Her chest felt so full of anxiety and regret and rising excitement, she couldn’t draw breath. What was he doing unlocking that door? She followed after him when he pulled on her wrist and entered a room that was about twenty feet by fifteen. This space contained a whole bank of built-in cherrywood drawers and cabinets. He shut the door behind her, and she looked around. The entire far corner was lined with mirrors and a contraption of some sort with springs and harnesses and black nylon straps. She stared wide-eyed at the device, her heart starting to drum in her ears.
“Go stand in front of the couch and take off your dress.”
She tore her eyes off the intimidating device and realized there was a plush sofa on the wall opposite from the shelves and mirror. An elegant chandelier strangely didn’t look out of place on the ceiling. So like Ian to pair crystal with kink. There were also other things in the windowless room, like two hooks with straps spaced along the wall, an unusually curved tall stool sitting in front of a piece of wood affixed to the wall like a ballet bar, and a padded bench.
“Ian, what is this room?”
“It’s the room where you’ll receive your more serious punishments,” he said before he walked over to the drawers and opened one. Her eyes widened when she saw several paddles and instruments with leather straps. Her mouth went dry when he grasped the handle of the familiar-looking black leather paddle and lifted it.
Oh, no.
“I really didn’t mean to ruin the deal for you tonight,” she said in a rush.
“And I told you I knew that. I’m not punishing you because Xander LaGrange is a fucking tool. I’m going to punish you for tormenting me all night. Now didn’t I ask you to remove your dress?” he asked, the slightest hint of amusement in his dark-angel eyes when he turned to regard her, paddle in hand. His mirth vanished when she didn’t move.
“The door isn’t locked, Francesca. You can go if you choose. But if you stay, you will do as I say.”
She walked across the room, pausing in front of the couch, having trouble catching her breath. She noticed that her reflection in the mirrors across the way was pale as she reached to unzip her dress. Ian paused across the room in the action of opening another drawer as she peeled the tight garment off her skin.
Bandage dress indeed.
She hesitated when she’d removed the dress. “These, too?” she asked shakily, referring to the bra, panties, and thigh-highs she wore, along with the black lizard-skin heels.
“Just take off the bra and panties,” he said, grabbing some items from a drawer and stalking toward her. His body blocked her view, making it difficult to see what he set on the padded table in addition to the paddle as she removed the requested garments. She glimpsed only one thing before he blocked her view as he walked toward her—an item that was like a long cone-shaped tube made of black rubber, a ring affixed to the thicker end.
She focused on his hand, her clit twanging in excitement when she saw the jar of stimulant. He must have noticed where she stared—or perhaps he’d noticed her stiffening nipples—because a grim smile tilted his hard mouth.
“That’s right. I’m weak when it comes to you. Pitifully so. I can’t bear to think of your experiencing only discomfort,” he said as he unscrewed the jar. He dipped a thick finger into the white emollient and met her stare. “Even for this—when you deserve a good, hard punishment.”
She swallowed thickly. “I really am sorry, Ian,” she said, not because of the intimidating black paddle over on the table, and not because of that strange black plug she’d glimpsed.
He frowned slightly and stepped toward her. She gasped loudly as he plunged his finger between her labia, rubbing the cream into her clit with a brisk precision that made her whimper.
“I spoil you,” he said, withdrawing his hand, leaving her to burn.
“I’ll have trouble believing that in a few minutes when my butt is on fire,” she muttered.
His gaze skipped to her face. Her eyes widened when she saw his potent smile. Heat rushed between her thighs.
She watched him, anticipation rising, as he went back over to the table and removed his jacket, admiring the lean flex of muscle beneath his dress shirt. He rolled back his shirtsleeves. She caught a glimpse of strong forearms and his gold watch. Nervous excitement frothed in her belly at the sight.
He meant business.
When he returned, she immediately tried to see what was in his hand.
“Curious?” he murmured.
She nodded.
“Since I’m going to blindfold you in a moment, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” he said quietly. He held up the familiar handcuffs. “I’m going to restrain your wrists, blindfold you, and give you an over-the-knee spanking. Once your ass is nice and hot”—he held up the black rubber plug with the circular end like a pacifier handle, as well as a bottle of clear gel—“I’m going to lube up this butt plug and ready your ass for my cock.”
Her heart froze for a suspended few seconds.
“You’re going to do what?”
“You heard me,” he said as he set the lubricant and butt plug on the couch. He nodded at one of her wrists. “The front,” he said, and she put her hands together before her mons, following his concise instructions without thought, her brain in stall mode. “Surely you knew men like to do that,” he said, noticing her bewilderment.
“Even if women don’t?”
“Some women do. A great deal.”
She thought of Ian’s huge penis and made her decision then and there. It would be a punishment to take it in her ass, pure and simple, no matter the clitoral stimulant that was beginning to make her prickle and burn in pleasure. He went to the table and came back holding a long black strip of silk—the blindfold. She frowned at him for good measure as he raised his hands to tie it around her eyes.