Master of the Opera, Act 3: Phantom Serenade by Jeffe Kennedy

Author:Jeffe Kennedy [Kennedy, Jeffe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-05-26T04:00:00+00:00

5

“I have a rule, while we’re negotiating,” she said.

“Is that what this is?” The static charge of his excitement hadn’t diminished but continued to build, a thundercloud rumbling down the valley. The thread of amusement in his voice was like the trill of the last bird singing before the storm arrived.

“Everything is a negotiation—most people don’t pay enough attention to know it.” She didn’t much want to think about her father’s advice at this erotically charged moment, but his specter haunted her anyway. “I’ll only be completely naked in the dark. If it’s light, my belly is always covered.”

“You don’t have to hide your scars from me, Christine.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She flung out the challenge, and it lay on the table between them. A safe bet, there.

He inclined his head gravely, the waves of desire coming off him somewhat diminished. She was sorry for that.

“And we should talk about the detail stuff. I’m on the pill, so I won’t get pregnant.”

He raised a bland eyebrow at her, and she wondered again what manner of creature he was.

“But what about STDs—do you have condoms?”

“I cannot give you a disease, if that’s what you’re asking. My . . . afflictions are of another sort entirely.”

“Ah.” She’d pretty much expected as much, but a girl had to ask.

“Are you ready to begin?”

“We haven’t already?”

He smiled, and the tension rocketed up again. “Ah, my Christine, we’ve only tasted the edges. Say the word and I will show you how we cross the threshold.”

Her body throbbed, that smile of his a tangible caress across her skin. Anything was possible. Anything at all.

“I’m ready.” And with her words, it seemed the room revolved, then steadied, the colors brighter, deeper, more intense. She’d handed control of herself over to him. It felt like nothing else ever had.

“Come here.” He took a box from the sideboard and set it on the table, then turned his chair so she could stand in front of him. Sweat trickled from her armpits and she felt even more that she couldn’t catch her breath. Anything he asks. On unsteady legs, her thighs damp beneath the belled skirt, she rose and stood before him, breasts bare and swollen so hard they ached.

He opened the box. Inside, resting on royal blue velvet like expensive jewelry, lay a silver collar and four cuffs. She’d seen the collar before, carved into the plaster at the dead end of the hall. Taking up one of the smaller cuffs, he asked her to hold out her wrist. In a trance, she obeyed, letting him lock the smooth metal around her narrow wrist, where it fit as if made for her.

Perhaps it had been.

Once her wrists were both cuffed, he asked her to turn around. Drawing her wrists together at the small of her back, he linked them together. Her breath shuddered in and out, forced shallow by the corset dress so her breasts bounced obscenely. Each moment rattled her more, dissolving her rational thoughts and sending her into a whirl of sensation.

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