been right. The girl had been professional about it. It was all the same to her, not about the scene, just about the job. She didn’t take any jollies from it.
She just unstrapped him, not touching the harnesses, doing it quickly and efficiently and saying as she left, “Just leave the stuff on the floor, all of it. It’ll be dealt with, honey.”
Then she was gone.
But Olly had been seriously ticked. Getting dressed, freaking because he worried he wouldn’t be able to figure out the way to get the fuck out in that maze of rooms. Seeing other people in the halls look at him and wondering if they’d seen Amélie work him.