Vienna Bliss Read online

  “Alena.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb of his closet and watched as she rolled on thigh-high stockings and clipped them to the white garters.

  “Alexander.” She looked over at him and smiled, but it was a soft smile. She’d been slowly working herself towards feeling submissive since he left.

  They were playing games within games, and this meeting was the first of the smaller skirmishes within the larger match. The easiest way to play would be to actually be submissive to Alexander. That way she didn’t have to think about, or worry about, her reactions. She would rely on her own submission to put truth to the lie they were selling.

  “I hate this,” he murmured.

  Alena rose and slipped the shirt she’d chosen off the hanger. “You don’t like my choice of outfit, Sir?”

  She put on the silvery silk button up blouse over her bare chest. No bra, and the thin, cool silk clung to the curves of her breasts. Her nipples were hard, and clearly visible.

  “Already calling me Sir?” He stepped into the dressing room, his walk predatory.

  “I like calling you ‘Sir’, Sir.” Alena finished buttoning the blouse. “But if you’re uncomfortable and don’t want—”

  “What I want is to stop all of this and lock you in my apartment. I want to keep you safe.”

  “Oh?” Alena leaned into him. “And am I safe with you?”

  His gaze darkened and she internally winced. She hadn’t meant that like it sounded.

  “You’re not,” he said sharply.

  She needed him in that sexy Alexander-the-Dom headspace. Not in this worried, guilty, pissed-off-because-he-was-being-forced-to-go-along-with-a-plan-he-hated headspace.

  Alena stood on her toes and nipped his chin as she slid her hand over his crotch and fondled him. “Good.”

  Alexander’s breath caught and his gaze sharpened.

  “I know I say this isn’t a game, and us—” She gestured between them. “We, aren’t. But the auction, everything leading up to it, it’s just a game.”

  “Well, thinking of it like a game…A game makes me.” He sighed. “Makes me feel less…”

  “Hopefully it will make you feel like my lord and master,” she purred. Alena reached for the skirt she’d picked to go with the shirt. It was a pale pink taffeta with silk, cut full enough to have a little bit of a twirl.

  She slipped on a pair of silver ballet flats once the skirt was on and then twirled.

  “Well, Sir, what do you think of your sweet, obedient submissive?”

  This time, he smiled, then crooked a finger at her.

  When she walked close he grabbed the hem of her skirt, gathering it, pulling it up until her naked pussy was exposed. Alexander held her skirt up and leaned back to look down at her sex, then nodded in satisfaction.

  A wave of arousal swept over her. His high-handed, arrogant dominance was like catnip to the submissive part of her brain.

  He released her skirt and then unbuttoned her shirt far enough that he could spread it open, exposing her breasts. He examined them the way he had her pussy. When his thumbs swiped over her nipples, she arched her back and closed her eyes.

  “Lick,” he ordered, pressing his thumb to her mouth.

  She obediently ran her tongue over his thumb and when he pressed it into her mouth, she sucked on it.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, withdrawing his thumb and then rubbing it in circles around each nipple. She gasped at the chilled sensation left behind, and then watched as he buttoned her shirt up once more.

  He examined her, then said, “Wear your hair up.”

  Alena nodded and left the wardrobe for the bathroom. She’d dried her hair and added in some loose waves with the hair dryer and a round brush so it didn’t take much to pull together a simple bun that looked good enough to go with the rest of her outfit. While she was adjusting a few stray pieces, Alexander appeared in the mirror. He walked up behind her, and when she lowered her arms he reached around her from behind, presenting a flat rectangular box.

  “Open it.”

  Alena lifted the hinged lid, revealing a triple strand of fat, white pearls.

  He left her holding the box and then started adjusting her collar, pulling it open.

  “Alexander, I thought we agreed I would wear a collar.”

  “That is a collar.”

  “No, this is thousands of dollars worth of pearls.” They had the luminous and not completely uniform quality of real pearls. Some even had a faintly pink or pale green undertone to their color. She had bought herself plenty of pearls—the hundred-inch hand knotted strand was one of her favorites, because it worked for almost any occasion—but this was something entirely else.

  “It is a collar.” He lifted it out of the box and undid the clasp, which was studded with diamonds. He slid it around her neck, and fastened it.

  The three strands were equal in length and sat high on her neck, like a choker.

  Alena touched it with her fingertips as Alexander adjusted her collar for her.

  “A simple leather collar…”

  “I had one, but I believe you threw it into the lake.”

  “I did.”

  “Then the pearls will have to do.”

  “Alexander, this isn’t—”

  Her breath caught on a gasp as his hand came up between her legs, his palm cupping her naked sex. His middle finger slid between her labia and dipped into the moisture that had pooled at her entrance.

  “This isn’t a negotiation, Alena.” His dark gaze met hers in the mirror, and the rest of the objection died on her lips.

  “What do you say?” His finger tickled her clit

  “Thank you, Sir,” she gasped, arching into him.

  Alexander pulled his hand out from under her skirt. She watched in the mirror as he licked his finger.

  “Actually,” he murmured. “I may enjoy this game. Shall we?”

  When he offered his arm, Alena took it, and, wearing his collar, nipples hard and pussy wet, she followed her Dom to their meeting with a terrorist.

  “Absolon, will you join me?” Alexander stood in the doorway of his curator’s office.

  Absolon looked up from his computer. He was a mild-mannered looking Frenchman who wore glasses and always looked meticulously put together, though his style was more casual, leaning towards tailored shirts and slacks with a waistcoat or scarf as an accent piece.

  “Mr. Wagner, of course. Is there anything wrong?”

  Was there more to that question? If Alexander hadn’t known what the man was doing, would anything about him in this moment have alerted him?

  No. It wouldn’t have. Without Alena’s investigation, Alexander would never had suspected this man. Quite frankly he didn’t know him well enough, or think of him often enough, to have any insight into his mannerisms, despite the many years Absolon had been employed by his family.

  “No. I have a task for you.”

  Absolon’s brows rose above his round, gold-framed glasses. He stood and followed Alexander down the short hallway to a large unused parlor at the far end of the building. His household staff needed far less space than his Wagner Global offsite office did, but given the layout of the building, both entities had the same amount of space. It meant that everyone who managed his home, from the chef to the drivers, had space within this suite, be it an office or a bedroom. Even still, there were empty rooms, and Alexander had decided to use this small parlor, which, due to its location on the back corner of the building, had only two small windows that looked out onto another building rather than the park.

  Alexander opened the door, then forced himself to pause and let Absolon precede him in. Both Alena and Rolf had insisted on this, because they wanted Absolon to take in their carefully crafted tableau.

  Alena sat on a low stool to the right of a stately wing-backed chair, which was angled towards the ornate fireplace surround. Her head was bowed, her feet were bare, her shoes neatly beside one another and tucked off to the side. Her l
egs were tucked to the side, but her knees slightly spread, and the skirt was hiked up just enough to show off the lace tops of the stockings. It was chilly in this room, and the points of her hard nipples were clearly visible through the thin silk of the shirt.

  Nothing about her posture or position in the room was normal, but it also wasn’t overtly “BDSM slave.” She wasn’t naked, in obvious bondage, or otherwise looked like she was waiting for the cameras to start rolling on a porn shoot.

  Alexander was watching Absolon closely, and saw when he went still, and then stiffened with surprise.

  There was another possibility—that they were wrong, that Absolon was somehow being used, and that he might object to what he thought Alexander was trying to do, and would alert the authorities. Interpol was waiting to intervene if that happened.

  Alexander hoped it did. He hoped that a man he’d trusted, whom he’d let into his home, wasn’t actually associated with a group of religious extremist terrorists.

  Then again, from what Interpol had told him about these particular terrorists, they believed that women were meant to be subservient to men, that women in power was the source of much of the world’s current upheaval. If Absolon sympathized with those ideals, he likely wouldn’t object to Alexander treating her as a possession, and wouldn’t have any idea that the basis of a BDSM relationship was consent. He would think the slave auction was real, even though those people they’d invited who weren’t Interpol agents would be told it was all part of a fantasy role-play between a consenting Dom and sub.

  Alexander walked around Absolon and took the seat by Alena. He gestured to the chair across from him and Absolon walked over and sat, all without taking his eyes off of Alena.

  “This Friday, I’m holding an auction,” Alexander declared.

  Absolon jerked his head up, looking at Alexander. “An auction?”

  “Yes. For a select group of friends.” Alexander touched Alena’s chin. She raised her face, but kept her gaze lowered.

  “I see, and you’d like me to…find some pieces for you to auction off.” Alarm touched his features. “You aren’t planning to sell any of the collection, are you?”

  The man hadn’t been alarmed at the implication that Alexander was going to auction off a human, but some of the art, well, apparently that was alarming.

  Or he hadn’t gotten it yet. Alexander had never been what people would consider normal so he didn’t know how much hinting it would take a “normal” person to jump to the rather salacious conclusion he was trying to steer the man towards.

  “No. But I’d like you to organize a showing of suitable pieces to be on display in the large parlor.”

  “You want the art switched out by Friday?” Absolon’s tone made it clear he thought Alexander was stupid.

  He took a moment to consider how to react. Alexander wrapped his hand around the back of Alena’s neck, his fingers and thumb pressing the pearls gently against her throat.

  Alena whimpered as if he were choking her.

  “No,” he snapped at her, as if she were a disobedient dog.

  She stiffened briefly, and he had to hide the smile. She hated it when he used single-word commands, which meant he was going to get an earful later.

  He was looking forward to it.

  Alexander switched his attention back to Absolon, who blinked and adjusted his feet. “I will do my best—”

  “You will do what I want.” Alexander held Absolon’s gaze. “After recent events—” He applied a tiny amount of pressure and Alena cried out, then quickly switched to a soft whimper. “—I have no patience for excuses.”

  “I understand. Of course, Mr. Wagner. What, uh, what kinds of pieces would you like me to bring in?”

  “I believe I have some Japanese erotica?”

  “Uh, yes, you do. Several prints from the Kinoe no Komatsu, including a lovely one of The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife.”

  Alexander raised an eyebrow.

  “A woman being pleasured by two octopuses,” Absolon clarified.

  He owned an early version of tentacle porn? “That is…exactly what I want.”

  “Also I believe the Helmut Newton collection is back, and no longer on loan. Photographs by a German man sometimes referred to as the King of Kink. Groundbreaking for their time.” As he said kink, Absolon’s gaze slid to Alena. He frowned a little.

  He’d looked at her when he said kink, so he got it. Didn’t he? “Perfect,” Alexander said aloud.

  “How many pieces do you want?” Absolon took his phone from his pocket and started to type on it. “And do you want all the pieces in the room taken down, or just those that would need to be removed to free up wall space?”

  While Absolon was looking at his phone Alena glanced over at him and widened her eyes, in a “keep going” expression.

  Alexander cleared his throat. “I will leave the details for the decor, including the art, to the event planner, and to her.” Alexander released Alena’s neck and sat forward.

  He ran his hand down her chest, and then, while still looking at Absolon, started undoing the buttons of her shirt.

  Alena’s breath heaved, each exhale containing a small whimper. Alexander stopped when he hit the waistband of the skirt and sat back. Her shirt was now unbuttoned, but still covering her.

  Alena bowed her head, her quick breathing drawing attention to her. Those same rapid breaths making her hard nipples rise and fall under the silk of her shirt.

  “I, I look forward to discussing the details. I will review the catalogue.” Absolon was staring at Alena.

  Alexander wanted to smash the man’s face into the marble mantelpiece. Alena was his.

  Alexander wanted to spread the sides of her shirt open to show off her lovely breasts. To ensure that Absolon knew exactly how perfect she was, so the man would know exactly what it was he could never have.

  “That is all,” Alexander said after a long moment of silence.

  Absolon rose, turning away rather quickly, but not before Alexander saw that the man’s pants were visibly tented. He glanced at Alena out of the corner of his eye. She looked back at him, a smug little smile crooking the corner of her mouth.

  Absolon opened the door, cast one last look back at them—he and Alena both quickly hid their expressions—and then closed the door softly behind himself.

  Chapter 10

  Once the door closed, Alena slid off the stool and onto her knees at Alexander’s feet. She tipped her head back and looked up at him.

  “How may I please you, Sir?”

  He touched her chin, eyes searching her face. She nipped the pad at the base of his thumb to let him know that she was playing. Well, partially. She’d exaggerated her reactions to Alexander’s touch—making it seem like he was hurting or scaring her when he wasn’t.

  “I need more than what you just gave me,” she murmured. “Please.”

  “You make me feel crazy,” he whispered in reply.

  “Oh?”

  “I wanted to kill him for even daring to look at you. I also wanted to strip you, spank you, then fuck you while he watched.”

  “My black knight,” she murmured.

  “What?” He arched a brow.

  “Chivalrous and protective on one hand.” She laid her right palm on his left thigh. “But on the other you’re very dangerous. A knight in tarnished armor who will protect the fair maiden only to ravage her.” She put her other hand on his other leg, then slid them both up towards his cock, which was a nice hard bulge in his slacks.

  Alexander jerked her up onto his lap. “I hate to point this out, but you’re no virginal maiden.”

  “Thank god for that.”

  “I completely agree.” Alexander braced an arm behind her back and then pushed her upper body back over his arm. She braced her palms on his knees and let her head hang as he spread open her unbuttoned shirt to bare her breasts.

  Alena opened her eyes as his fingers plucked her nipple. She had an upside down view of the far wal
l and the doorway.

  Which was slightly ajar. A thin sliver of Absolon’s distinctive puce waistcoat was visible through the crack in the door.

  Shit.

  Alena dug her fingers into Alexander’s knee and started pressing them rhythmically—the SOS code, though she had no idea if he’d recognize it.

  He lifted her so she was astride his lap. “Alena, are you—”

  Before he could say more, she’d leaned into him, whispering frantically in his ear. “You need to hit me.”

  He grunted. “No topping from the bottom.”

  “Absolon is watching through a crack in the door; you need to make it look like you don’t like me,” she hissed.

  Alexander stilled. “Or I’ll close the door.”

  “This is a perfect opportunity,” she countered at a whisper. “But you need to do it now. Pretend we’re back in Moldova.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Alexander, you need to do this and later you can give me oral sex for several hours if it will make you feel better.”

  He huffed out a silent laugh.

  “Punish me,” she pleaded. “And not just because he’s watching.” She nipped his ear. “But because I like it. I need it.”

  “You’re mine.” He slid his hands into her hair, forcing her back enough that he could look up into her eyes. “You know that, right?”

  Alena’s heart clenched and there was a lump in her throat, but she nodded. Because what he was offering her was reassurance, in a way that made sense to him as a Dom. He had no way of knowing that for her, given how deeply in love with him she was, she wanted those words to mean so much more.

  Alexander stood, lifting her at the same time, in an impressive display of leg strength, then he pushed her away from him, very gently. Alena stumbled back, exaggerating wildly, and landed on the low ottoman in the seating area behind the two wingback chairs.

  “Hands and knees,” Alexander commanded.

  Alena resisted the urge to clasp her hands together at her breasts or throw one arm over her eyes. “Master, please, no…”

  “Hands and knees.” This time he added a snap and pointed at the ottoman, as if she were a pet he was trying to control. Alena scrambled to obey, orienting herself with her ass to the door, and then turned and bared her teeth at Alexander to make sure he knew exactly what she thought of the snap.