Tempting Tricks (Tempting Nights #2)

Chapter One

~Trick~

I walk down the dimly lit hallway, ignoring everyone I pass along the way, my destination already decided before I even arrive. I tried to stay away tonight. I really did. I drank a quarter bottle of Patron in the hope I’d slip into some kind of unconscious slumber in an attempt to stay away. It didn’t work. I still couldn’t shut out the images that play like a movie in my head when I close my eyes.

So, here I am, in the one place I know I can lose myself. The one place I know can give me something else to focus on. Something else besides the demons always lurking in the recesses of my mind, always reminding me that I shouldn’t be here. I should be with them, burnt ash forever lost in the desert sands of Iraq.

I stop when I reach the entrance to my salvation, nodding at the door keeper. No one goes into this room unless they’ve been approved beforehand. His name is Gus, and he knows me well enough to know, if I’m standing in front of this door, I’m in need of something more. More than I usually come looking for. He looks me up and down, his eyes cold and detached, and then speaks. “Weren’t you just here a couple days ago?”

“Yep.” That’s it. That’s all he’s getting unless he asks for more. It’s my goddamn body to do whatever I want with.

“You even healed yet?” His eyes squint as he tries to assess my physical condition to determine if I can handle what happens if he lets me through to the other side.

“I want more. I’m ready.” I need more. I crave more. I deserve more.

He doesn’t budge. It’s a clear indication that my answer isn’t enough. I puff out a long, slow breath through my nostrils, then pull my shirt over my head. I keep it clutched in my hand as I lift my arms out to my sides and slowly turn in a circle, stopping when I’m facing him again.

“You’ve still got scabs.” His eyes roam over my chest.

“I’m fine,” I reply, my voice flat and devoid of emotion.

He tilts his head once toward the door, my approval to enter. “Only because Mistress Blue doesn’t mind a little bit of blood.”

I keep my shirt off, my fingers crushing the soft material into a tight ball as I walk by to push through the door. “Good, ‘cause neither do I.”

As soon as I’m on the other side, I take three steps to a padded black mat and fall to my knees, bowing my head as I rest my hands on the tops of my thighs. I’ve just given my submission to whomever wants it in this room. Any free will I have, any desires I have, any fears I have no longer exist or matter. In here, they belong to someone else to control, to harness, to use in any way they want. For their pleasure, not mine. My only pleasure will be in the pain. I just pray it’s enough to make me forget for a little while.

Goosebumps break out across my flesh when shiny, latex boots step into my vision. My eyes lift and lock onto black fingernails clutched around the handle of a cat-o-nine tails. But this isn’t your typical whip. It’s made of rope instead of leather, with each end knotted tightly. People think leather hurts, but the bite rope takes out of your skin is so much more punishing. My cock twitches to life when she lifts the whip and drags it across my bare back.

“Has Halloween come early?” Her sultry voice drips down to my ears. “I didn’t even have to say Trick or Treat.” She lowers herself, turning the handle of the whip, placing it under my chin, and lifting it until my eyes are even with hers. “My lucky day or yours?”

“Hopefully mine.” Her brow quirks up at my reply as she stands, releasing the hold the handle has on my chin.

“Get up.” The sultry tone is gone, replaced with a venom I’m hoping will deliver what I need.

I rise to my feet immediately, my eyes still lowered. My nostrils flare as I absorb the scents permeating the room. Salty sweat, the clean smell of burning wax, and the tangy aroma of blood, the strongest of them all, causing my dick to fully harden. She barks for me to undress completely, and I do, quickly, leaving my clothing in a heap on the floor.

“I love that you come with your very own attachment.” She purrs, grasping the heavy metal ring I have pierced through my left nipple, tugging it sharply before fastening a thick silver chain to it. She turns, pulling the makeshift leash, forcing me to follow behind her, yanking hard if I fall too far behind. Which, sometimes I do, just because I like the way it feels.

Her boots clunk to a loud stop as she plants one foot and spins around. She gathers the chain, wrapping it slowly around her wrist, forcing me forward until I’m inches from her body. Lavender invades my nostrils when I inhale, the scent overwhelming when she lowers her head and sinks her teeth into my earlobe. She tugs once, hard, before releasing the tender flesh, her tongue dragging over her bite mark. “Just having you in my snare makes me so wet.”

I reach my hand between her legs and skim two fingers up the inside of her thigh. I’m about to confirm her disclosure, but before I can, I feel the knots of the whip smack across my back. I drop to my knees, a moan falling from my rounded lips, my eyes rolling back in pleasure. This. This is what I want.

“Did I give you permission to touch me?” She lifts her foot and places the pointy heel of the boot against my thigh.

I shake my head. I know what the answer is supposed to be, but if I want all that she has to offer, I can’t give her that. I want her to punish me, after all. “I thought you wanted me to touch you, Mistress.”

She leans forward, pushing her body into the heel, the weight making the skin around the tip pucker and finally break, small trails of blood seeping out, trickling down my leg. “I tell you what I want. When to touch me. How to touch me.”

There’s the bite of the whip against the bare flesh on my back again. I sigh out my consent, my head bowed, “Yes, Mistress.” My cock throbs its contentment against my bowed stomach .

“Get up!” The sting of rope slices across my chest as I rise. “Against the wall.” I turn, rewarded with another slash of the whip against my buttocks as I walk to the cross hanging in front of me. The next twenty minutes are a blur of pleasure and pain. The whip falls against my skin again and again. Her mouth teases my cock before she finally frees me, my body crumpling at her feet. Her grip on my cock rough as she drags me to the bed then climbs on top of me. Her wet core thrusts onto my hardness. She grinds her hips against me, sliding her body against mine, my blood a thin, wet layer between us, before we both scream out our releases. And I finally free fall into utter bliss, blacking out, forgetting everything for just a little while.

~Annabelle~

H e’s quiet. He’s always quiet. He’s been sitting there for thirty minutes with barely six words spoken. Single word answers to questions I’ve asked. I know he hates coming to these sessions, and only does because it’s a requirement to get his pilot license reinstated. I’ve come to loathe this time as well, but not for the same reason as him. I lift my right leg off my left, uncrossing them, the bare skin sticking together briefly as I pull them apart. I shift so that I’m sitting up straighter and then cross my legs again, this time left over right. There’s a small red circle on the top of my left leg, just above my knee. It’s the spot my other leg was resting on before I repositioned. I stare at it a moment and then swing my attention back to my client, noticing his eyes are trailing up the length of my bare legs.

Instead of saying anything, I drag my eyes slowly down his frame. He’s more relaxed than me, his jean clad legs stretched in front of him, ankles crossed above worn leather work boots. One hand rests loosely on his thigh while the other is clenched in a fist on the arm of the chair, betraying his actual comfort level. My eyes skim up his arm, noticing the tattoo sneaking out from under the short sleeve of the shirt, before moving across his chest, where I lock onto the piercing I can make out under the thin material. I squeeze my legs together as I feel my core contract. I have to restrain myself from licking my lips as I wonder, for only an instant, what it would feel like to have that ring between my teeth. He clears his throat, bringing me back to my senses, my gaze swinging to his, but not before I notice something near the collar of his shirt.

“You’re bleeding.” I lift my hand as I rise from my chair, pointing to the stain of blood seeping through his shirt.

He looks down, frowns, and then lifts his eyes back to mine, shrugging. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine if blood is soaking through your shirt,” I state matter-of-factly and stride past him into the private bathroom. I open the cabinet under the sink to pull out the first aid kit, carrying it back over to where he’s still sitting casually. I set it on the table next to him and open it up.

“It’s nothing, Doc.” His lips purse tightly as I open a piece of gauze, moving toward the stain on his shirt, then freeze, my hand hovering. I realize I either need to lift his shirt up, or slide the gauze under the neck of the material to cover the wound. If it was any other patient, I probably wouldn’t have hesitated. But this one, this one makes me feel things I know I shouldn’t. His eyes slide up and lock onto mine as he pinches the gauze from my fingers. He slides it under the collar of the shirt to press against his skin.

I realize my hand is still lingering over him and take a quick step back, standing straight as I do. One side of his mouth cocks up as a chuckle vibrates lightly from his chest. He knows he’s making me nervous, and it pisses me off, so I do the one thing I shouldn’t as his doctor and go on the offensive.

“You went back again, didn’t you?”

He pulls the bloodied gauze out from under his shirt, balling it up into a wad, then rises. He strolls over to the trash can located next to my desk to drop it in before finally responding. “So?”

“So, I thought we agreed you were going to find another way to try to deal with the memories.” I walk over to my desk, leaning back against it.

He ambles around the desk until he’s in front of me. He faces me and shrugs, crossing his arms. “This is what works best for me.”

I push off the desk and stand up straight because I don’t like him looking down at me as we talk. It makes me feel less in control. “Letting someone beat you to the point where you’re still bleeding the next day is what works?”

He glares at me, his arms flexing before he grins widely, surprising me. “I like it. It feels good.”

“You take pleasure in being punished? ”

He scoffs. “No.”

My brows arch in confrontation. “No?”

There is a long pause before he responds, his voice even, devoid of emotion. “I take pleasure in the pain.”

“In the pain? How? How does pain equate to pleasure?” I unconsciously lean forward, wanting to be closer to him, to truly understand how this could possibly be the case.

“Because it’s better.”

“Better than what?” I’m still confused and surprise myself with the sharp bite of my retort. I force myself to lean back, blowing a long breath of air through lips that are barely open.

His eyes lock back onto mine, the green of his irises so dark and intense they remind me of pine branches whipping wildly in the fierce winter winds. “Better than everything else.”

This doesn’t surprise me. Other patients have told me that inflicting physical pain onto themselves takes away the mental pain they are feeling, even if it’s just for a short amount of time. To them, that time is pure bliss.

I smile sadly and nod my head in understanding but still try to reason with him. “Patrick, we have to find another way. A better way. A way that doesn’t leave you bloody and battered.”

He stares at me, and I can see a million thoughts are running through his mind, but he doesn’t tell me any of them. Instead, I watch as he unfolds his arms and takes three steps forward, closing the gap between us, leaving him inches from me. He’s invading my space, and instead of moving back, I look up and meet his gaze, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end from the electricity sparking between us. I can hear my own breath coming out in short pants. I know, without it being said, that he has another way to feel better and all I have to do is say yes. I’m not sure how long we stand there, the tension between us growing, when the bell from the timer dings.

I jump, his hand snaking out, wrapping around my wrist. “Easy.” He leans an inch closer, his breath hot on my ear as he whispers, “Time’s up.” Then he turns abruptly and strides out of my office, slamming the door behind him.