Myka and the Millionaire Page 5

  “So? Can I ask about the doctor? How did it go?” Myka bit her lip, waiting.

  “Myka. I’d prefer to keep that private.” Kylee’s face was emotionless.

  “Well, sure. But I wanted to find out if she did anything to help you with the fog? With the thoughts? Can you go to Berlin? Are you okay today?”

  “Myka. Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t we go to Berlin? Are you insane?”

  “Last night—”

  “Last night I finally figured out what I need to do, Myka. I had a talk with Christopher and we made some great plans on how to handle stuff. You probably mean well, but I really want you to stop pushing your ideas on me.”

  “What?” Myka was floored.

  “Myka, you can go now,” said Kylee, without animosity, her ragged nails blocking a yawn. She shut the door and Myka heard the lock click.

  * * *

  The flight to Germany was a long, overnight trip, and Myka tried her best to sleep in her cramped coach seat. Light sequences and pill bottles danced in uneasy formations through her mind before she was able to settle her brain by latching onto a fantasy: Gabriel. She recalled his eyes at the bar when they’d first met, his smooth voice. Does this place really suit you? Or me? and she replayed their kiss in the car, imagining how his hands would feel on her body.

  Have you figured out that my desires are maybe a little more exotic than the norm?

  I’m a dominant, Myka, in the bedroom.

  Let me educate you, ma chèrie.

  She let her mind drift, stimulating her fantasy with visions of his strong naked body in front of her, what it would feel like to touch him, lick him, suck him; what kinds of things he would do to her. What delicious methods would he use to show her about that magical combination of pain and pleasure? As she slumbered, her dreams were deep and wicked, and she woke feeling aroused, wishing that the trip was already behind her so she could meet with him and experience what she was only dreaming about.

  * * *

  The Berlin show went off without a hitch. To a sold-out crowd, Kylee danced and sang and worked her unique magic, even managing a little speech in German that she’d memorized in the few minutes before going on stage. If her backstage presence seemed less brilliant than usual, or if her eyes seemed a bit unexpressive, nobody commented, and the magazines and tabloids were full of praise. The new image was a glaring success in Europe so far.

  Myka tried several times to speak with Kylee privately, but Christopher always lingered, ushering her out of the way. Every time she knocked on Kylee’s door, there was no answer. The last time she tried, Kylee and Christopher emerged, Kylee with a scarf on her head and huge dark sunglasses, baggy clothing covering her lithe body. Christopher had a baseball cap and his head was down, his hand on Kylee’s arm.

  “We’re going to be late, so please hurry,” he told Kylee in a sort of exasperated voice as they pushed past Myka without a word, and the bodyguards let them down in the private elevator.

  In planning meetings, Kylee was her usual bossy self, making demands and changes that weren’t always reasonable, and she sent Myka dozens of typical orders over text with additional comments like “get this done ASAP,” forcing Myka to pull several all-nighters to complete the requests. But she didn’t call for help with breathing exercises, and she didn’t complain about Myka’s absence at the dance nights. Myka looked closely for signs of anxiety or panic, but saw nothing beyond the normal diva behavior. Was it possible that Kylee had gotten some insight from the doctor? Or was she maybe learning to calm herself down in stressful situations?

  Not sure what to do with Kylee, but grateful for the breathing room, Myka turned her thoughts to more exciting matters: Gabriel was back in town, and they had dinner plans, this time, hopefully, with no interruptions. And she could barely allow herself to imagine what was going to happen after dinner.

  When Gabriel picked her up, his eyes flared. “Myka. You look fantastic.”

  Myka flushed, proud; she’d dressed with care in a tight black dress and tall heels, and had done her hair down in tumbled curls on her shoulders. She felt sexy under Gabriel’s intense gaze, and from the way he seemed to be mentally undressing her, he was clearly as aroused as she was. He was as handsome as ever, his tailored suit fitting the muscular form of his body with an easy grace, his strong hand electric on her slender arm.

  She thought they’d discuss dominance and submission right away, but the topic was hidden, lurking behind his eyes and words. During dinner they talked about Gabriel’s consulting, and Myka told him about her college years and funny stories from the tour. The conversation flowed well, but Myka felt the undercurrent of desire in every look, every touch of their hands, and as the evening went on, her anticipation about the next discussion had her practically wriggling in her seat.

  In addition to passion she felt a deep chasm between the two of them, and whether it was only in her mind or there in reality was impossible to discern. There was something worldly about him that hinted at experience well beyond her own, not just sexually, but as a complex successful person, and this made her uneasy about the sum of her own life and whether it was good enough—not for him, but in general. Was she good enough for herself? Successful enough to say that she’d made a worthwhile life thus far?

  Partly because of these erratic thoughts, also because of her nerves over her overwhelming attraction to him and what would happen in the bedroom, she ended up drinking more than usual. She was giggling in a giddy fashion by the time they walked out the door into the evening.

  Feeling brave from the wine, she leaned up to whisper into his ear, “So, are you going to invite me back to your place for a discussion on philosophy and forgiveness? And to finally have that lesson on dominance and submission?”

  Gabriel stilled and Myka’s heart plummeted. “I don’t think tonight is the right time,” he finally answered, his face taut.

  Myka sucked in her breath in disappointment. “Well, okay then,” she said, crossing her hands over her chest. “Fine. I thought—” she started, checked herself, then blurted it out. “I thought there was a mutual interest. I thought we were going to—God. I’m sorry if I misinterpreted it.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  The wine made her head spin, and she clung to him for support, teetering in her heels, and drew in her breath when he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and touched his lips to her neck. “Myka,” he whispered in a rough voice. “You misinterpreted nothing. You have no idea how beautiful you are to me, how desirable.”

  “Then tell me,” she whispered back, her arms running over his shoulders, delighting in his strength, her crushed ego starting to flower again.

  “I look at you and I dream of stripping you bare,” he told her, his voice barely audible, his eyes blazing. “I want to touch you all over your body,” he continued, his voice gaining intensity, touching her cheek with one finger, “and then I want to use my hands and my mouth to make you scream with pleasure. Over and over. I want to bring out the heat in your eyes and let it play out between us. I want to control your body, to bring you to the edge and then send us both over it together.”

  He ran the finger to her lips and she bit it without thinking, making him suck in his breath and pull her closer to his body. “I want to make you mine, to have you obey me, to bring you bliss and reward you for your submission.”

  “I want that too,” she said, raising her lips. “I want it all. Take it.” Her voice was dreamy from the wine, and she closed her eyes and let her head sink back, feeling the night air.

  “Not tonight.” He sounded rough but firm. “I won’t ever take a woman without permission, and right now I don’t know if you’re in a state to be sure about what you want.”

  Myka snapped her head up and widened her eyes, disappointed and embarrassed. “I’m not drunk, Gabriel,” she snapped, and stepped back, stumbling on a crack in the pavement, which only increased her mortification. “I’m just a little tipsy, okay?”r />
  She felt tears, and Gabriel pulled her back into his arms. “I’m not saying you are drunk, and I’m not saying it’s wrong to be drunk. All I’m saying is that we barely met, you’re upset about work and jet-lagged, maybe still a little upset about the interview, and I won’t be the kind of man who takes advantage. Understand me? I want you. All of you, in a powerful, intense way. I’m willing to wait for the right time.”

  Myka bit her lip. “I had no idea you were such a Samaritan, Gabriel. Such a boy fucking scout.”

  Gabriel stepped back and raised his eyebrows. “Myka? That’s not necessary, is it?” and his tone of implicit command startled her into silence. He frowned and muttered, “If you were mine, I’d—” and broke off, running his hands through his dark hair.

  “You’d—what?” Myka demanded, hands on her hips. “Put me over your knee and spank me?” Dark ideas from her BDSM novels ran through her mind, things she fantasized about in the privacy of her bedroom, things she let loose in her mind when she touched herself to orgasm.

  “Something like that,” he told her, his eyes flashing.

  Myka issued a challenge. “Too bad you’re not interested in taking me home to show me.”

  “Oh, I’m interested,” he said, “more than interested. But I want you sober when you agree to my desires, Myka.”

  “Are your desires that intense, then?” she queried, feeling a little spinny and disoriented. She put one hand onto his shoulder for balance.

  He shook his head, smiling. “Oh, Myka. Did the talk of dark fantasies make you nervous? Were you drinking your courage, glass by glass?”

  “And what if I was?” she shot back. “I haven’t done this in a while, either.” She waved her hand between them. “It’s been a long time since I—was with someone. It’s a little nerve-wracking.”

  Gabriel wrapped his fingers around her hand. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “Well,” Myka said. “I’ll be sober again in a few hours.”

  Gabriel gave a rough sigh. “Myka. Let me cook for you tomorrow night. At my place. There are still more things we need to discuss before we start anything. Important things are worth the wait.” His voice was full of promise, but the delay irritated Myka.

  “Oh, you’ll cook? Something with chicken in it? Because you don’t have enough guts to take me home and spank me after a few glasses of vino? Big baby.”

  Gabriel whispered into her ear, “Careful, Myka. Be nice, yes?” His hand tightened on her arm, and his voice held a promise of something—some authority that sent tingles through her entire body.

  “Oh? I should be nice? That hardly seems fair,” she said with a little zing of pique. The dance between them was changing, becoming somehow more intense, and she adjusted her steps to keep up, because she loved this new tempo. “And maybe I don’t feel very nice right now,” she breathed into his ear. “Maybe I feel like being very, very bad.”

  His body tightened next to hers, and he spoke into her neck. “When I take you to bed, Myka, nice will not be a goddamn part of it, understand me? It’s going to be sexy and rough and hard. I know just what to do with bad girls. You going to let me show you?” Now his voice was the one issuing the challenge.

  “If you think you can handle me, then you can show me whatever you want,” said Myka recklessly, looking back up into his eyes.

  “Oh, I can handle you.” His smile was full of dark promise. “But we do need to get a few things settled before the handling begins. And that is going to wait.” He flagged down a cab, and inserted her into it. “Go home and sober up. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, and his voice was full of domineering arrogance that made Myka pissed.

  “You know what?” she said to Gabriel, after rolling down the cab window. “I’m not ready to go home. Or sober up. I’m going to go somewhere exciting. Somewhere I’ve been dying to try out.” She leaned toward the cab driver and raised her voice so Gabriel could hear. “Take me to Club Dark Sin.”

  Gabriel started. “Myka! What the fuck?”

  Myka looked at him wide-eyed, not caring that the cab driver could hear every word. “Gabriel, I told you I’m not ready to go home. And this is a place I’ve been curious to visit. If you think I’m too drunk to bother with? Too bored to teach me a lesson in manners and submission? I bet I can find people there who find my company… as intoxicating as I am. Intoxicated.”

  Gabriel’s face was thunderous. “Myka—you have no business there. It’s not a nice place.”

  Myka sighed. “I’m tired of nice, Gabriel. I told you already. And I’m tired of waiting.” She turned her head back to the cabbie. “Let’s go right now, thanks.”

  “No, I mean that some people there can be sleazy, unethical—Attends! Attends-moi. Wait! Fuck, Myka.”

  The cab sped off, leaving him standing there on the pavement, looking after her with an expression of amazed rage. And worry. Myka felt a rush of adrenaline, then worry of her own. She didn’t really want to visit Dark Sin right now, alone. She was a little drunk, it was true. Okay. More than a little. And some of the reviews of the place had made it seem rather… edgy. But still, all she wanted to do was look.

  * * *

  Myka pushed the door open, heart beating fast, to see a normal foyer and reception desk staffed by a gorgeous brunette in leather. A man dressed in black was visible in a small ante-room behind the reception desk; Myka guessed he was a security guy of some sort. He had his back to the computer monitor, though, and seemed involved in his phone.

  “May I help you?” the brunette asked with some hauteur.

  “I’m—new,” Myka said. “I want to visit. Is that permitted?”

  The woman nodded. “If you buy a temporary membership, yes. The temporary membership fee is twenty-five dollars, and you’ll need a valid driver’s license or ID for age verification. Also, I’ll need you to fill out paperwork and sign it. Club rules and regulations. Liability waiver. You have to pay with a credit card so we have your information on file, for our security protocol. We never release it to anyone, but we need to have it. If you decide to sign up for a full year membership within a month, we’ll deduct the price of today’s visit. Any rule violations and you’ll be banned from signing up, ever.”

  “Yes, okay.” Fingers trembling, Myka took the clipboard and pen and sat down in a plush chair, handed over her cards. She could hear a heavy beat coming from beyond the wooden double doors to the right.

  The brunette spoke again, once Myka had finished filling out forms and signed her receipt. “There are condoms, wipes, and towels in each room. Club rules are firm about not interrupting other scenes, and absolutely no photography or recording devices. Safewords are green, yellow, and red, and must be followed. Violations can get you kicked out permanently. It’s acceptable to ask others to play, but respect a no and don’t ever touch anyone or anything without an invitation. Understand?”

  “Yes.” Myka had done enough reading to know that these were pretty standard rules for a BDSM club. Red was the word used to stop everything, yellow meant to slow down or take it easy, and green meant go ahead, all is good. She shuddered slightly, thinking about what someone might do to make a person say red. Or green. Not that she had any intention of actually doing anything here.

  Finally the brunette issued her a wrist bracelet and waved her hand. “Go on in. Have fun. Contact a dungeon monitor if you have questions or need any help.”

  Myka hesitated, then pushed open the heavy doors under a wooden Sinners Enter Here sign. She was in.

  The first thing she noticed was the low light, dim and red, and the pulsing music. Gaudy red and gold crosses decorated the walls as art, some draped with barbed wire. Strange pictures adorned the walls: one was of a naked man with a huge erect phallus being whipped while wearing a crown of thorns, his face in the throes of an orgasm. The similarity to biblical stories was unavoidable, and in Myka’s eyes, tackily sacrilegious. She was fine with people owning their own sexuality, but the artwork was past the line of bad taste. S
he shuddered, looked elsewhere. A few people clustered together, chatting. Despite the garish decorations, they seemed at ease, laughing, sharing confidences. Friends.

  The next thing that caught her eye was the couple at the far right of the room. A naked woman was tied down to a padded bench, lying on her stomach with her legs spread wide, and a man spanked with his hand. The woman cried out each time he hit her and struggled in her bonds, and the man kept an even pace, slaps echoing in the air.

  Myka crept closer, fascinated. The woman seemed to be in genuine distress, yet wasn’t saying red or even yellow. After a few more blows, the man stopped and bent down to whisper something unintelligible into her ear, and after a short conversation he started to stroke her between her legs. Now her cries changed to a different sort of sound, a moan of pleasure, and Myka averted her eyes. Although the couple clearly didn’t mind being watched, it felt too private to witness.

  She quickly made her way across the room where a group of scantily clad people were clustered around another couple. It was two women; one of them was tied spread-eagled to a flat table, and the other teased her with a vibrator, making her moan and beg for release. When the tied woman seemed about to orgasm, her partner stopped stimulating her and whipped her nipples with a crop. “My sub is being punished,” she explained to the crowd. “I’m going to bring her to the edge again and again until she can’t stand it, until she’s screaming for release. Then I’ll decide if she gets to come tonight. And it’s going to be a long night.”

  A few onlookers laughed and commented. Someone bent over and whispered something into the bound woman’s ear and she laughed a little too, before her partner whipped her again, eliciting a sharp cry. Things were intense but seemingly consensual, and the group of people appeared to be having a good time.