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  But once inside, you found paradise. Kinky, expensive paradise.

  Here, Alex bought me a variety of outfits, and I was impressed with the way he seemed to know exactly the items I would have chosen for myself.

  The female clerk watched us carefully. The girl was about my age, but elegant in a way that I admired. Her hair was chestnut-hued and worn in a sleek ponytail. Her makeup was tastefully subtle to set off deep merlot-colored lips.

  Alex didn’t ask for any assistance. He slid one item after another into a pile before motioning that he was ready.

  As the clerk rang up the items, Alex added one last treat, a weapon that made the clerk’s eyebrows arch and made me suck in my breath.

  ###

  Alex obviously enjoyed the stroll through the lobby. I could tell. He held me around the waist, as if we were a courting couple, and he made sure that the crop was more than visible in the bag he carried in his free hand. We’d eaten after shopping, and then leisurely walked around the city, because that’s what I most love to do in Paris. Now, Alex was hurrying me, and I didn’t know why. Couldn’t guess, until we entered the room.

  “Call him.”

  I looked at Alex as he set the bag down on the bed and then opened the hotel door once more. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. You call him.”

  It took me a moment to figure out the time in L.A., to decide which number to dial. Then there was Jack’s voice, warm and reassuring, asking me about the flight, about the room, about the clothes.

  “I knew you’d like that store,” he said, making me wonder when he’d last been to Paris. Jealousy flickered through me as I visualized how many women he’d bought gifts for at the lingerie shop where Alex had taken me. Or how many girlfriends he’d shopped with himself.

  “When will you get here?” I asked, rather than voicing the questions in my head.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  I sighed with relief. I only had one more solo day with Alex. I could handle that.

  “Tell me what you bought.”

  I listed the items, spreading them out on the bed as I spoke. I could almost hear Jack smiling as he said, “Anything else?” So he knew. He already knew.

  “A crop.”

  “Is Alex in the room?”

  “No, Jack.”

  “I want you to get dressed in one of the new outfits, and I want you to be ready when he comes back in.”

  “Ready…” I echoed, nervous. “Ready how?”

  “You were his toy today, weren’t you? He took care of you. He played you. Tonight, he’s yours.”

  “Come on, Jack…” How did he expect me to… Why did he want me to…

  “The crop was a gift for me,” Jack said, sounding suddenly cold. “I will enjoy using it tomorrow night. But this evening, you’re in charge.”

  I laughed, so fucking nervous, unable to think straight. I was tired from traveling, but that wasn’t a good enough excuse. Jack was asking for a lot.

  “Go get dressed, like a good girl, and when he comes back to the room, I want you standing tall and strong.” Had he known I’d slumped down on the bed, fear mingling with insecurity? “I like the thought, Kid. That image is what’s going to get me through the night without you. Don’t think this is easy for me, either.”

  I looked down at the items on the bed. I needed Alex’s help to get into most of the corsets, but there was an outfit he’d slipped into the pile when I wasn’t looking. A vinyl zip-up bustier with matching skirt. Had Jack told him what to buy? Did Alex know what was coming?

  I felt as if I’d been wet for days, turned on for so long that I’d forgotten the pleasure of reaching the end.

  “Touch it,” Jack said, as if he were right next to me. “Pick it up.”

  I reached for the weapon. The crop felt heavy in my grip. Could I do this?

  “If I were there…” Jack started, and I pressed the phone hard between my shoulder and ear. “If I were there, would you be having a problem?”

  No. Shit no. He’d tell me what to do, and I’d do it. The distance had given me pause. That was all. I would have done anything to please Jack. All I had to do was look in his eyes, see the set of his jaw, feel his hand on my skin—and he owned me. So why couldn’t I be a top when he wasn’t in the room? I’d whipped Alex before, and I’d seen Jack punish him, as well…and, yeah, I’d found both scenarios sexy. I live to submit, but I can appreciate the thrill of being in charge.

  Slowly, I felt the power start to build.

  “Go get ready,” Jack said. “Go get ready, Samantha. But I want you to remember this—tomorrow night it’s going to be you.”

  ###

  “Tomorrow night it’s going to be you.”

  Those words echoed in my head as I began to get dressed. I put on the vinyl bustier, the short vinyl skirt. I found a pair of black fishnet stockings in one of the drawers, and then looked at the bottom of the closet at my row of shoes. I’d brought all-black shoes with me: my favorite patent leather penny loafers, stacked high-heels, and knee-high boots with silver buckles. These were the ones I slid on before admiring myself in the mirror.

  The only thing missing?

  The crop.

  How did Alex know to stay away so long? How did Alex know to give me time to fix my makeup, redoing my scarlet lipstick, fixing the dark kohl rim around my eyes? How did he know to wait until I could feel the power filling me up, as if I’d become an empty vessel on the flight over. As if not Jack, but Paris itself was giving me the confidence to take charge?

  He knew, of course, because Jack had told him. Because Jack had given him some sort of warning, or note, explaining that Alex would be reduced to a powerless sub come the midnight hours. You see, he was different when he returned to the room. He didn’t stride in all puffed up, giving me those wicked glances. He knocked. And not loudly, either. He knocked in a way I would have knocked. A soft rap. Hesitant. Waiting.

  I didn’t call out to him. Instead, I opened the door myself, wanting him to see me in my finery. Clothes he’d had the know-how to choose. I wanted him to see the light on my shiny outfit, wanted his eyes to roam over me, down to the crop in my hand.

  Alex hesitated, and I thought I saw him swallow hard. He waited for me to step aside, to let him into the room. In one hand, he had a small bag, and while I watched, he pulled out a bottle of liquor and set it on the bedside table. “Do you mind…” he started, and then changed mid-sentence to, “Would you like…?”

  I nodded, and Alex lifted two glasses from the bathroom and filled them each with a few inches of the amber liquid. Courage in a bottle for him? We drank in silence, the lights of the city coming through the windows into the luxurious room.

  Had he known when we’d been shopping? Had he understood what Jack had wanted from the very start? If so, then had he been intentionally—not rude—but brusque with me, hoping to raise my ire? Hoping to build me up so that I could take him down.

  Isn’t the world a strange place? Aren’t people the most bizarre creatures? We have our treasured desires. We own our little codes of pleasure. And yet, sometimes, somehow, those wires can be shorted. You know me. I’m built to bow down. I was molded to take pain—to accept the blow—and yet, with the crop in my hand, with Alex’s eyes on me, fearfully on me, waiting to see when I’d start—hell, I was a different person. Transformed.

  There were the cuffs he’d used on me on the plane, and I’d set them on the pillow. There was the blindfold. Ready, waiting. And then there were the two of us.

  “You talked to Jack?” he said the words with an uplift in his voice, a hidden smile.

  “Yeah.”

  He flushed, “So…”

  I admired him like this. Unsure of himself. Or unsure of me. I wondered how far I’d be able to go. How far I could take Alex. How far was too far.

  “Strip down,” I said finally. “Not all the way. Just to your boxers.”

  Alex set his drink on the table and started to undress. I’ve explained, I think—I hope—
how handsome he was. But I never really saw him. Not for his body or for his attractive qualities. He was someone who came with Jack. Like a set. But on this night, I watched. I paid attention, noting how he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and set it carefully on the chair. How he kicked off his shoes, undid his belt, then slid down his slacks. Never looking at me. Never making eye contact.

  What was going through his head? That’s what I wanted to know. I came closer to him, before he could do anything else, aligning my body with his, pressing against his back. I set down the crop so that I could bring my hands around his body, my fingertips dancing over his strong, broad chest. I pressed my lips against his naked skin. I felt him shiver. And then I spoke.

  “Does Jack do this to you?”

  The tremor that ran through him was fierce. Alex was always the one to ask me impertinent questions. What did Jack use on me when he spanked me—hand or belt? Did I need to be slapped for my impudence? But now, he was mine. For the night. Jack had said so. And I wanted to know. I wanted to use my power to learn what their relationship away from me was like.

  “Does he touch you softly?”

  My fingers snaked along his rib cage, then found his nipples and pinched. Alex shuddered again. God, he was good. Jack had told him—I was guessing here—to obey me. To be mine. However difficult that must have been for Alex, he was putting up far less of a fight than I had on the plane.

  “Or does he only touch you hard?”

  My fingers tightened on his nipples and Alex groaned.

  I let my hands slide down his waist. I reached around to stroke him through his boxers, feeling his erection, knowing in an instant how turned on he was. I pushed him forward, so that he took a step toward the bed. “Lie down,” I told him, “hands over your head.”

  Chapter Six: Whipping Post

  I had him bound in seconds. As someone who adores being on the receiving end of bondage, I have spent quite a lot of my life admiring cuffs of all sorts. I could definitely handle the ones that Alex had brought with him on the trip. He was still in his boxers, but that was all. His fine, muscular back tensing in anticipation. His strong legs spread slightly in a “V” on the mattress.

  The crop felt light now in my hands. A magic wand rather than a weapon. How odd. If I had been the one in Alex’s place, I would have looked upon the thing with fear. But now it was my friend, an assistant to finding out more about Jack and Alex. When Jack had given me Alex this evening, had he guessed how I would want to play? Did he think pain would be involved solely for the sake of sex? Or did he know me well enough to be sure that I’d realized what a true gift this was?

  Bluebeard’s door was open. I was stepping inside.

  Carefully, I traced the tip of the crop along Alex’s spine. So pretty. I took a sip from the glass of whiskey he’d poured, savoring the bite, and then I dragged the crop down between Alex’s asscheeks, letting him feel the point even through his boxers.

  “Does he touch you gently?” I repeated. “Or does he only touch you hard?”

  “You can answer that yourself,” he said, and I struck him once. A little wake-up call.

  “Why would I want to answer for myself when you can answer for me?”

  “I meant,” he said, eyes narrowed at me, “that there’s no reason to think he treats me any differently than he treats you.”

  I laughed at that, then struck again, quickly, several times in a row, so that Alex sucked in his breath. Christ, I could see the pleasure in this. Of course, we were playing a game. Alex could have refused to bend to my will. He could have overpowered me in a second. But I knew that he wouldn’t. Jack had given him instructions—as he had given them to me—and Alex lived for Jack.

  Still, I wondered how far I could go. How much I could torture him. Not physically, but mentally.

  “Don’t lie to me,” I told him. “You’re an extension of Jack. You’re his right-hand man. When he can’t be there, he sends you. You’re not on the ground next to me, kissing his feet, unless he wants you there. Most of the time, you are elevated, on a pedestal, right by his side. I want to know what it’s like when you’re alone with him. Do you fuck him? Or does he fuck you?”

  “Come on, Sam.”

  It was quite the little speech. Had I rehearsed the words in my head? Not knowingly. But I’d wondered. Every time we played together, the three of us, there was a power shift. Alex changed the dynamics simply by being there.

  Did Jack bow down to him behind closed doors? That’s what I wanted to know. I don’t know why. I had images, visions of what the two of them would be like when I was absent. Were they equals? Did Jack have an equal? I couldn’t see that. I couldn’t believe it.

  My plaything was thinking. I watched his eyes. He was trying to figure out how much to tell me. Or how to phrase what he was planning on saying. I didn’t want to give him the time to think. I struck again, and then, slowly, sweetly, climbed onto the bed and pulled down the boxer shorts, admiring the lines I’d driven into his flesh. Admiring the pure strength of his body. Strength he was containing—not for me, but for Jack.

  “Count,” I said, because counting would keep his mind off the rest.

  I stood by the bed. I looked at his face. His eyes were unreadable now. He’d gone somewhere else. Was he imagining that I was Jack, punishing him for some unknown indiscretion? Or was he accepting of my authority, even if I only had the power for one night?

  I knew what it was like to be in Alex’s place. I knew what he was going through, and I relished every fucking second. We reached twenty before I stopped. Before I gave him a breather. I ran one hand over his heated skin. I pet him, knowing that my palm would soothe the sting.

  “You fuck him,” I said, deciding on it. “You go to his office sometimes, when nobody’s there, and he tells you how to do it. You fuck him against the windows. Splayed. He gives himself over to you.”

  No response.

  “You use his own belt on him. Don’t you? He tells you how hard to strike. How much to make it hurt.”

  He didn’t say yes, and he didn’t say no. He was gone, still, eyes wet, expression immobile. If I said the wrong thing, would he be off the bed? Would he overpower me, even with his wrists bound together. Would he take charge?

  No. Jack had bound him with a command. Alex was a far better sub than I was, much more obedient in so many ways. He would have been meek on the plane. He would have taken any change in plans in stride. And look at me. I pouted. I squirmed. I demanded to know things that weren’t mine for the knowing.

  Like this: “Does he touch you gently, or does he only touch you rough?”

  “What the fuck does it matter?” Alex said, and I smirked at him. He didn’t like me repeating things. I got that. He didn’t like me pushing. But was there something deep down in him that wanted to share? My life with Jack was open for Alex’s viewing. He not only saw our day-to-day routine, he co-starred in it. I was curious about the time before me, or the times when I wasn’t with the two of them.

  I wanted to know.

  “It matters,” I said, shrugging. “It matters to me.”

  “Then ask Jack.”

  “He gave me you.”

  “For one night,” Alex countered. “One night.”

  “Did you know that on the plane? When you were messing with me, did you know that we’d be here, like this? When you bought that crop, did you know I was going to use it on you?”

  Alex wouldn’t look at me. But I didn’t mind. We had all night.

  Chapter Seven: Love Struck

  Pain is the center of all of my pleasure. The source, like blood through my veins. But it’s not only the ritual of being spanked, or the torment of being bound, or the concept of submitting to someone else’s power. The desire runs deeper for me. My whole world revolves around the simple concept of “taking it.” I am small and slim, but I can steel myself to accept all sorts of cruelty. Of malice. Of the most decadent type of agony.

  Yet being in control made me wet.

/>   I’d dabbled in this role occasionally, for Jack’s sake. I had stepped hesitantly into the shoes of a Dom as if sliding on one of the sexy little costumes that hung in my closet. Without Jack in the room, things were different. I was only playing this part due to Jack’s request, but with him physically absent, the atmosphere felt charged in a whole new way.

  I wondered, when Jack arrived, which one of us he would debrief first. Would he call me to him, set me on his lap, and let me spill my side of the story? Or would he take Alex out to a bar, some manly watering hole, and learn his version over shots of hard liquor?

  Did it really matter? Were we down to “Who does Jack love more?” Was that what this was truly all about?

  No. I didn’t care. I mean that. I was only curious. I wanted to know what went on with these two men when I wasn’t present. I wanted to know what happened between them when I was out of sight.

  And Alex didn’t look as if he gave a damn about what I wanted. The strokes on his skin were nothing compared to what Jack had done to him at Juliette’s club. Still, I pressed on.

  “How did it start?”

  “What, Sam?” he sounded weary. But when I bent over the bed and slid one hand under his body, I could feel how deliciously hard he was. He groaned and tried to pull away, but I stroked him forcefully, and he started to buck against my hand. I was turned on, almost indescribably so. I thought about what it would feel like to have him roll over, to interrogate him between long, luscious licks of his cock. But that wasn’t what I needed. Reluctantly, I moved back from the bed and returned to my questioning, crop dancing in my hand.

  “The two of you. How did it start?”

  He gave me a look of total disbelief. “You’re not serious. That’s what keeps you up at night? How Jack and I met?”

  I traced the tip of the crop under Alex’s chin, so that he raised his head up toward the ceiling. Then I bent down and kissed him—feeling totally out of control, and not sure how to regain my balance. Alex kissed me back, surprising me. I’d thought he would pull away. I’d thought he would refuse. His lips were warm on mine, and I lost myself for a moment in the kiss. Lost myself until he bit my bottom lip hard, and I had to pull away.