Read Online Love Beat by Flora Dain - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Flora Dain
Tags: Erotic Romance Fiction
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elevator. He explains it’s been installed where the servants’ back stairs used to be. When we arrive, he unlocks it with an ornate key and stands aside for me to enter.
I walk in and catch my breath as the lighting comes on, a soft glow from wall sconces shaped like regency candles. There seem to be several rooms. I guess they’re the original cellars, used to store wine, maybe, or cheese.
All around I see a bewildering array of gleaming equipment. It reminds me of the tack room at the stables where I had a few riding lessons once. The walls hang with harnesses, whips and paddles. I can smell leather. I almost miss the rosettes from gymkhanas pinned on the wall.
But these rooms have a very different purpose.
“You mean… We’re going to use some of this?” I sound husky.
Behind us the door closes with a soft click, a terrifying sound.
Dreams are one thing. This is reality. Ridged leather. Glittering steel.
Be careful what you dream about.
He’s standing with his back to the door—arms folded, legs apart, very much in control. Every inch a Dominant.
“We’re going to use all of it.”
Chapter Six
“First time in a dungeon?”
The gleam in his eyes warns me that he knows the answer but he wants me to say it. He wants me to be a blank page for him, all wide-eyed and innocent. And so I am in his strange world of whips, chains and strict, scary women.
I nod, too wary to speak.
“Nervous?”
Excited, going on terrified, is closer. “Should I be?”
I raise my chin boldly but my quivering lip gives me away.
His nostrils flare slightly. Now he looks hungry.
He circles me slowly, holding me with his eyes. It’s like we’ve started to dance and I’m unsure of the moves. All I know is it involves ritual, discipline—maybe pain.
This is his domain. He’s at home here. I only know it from the dreams that wake me at night and make me wet .
He probably knows all this too. He knows what happens to women in here and what draws them in. And I thought I was special—more fool me.
He puts women through this all the time, maybe even men. I don’t normally handle vanillas.
So I’ll be a big disappointment.
I can see this place affects him deeply. His eyes seem darker, more intense, like he draws energy from these implements of torture. They give him a strange, feral power.
But I have power too. It pools between my legs as my arousal begins to pulse. It ensures his pleasure as well as mine, should it come to that…
He’s considering my question. “Should you be nervous…? Let’s see… You’re due a punishment, so maybe you should be. Arms out straight. Spread your legs.”
He fastens sturdy leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles. The cuffs are soft inside but they have business-like clips attached to them that jingle as he clamps them into place.
Instantly I feel trapped, like an animal. I grow wetter. I can almost smell myself. This is really going to happen…
He strolls over to a polished wooden rack and beckons me over. It holds gleaming canes in various thicknesses. He runs his hand lightly over them, his touch lingering with the reverence of an expert.
He selects one, lifts it out of its compartment and slashes it through the air with a sudden terrifying swish. It quivers to a halt as he brings it expertly to rest in front of him, its tip pressed against the floor between his feet.
I swallow.
“This is our toughest punishment cane. Pure Malacca, very painful, very extreme. For the true connoisseur.” He slides it back and takes out another—a slimmer, whippier version of the cane in his room. He twirls it in his hands then runs the tip of it lightly down my breastbone to my navel.
The touch of it sends a flame straight to my groin. And we haven’t even started…
“Turn around.”
My mouth goes dry. Slowly I turn and brace myself.
“Open your legs. Wider. Put your hands behind your head.”
Reluctantly I spread my legs, automatically assuming a
I walk in and catch my breath as the lighting comes on, a soft glow from wall sconces shaped like regency candles. There seem to be several rooms. I guess they’re the original cellars, used to store wine, maybe, or cheese.
All around I see a bewildering array of gleaming equipment. It reminds me of the tack room at the stables where I had a few riding lessons once. The walls hang with harnesses, whips and paddles. I can smell leather. I almost miss the rosettes from gymkhanas pinned on the wall.
But these rooms have a very different purpose.
“You mean… We’re going to use some of this?” I sound husky.
Behind us the door closes with a soft click, a terrifying sound.
Dreams are one thing. This is reality. Ridged leather. Glittering steel.
Be careful what you dream about.
He’s standing with his back to the door—arms folded, legs apart, very much in control. Every inch a Dominant.
“We’re going to use all of it.”
Chapter Six
“First time in a dungeon?”
The gleam in his eyes warns me that he knows the answer but he wants me to say it. He wants me to be a blank page for him, all wide-eyed and innocent. And so I am in his strange world of whips, chains and strict, scary women.
I nod, too wary to speak.
“Nervous?”
Excited, going on terrified, is closer. “Should I be?”
I raise my chin boldly but my quivering lip gives me away.
His nostrils flare slightly. Now he looks hungry.
He circles me slowly, holding me with his eyes. It’s like we’ve started to dance and I’m unsure of the moves. All I know is it involves ritual, discipline—maybe pain.
This is his domain. He’s at home here. I only know it from the dreams that wake me at night and make me wet .
He probably knows all this too. He knows what happens to women in here and what draws them in. And I thought I was special—more fool me.
He puts women through this all the time, maybe even men. I don’t normally handle vanillas.
So I’ll be a big disappointment.
I can see this place affects him deeply. His eyes seem darker, more intense, like he draws energy from these implements of torture. They give him a strange, feral power.
But I have power too. It pools between my legs as my arousal begins to pulse. It ensures his pleasure as well as mine, should it come to that…
He’s considering my question. “Should you be nervous…? Let’s see… You’re due a punishment, so maybe you should be. Arms out straight. Spread your legs.”
He fastens sturdy leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles. The cuffs are soft inside but they have business-like clips attached to them that jingle as he clamps them into place.
Instantly I feel trapped, like an animal. I grow wetter. I can almost smell myself. This is really going to happen…
He strolls over to a polished wooden rack and beckons me over. It holds gleaming canes in various thicknesses. He runs his hand lightly over them, his touch lingering with the reverence of an expert.
He selects one, lifts it out of its compartment and slashes it through the air with a sudden terrifying swish. It quivers to a halt as he brings it expertly to rest in front of him, its tip pressed against the floor between his feet.
I swallow.
“This is our toughest punishment cane. Pure Malacca, very painful, very extreme. For the true connoisseur.” He slides it back and takes out another—a slimmer, whippier version of the cane in his room. He twirls it in his hands then runs the tip of it lightly down my breastbone to my navel.
The touch of it sends a flame straight to my groin. And we haven’t even started…
“Turn around.”
My mouth goes dry. Slowly I turn and brace myself.
“Open your legs. Wider. Put your hands behind your head.”
Reluctantly I spread my legs, automatically assuming a
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