Betrayed by Love Page 4

  Instead she’d seemed almost frightened of him. What was going on?

  Roman returned to his house and poured himself a glass of scotch. Midway through the second glass, Roman found himself thinking back on the last time he’d seen Savannah.

  They’d gone away for the weekend, to a BDSM house party near Santa Barbara.

  Chapter Three

  Five Years Ago

  “Are you nervous?” he whispered into her hair.

  “No,” she said, but she was snuggled against him. They were waiting in the foyer of a beautiful house in the Santa Barbara wine country. Roman could hardly believe they were here. They were going to spend the whole weekend indulging in sexual fantasies. He’d had a hard-on for most of the drive.

  Savannah had slid her fingers into his pants, freeing his cock, and played with him as he drove. Each time her slender artist fingers brought him close to climax she’d pressed her thumb to the vein on the underside, stopping his orgasm.

  Roman had arrived with blue balls but a big smile.

  They checked in with their host, Mr. Wilcox, a man they knew from the BDSM scene in L.A. He’d invited them to come up for the weekend to a house party. All the guests were other BDSM enthusiasts. Savannah had been hesitant about going—she thought Mr. Wilcox was creepy—but the Stalwoods were also going, and Savannah liked them.

  Mr. Wilcox greeted them with a handshake for Roman.

  “Mr. Wilcox, thank you again for inviting us,” Savannah said.

  “That’s Master Wilcox,” he chided.

  Roman stiffened, pulling Savannah tighter against him, but she just smiled, lowered her eyes and whispered, “Please excuse my mistake, Master Wilcox.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched and Roman relaxed. Savannah thought it was ridiculous to address people by the title of Master. She was an avid reader of historical novels and she’d told him that for her the title of Master would forever be associated with little boys being reprimanded by their governesses. They’d played with the word at home, but it was always just “Master”, never “Master Roman”.

  As Mr. Wilcox led them to their room, Roman tickled her, whispering threats of what he’d do to her if she gave them away by laughing. Savannah was biting her lip to hold in giggles by the time they were at their room.

  Mr. Wilcox let them in and told them when and where to meet for cocktails.

  They’d explored their room, then rolled around on the canopied bed, giggling like teenagers. The four-poster bed was lovely, made of heavy wood. Each of the posts was outfitted with restraints.

  “Nice,” he said, holding one up and wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” she purred, raising her arms above her head so her breasts thrust up.

  Roman pounced on her and kissed her. The kiss had progressed to heavy petting when she tugged on his earlobe.

  “We have to get dressed.”

  He laid his head on her shoulder. “I need to shower.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Toiletries bag in hand, they’d stepped out into the hall only to see a naked, leashed woman crawling from the bathroom. Wet hair dripped around her face, and goose bumps covered every inch of flesh. The man with her struck her ass with a crop.

  “It’s all yours,” he said, smiling at them. He looked Savannah up and down possessively, nodded at Roman, and then led his sub away.

  Savannah was trembling slightly. Roman couldn’t wait to have Savannah naked and on her knees but he didn’t want her scared.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, “we’ll ease into it.”

  When she was in the correct mood, Savannah craved every dirty thing he could do to her. When she was aroused she would beg for him to whip her pussy, and it was up to Roman to play safe for both of them. But she wasn’t as excited about this weekend as he was. She was happier playing in the safety of their apartment than with the BDSM club they’d joined, and the idea of “performing” for strangers was making her nervous. Roman wanted to show her off. He wanted other people to see how beautiful, how uninhibited she could be.

  They showered together. Roman slid soapy fingers over her clit, arousing her. He didn’t let her come. By the time they were dry and in their room her eyes were dilated with arousal.

  They dressed, Roman in slacks and a button-down shirt, Savannah in a slinky black cocktail dress, no underwear. Roman slid a collar, a pretty thing made of leather and lace with a small D-ring in the back, around her throat. It looked like a choker. Only in this setting, with these people, would it be seen as anything more sinister.

  Her heels had ankle straps, and she wore her hair loose around her shoulders. She tried to curl it, putting in hot rollers as Roman watched in amusement. As always, five minutes after she took out the rollers her hair was perfectly straight.

  Sitting at the vanity, she groaned in disgust. “I wish I had curly hair.”

  “Your hair is perfect.”

  She smiled at him in the mirror and, not for the first time that day, Roman thought of how completely and perfectly in love with her he was.

  They went downstairs, Savannah holding his arm. A lace leash dangled from the back of her collar.

  They mingled with their fellow BDSM enthusiasts, including the Stalwoods. They were a nice couple in their mid-forties, who’d stumbled upon a mutual love of S&M while trying to rekindle the spark in their marriage. They were not enthralled with Dominance and submission, but more with the idea of pushing each other to the limits, finding the places where pain and pleasure were indistinguishable.

  Savannah started the evening plastered to Roman’s side, which was fine with him. Drinks were being served by Mr. Wilcox’s slaves. Three women, all in their late thirties, strolled naked among the guests, balancing trays of drinks. Each woman had pieced nipples with a chain connecting them. A third chain led from the center of the nipple chains to loop through the rings in their bellybuttons and down to their clits.

  They knew the chain was attached to a ring through the clit because Mr. Wilcox had taken great pains to show it off to then when they arrived. He’d grabbed a passing girl by the chain, yanked her over and then forced the lips of her sex open.

  Roman admitted to himself that he found the piercing and chains hot, but the blank look on the women’s faces was anything but arousing. When Ms. Stalwood—Karen—told them that pieced clits often lost feeling, he and Savannah had shared a disgusted look.

  Gradually Savannah relaxed, and she began rubbing against him and looking up through her lashes rather than clinging fearfully to his arm.

  That night they were treated to a show put on by one of the other couples. John and Patrick were from San Francisco, and John was a rope expert. When Mr. Wilcox led them to one of his playrooms, where the shows were to take place, he told the group that subs had to remove their clothing to enter.

  Roman turned to Savannah, meeting her aroused gaze. He ran his finger down the front of her dress and said, “Off.”

  With a murmur of “Yes, Master,” she obeyed. The beast inside him that needed to possess her in this way roared in triumph. She was naked, her head high, back straight, and he fell a little more in love with her.

  He knew she was nervous about her body. She said she needed to lose ten pounds, hated that one breast was slightly bigger than the other, and thought her butt was “rumply”—though he’d never figured that one out. But as he led her into the playroom, she was confidence personified.

  The playroom had hardwood floors and plastic furniture. He sank down into a surprisingly comfortable chair and Savannah perched on his knee. Mr. Wilcox’s slaves came around with thick rubber mats, which they placed on the floor beside each Master. Roman left Savannah on his knee as Patrick and John set up, only ordering her onto the mat as the show was about to start—she was blocking his view.

  That night they watched John weave a net of rope that left Patrick dangling from the ceiling. The climax of the show was John showing everyone how he’d
perfectly positioned Patrick to be fucked. John pulled his cock from his pants and slid it into his sub’s ass. A little push sent Patrick swinging away, and when he swung back John guided Patrick’s ass onto his cock.

  When John offered to teach then to do the same, each Master in the room leapt at the chance. Roman had never been interested in complicated rope play before, and knew Savannah felt the same, but when he tipped her face up, she was licking her lips in arousal.

  With John’s help, Roman suspended Savannah from the ceiling. She was face to the floor with her knees curled up, arms across her chest like a mummy. In this near-fetal position, she couldn’t move, couldn’t see him.

  Standing behind her, his rock-hard cock in his hand, Roman nearly jumped out of his skin when Mr. Wilcox appeared at his elbow.

  “She’s enjoying this,” he said quietly, his gaze on Savannah’s ass and pussy. Roman swallowed the urge to step forward and put his body between Mr. Wilcox and Savannah. All the other subs were on display. He didn’t want to appear weak or novice in front of his host.

  “I didn’t think she would,” Roman said truthfully.

  “She’s a born submissive,” Mr. Wilcox said. “You’re not pushing her hard enough.”

  “We’re just starting out—”

  “You think your gentleness is good, kind,” Mr. Wilcox cut through his words as if he’d never spoken. He looked at Roman and his eyes burned with conviction. “She is at war with herself. She was raised in a society that says she should not want the things she does. But her body, her heart, craves this.” He gestured to the ropes that held her. “And more. She will never be truly happy until you take her all the way, until you make her a true submissive. She wants it. Needs it.”

  And he walked away.

  Roman stepped up to Savannah, running his fingers through the curls over her sex, stroking her clit until she was thrashing in the ropes. He grabbed them to stop the slow spin her movement had started and then guided his cock to her sex.

  He fucked her, and the angle allowed his cock to bump her G-spot with each thrust. She came, begging and moaning for him to fuck her harder. He had yet to come, so he grabbed some lube, prepped her, and slid his slippery cock into her ass.

  Savannah yelped and twitched, her ass flexing as he pushed his cock in. He pushed forward until he was fully within her. He grabbed two of the four ropes holding her and pulled them, lifting her upper body.

  A crowd had gathered around them. Savannah saw them as he tilted her upright, and for a moment she fell silent. Roman was about to loosen the ropes and allow her to face the floor and hide from the watchers, but she screamed, “Fuck me please, Master. Fuck my ass, fuck your naughty girl’s ass.”

  Roman reached around and grabbed her breasts, one in each hand. The ropes around her legs took her body weight as he held her up so he could fuck her ass. He pounded into her, the ropes creaking, his breath heaving in and out. Through it all Savannah begged and pleaded for him to fuck her.

  Her words, the passion that oozed from her, brought him to blistering climax. As he came he looked around, meeting the gaze of the other Doms.

  Yes, she is mine, all mine. Envy me.

  They clapped when he brought her to a second orgasm with his fingers on her clit. Savannah hung limp as he and John got her down. Other couples had retired to bed, so Roman picked her up, something she rarely let him do, and carried her to their room. He washed her with a warm washcloth, then took a quick shower before climbing into bed beside her.

  Savannah curled against his chest, her breath coming in small puffs as she drifted to sleep.

  Roman lay awake in the dark. Was Mr. Wilcox right? Was he not pushing Savannah enough?

  * * * * *

  Savannah woke with protesting muscles and skin that was tender to the touch. She stretched, smiling as Roman’s hand smoothed down her belly.

  “Good morning,” he said, smiling.

  She loved his smile. It lit up his whole face. The corners of his eyes would crinkle up and she could imagine him when he was older, with handsome wrinkles fanning from his eyes, like Paul Newman.

  She ran the tip of her fingers over his temples, then over his smiling lips. He kissed her fingers, then leaned in. They kissed softly as morning light caressed her bare back.

  “How are you feeling?” Roman asked, smoothing her hair behind her ear.

  “Sore,” she said. Ridiculously, she was blushing.

  “Where?” he asked, concern wrinkling his brow.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”

  “Let me kiss it better.”

  “Well, then I’m sore here.” She touched her right cheek. He pressed his lips to her cheek. She touched her other cheek.

  With a smile he followed her finger, kissing her neck, her collarbones, her belly and finally her breasts.

  They made love slowly, the sun warming them. Savannah came quickly, clutching Roman and biting his shoulder. When she lay back, Roman braced himself on his elbows and pounded into her until he too came, the muscles of his neck straining.

  Afterwards they lay together, Savannah’s legs hooked together behind his back, Roman’s head on her shoulder.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, lifting his head to look into her eyes.

  “I’m sure. Last night was… I don’t even know. It was crazy intense, but I liked it. I would have never done that if I hadn’t been so completely turned-on.”

  “What color would it be?” he asked. Savannah laughed. Once when she was trying to describe a car accident she’d seen while driving she’d told him it was mangled yellow. Ever since then if she was having trouble expressing something, he would ask her what color it was.

  “Last night it was red, hot red, but now it feels pink, mostly because I’m embarrassed.”

  “Why? You were gorgeous.”

  “All those people saw me naked. They saw us having sex.”

  “They did, and they all envied me for having you.”

  “Do you think so?” Savannah didn’t believe him, not really. There were far more beautiful women here, women who weren’t so shy about showing the world their sexual side. Savannah had only been with one man before she started dating Roman. With him the sex had been awkward and painful and she’d never known what to do, where to touch. With Roman it was none of those things, and when he took out a pair of handcuffs one night and locked her hands together, Savannah had found that by having her hands bound, she felt free and knew what she wanted. Now she knew exactly where she wanted to touch and be touched.

  Roman had shown her how to put the passion she used for her art into sex. When he told her he was into BDSM, stuttering over the words, and then haltingly explained what it meant, she’d trustingly followed him into the dark. She trusted him with both her body and soul.

  She’d had doubts yesterday. The women Mr. Wilcox called his “slaves” frightened her. Their blank stares and menacing piercings weren’t sexy—they were debasing. She’d stayed because she knew a single look or word from her and Roman would take her away from this place.

  It was because she knew he would leave if she asked him that she stayed. He was looking forward to this weekend, and she could feel the excitement radiating from him.

  It had been worth it. The rope scene had been incredibly sexy, and when Roman put her in bondage, wrapping the soft nylon around her in beautiful, complicated loops, she’d found the anticipation that built was pleasure almost as sweet as an orgasm.

  She had no desire to perform before an audience, no desire to be put on display, but last night she had wanted everyone to know how much her lover pleased her. She wanted Roman to feel like the luckiest man in the world, so she’d abandoned her misgivings and given herself over to the pleasure.

  There was a soft rap at the door. A female voice said, “Breakfast is available.”

  Roman pushed himself off her. “Hungry?”

  “Very,” she said, sitting up. “I want a shower. Will you check and
see if anyone’s in there?”

  Roman went to the door, scratching his belly and yawning. He peeked his head out and then, with a wicked grin at her, sauntered naked down the hall to check the bathroom.

  “It’s free,” he said, wandering back into their room.

  “I’ll take a fast shower. Wait for me?”

  “Of course.”

  Savannah picked out a pretty sundress and carried it and her bathroom bag to the door. With a parting smile at her lover, she too wandered naked down the hall to the bathroom.

  Chapter Four

  After breakfast, they went outside to bask in the sun. The Stalwoods were curled up together on an extra-wide chaise. Savannah and Roman took the chair next to theirs.

  “Did you enjoy last night?” Robert Stalwood asked.

  Savannah shifted closer to Roman, resting her head on his shoulder. The question had been addressed to her, but she didn’t want to answer it. She wasn’t comfortable enough to discuss what she’d done last night.

  “It was amazing,” Roman said, petting her back. Savannah relaxed. He knew her so well. “Did you enjoy it? I know straight bondage isn’t much to your liking.”

  “Oh, I think this weekend might open our eyes to a few things,” Robert said.

  “Though I doubt we’d be able to manage those ropes without some help,” Karen said. “There’s a bit too much of me to hoist.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Savannah said, turning over to face Karen, “you’re perfect.”

  “That’s what I tell her,” Robert said, kissing his wife’s head.

  They lay in companionable silence for an hour. Other couples made their way into the backyard, and soon the pool was full of naked bodies. Savannah lacked any form of athletic skill, so she bowed out of naked pool volleyball, but sat on the sidelines and cheered as Roman played.

  His broad shoulders caught the light as he bumped the ball into the air. One of the other women, the female half of a couple Savannah remembered meeting last night, bumped into him as she jumped to spike the ball. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, her bare breasts on his chest.