Until I Break
Page 17
After I park and cut the engine, I get out and walk around to let Samantha out of the car. I reach for the domino between her fingers. I put it into place. She adjusts it slightly and then looks up to meet my eyes. There’s anxiety in them, as well as in the smile she gives me. It tells me that Samantha Jansen is with me right now. Laura Drake is nowhere to be found. It makes me wonder if she’ll ever make an appearance or if she is more of a fictional person than I realize.
After I slide my own domino into place, I take Samantha’s hand and place it on the inside of my arm as we walk to the front of the building.
Like many others, this house, loaded with all the Southern architectural charm that Charleston is known for, was long ago converted into a business. Beyond the wide steps and charming veranda lie a restaurant and bar areas that occupy the entire lower level. It’s neither known to nor frequented by the general public. Only established and thoroughly vetted members are permitted through the subtly secured front doors. While it appears we are able to walk right in, I happen to know there are cameras on us, as well as the eyes of several seemingly casual observers who are actually high-end bouncers. They are in place to ensure that the “club” remains exclusive and discreet.
And largely undiscovered.
I lead Samantha to the bar and order both of us a martini, extra dirty. She doesn’t argue when I push the stem of the glass into her fingers. She merely eyes me over the rim as she takes a sip. I see her top lip curl slightly at the harsh bite of alcohol and I suppress a smile. She really is mostly Samantha.
We stand in front of the elegant bar, beneath the elegant chandelier, inside the elegant club until Samantha has looked around and I feel the tension leave her stiff spine. When the muscles relax beneath my palm, I speak.
“Let me show you around.”
She smiles another small smile, takes another sip of her drink, sets it down and then nods in agreement. I lead her toward the long, winding staircase with its rich mahogany railing and thick oriental runner, and we slowly ascend it. My pulse is already quickening with thoughts of what’s to come.
At the top of the stairs, there is a hallway to the left and right, as well as another set of steps that leads to the third floor. But for us, for tonight, I think this floor will suffice.
When I motion Samantha to the right, she turns slowly in that direction. I wonder if she’s noticing the subtle changes as we walk toward the hall—the dimmer lighting, the darker colors, the thick panels covering the walls, panels designed specifically to absorb sound.
At the mouth of the hall, there are three doors—one left, one right and one straight ahead. I happen to know the ones on the left and right are bathrooms. It’s the one directly in front of us that I’m most interested in.
I twist the knob and push open the door. I urge Samantha through into another hallway. When I close the insulated door behind us, the low tones of conversation, the delicate tinkle of glass and the soft music from the floor below are all immediately deadened.
I take Samantha’s hand and lead her slowly forward. Doors line the corridor ahead, the first of which is closed. Even though the soft moans assure me it’s occupied, the closed door signals their desire for privacy. No one in the club would dare violate that. The rules are strict and absolute.
“Tell me, Samantha,” I begin, leading her on, “have you ever been to a place where you can have anything you want? Where anything you desire is not only acceptable, but obtainable?”
She doesn’t answer me, but I feel her fingers tighten around mine. The next door we approach is open. I let Samantha move slightly ahead of me, sliding my hand over her hip to bring her to a stop and then moving in to stand behind her. Looking over her shoulder, I see the man and woman inside. I think to myself this is a good first look for her.
The room is windowless and dominated by an enormous mattress draped in black. There is a woman lying atop it, spread eagle. Around her wrists and ankles are black leather cuffs attached to chains which are anchored to the floor. There are candles dripping with thick rivulets of hot wax placed all around the bed. They’ve been used, as I can see by the streaks of dried, blood-red wax on her stomach, thighs and breasts. Kneeling on the bed, with his head between her legs, is a man.
“Some people like to be watched,” I whisper into Samantha’s ear before I press my lips to her neck. As if triggered by my words, the woman on the bed turns her head to look at us. I recognize her. Her mouth is open in a silent moan and her eyes are wide behind her domino. I hear Samantha’s soft gasp when Carla’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. Her moan becomes louder and she twists against her restraints. The man between her legs moves his arm, pushing something he’s holding in his hand deep inside her, in and out. Her next moan is partly a laugh as she arches her back and throws her head back in ecstasy.
I turn Samantha away from the room, back toward the hall and all its doorways, and we walk to the next one. Inside it is a woman, bound and gagged, on all fours in the center of a bare floor. Behind her is a man, gripping her hip with one hand and slapping her bright pink ass with the other as he thrusts into her. The woman moans and grunts behind her gag.
“Others like to be spanked,” I explain. I move Samantha on to the next door. “It’s impossible to know what you like until you try…everything.”
We pass three more doors, each one making me harder and harder, thinking of Samantha in the various positions, bound and completely under my control. And loving it. Giving me orgasm after orgasm as I work her body in ways she never dreamed.
When we reach the last set of rooms, two of them are empty. One has a bed with smooth, clean, black sheets that would be the perfect backdrop for Samantha’s pale skin and vibrant hair. The second is a smaller room with hooks on the wall and floor, as well as chains suspended from the ceiling. I can also easily picture Samantha here. Against the wall. Facing away. Chained and unable to move. Her dressed unzipped all the way to her delicious ass. Her skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat. And me. Behind her. Pumping into her. My fingers biting into her flesh. Her moans filling the air. Her body squeezing around mine.
“Let me show you how good I can make you feel,” I say, moving around in front of her, tugging her with me as I back into the room.
A muffled scream echoes down the hall. I know no one is being hurt. Not really. Everyone here is consensual.
Samantha stops. I see her chest rise and fall quickly with her accelerated breathing. I see the unusual pallor of her skin. I see the look of terror in her eyes. I see the tremor of her lower lip. This is beyond the fear I wanted her to feel. A fear like this won’t allow pleasure to pass. And that’s not what I’m into at all.
“I won’t hurt you, Samantha,” I pledge quietly, stepping closer to her, reaching up to take her chin between my fingers. It trembles in my grasp. “This is all about pleasure, pleasure you’ve never known before, pleasure I want to introduce you to. A little fear can heighten the senses; a little pain can feel like ecstasy. Would you like me to show you?”
As I watch her in her silence, I see something surge to the surface, breaking through her upset. It’s something unwanted.
Emotional pain. And, with it, tears.
“What’s the m—”
“Get me out of here,” she says so softly I can hardly hear her.
“Samantha, I—”
“Please, Alec,” she pleads, her voice quivering with barely suppressed distress. “Take me home. Right. Now.”
“Okay,” I say immediately. “We’ll go home. There’s no reason for you to be upset. I—”
“No, not we. Me. I want to go to my house. Alone. I’ll get my car tomorrow.”
I feel the frown settle over my forehead. “Samantha, I—”
Before I can even really begin to apologize and explain, she’s turning and heading for the door. She practically runs down the hall toward the exit. I reach her before she can yank open the door.
“Samantha, stop!” I hiss quietly. “I’ll take you home. Just calm down. Don’t forget that we aren’t alone.”
I don’t want anyone thinking I’ve brought an unwilling person to the club and I don’t want to draw any undue attention to her. To either of us.
She won’t meet my eyes, but I hear her take a deep, shaky breath as she reaches for the door knob. More steadily. She turns it and steps through, pausing only long enough for me to close it behind us, and then she’s heading for the stairs.
She descends them calmly and makes her way toward the front door without appearing to be running for her life, which I get the feeling she thinks she is. But when we are outside, away from curious eyes, she takes off at a sprint toward the car.
I walk slowly in her wake, giving her the space she obviously needs. Meanwhile, all sorts of things are going through my head, all sorts of theories and unanswered questions. I’m already formulating new analyses to add to my Laura Drake file, and I’m mulling the new insights I’ve been given to Samantha Jansen. She’s quite the contradiction.
She seemed so ready, so open to me. How could I have been so wrong?
I hit the button to unlock the doors and Samantha ducks inside before I can reach the car to open the door for her. I don’t suppress my sigh.
After I slide in behind the wheel, I start the engine and get us back on the road to her place before I speak. I figure she needs distance from the club before she’ll feel any better.
“What happened back there?” I ask finally. When she says nothing, I continue. “You can tell me. I want to know your feelings about it.” Still she says nothing. “Samantha, I—”
“You said you would help me,” she interrupts, anger and hurt oozing from her tone. “But you don’t want to help me. All you want is a toy. A sick, twisted sexual toy to play with in your little clubhouse. Why did I ever trust you?” she cries, her voice breaking on the last word.
“I was up front with you from the beginning,” I reply, my tone harsh. And honest. “You can hardly blame me because you bit off more than you could chew. I told you what I wanted. I told you what you could expect.”
“You never told me to expect that.”
“It’s not like I took you there to cut you or hurt you, for God’s sake. It’s harmless, every bit of it. Any venue that conducts activities more extreme is not going to be found in such an…open location. Those places are hidden. And for good reason.”
“And I’m sure you know about all of them,” she says waspishly.
“I might like a little bondage and a little domination, but I’m hardly a sadist. Maybe all this judgment would be better served turned inwardly.”
“Oh trust me,” she retorts, her eyes flashing in the dim dashboard lights. “I’ve looked inwardly most of my life. I’ve had to come to terms with a whole lot of stuff that someone like you wouldn’t know the first thing about. That doesn’t change the facts. You’re a predator. You take nice girls and you turn them into the main attraction at a freak show.”
“I don’t turn anybody into anything. I simply unlock doors and…set things free.”
“Put whatever pretty face you want to on it. It won’t change the truth.”
“I’ve never tried to hide the fact that when I see a beautiful woman, I want to show her things, things that will set her insides on fire. But we burn together. It’s never about harming anyone. It’s about pleasure. It’s all about pleasure.”
“And I bet you don’t even try to fight this…this…sickness.”
Her comment tweaks a raw nerve. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I snap coldly. “Don’t pretend you know me. Because you don’t. You don’t know what my life has been like. You don’t know the things I’ve experienced. Believe me, I’ve had good reason to fight this. And I’ve managed quite well for a long time now. But I wanted you. That was my mistake.”
When I glance at her, I look quickly away, gripping the steering wheel tighter. I see that the hurt has returned, replacing the fire and the anger. And I know she’d probably never guess how much it bothers me to see it there.
I close my eyes against the hauntingly beautiful face of Alyssa—the one person I feel like I’ll never be able to escape.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - Samantha
I can’t write. I can’t sleep. I can’t really think. Not for long anyway. And not about very many topics. Everything gets ousted from my head by thoughts of Alec Brand.
It’s been three weeks since that horrible night. I’ve relived it a dozen times every day, changing some little thing each time, wishing it had turned out differently.
My reaction, my rejection of him and what he shared with me, is something that I fear in life—to be labeled a freak and shunned. To be judged harshly. And to think that I did that to someone else makes me feel physically ill. Yet I can’t bring myself to call him.
The fact that he hasn’t reached out to me speaks volumes. I haven’t logged on to any of our sessions, but I’m sure he hasn’t either. Not that I would’ve expected anything different. That night, when he brought me home, I got out without a word, slammed the door and hurried straight into the house. That’s how I left things.
Idiot!
I really don’t feel like being in public today. If this hadn’t begun as my idea, I’d have gotten Ari to cancel it. But it was, so I can’t.
I’m appearing at an independent bookstore today. It’s a place I’ve visited on and off for years as Samantha Jansen. When I saw that the shop was in trouble, I asked Ari to approach her about us doing a signing there to get her some new traffic.
After I slide my own domino into place, I take Samantha’s hand and place it on the inside of my arm as we walk to the front of the building.
Like many others, this house, loaded with all the Southern architectural charm that Charleston is known for, was long ago converted into a business. Beyond the wide steps and charming veranda lie a restaurant and bar areas that occupy the entire lower level. It’s neither known to nor frequented by the general public. Only established and thoroughly vetted members are permitted through the subtly secured front doors. While it appears we are able to walk right in, I happen to know there are cameras on us, as well as the eyes of several seemingly casual observers who are actually high-end bouncers. They are in place to ensure that the “club” remains exclusive and discreet.
And largely undiscovered.
I lead Samantha to the bar and order both of us a martini, extra dirty. She doesn’t argue when I push the stem of the glass into her fingers. She merely eyes me over the rim as she takes a sip. I see her top lip curl slightly at the harsh bite of alcohol and I suppress a smile. She really is mostly Samantha.
We stand in front of the elegant bar, beneath the elegant chandelier, inside the elegant club until Samantha has looked around and I feel the tension leave her stiff spine. When the muscles relax beneath my palm, I speak.
“Let me show you around.”
She smiles another small smile, takes another sip of her drink, sets it down and then nods in agreement. I lead her toward the long, winding staircase with its rich mahogany railing and thick oriental runner, and we slowly ascend it. My pulse is already quickening with thoughts of what’s to come.
At the top of the stairs, there is a hallway to the left and right, as well as another set of steps that leads to the third floor. But for us, for tonight, I think this floor will suffice.
When I motion Samantha to the right, she turns slowly in that direction. I wonder if she’s noticing the subtle changes as we walk toward the hall—the dimmer lighting, the darker colors, the thick panels covering the walls, panels designed specifically to absorb sound.
At the mouth of the hall, there are three doors—one left, one right and one straight ahead. I happen to know the ones on the left and right are bathrooms. It’s the one directly in front of us that I’m most interested in.
I twist the knob and push open the door. I urge Samantha through into another hallway. When I close the insulated door behind us, the low tones of conversation, the delicate tinkle of glass and the soft music from the floor below are all immediately deadened.
I take Samantha’s hand and lead her slowly forward. Doors line the corridor ahead, the first of which is closed. Even though the soft moans assure me it’s occupied, the closed door signals their desire for privacy. No one in the club would dare violate that. The rules are strict and absolute.
“Tell me, Samantha,” I begin, leading her on, “have you ever been to a place where you can have anything you want? Where anything you desire is not only acceptable, but obtainable?”
She doesn’t answer me, but I feel her fingers tighten around mine. The next door we approach is open. I let Samantha move slightly ahead of me, sliding my hand over her hip to bring her to a stop and then moving in to stand behind her. Looking over her shoulder, I see the man and woman inside. I think to myself this is a good first look for her.
The room is windowless and dominated by an enormous mattress draped in black. There is a woman lying atop it, spread eagle. Around her wrists and ankles are black leather cuffs attached to chains which are anchored to the floor. There are candles dripping with thick rivulets of hot wax placed all around the bed. They’ve been used, as I can see by the streaks of dried, blood-red wax on her stomach, thighs and breasts. Kneeling on the bed, with his head between her legs, is a man.
“Some people like to be watched,” I whisper into Samantha’s ear before I press my lips to her neck. As if triggered by my words, the woman on the bed turns her head to look at us. I recognize her. Her mouth is open in a silent moan and her eyes are wide behind her domino. I hear Samantha’s soft gasp when Carla’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. Her moan becomes louder and she twists against her restraints. The man between her legs moves his arm, pushing something he’s holding in his hand deep inside her, in and out. Her next moan is partly a laugh as she arches her back and throws her head back in ecstasy.
I turn Samantha away from the room, back toward the hall and all its doorways, and we walk to the next one. Inside it is a woman, bound and gagged, on all fours in the center of a bare floor. Behind her is a man, gripping her hip with one hand and slapping her bright pink ass with the other as he thrusts into her. The woman moans and grunts behind her gag.
“Others like to be spanked,” I explain. I move Samantha on to the next door. “It’s impossible to know what you like until you try…everything.”
We pass three more doors, each one making me harder and harder, thinking of Samantha in the various positions, bound and completely under my control. And loving it. Giving me orgasm after orgasm as I work her body in ways she never dreamed.
When we reach the last set of rooms, two of them are empty. One has a bed with smooth, clean, black sheets that would be the perfect backdrop for Samantha’s pale skin and vibrant hair. The second is a smaller room with hooks on the wall and floor, as well as chains suspended from the ceiling. I can also easily picture Samantha here. Against the wall. Facing away. Chained and unable to move. Her dressed unzipped all the way to her delicious ass. Her skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat. And me. Behind her. Pumping into her. My fingers biting into her flesh. Her moans filling the air. Her body squeezing around mine.
“Let me show you how good I can make you feel,” I say, moving around in front of her, tugging her with me as I back into the room.
A muffled scream echoes down the hall. I know no one is being hurt. Not really. Everyone here is consensual.
Samantha stops. I see her chest rise and fall quickly with her accelerated breathing. I see the unusual pallor of her skin. I see the look of terror in her eyes. I see the tremor of her lower lip. This is beyond the fear I wanted her to feel. A fear like this won’t allow pleasure to pass. And that’s not what I’m into at all.
“I won’t hurt you, Samantha,” I pledge quietly, stepping closer to her, reaching up to take her chin between my fingers. It trembles in my grasp. “This is all about pleasure, pleasure you’ve never known before, pleasure I want to introduce you to. A little fear can heighten the senses; a little pain can feel like ecstasy. Would you like me to show you?”
As I watch her in her silence, I see something surge to the surface, breaking through her upset. It’s something unwanted.
Emotional pain. And, with it, tears.
“What’s the m—”
“Get me out of here,” she says so softly I can hardly hear her.
“Samantha, I—”
“Please, Alec,” she pleads, her voice quivering with barely suppressed distress. “Take me home. Right. Now.”
“Okay,” I say immediately. “We’ll go home. There’s no reason for you to be upset. I—”
“No, not we. Me. I want to go to my house. Alone. I’ll get my car tomorrow.”
I feel the frown settle over my forehead. “Samantha, I—”
Before I can even really begin to apologize and explain, she’s turning and heading for the door. She practically runs down the hall toward the exit. I reach her before she can yank open the door.
“Samantha, stop!” I hiss quietly. “I’ll take you home. Just calm down. Don’t forget that we aren’t alone.”
I don’t want anyone thinking I’ve brought an unwilling person to the club and I don’t want to draw any undue attention to her. To either of us.
She won’t meet my eyes, but I hear her take a deep, shaky breath as she reaches for the door knob. More steadily. She turns it and steps through, pausing only long enough for me to close it behind us, and then she’s heading for the stairs.
She descends them calmly and makes her way toward the front door without appearing to be running for her life, which I get the feeling she thinks she is. But when we are outside, away from curious eyes, she takes off at a sprint toward the car.
I walk slowly in her wake, giving her the space she obviously needs. Meanwhile, all sorts of things are going through my head, all sorts of theories and unanswered questions. I’m already formulating new analyses to add to my Laura Drake file, and I’m mulling the new insights I’ve been given to Samantha Jansen. She’s quite the contradiction.
She seemed so ready, so open to me. How could I have been so wrong?
I hit the button to unlock the doors and Samantha ducks inside before I can reach the car to open the door for her. I don’t suppress my sigh.
After I slide in behind the wheel, I start the engine and get us back on the road to her place before I speak. I figure she needs distance from the club before she’ll feel any better.
“What happened back there?” I ask finally. When she says nothing, I continue. “You can tell me. I want to know your feelings about it.” Still she says nothing. “Samantha, I—”
“You said you would help me,” she interrupts, anger and hurt oozing from her tone. “But you don’t want to help me. All you want is a toy. A sick, twisted sexual toy to play with in your little clubhouse. Why did I ever trust you?” she cries, her voice breaking on the last word.
“I was up front with you from the beginning,” I reply, my tone harsh. And honest. “You can hardly blame me because you bit off more than you could chew. I told you what I wanted. I told you what you could expect.”
“You never told me to expect that.”
“It’s not like I took you there to cut you or hurt you, for God’s sake. It’s harmless, every bit of it. Any venue that conducts activities more extreme is not going to be found in such an…open location. Those places are hidden. And for good reason.”
“And I’m sure you know about all of them,” she says waspishly.
“I might like a little bondage and a little domination, but I’m hardly a sadist. Maybe all this judgment would be better served turned inwardly.”
“Oh trust me,” she retorts, her eyes flashing in the dim dashboard lights. “I’ve looked inwardly most of my life. I’ve had to come to terms with a whole lot of stuff that someone like you wouldn’t know the first thing about. That doesn’t change the facts. You’re a predator. You take nice girls and you turn them into the main attraction at a freak show.”
“I don’t turn anybody into anything. I simply unlock doors and…set things free.”
“Put whatever pretty face you want to on it. It won’t change the truth.”
“I’ve never tried to hide the fact that when I see a beautiful woman, I want to show her things, things that will set her insides on fire. But we burn together. It’s never about harming anyone. It’s about pleasure. It’s all about pleasure.”
“And I bet you don’t even try to fight this…this…sickness.”
Her comment tweaks a raw nerve. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I snap coldly. “Don’t pretend you know me. Because you don’t. You don’t know what my life has been like. You don’t know the things I’ve experienced. Believe me, I’ve had good reason to fight this. And I’ve managed quite well for a long time now. But I wanted you. That was my mistake.”
When I glance at her, I look quickly away, gripping the steering wheel tighter. I see that the hurt has returned, replacing the fire and the anger. And I know she’d probably never guess how much it bothers me to see it there.
I close my eyes against the hauntingly beautiful face of Alyssa—the one person I feel like I’ll never be able to escape.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - Samantha
I can’t write. I can’t sleep. I can’t really think. Not for long anyway. And not about very many topics. Everything gets ousted from my head by thoughts of Alec Brand.
It’s been three weeks since that horrible night. I’ve relived it a dozen times every day, changing some little thing each time, wishing it had turned out differently.
My reaction, my rejection of him and what he shared with me, is something that I fear in life—to be labeled a freak and shunned. To be judged harshly. And to think that I did that to someone else makes me feel physically ill. Yet I can’t bring myself to call him.
The fact that he hasn’t reached out to me speaks volumes. I haven’t logged on to any of our sessions, but I’m sure he hasn’t either. Not that I would’ve expected anything different. That night, when he brought me home, I got out without a word, slammed the door and hurried straight into the house. That’s how I left things.
Idiot!
I really don’t feel like being in public today. If this hadn’t begun as my idea, I’d have gotten Ari to cancel it. But it was, so I can’t.
I’m appearing at an independent bookstore today. It’s a place I’ve visited on and off for years as Samantha Jansen. When I saw that the shop was in trouble, I asked Ari to approach her about us doing a signing there to get her some new traffic.
