Cheat Her With Charm Page 3

  “Where is she exactly?”

  “In the private viewing room, of course.”

  Even with his limited knowledge of strip joints, Peter knew this would cost him a lot of money. “How much?”

  Again her brows furrowed. “Crystal offers her guests a sample viewing. If you choose something more that will be negotiated.”

  The bands of guilt around his chest relaxed. At least he wouldn’t be alone when he first met the woman. He extended his hand in an invitation for Taya to lead the way.

  She turned, guiding him through the maze of chairs and couches toward the other side of the room. He kept his eyes focused on the swirling pattern of the rug, not so much because it caught his attention, but to keep him from making eye contact with the other patrons.

  He’d jumped so many hurdles to get here and this whole fiasco had taken on a life of its own, but he didn’t need to know that others watched him. Peter’s need to meet Crystal outweighed any compunction he had to retreat from his embarrassment.

  He followed the brunette through the door into the semi-darkness of a large room. Comfortable chairs tucked into the shadows lined the wall to his left. He shot a glance to his right, swallowing the swell of understanding burning his throat.

  “Over there will give you a wonderful view.” Taya’s voice dropped to a husky whisper as she pointed to the far side of the room, front and center to the upcoming action.

  “I prefer to be near the door.” Peter indicated the chair next to them, nestled in the shadowed corner.

  “Whatever you wish.” When he was settled, she bent low, her cleavage once again filling his field of vision. “Is there anything else you desire of me?”

  “Another scotch.”

  “For the safety of all, alcohol is not allowed in the private rooms.”

  “Then nothing, thank you.” Except maybe a swift kick in the ass and the directions home.

  “I hope you enjoy the demonstration.” She nodded and retreated from the room.

  Peter leaned back in his chair, unsure what other surprises awaited him. The unhurried activity in front of him caught his attention. Crystal would offer her guests braided eye candy and a rodeo. From the looks of things, she was preparing quite a show.

  A dark-haired man knelt in a wire cage in the front corner, his head sticking up through the top. Even from this distance, Peter could see the ropes knotted around his sizeable erection, and the eager anticipation in his eyes.

  Next to the cage, the brunette who had winked at him in the great room stood bound and gagged in all her naked wonder. Her arms were lifted high above her head, tied at the wrists to a large metal stand. Ropes snaked around her torso, tightly enveloping her tits, making them jut out from her body. Her dusky nipples were peaked with excitement. Leather cuffs tethered her ankles to a metal pole that spread her legs wide. Even from this distance he could see the flushed arousal of her shaved mound and her thighs moist with liquid desire.

  Dressed in black, a beautiful Dominatrix checked the ropes on the woman. A leather pant leg covered the length of one leg, wrapping around her hips, in a tiny bikini-type bottom. Her top was a mirror image, with the scant leather barely covering her breasts, extending to encase one supple arm down to the fingers deftly tying a blindfold on the woman. Her mouth moved, but Peter couldn’t hear the words even in the hushed reverence of the room. The brunette nodded her head, her fists, clenching and unclenching as if they were going over the woman’s safe signals.

  It disgusted him that he’d learned so much about the BDSM lifestyle in the last few weeks. Safewords and consensual kink, bondage and anal play, top and bottom, he’d learned all of the jargon. Peter had even found several online stores that specialized in dungeon equipment and toys. He intended to weigh the outcome of this trip before sharing any of his fantasies with Meghan. What if she found the whole thing sick and twisted?

  He couldn’t think about that now.

  Peter focused instead on the swish and sway of the Dominatrix’s blonde mane as she checked the ropes binding the submissive’s wrists and ankles. He could imagine himself in her place, controlling the scene. A man stepped from the corner of the room, handing the Domme a flogger. Black leather came down hard, a flash of fuchsia straps appearing as the flogger spread wide over the bound woman’s ass. Interesting visual.

  These must have been the men in business suits who had been with brunette. Who knew they’d be part of the show?

  “Welcome to my dungeon,” said the Domme to the audience, the flogger once again flashing fuchsia as she brought it down with a snap on the brunette’s ass. “I am Mistress Crystal, and these are my submissives. We have, for your viewing pleasure this evening, braided eye candy…” Music started, soft and slow. “And my rodeo.” She pointed to the man in the cage.

  With the flare of a stage performer, Crystal began directing her puppets. Her male assistant wheeled over a wooden chest of drawers. As he opened each one, he selected sex toys from them and set them on top. Crystal chose a set of clamps from the paraphernalia and attached them to the woman’s nipples. Tugging gently on the chain hanging between them, the Dominatrix elicited a low groan from the woman. Moisture leaked down the brunettes creamy thighs.

  The Dominatrix nodded to the man as she took up position behind the woman, bringing the leather straps of the flogger down hard once again on the brunette’s backside. The submissive arched into the pain, her body begging for more.

  Oh, to be that much in control of another’s pleasure. During his exploration, Peter realized how tantalizing he found the whole idea. Watching Crystal and the man working in tandem, alternately whipping and stroking the brunette into a frenzied pitch of need, he felt the power and craved that mastery. The brunette’s rosy nether lips glistened and her moans became hard gasps of desire.

  The man selected a wand from the drawer and held it up for the voyeurs. At the press of a button, electricity jumped from the ball of the instrument to his fingers. The brunette thrust her chest forward at the sound of the resulting snap. Bringing the tip of the wand to her heaving tits, he sparked her nipple, and the brunette’s knees buckled momentarily.

  As the man focused on the front, Crystal worked the submissive’s ass. She’d given up the flogger for a paddle that left patterns on the woman’s skin. Crystal alternately spanked and massaged her submissive’s sensitized flesh.

  They continued to drive the brunette, stimulating her with vibrators, fingers, and mouths. She pleaded with them through her gag to allow her release, her eyes glazed with the pleasure of subspace, but Crystal was relentless. It wasn’t until the Domme gave the command that the woman cried out in ecstasy, her body convulsing in orgasm. Crystal leaned in close, her lips a breath from the woman’s ear as they both enjoyed the submissive’s climax.

  Peter sat mesmerized, his body tight with need. He imagined himself doing what the man was doing, inflicting pain and soothing the hurt, skyrocketing the woman in his hands to unimaginable levels of ecstasy. But this was not his world. He couldn’t imagine his conservative fiancée agreeing to be bound for their mutual pleasure.

  Meghan.

  Guilt pinched his heart. In the hour or so the two had been working with the sub, Peter hadn’t thought about his fiancée. As Crystal and her assistant released the woman from her bindings, Peter came to his senses and left the hotel suite.

  He’d be damned if he’d sit through the second act just to have the opportunity to meet with Crystal alone. No matter how much he wanted a closer relationship with the mysterious woman releasing the second man from his cage, not even a Dominatrix like Crystal was worth his relationship with Meghan.

  * * * *

  Even with the heat blowing full blast through the vents of Deirdre’s truck, Meghan shook uncontrollably. But it wasn’t the cold clenching her muscles, sending them into spasm. It was the undeniable terror of “what if?” What if Doc hadn’t come in for flowers? What if his car hadn’t gotten stuck in the parking lot after he’d found the sho
p empty and he’d come back in to use the phone? What if Deirdre hadn’t decided to plow the business tonight? Terror pressed savagely in her throat, bringing hot tears of panic.

  “Hey, Meg, you sure you’re okay?” Deirdre squeezed her thigh.

  Meg swiped at her eyes. The bandage wrapped around her left hand absorbing the tears was yet another reminder of what she’d been through tonight. “I’m just a little shaky, but I’ll be fine.”

  She motioned to Meg’s hand. “I think it would be a good idea to have that looked at.”

  “Really, it’s fine. I think Doc was overreacting. It stopped bleeding while you and Doc got his car out of the lot.”

  Another dry sob escaped and Deirdre squeezed her leg again. “Dee, what if Doc—”

  “Meg, stop. Even if he hadn’t come, I was right there.”

  She nodded. Deirdre was right. There were too many people looking out for her for someone not to have discovered she was missing.

  “But I would feel better leaving you at Mum and Daddy’s tonight. I don’t like the idea of you going to an empty house after what you’ve been through.”

  It was a little before eight. Meghan had been in the freezer just over an hour. After her rescue, Dee had had to plow the parking lot before Dr. McCarty could free his car and head home. Still, it wasn’t too late to have her mother fix her some comfort food before going to her own house just down the street. The thought was tempting.

  But then again, her dad may have had one of his episodes. If that was the case, he’d be sleeping in the living room recliner, and he was ashamed when company saw him that way. Not that she or her two sisters were company, but John Tilling was a proud man and not aging gracefully. Having him wake to find her there would be embarrassing.

  Besides, she wasn’t ready for her mother to find out what had happened tonight.

  “No, I’d rather just go home,” Meghan said. “Take a hot bath and crawl into my pj’s. Plus Mr. Jingles will be hungry.”

  Deirdre laughed. “You treat that cat like a person.”

  “He’s good company when…” Meghan trailed off, not wanting to talk about her fiancé’s absences, especially with Deirdre. Peter’s devotion to his job was already hard enough. She certainly didn’t need to hear an armchair analysis of their relationship from a sister who was happily married to a DEA agent who worshipped the ground she walked on.

  “Say it, Meg. Your cat’s good company when Peter’s out of town.” Deirdre scowled at her sister, the green lights of the dashboard making her features sharp. “And he’s out of town an awful lot lately, dear sister.”

  Meghan lifted her shoulder, staring out the side window at the mesmerizing fall of snow in the street lights of her neighborhood. “Don’t go there, Dee. I’m not in the mood for another lecture.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  Deirdre pulled the truck into Meghan’s driveway.

  “I know what you’re saying, Dee. And I don’t have enough energy to get in a pissing match with you.” Meghan flung the door open and jumped into the knee-high snow, grateful to get away from her sister’s disapproving glare. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Deirdre folded in on herself in defeat. “Meg, I’m sorry. You’re right. I was wrong to bring it up. Why don’t I come in and—”

  “No.” The word carried on a voice laced with anger and frustration. She inhaled calmly and continued. “Dee, I’m fine. I appreciate the ride. Go home to Ayden and leave the plowing until the morning.” She slammed the door harder than she intended before her sister could respond. Meghan didn’t need to listen once again to Deirdre’s theory on how Peter had found another woman.

  It was a quick trip up the stairs, a dose of Benadryl and a hot shower and Meghan was tucked tightly in her bed. Unable to bring herself to lie in the dark alone, she left on the bedside lamp, chasing the what ifs into her dreams.

  Meghan startled awake, her eyes immediately scanning the shadowed corners of her bedroom. For a moment, she lay frozen, unable to completely fill her lungs. The terror of her nightmare became a reality in the loneliness of her room. She looked around, reminding herself she wasn’t still stuck in the cooler. Even snug in her bed, she could feel the cold fingers of fear pressed to her throat, stealing her air. She hadn’t wanted to admit to Deirdre that the whole episode had shaken her to her core.

  The low light of the lamp cast shadows into the deep corners of her room, adding to the tension wrapped around her chest. Then it was there again, the tiny tic tic of ice pellets against her window, ratcheting her pulse up another notch. The wind howled and moaned, announcing the arrival of more inclement weather.

  The winter storm had twisted its way into her dreams, causing her to relive the nightmare of being frozen in the darkness. She brushed the tears from her eyes and sat up, pulling the comforter to her chin. She hadn’t been able to reach Peter, not on his cellphone nor at the hotel in Philly, where the desk clerk had said he’d checked out. Maybe he was at the airport searching for flights to bring him home to her.

  Oh, how she missed him. Cold winter nights were meant for sleeping safe in his arms, spooned against the wall of his chest, her bottom snuggled into his lap. But slumber was an elusive commodity when terror filled her thoughts. Meghan needed something to take her mind off her loneliness and despair. Her novel lay open on the bedside table, but even sweet love and sexy romance couldn’t hold her attention this night.

  Warm milk. Peter laughed at her in college when she was too nervous from test anxiety to sleep and she’d heat up the soothing drink. But it had been what her mother had fixed when she or her sisters had woken in the night crying from nightmares. Even in adulthood, the flavor wrapped around her like the comforting feeling of her mother’s arms and never failed to help her sleep.

  Covering her flimsy baby doll nightie with a silk bathrobe, she slipped her feet into fuzzy slippers. Not too sexy, but definitely better than bare feet. She reached for the doorknob just as the room plunged into darkness. A chill of fear coiled in her belly, and she stood listening to the pounding of her heart and rush of wind. It took her a moment to realize the storm had knocked out the power. Meghan debated going back to bed and letting the sound of the storm lull her to sleep. But that hadn’t happened two hours ago when she’d crawled between the sheets. There was no reason to believe it would work now.

  Besides, Maine storms could be long, and she needed to get the kerosene heater running downstairs or her house could become bone-chillingly cold. Guess it was just as well the storm had woken her.

  Meghan debated lighting the candle on the dresser, but fumbling in the dark for matches sounded more time-consuming than simply padding downstairs and into the kitchen to retrieve a flashlight.

  Half way down the front hall, the light tap of footfalls froze her foot in mid-step. She thought she saw a shadow shift in the kitchen, but in the pitch black, she couldn’t be certain. Meghan tiptoed backward. Then another thump of feet and she gasped. Mr. Jingles came scrambling out of the kitchen, mewling loudly at her.

  All she could do was laugh at her own fear. Stupid cat. Surely he’d been up on the counter again, and the thump of feet was the little scoundrel sensing her presence. She picked him up and snuggled into his silken fur. His purring slowed her racing heart. He had been with her since her teen years, and she couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t slept at the foot of her bed. All through college, her mother had said the poor animal wandered aimlessly around the house, happiest only when she was home on school break.

  Meghan carried Mr. Jingles into the kitchen and scooted around the dinette set. Staring out the patio windows, she wondered how long the storm would continue. Even in the darkness, the heavy snow glowed eerily on the trees. The branches bent and swayed in a mesmerizing ballet with the wind. It was beautiful to watch, but if it continued to ground planes, Meghan would be a basket case. Mr. Jingles meowed and squirmed out of her arms.

  On a heavy sigh, she headed for a flashlight in the bottom drawer by the s
ink, intent on starting the heater and snuggling back into bed. With the electricity out, warming anything was out of the question. As she stepped around the counter, an arm came around her chest, pinning her arms and trapping her against the hard wall of a large male body. The other hand snaked up from behind and covered her mouth, stifling her surprised scream.