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Viktor pulled her closer, feeling something settle within him as he did so. “Your sisters know little about the lifestyle,” he whispered. “Step up on my feet. I will dance for both of us.”
Emerson did as he ordered, her eyes never leaving his. He began to move, first the left foot, then the right as he took them for a turn around the balcony in a graceful, sweeping motion. She was stiff at first and then relaxed. He could sense when she gave over to him—a subtle acceptance of their roles and the gifts they could bring to each other.
As the song came to a close, Emerson stiffened, stepped back and pushed him away.
“What is it, Emerson?” he asked, confused.
“This,” she said, wagging her finger between them, “whatever it is or whatever you think this is… it isn’t.”
She turned and walked away, making her way through the throng of people still milling around and leaving him standing alone, bemused. He walked back over to where he’d knelt at her feet and picked up her shoes. He would need to see that Cinderella’s slippers were delivered to her tomorrow.
He closed his eyes, realizing he hadn’t felt this happy or at peace since his great-great-grandmother had died. Within his mind he could hear her, the Grand Duchess Anastasia, whispering, “Never forget, Viktor. The blood of the tzars flows through your veins.” He had never forgotten. But was it possible he had found someone worthy of his imperial blood? Internally, he shrugged, practicality reminding him that all women tended to be the same. In the end, unworthy of trust.
CHAPTER 3
EMERSON
God she’d made a complete and utter fool of herself last night. Whirling around on the balcony with Viktor Romanov had made her feel free. For the first time since their parents had died, Emerson had allowed herself to shrug off the worries of taking care of her sisters, expanding the business, doing all the things that needed doing. Instead, she’d simply felt for herself. By allowing him to take over, she’d given herself permission to let her inhibitions go and give over to being cared for by someone other than her sisters.
At least they had both been asleep when she got home. Not because they wouldn’t have been interested in what had happened at the gala, but because Emerson had driven around for hours afterward trying to make sense of what had happened and at the deep response it had provoked in her. She shouldn’t have felt every erotic nerve in her body flash into overdrive when he’d told her he wanted to fuck her bent over the railing. That didn’t happen in real life, did it? And she didn’t even want to think about how easily he could have accomplished that. She had felt arousal swirling in her nether regions and was quite sure her out-of-practice pussy had softened and readied itself for him. Would she have even protested at being manhandled like that?
Not knowing the answer and seeking some kind of peace or a least reconciliation of the feelings he had evoked had been the cause of her driving around. When she realized she’d driven past the entrance to the Carriage House for the third time, she’d forced herself to drive to the boardwalk so she could seek the solace of the sand and sea on the beach. It was only when she parked and went to step out of her car that she realized she had bare feet. Her shoes were back at the event venue.
The following morning, Emerson threw back the covers, rolled out of bed, took a shower and washed her hair. Pulling it into a low ponytail, she braided it to keep it contained and out of her way and pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a loose tank top. She thought about going braless, but decided maybe containing her breasts in a sports bra might keep her nipples from stiffening at the thought of Viktor Romanov’s lips wrapped around them. It had been a while since she’d been intimate with anyone other than her vibrator.
She entered the atrium of their beloved old house. It had a separate entrance and they had set it up as their office. The glass was tinted to help with the sun’s glare, but the office was open, bright and airy. Neither of her sisters was up yet, which was a good thing.
Sitting down at her large desk, she switched on her computer and began googling BDSM. The first thing she noticed was while there was a general consensus of what was meant by the term there seemed to be very different ways of practicing it. Most seemed to involve the granting and relinquishing of control, the use of various physical restraints and/or the infliction of psychological or physical pain. All seemed to agree that both parties had to give sane and sensible consent. The use of safewords was strongly encouraged.
The definition most, but not all, seemed to agree on was that BDSM was a variety of often erotic practices of role-playing involving bondage, discipline, dominance, submission and other related interpersonal dynamics and power exchange.
Explained like that, Emerson couldn’t really see the point or the allure, but as she began reading stories, she became horrified, disgusted, fascinated and finally aroused. One of the last scenes she read spoke to a place inside her she hadn’t known existed.
Gregory tied a black silk blindfold around her eyes and locked her in four-point restraints against the St. Andrew’s Cross, facing the crowd that was gathering. He leaned down to the soundboard and punched up the piece of music he wanted to use to establish the rhythm he would use on her.
The sound of a human voice mimicking a wolf’s howl broke the charged silence, followed by three guitar notes before Sam the Sham and the Pharaoh’s classic tune “Little Red Riding Hood” began to play. He turned his attention back to the woman he had strapped naked to the St. Andrew’s Cross. Gregory picked up the dual floggers and began to lay the strikes softly on her shoulders, one at a time, before drawing them gently down her body.
Susan’s response was automatic and profound—her nipples pebbled, goosebumps raised on her flushed skin, and her nectar increased. God, she smelled sweet. As the music changed and the tempo increased, Gregory began to apply the floggers in a soft, rotating motion. He didn’t enjoy inflicting pain for pain’s sake, although he had to acknowledge that he was looking forward to having his mate over his knee for a little discipline, before sending her to the corner and mounting her there. He’d heard there was great pleasure to be had in sitting back afterwards to observe your handiwork and watch your excess cum dribble down the inside thigh of a chastised mate.
His cock began to throb in time to the music and the charged atmosphere of the club. Within half an hour his body, with the exception of his cock that was hard as a rock, had unwound and he could feel the sense of peace that came with topping a submissive woman. Normally his cock was somewhat indifferent, but it would seem that if your fated mate was involved, that servicing her need and feeling the connection flow between you fulfilled a desire to serve as well as incite and inflame one’s libido.
Gregory was practiced at using two floggers to pleasure a woman and alleviate her stress. He often found his own kind of relaxation in topping subs, usually human ones. He rather imagined his Susan would not be one to share her man and that was fine by him. As they said, what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander and he would never allow another to play with her.
He allowed the rhythm of the music to guide his movements as he struck her repeatedly. The girl moaned and her body shuddered in pleasured response, relaxing as her arousal increased. Between the cadence of the thuds and the way he was able to let the falls wrap around her before sliding away, she was subbing out quickly.
He loved being able to do this—provide a woman with a way to relax and let her mind and spirit float free. It was different when he had to discipline one of the subs at the club. With them, during a punishment session, his goal was to inflict enough pain that he didn’t have to get after a girl a second time for the same thing. For the most part he was successful.
Susan’s groan brought him back from his own reverie and he refocused his energy on her. He also began calling to her in the ancient and primal way of their kind. While she wouldn’t be able to hear him, she would feel his need and his beckoning that she yield to him. Her entire body trembled, and she struggled with the restraints. Susan moaned softly and her body shivered as a light sheen covered it. Her arousal was increasing as was her need to give over to him and slip into subspace.
The smile on his face increased. He knew he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was, but he couldn’t help it. Her body stiffened and Susan cried out as she climaxed and tumbled into subspace.
Emerson found herself breathing more quickly and she could feel her nipples pressing against the soft sports bra. She could understand—in an abstract sort of way—why it was that the idea of turning over control to someone had some appeal. Since the death of their parents, Kendra and Tegan had looked to her for leadership. It was a role she naturally fell into, but sometimes it was a burden that was almost too hard to handle.
The encounter with Viktor Romanov last night, and especially the dance, had sent shivers down her spine and set off butterflies in her stomach and genitals that had caught her by surprise. She had responded to him without thinking, following his lead as effortlessly as night follows day. She could understand now why those who spoke of him whispered of his almost godlike abilities as a Dom and a lover. Might it be worth exploring a dalliance with him? Her sisters said he always had a contract to protect himself. Her research indicated contracts were set up to provide a clear understanding between the parties and protected both.
“Whoa ho, look who made the society page last night. No wonder you didn’t get home at a decent hour,” said Kendra as she walked in eating yogurt and granola.
Tegan was behind her, eating a couple of multi-grain frozen waffles, buttered and eaten like toast. “Oh my god, Em, did you go home with him… or better yet, to the Carriage House?”
