Fleur de Nuit: Bourbon Street Bondage, Book 1 Page 2

  “Kara didn’t say a word, except that you’d had, let’s call it un mauvais moment. A bad experience. I did that digging on my own, so you’re free to hate me for it if you like. But I would still like you to tell me.”

  Moira pushed up and away from the couch to pace the room, wishing she hadn’t let Kara convince her to wear either the stilettos or such a skimpy dress. But it was Justin’s name and not the clothes that made her feel naked.

  “I’d rather not talk about it. If you’ve already done the digging, why should I dredge it back up?”

  “À cause de, it’ll give you control. And maybe, it’ll make you a little less broken.”

  Such a simple statement, but it resounded in her core. Control. Yes, she wanted control over this, over life. But still. Her response was a whisper. “Less broken is still broken. You can’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again, not with words, not with anything.”

  “Tell me, ma chère.”

  She shivered at the quiet command and exhaled loudly before beginning. “Justin was the last boyfriend that Kara didn’t find for me. I met him my senior year at Washington and Lee. He was smart, good-looking and funny. And he was a complete psychotic bastard. He’s currently a guest of the Virginia Department of Corrections’ James River facility for rape and murder. I’m sure you know all of that. Thankfully, the news mostly kept my name out of it. Though I think Kara’s family had more to do with that than any kindness on the side of the news services.”

  “Rather a coup, since it was a fairly high profile case. Especially as, if I understand correctly, you almost didn’t survive. Raped, beaten. Two broken ribs, a broken arm, internal bleeding.”

  Moira snorted. “Yeah. Survivor isn’t the term I’d use. And don’t forget the whole ‘can’t ever have kids’ bit. It’s a major selling point.”

  Adrian raised his eyebrow. “You lived. You moved on.”

  “Not to hear Kara talk. But yes, I’m alive. I moved on. I did the therapy, put my life back together.”

  “But you don’t live.”

  Moira hesitated. She didn’t know why she was even talking to him, but something about Adrian made it easy. “No. I’m not living. I can’t seem to figure out how. Men either don’t look at me, or see some porcelain doll, ready to break. Especially next to Kara, who’s so vibrant. She lives. I only go through the motions. What are you, anyway? Some kind of therapist?”

  She leaned on his desk, distantly admiring how neat and orderly everything was, and waiting for the lecture she knew must be coming.

  “Call me a student of human nature. Therapists are imbéciles.”

  Moira let herself smile at that. She’d thought the same thing, often enough. Not that the therapy hadn’t helped. But a person could only hear how she had to move on and start living again so many times.

  “What if I told you I could give you what it is you’re missing?”

  She froze. “My uterus? The piece of my soul he broke? Those are irreplaceable.” She sighed, a quiet but bitter sound. “I’m sorry. I’d say, I’ve heard it all before, and suggest you not waste your time. Like I said. I’m one of the broken ones. I don’t get the prince or the happily ever after.”

  Adrian laughed. It wasn’t the reaction she expected, and it startled her. “I sincerely doubt you’ve heard this before. And the truth is, I won’t give you anything. Mais, I will teach you to take it, if you like.”

  Moira wasn’t sure she trusted herself to breathe. Instead, she stood up as tall as her five foot three inches would allow and crossed her arms over the skimpy black dress. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Let me prove it.”

  She stared hard at him, trying to decide how to respond. “Take what? What is it you think I’m missing?”

  Adrian smiled, his eyes full of challenge. “Control.”

  Chapter Three

  Moira kicked off her heels and walked slowly back to the couch. Adrian’s eyes followed her the entire time.

  “Explain.”

  Adrian stared at her in silence for a moment, his electric green eyes piercing her. He looked so young, so full of life. Like Kara did.

  I want that.

  Stop it. You don’t get to have it. You’ll only get hurt again.

  She pushed the doubt away and forced herself to listen.

  “Trust. Control is about trust.” He turned his body so he faced her full on, and one knee rested on the couch. “Giving up control requires trusting someone else. Taking control requires trusting yourself. You’ve lost the ability to do either. I’d like to help you get that back.”

  “Why?”

  He smiled, and it stirred something deep in her. It wasn’t a particularly kind smile, but it promised things she couldn’t put a name to.

  “Ma chère, the first thing you should know about me is that I have my reasons for everything.”

  “What would—”

  He stopped her. “Oui or non?”

  It wasn’t really much of a question, when she got down to it. The way her life was now wasn’t working, and Moira was enough of a realist to admit it. She was boxed in, bored, still scared, and hated it. It’s only what you deserve.

  Shut up.

  “Yes.”

  “Bon.” Adrian launched himself off the couch and held a hand out to her. “Then come with me.”

  Moira gave him her hand and let him pull her up, slipping her shoes back on as they went. They walked out of his office and into another room. He didn’t turn on the lights, but gave her a moment to let her eyes adjust.

  “Stand here.”

  She stood. A moment later an electric whirring reached her ears, blinds opening on a window.

  Or not a window, exactly.

  “Oh my God!”

  Adrian’s smile looked haunting in the pale light from the other room. “Shocked?”

  Moira didn’t have words. Through the mirror, screen, whatever it was, she watched as a man with spiked blond hair wearing only leather pants whipped a mostly naked woman on her knees. Her arms were tied behind her back, her mouth gagged, and the only things she was wearing that weren’t restraints were a g-string, stockings and heels.

  “It’s a flogger.” Adrian didn’t seem at all surprised. The blond man raised his hand again, and this time she heard it hit. She also heard the woman moan, saw her back arch and her head come back and—

  “Holy fuck, is that—?”

  “Kara? Oui, she’s a rather amazing sub, if I do say so myself.”

  “What the fucking hell, Adrian?” Moira covered her mouth as the blond man ripped the gag from Kara’s mouth and then grabbed her around the throat. He whispered something, and she saw her friend gasp, saw Kara smile as the man pulled her up and threw her on the bed.

  Her hands started to shake. No. No, no, no…

  Oh God.

  She wanted to pull her gaze away, but couldn’t. “S-sub?” Her words were barely audible to her own ears.

  “Submissive.”

  “You can’t tell me she actually enjoys this?”

  Not that she needed to ask. She could see Kara’s face, could hear the way she moaned as the blond man tied her facedown on the bed and ran his hands over her. He ripped her g-string off and the room resounded with Kara’s pleasure as he started to finger-fuck her.

  Moira pulled her gaze away and turned it on Adrian, who looked back with an expression of satisfaction.

  “I would say she enjoys it quite a bit, wouldn’t you?”

  Moira turned back to her friend, who writhed against her bonds. “No. God, no. I can’t… I don’t think I could do that,” she whispered.

  “Be a submissive? Non, I don’t think so either. Not with your history.”

  She looked back at him. The crack of leather on skin made her flinch, bringing unwanted memories to the surface.

  His hand cracked across her face. “You’re such a fucking slut, Moira. God. This is all your fault. All of it. You made me do this!” The back of his hand broke across her face again
before a booted foot drove into her side.

  Moira forced her gaze back to her friend and the present. The blond man held a riding crop in his hand, and Kara sported a fresh red mark on her ass cheek. He raised his arm again.

  “Your. Fault.” Each word was punctuated with a hit. “Oh God, I’m sorry, baby. You just make me so angry. Why do you have to be so pretty? The other girls weren’t as pretty as you. Nobody’s as pretty as you. You bitch!” His hand rose again.

  Moira spun away, her whole body shaking.

  She couldn’t do this again. Not again. She was supposed to be past the flashbacks. They were over, done in by years of therapy and determination.

  Broken. You’re broken.

  “Moira, ma chère.” Adrian’s voice came a moment before she felt his hands settle gently on her shoulders. She still flinched. “You’re in New Orleans, not Virginia. No one here is gonna harm you.”

  She shook her head and stifled a sob, trying to drown out the memories.

  “Listen to your friend. She’s in no danger.”

  Moira made herself listen. The truth of his words pushed through her haze as Kara moaned loudly.

  Get a grip on yourself.

  She took a shuddering breath and turned around.

  “That.” She pointed to what she realized was a two-way mirror and glared at Adrian, even though she could feel her face paling. “You want me to do that. Beat people. There is no fucking way!”

  “Non, I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”

  “Then what do you call it?” Moira twitched as the riding crop hit her friend again. It’s okay. It’s okay.

  “Control. Trust. The things you want.” Adrian stepped closer and pointed her to the mirror again. “Regardez. Kara trusts that Ian knows exactly how hard to hit her, how far he’ll push her, and she has total trust that if she uses her safe word, Ian’ll stop completely and instantly. She has total control over everything that happens in that room. Ian, on the other hand, trusts that Kara won’t let him push her where she doesn’t want to go. As the Dom, or the Dominant, he has to trust her as much as she trusts him. They trust each other, and give each other control.” He stepped even closer and smiled. “In exchange, they each get something they can’t get outside this world.”

  Moira shook her head, not wanting to admit she was finding this conversation more fascinating than she would ever have thought. “What? Because I can get bruises easily enough by walking around my apartment.”

  Adrian laughed. “La joie. Fulfillment. They get to be themselves, among people who understand them. Mais, they also get very, very good sex.”

  Moira shook her head, suddenly unable to stop watching as Ian grabbed Kara’s long auburn hair and fucked her from behind. The pair’s grunts and moans filled the small, dark room, testament to Adrian’s words.

  “God. She looks… I don’t…”

  “Like she’s enjoying herself? Trust me, ma chère. Trust her. She is very much enjoying herself.” Adrian smiled. “Viens. I do believe they won’t be done for some time.”

  She let him pull her away as the sounds stopped and the blinds moved back over the mirror. Out the door, and farther down the hall and into yet another room. She balked at the bed, and again at the other contents, but stood her ground.

  Adrian simply shut the door and removed his suit jacket, tossing it to the bed. His tie followed. “The primary rule of a Dominant/submissive relationship is to hurt, not harm.” He rolled his sleeves up and picked up a black leather crop with a blue handle. “What do you think I mean by that?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  He smiled. “Come now, Moira. You’re an intelligent woman. Move past the preconceptions and your personal history, and think.”

  Moira stared at him, beginning to feel annoyed.

  Still grinning, he circled her. “We just watched your best and oldest friend be tied up, beaten and repeatedly fucked. You and I both know she enjoyed it. Stop thinking about your own experiences or what the world tells you, and use your head.”

  “Fine,” she spat. “She liked it. Clearly. She liked being beaten and raped.”

  “Non. She liked submitting. Only masochists actually like being beaten. Though, she has a bit of the masochist in her. But what you saw wasn’t rape. Rape is about fear, about taking what isn’t being offered. You know that. What you saw was about trust, absolute trust, and giving everything. So tell me what it is I mean when I say hurt, not harm.”

  He began circling again, and this time she moved counter to him. “He hurt her. I mean, he was hitting her. She’ll have bruises, I know it. But I guess, it wasn’t anything she wasn’t willing to take.”

  “Oui. And what else?”

  Moira thought back over what she saw, pushed past the shock of her flashback and really considered at the scene. “Nothing he did to her was permanent. Even the ties were padded leather or what, silk? Something like that. Bruises and welts, sure, but nothing worth a trip to the doctor.”

  “Bon. So hurting is fine. Harming, which for us means permanent damage, like emotional trauma, or something that might scar, that’s not fine. Not in the least. Everyone has their own line that constitutes harm, and for some it’s further out than others. Some like their scars. But the basic rule remains. Hurt, not harm.” He twirled the crop in his hands, and then pointed it at her, handle out.

  She stepped back. “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Oui, I think you do.” Adrian stepped forward. “I think you very much do. Take the crop, Moira, chère.”

  “No. Why?” She couldn’t keep the horror and disgust from her voice. Because you’re broken. Worthless.

  The corner of his lips twitched into a knowing smile. As if he could hear the doubt prodding at her. “Pourquoi? So you can start living again. So you can stop feeling broken.”

  Moira stared back and forth between him and the crop handle. What if he was right? But how could he be, about something so fundamentally wrong? She stepped back again. “Hitting people for fun was my father’s MO. I don’t do that.”

  Adrian stepped with her again. “Non. Harming people for his own entertainment was your father’s modus operandi. We already covered the difference. You aren’t him, and you’re not Justin, either. This is for mutual pleasure, and not harmful. Take the crop.”

  “I can’t.”

  His eyes bored into her. “Kara is your best friend, non? Through thick and thin and all that?”

  She nodded, eyes flickering between him and the crop he waved in circles in front of her.

  “She knew exactly what would happen if she brought you here. It was her idea. Now do you really think she’d do that if she didn’t think you not only could, but would enjoy it?”

  The thought stunned her for a moment. Kara, who knew every secret she’d ever had. Knew her strengths and weaknesses, and things she didn’t even know about herself. Who somehow knew all the words she didn’t say. Broken. Worthless. Unworthy of love, of happiness.

  “Take the crop, ma chère.”

  Moira shook her head, but her hand was already reaching out. She felt a surge of something unknown as her hand closed on the handle, but whether that was from the act of taking it, or the flash of Adrian’s green eyes, she wasn’t sure.

  He deftly unbuttoned his vest and laid it with his jacket before moving on to his shirt. “I told you the key to control is trust. You have to trust yourself first, Moira, if you want to find any kinda control in your life.” The last button of his shirt slid through its hole, and the fabric slid off to reveal a chiseled swimmer’s body. He stepped toward her, and she forced herself to stand her ground. He stopped two steps from her and waited.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  His eyes flashed. “Anything you wish. Hit me. Hurt me. Or not, as you choose.”

  She swallowed nervously and looked at the crop. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Oui, you do.”

  He stood frozen, hands clasped in front of his
waist, eyes boring into her. It unnerved her. “Stop looking at me,” she whispered.

  “Excusez-moi?”

  “I said, stop looking at me.”

  She wasn’t sure where the commanding tone had come from, a spark of anger still alive under the mountains and years of resignation, but his eyes immediately dropped to the floor. His mouth twitched, almost smiling.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  The surge of power that accompanied those two simple words almost knocked her over. She was glad he’d said them in English, instead of the half French half something the local Cajuns tended to use. And she knew in that moment he might be right. Not only was it possible that she could do this, she might even enjoy it. Moira gave a hesitant grin and trailed the tip of the crop down the centerline of his chest. He was beautiful, really. Such tone in his muscles. And it had been so long since any man had looked at her that way.

  And he was standing there, waiting for her to tell him what to do.

  I can do this. I can.

  “Kneel.”

  He knelt. God, the way that felt.

  “You aren’t usually the, what did you call it? The sub?”

  “Non, I’m not.”

  She circled him, twisting the crop in her hands. Twice, she reached out with it, but couldn’t make herself touch him. “Why now?”

  His mouth twitched again. “I have the distinct feeling it’ll be well worth it.”

  She hesitated again, and then trailed the crop lightly down his back. She jerked it away when his body shivered. “I hope you’re right. You really want me to hit you with this?”

  “Oui.”

  Moira didn’t think. Thinking would’ve stopped her. She simply did. The crop came down with a resounding crack.

  Adrian grunted, a sound that was half pain, half pleasure. Moira gasped softly, surprised at the surge of…something. She wasn’t sure what it was yet. But it felt good. It felt really good.

  Too good. Broken.

  “No.” Moira dropped the crop and stepped back, shaking her head. “I can’t do this.”

  Adrian pushed to his feet and turned, all in one smooth motion. “Ma chère?”