Paris Pleasure: Paris Trilogy: Part One Read online

  He’d barely touched her and yet Vivienne was practically panting with need. She’d been spoiled by great sex when she was young, and it had been a rude shock to find out that there were some men whose touch, even if skillful, didn’t move her. Some men who could make her come, but couldn’t arouse her to the point that she barely knew her own name and had no concept of the passage of time.

  Some men? Every man except Solomon Carter. He was the only one who’d ever made her forget everything beyond the next touch. The next moment of pleasure.

  “Please, Sir,” she begged.

  “Please, what?”

  “Touch me. Use me.”

  His hand shot up, fisting hard in her hair. Vivienne gasped. Her scalp tinged with pain and it was glorious.

  “You would run if you knew the things I wanted to do to you right now.”

  “Do them,” she begged.

  Solomon released her and stepped back. Devoid of his hands and the heat of his body, she swayed, sucking in air in a half-hearted attempt to get herself under control.

  Solomon crouched by the duffle bag, movements jerky as he yanked on the zipper. She watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took several deep breaths before straightening.

  She looked at his hands, expecting to see something—rope, chain, paddle, flogger.

  Whatever he’d taken out of the bag was small enough to fit in his closed right fist.

  “I hadn’t planned to play.” He walked calmly over to her, having apparently gathered his composure. “So I don’t have my full kit.”

  “Do you want me to apologize, Sir?”

  “Sarcasm?”

  “No, a genuine question.”

  “Then no, I don’t want you to apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for. Hands.”

  Vivienne extended her arms, palms facing one another. Handcuffs—he probably had handcuffs.

  “Hands together, palm to palm.”

  Vivienne pressed her hands together. Solomon traced the inside of her right arm from elbow to the heel of her hand, then slid his finger between her palms, separating her hands by a few centimeters.

  She was frowning in confusion when he opened his right hand, revealing the small metal device he held. It was five inches long, and looked like a set of miniature rigid handcuffs. Rather than two ratchet circles connected by a chain, these tiny handcuffs were two ratchet mechanisms around small holes, all of it one solid piece.

  He flicked open one of the cuffs and placed it against her upraised right thumb, clicking the cuff closed.

  Vivienne gasped. “Thumb cuffs?”

  He placed the second opening around her other thumb and fastened it. Vivienne looked at her hands in shock.

  Solomon crossed his arms, the muscles of his chest and shoulders seeming huge. “Check to make sure they aren’t too tight.”

  Vivienne slowly moved her hands, still shocked by this unexpected development. He’d locked the cuffs in place tightly enough that she couldn’t easily get them over her thumb joint. The inside of the cuffs were lined with satin, so she could rotate her thumbs within the cuffs without having the edge of the metal abrade her skin.

  She’d never had thumb cuffs used on her before, and the feeling of being both free and restrained was unnerving.

  “Sir, I…” She trailed off, not sure what she should say.

  “Talk to me, Vivienne. Reading your reactions can only get me so far.”

  She nodded, the reminder exactly what she needed. It wasn’t about what she should say. She needed to talk to him. BDSM only worked if the partners communicated. It was one of the reasons she’d found BDSM so appealing when he first, tentatively, introduced her to it. Back then he’d been charming, even easygoing, but studious. They’d talked about philosophy and music, politics and movies, but only rarely had his feelings about any of those subjects been a part of the conversation. It was only when they scened that he seemed comfortable expressing himself, and more than that, he’d been unflinching when he discussed his feelings.

  Done right, BDSM was a release for both parties, and she’d treasured the times when, after he’d orgasmed or finished spanking her, he’d lay his head on her breasts or stomach and start talking. It was in those times when she’d learned about his complicated relationship with his mother, his feelings about his absent father. His fear about not living up to his potential or her expectations, his embarrassment over his secret desire to do something to make the world a better place.

  She’d listened and fallen a little more in love with him every time he bared a new piece of his soul.

  “Vivienne.” His tone was a sharp as the crack of a whip and she jumped in place, thumbs pulling against the cuffs. “Where’d you go?”

  She licked her lips. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Answer me.”

  She shook her head. “I was going to say that the thumb cuffs—”

  “No. What were you thinking about?”

  Irritated, Vivienne looked up, meeting his gaze. “The past. Our past.”

  He stiffened.

  “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything,” she said in exasperation.

  Solomon’s brows rose, oh-so-slowly.

  Merde.

  “Sir,” she added belatedly.

  Solomon let out a startled laugh. “Seriously? Just going to tack a ‘Sir’ on?”

  Vivienne tried to shrug, but she’d forgotten about the stupid thumb cuffs and the movement was awkward. She looked down at her hands in irritation.

  He stepped close and touched her jaw. “Stay with me. In the now.”

  She nodded slowly. “I’m trying, Sir.”

  “Good.” He retreated. “Now then, should I explain how diabolical the thumb cuffs are, or let you discover it on your own?”

  “I think you should tell me, Master Carter.”

  “But that’s less fun for me.” He grinned, or at least he tried. Only the undamaged side of his mouth curled up.

  She ignored the pang in her chest. “Well, I do want to please you, Sir.” Those words were painfully true.

  She took a deep breath, hoping to tempt him to touch her breasts.

  “Arms up, hands behind your head,” he ordered.

  Vivienne started to obey, but had to stop. Normally when taking that position she laced her fingers together, her thumbs pointing down toward the ground. With the thumb cuffs on she couldn’t do it. She looked at Solomon, opening her mouth to tell him she couldn’t.

  The diabolical man crossed his arms and looked at her, brows raised in challenge.

  Vivienne narrowed her eyes, then looked at her hands. It took her a moment, but she figured out how she could obey. She tucked her thumbs into her palms, then laced her fingers together, thumbs inside and pointed up.

  Finally she raised her arms up and over her head, pinkies against the base of her skull.

  Solomon’s gaze slid up and down her body, and Vivienne was keenly aware of how vulnerable she was in this position. With her arms up, her breasts were lifted, and she’d felt the dress slide down a dangerous centimeter or two. Because of the position of her thumbs, she was forced to keep her elbows back, which lifted her breasts even more, and exposed the soft skin of her underarms and sides.

  Had he known the thumb cuffs would force her to take an even more exposed version of this posture?

  Solomon traced a finger from her elbow down to her armpit, then across the top of one breast.

  Oh, he’d known.

  He toyed with the brooch. “Where are you?” he asked.

  “I’m…here?”

  His lips quirked. “I mean are you green, yellow, or red?”

  “Ah. Green. I am very green.”

  He flicked the brooch open and pulled it free. For a moment the dress stayed in place.

  Then Vivienne exhaled, and the whole thing dropped to the floor, pooling around her feet.

  She’d known what would happen, yet she was still shocked to find herself suddenly naked. Instinctively, she tipped one
knee in front of the other, tilting her pelvis. Solomon reached out and grabbed her hips.

  “Don’t hide from me.”

  Vivienne dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Step out of the dress and spread your legs.”

  Vivienne stepped wide, the feeling of vulnerability now undeniable. All her soft and secret places were laid bare for him to touch and abuse. He scooped up her dress and tossed it to the side. “What color?”

  “Green.”

  He grabbed her right breast, the touch sudden and shocking. Vivienne gasped, but then arched into his hand. She wanted his fingers on her nipple. She’d beg for it. She’d give almost anything to have his lips, teeth, or fingers close over the tight peak of her tit.

  Solomon went back to the bag, this time returning with a crop.

  She exhaled slowly, something inside her settling at the sight of the implement.

  “I’m going to warm you up with a gentle full-body cropping.”

  Her pussy clenched at the words. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  “Then you’ll get on your knees and I’m going to spank you.”

  “With the crop, Sir?”

  “With my hand.”

  Vivienne whimpered.

  “Afraid?”

  “No. Aroused.”

  The leather flap at the tip of the crop danced over the top of each breast. “You want me to spank you?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Thwack. The crop struck her right hip. “Will you beg me to spank you?”

  “Probably, Sir.”

  “Probably?” Thwack. This time her left hip.

  “I’m being honest, Master Carter.”

  “Good. That’s what I want.” Thwack, thwack, thwack. Three rapid blows up the inside of her right thigh.

  He wasn’t hitting her hard—crops weren’t good for that. The blows were quick, stinging things. Too-brief flares of pain that soon faded, leaving no trace of heat in their wake.

  He repeated the series of strikes on her other thigh. Vivienne held her breath, waiting, hoping.

  “Talk to me,” he commanded in a low, almost hypnotic voice.

  “I want you to crop my pussy.”

  There was a pause and then something brushed against her sex. Vivienne let out a sob of delighted shock. She looked down to see the tip of the crop rubbing against her mons. She arched her back, thrusting her hips forward.

  He pulled the crop back. “I’m not nearly done toying with you yet.”

  “It’s been so long,” she moaned. She wasn’t thinking before she spoke, wasn’t considering what she was saying and how much it revealed. “So long since I felt this way.”

  “What way? How do you feel?”

  “Out of control. I’d do anything you asked right now. Anything.”

  Thwack, thwack, thwack. The crop struck the front of her thighs, the inside of her calves.

  “You will stand there, legs spread, breasts out, while I crop you.” His voice was hot and hard.

  “Yes, Sir. I will.”

  “I will torment you and play with you, and then, if you beg, maybe I’ll fuck you.”

  “I need that. I need you to fuck me. I—” Her words became a shriek as he landed half a dozen hard swats on her ass. He was using more force now, and concentrating on her ass and thighs.

  Vivienne closed her eyes, sinking into the feeling of the crop. He lightened the force as he cropped her shoulders and upper arms, then held her hair out of the way to snap gentle little swats down the line of her spine.

  When he dropped her hair, it felt heavy and cool against her heated skin.

  “Where are you?” His voice was warm and rich and so right. How had she ever let anyone else master her? He was the only one who could make her crave the sweet bite of the crop the way a woman in the desert craved water.

  “Green, Sir.”

  “Good. Soon I’m going to have you on your knees for your spanking.”

  “Then will you fuck me, Sir?”

  He was at her back, his hand snaking around her waist, pulling her against his chest. “Topping from the bottom?”

  “I don’t mean to, Master Carter. I need to know,” she pleaded.

  “Need to know if you’ll get fucked at the end of this?” He brought the crop around to her front, sliding it up the inside of her leg. He held it a teasing inch from her pussy.

  “Need to know if I get to find peace, Sir.”

  She felt him go stiff—his upper body, not his cock, though that was certainly rock-hard where it pressed against the top of her ass.

  “Peace,” he said softly. “That’s what you’re looking for?”

  It wasn’t a question, but she was caught up in the moment and answered as if it was. “Isn’t it what we’re all looking for? Pleasure is easy.” That wasn’t exactly right, but with her skin flush from the cropping, her back warm against his chest, pleasure seemed like the easiest thing in the world. But he could take her someplace that was otherwise unattainable. “I need to be calm, and at peace. To not have to think. Make decisions.”

  “Are you thinking right now?”

  “I am, but only about this moment.”

  “And what are you thinking?

  “I want to know if I’m pleasing you.”

  He kissed the spot below her ear. “You’ll always please me, Vivi, and that’s…” His voice trailed away for a moment, then he cleared his throat. “Every top in this room right now wishes they were me.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “You make the sweetest noise every time I strike you, and you haven’t flinched or tried to hide yourself.”

  “Why would I, Sir? I’m yours to use and abuse.”

  His hips flexed, cock digging into her back. “Do you know what you do to me?”

  “Let me serve you, Sir. Let me touch you.”

  “Not yet. I have so many plans for you.” He nuzzled her hair, then nipped her ear. “Tell me what you want, Vivienne, and don’t say to please me. I know that. Tell me where you want me to touch you.”

  “My sex. My nipples. My mouth. My ass.”

  He lifted the crop and she held her breath, hoping.

  The son of a bitch stepped back, leaving her alone in the middle of the mat. She hissed out a breath of frustration, and he chuckled. “Close your eyes, Vivienne.”

  She didn’t need to see him to know where he was. She could almost sense him as he moved around her, coming back to her front. He’d been working in a pattern, methodically covering every inch of eligible flesh. She expected to feel the crop against her thighs once more, but instead he struck the underside of each breast, causing the flesh to bounce. It hurt in all the right ways, a shocking sting. She arched her back, offering herself to him for more abuse.

  “Breathe,” he commanded.

  She hadn’t even realized she was holding a breath until he gave her the order. She exhaled, and he waited until the end of her breath to crop her again.

  This time two quick slaps, directly on each nipple.

  Vivienne wailed as pleasure-pain lanced through her. He’d struck her nipples hard enough that the ache lingered. Her pussy clenched in response, and she was so terribly empty. She wanted him there, between her legs, filling her.

  There was a clatter, followed by a ripping sound, and Vivienne opened her eyes. Solomon had tossed the crop to the side and was attempting to unfasten his shirt. Apparently unfastening the studs was too slow, so he’d ripped it off.

  Vivienne licked her lips, waiting for the command she knew was coming.

  Solomon balled up the shirt and tossed it to the side. His rapid breathing and the hard bulge of his cock were evidence of his own hot need, but when he looked at her his expression was calm and commanding.

  He pointed at the mat. “On your knees and elbows for your spanking.”

  Trembling with a mix of anticipation, and a hint of trepidation, Vivienne obeyed.

  CHAPTER 9

  Solomon was using every thread of self-cont
rol he possessed to keep from falling on Vivienne and fucking her like a stallion in heat.

  He’d turned the ballroom of his private island mansion into a BDSM club. He saw scenes that were more creative and kinky than this simple cropping on a damn near nightly basis.

  And he hadn’t felt this connected, this aroused, this masterful—though even thinking that stupid word made him feel like an ass—in years.

  Six years, probably. Since the last time they’d really scened.

  Chemistry. It was just chemistry.

  Vivienne lifted her hands from behind her neck, taking a moment to roll her shoulders. Not to toot his own kinky horn, but the thumb cuffs had been fucking ingenious, forcing her to find the right mental space—and maintain a presentation posture—with limited bondage. Having ropes or chain to mentally and physically lean against could make it both easier and more intimidating for a submissive to enter a scene.

  He’d been testing Vivienne—and, to a lesser extent, himself—by not going a traditional route. In their past, before everything had gone to shit, he’d used ropes, cuffs, chain, belts…anything long and flexible, really, to tie her up. He’d used bondage, and many other accouterments and toys of BDSM, when they played. But he and Vivienne hadn’t needed them. He could look at her, use a certain tone of voice, and she’d flip into sub mode.

  His instincts told him that he’d still be able to do that with Vivienne. That she wouldn’t need the somewhat time-consuming and familiar process of elaborate bondage to be ready to submit to him. He’d selected something both small and unique to use on her, and it had worked perfectly.

  His instincts had always been good when it came to topping her.

  And damn it, he was breaking his own rule and thinking about the past.

  Vivienne yanked him out of the past and into the present by dropping to her knees. She hadn’t shortened her stance, so her legs were spread wide. She bent forward, putting down the heels of her hands first, her thumbs held somewhat awkwardly, before she dropped onto her elbows.

  She tossed her head so all her hair fell over the right side of her face, then arched her back down so her ass rose another inch.