"That's the point," he breathed against her skin, a little laugh in his voice. "You of all people should be familiar with torture." He let his mouth linger a moment longer, and then sat up, watching her as he did so. Pine thought she looked vulnerable and at the same time delicious, dark lashes fluttering as she looked through them at him.
"My turn," she managed, and took a breath before shifting to his near shoulder. He felt her teeth nip lightly through it-nowhere near the bite she'd given him before—but his body reacted pleasurably to the pinch of pain, making his face flush. Pine held still. Sable pressed her mouth and blew heated breath into the cloth all the way to his collar, where she used her teeth again to tug it open. "Here's where the scent of you drives me wild," came her whisper.
He gritted his teeth, determined to stay still and savor the sensations. The tickle of her hair and the moist touch of her mouth had him hyper-ware and almost into that strange quiet zone that was becoming familiar to him. Pine felt her soft kiss pressing against the sensitive patch just under his ear, that lightest touch holding his focus, keeping him acutely aware of her nearness.
"I want to go further," Sable breathed ever so softly, "and really kiss you."
Christ! It was on the tip of his tongue to say 'yes, Mistress,' but Pine managed to murmur, "please," instead.
Sable shifted herself and tipped her face, bringing her lips to his with agonizing slowness, settling her mouth on his like a shadow touching a wall.
So soft, so light and yet so powerful, Pine thought through his haze. Restraint and passion from both of them as they did no more than this for long minutes.
Just as the little silk flick of her tongue slid along the seam of his mouth, the startling jingle broke the mood. On the kitchen table, a mobile—Simone's—began to vibrate.
"Ignore it!" Pine urged in a whisper against her mouth, still feeling intoxicated.
"That's the hotel," she sighed. "Probably about Senor Albrecht. I have to get it, Jonathan."
He uttered a curse; she smiled in crooked sympathy and peeled herself off the sofa to fetch the device. Pine closed his eyes, trying to manage his erotic frustration as Sable spoke, her own voice none too steady. "Doctor Sable here."
She listened for a few moments, pacing a little and after a few affirmative murmurs hung up with a hard jab of her thumb. Turning, Sable gave a humorless chuckle. "That was my uncle with some bad news-guess who was a moderately famous children's author?"
Pine paled. "No."
"Yes. The media are already sniffing out details about Senor Albrecht's passing and looking for a hotel spokesperson. I think we both need to get to work." She came over and leaned down, brushing her nose against his before kissing him softly. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't want to go."
"Neither do I," he grunted. "Promise me we'll have this weekend."
"I promise," Sable replied quickly. "If we make it through the next two nights we'll need it."
-oo00oo-
The death of Gerhart Albrecht, beloved author of the world-famous Welt de Blasen children's series made international news, and Pine found his hands full with rush of attention as reporters from all over the world showed up at Castelo Do Mar to do segments and look for interviews. Hints of Albrecht's personal proclivities from past gossip became a point of interest, and the hotel was forced to issue a staff-wide memorandum gently reminding all employees about their binding agreements on privacy and non-disclosure. Some of the more unethical reporters from the tabloids went so far as to offer bribes, but Pine was pleased that none of the staff of the hotel even considered taking them.
He knew Sable, too, had been hounded for comments concerning the death and had refused to cooperate, directing all questions to the coroner of the local police department. By Friday most of the reporters had gone and only a handful of stuffed animals and flowers were left out along the fountain at the entrance to the hotel. Pine found Lucky there early on Friday evening, looking at the slightly damp display with interest. He came and stood next her.
"It's a dead thing," she told him, pointing. "For when somebody dies."
"A memorial," Pine agreed. "Are you all right?" He knew Lucky's grandmother was at the pool, not far away, but he liked to keep an eye on the six-year-old once it got dark.
"Yes. I saw one before," Lucky said. "It had candles though."
Pine laid a hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes they do."
"Ours was bigger," she went on. "Grandma and me put pictures of Mama and Papa in the middle, and some of the cards that came in the mail. And I did a drawing of fish because Mama always liked my fish pictures. I tried to do a cat for Papa but it didn't look good. I'm gooder at cats now."
Pine stayed very still. He looked at Lucky, who looked up at him steadily. "Oh Lucky . . . . I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," she patted his hip. "I was just little back then. Can I do a picture for this one?"
"Yes," Pine told her very softly. "I'm sure Senor Albrecht would like that."
She ended up doing three drawings using the hotel stationary, pens and high-lighters from his desk, and Pine stared at the one Lucky had given to him for a long time. It was a tiger, crude but dynamic, with extended claws and long whiskers, leaping high, with butterfly wings on his back helping him to soar, apparently.
A simple thing, but Pine smoothed a hand over it, struck by the attention to detail his little guest had put into her art; the care she'd taken in printing his name at the top: For MR. Pine followed by a smiley face.
His throat ached a bit at the thought of a six-year-old already knowing about death; already accepting such a huge loss in her life. Pine wondered if her name had come from that time.
Fatigue seeped through him, not just limited to the physical. Pine felt mentally and emotionally exhausted as well, overwhelmed with no time to process any of the conflicted feelings stirring within him. The urge to get on his bike and simply ride off kept popping into his head, tempting him. It would be so easy to quit and do that; he'd done it before in bleaker times of his life.
And yet . . . and yet there was Simone.
If anyone would understand his mood at the moment, she would be the one, Pine acknowledged to himself. Someone who had seen other sides of his personality, who knew what a life in the service industry could do to a person who was always at the beck and call of the customer.
He rubbed his eyes and set the artwork under the clear blotter of his desk, feeling a yawn work his jaw as he stood and stretched. Pine tidied the invoices and made a last sweep of his office before checking the mailboxes outside the office. When his fingers touched an envelope, he paused, and pulled it out.
It held four queens and a post-it note: choose
Pine took in a quick breath and fanned them out, looking over his hand consideringly. The sight of them was enough to make him feel better, and he took his time thinking about what he wanted.
No. What he needed, he thought with a little sigh of relief.
"Your majesty," Pine murmured, and pulled one queen up above the others. He kissed her lightly, and slipped her back into the envelope and tucked it Simone Sable's mailbox. The other three went into his pocket as he turned and walked away, his steps lighter now.
-oo00oo-
Of course she had handcuffs.
Pine took a breath, flexing his hands in the padded bands around his wrists. The mattress was comfortable, as was the width of the headboard to which he was cuffed. He looked down the length of his body at Sable, who was finishing off the last tie for his left ankle, checking the Velcro cuff around it carefully.
"Look at you," she murmured with affection, patting his leg. "All tied up on my bed with no place to go. You're one big dish of dessert,boy."
He said nothing, his mouth a little dry. Pine felt heat in the pit of his stomach, and thin tension through his body, all too aware of being naked. Physically, yes, but in other ways as well. He swallowed but it didn't do much.
Sable came over and leaned down, catching his gaze and holding it. Her hair was down again, and long dark strands brushed his chest as she did so. "Are you ready for this, toy of mine? Do you know what to say if you want me to stop?"
"I'm . . . ready," Pine murmured, "Mistress Sable."
She reached over and stroked his cheek, her cool fingers light on his skin. "Yes," she agreed. "I think you nearly are. So vulnerable, boy of mine. So open and unprotected right now. I have all of you to look at and touch; tease and play with."
Something about her words, about the way she said them made Pine take a slow, deep breath. He watched her pull a scarf from the dresser drawer and fold it into thirds. "I'm going to block your sight for a little while, plaything. Will that be enjoyable?"
He nodded his head, but she waited until Pine managed, "Yes, Mistress Sable" before she came over and slipped the silky material around his eyes. The scarf was dark with little white roses on it, and smelt faintly of perfume. Pine felt her tie it off near his right temple. "Comfortable?"
"Yes."
A quick pinch to a nipple jolted him, and he added, "Mistress Sable!" as the spike of pleasure raced through his body. Pine felt his cock thicken a bit in quick reflex.
"Better. I know you don't want to be punished . . . or do you?" came her slow question. Now that he couldn't see her, Pine tried to focus on her voice instead, on the way it soothed and excited him at the same time, left him feeling wonderfully hazy.
Hands slid along his torso so lightly that he had to fight his urge to squirm. Pine felt Sable's touch move down his ribs to linger along his hipbones. "Oh you luscious thing, you. I can touch you . . . anywhere I want."
Pine waited in sweet anticipation, feeling a wave of chill over his body as he did so. When Sable's fingers moved away, he worked his jaw, wondering when and where she would caress him next. The soft scent of something floral hung in the air. His hands in their cuffs fisted up.
"You need a little . . . decoration, I think. We're celebrating this lovely moment of your giving into me, boy. Letting me have my slow and deliberate way with you, aren't we?"
So easy now. "Yes, Mistress."
A sudden prickle up one thigh made him flinch; the sensation wasn't painful per se, just unexpected, little stings moving up the long muscle. At the same time, Pine felt a hand caress his half-hard cock, and the combination pulled a soft moan from him. Good. God, it felt amazing to lie there and simply savor the sensation.
It came again, a racing sting across the muscles under his navel, just skirting the edge of his pubic hair, and a light stroke along his shaft, followed by long moments of sweet uncertainty. Where would the next touch come? Pine began to lose track of time, focused as he was. He tensed, rolled his hips, tugged against his bonds and let the game claim him fully.
And she was ruthless, Pine realized, working his prick to full stand, teasing it just enough to keep him aroused but never enough to satisfy. The frustration combined with the irritating prickles had him aware of himself, of how on edge he truly felt. His desperation began to grow, and Pine wasn't sure if he could take much more, but oh how glorious it was for this surreal and timeless moment.
"M-Mistress," Pine finally pleaded, pulling hard at his bonds now, restless and hypersensitive. He was leaking, aching and hungry for her, not sure how to move through this point. Sable knew though, and Pine felt her climb over his torso to tug away the blindfold. He blinked, re-adjusting his vision to see her smiling down at him, her eyes dark and lustrous.
"God, I want you," she told him in a husky voice. "May I take you, boy?"
"Yes," Pine agreed, "I . . ." he didn't get to finish whatever he was going to say because Sable reached for his prick and guided it into her. Pine cried out as his hips rocked forward, driving himself up into the slick heat of her cleft.
Raw. It felt slick and raw to thrust and thrust and faster now, pumping himself up against her, into her thrustheatgoodyesohhgodgodgodYESSSSSSSS-
Every muscle tensing, Pine came hard, his vision whiting out as he strained against his bonds, Simone clinging to him tightly.
He slumped against the damp sheets, spent. Adrift. Lost in a strange place of semi-consciousness where Pine was only aware of his heartbeat and the weight of Simone on him.
Time passed. Pine became vaguely aware of Simone making comforting noises, of her shifting off of him and uncuffing him. Of her cleaning him with a warm washcloth and curling up at his side under a blanket.
His face was wet; his eyes stung. Simone kissed him and cradled his face against her chest until he finally fell asleep.