She’d opted to not tell Geena about the dress, or about the encounter with the “ghost”. It sounded too freaking weird, as if she’d been smoking mushrooms. No, for now, it was best to just be mum on that subject.
She did preen a bit when her BFF told her she was ‘stunning’. She smiled victoriously when she told her of the “stunning” deal she’d made on it, too. She told the story of the lost tattoo parlor, and the finding of Felicitations.
“I’ve got to go see this place for myself.”
“It’s not for the faint of heart,” she warned her friend. “Not in the best part of town, and totally unexpected when you go in there. It’s neat, but still. . .” Her voice trailed off. Hard to picture Geena heading into that seedier side of town.
Then again, someone might think that of her, too.
Yet, she didn’t feel at all compelled to go with her. How odd was that? She couldn’t even get the words out to offer.
They pulled into the parking lot. Already there were a lot of cars here. As they made their way to the front doors, she waved at a few folks she knew. They stepped in, the door opening to a not-so-typical bar scene. There were all types of kink represented here. They nodded to the bouncer, Trace. Rumor had it that he wielded a mean whip, though she had yet to see it. Since whips scared the fuck out of her, she doubted she ever would. Spanking, now there was a kink she really enjoyed.
She had been accused, on several occasions, of enjoying “kink, lite”; but to her way of thinking, there was an entire spectrum of kinky styles, and she was quite comfortable with where she was at, thank you very much.
She’d quoted the “sticks n stones” verse at her accuser, a slut with so many piercings that she looked, at least in Cara’s opinion, like a spell-cast voodoo doll. The woman had rolled her eyes, called her juvenile, and stormed out of the bathroom.
William had been in the stall in the corner. When he’d sauntered out, zipping his fly, and smiled at her, she’d flushed with embarrassment. He had applauded her low-key approach, though he admitted that a slut-fight in the bathroom would have been equally appealing.
She’d laughed, and the rest was history. Now it was ancient history.
Her gaze flashed around the room. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Her eyes met Williams across the room. He looked at her implacably; she looked on. How did one ‘see’ a ghost, anyway. She felt the flutter of her skirt around her ankles.
Just the wind from the front door opening. She glanced over her shoulder. The door was closed. Damn fucking ghost, she muttered under her breath.
“Cara?” The high, breathless shriek warned her a moment before Moxie enveloped her in one of her hugs. The air was perfumed with wildflowers wherever she moved, making Cara’s nose twitch. She babbled on about who was here, Cara’s dress, how much her corset was pinching her, and …”
Cara tuned her out. She thought she’d heard something. A tone of voice, that had a familiar edge to it. Who was it? For a moment, Moxie’s voice drowned it out again. “….and of course, you can play and have fun, and i’m sure Master would love to have a chance to spank you! i know how much you like being spanked, and being masterless right now….”
She didn’t mean to rub it in, really, Cara knew. She was young and impetuous and often spoke without realizing how things came across. She was trying to be kind, and caring. Yet, it was still a tender spot for her. She and her Dom had not parted ways amicably. Oh, since then things had healed, that much was true. But being masterless was not something that she enjoyed. She wanted to be used, controlled, and owned once more.
Over Moxie’s monologue, she heard the voice again. She turned quickly. There, across the room, stood a man she had not met before, nor seen here. She took a step. And another. Without thought, she was suddenly standing beside him. He stopped, mid-sentence, and looked down at her; time stood still.
He took her arm when she wobbled, his touch sending licks of flame up her arm, racing through her body.
“Hot,” was all she could think. His touch made her so hot.
“Hello, cherie,” he said in that rich tone she knew so well, yet had never heard before. “Have we met?” His eyes slid down her throat, lingering over the line of bruises she’d managed to hide from her friend. How had he known they were there?
He knew her, of that one fact, she was certain. She, however, had no idea who he was. Because it just wasn’t possible that he was a ghost. He was hot, and breathing, and very, very alive. She studied his face.
Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes. His hair was thick, and a rich sable brown. It glinted with silver highlights with every breath, and each little movement he made. He was gorgeous. Stunning. Sexy. He exuded sex appeal. He watched her watching him, and as he waited for her response, His lips curled into a knowing smile.
She wanted to be coy. Or flippant. Yet before she could frame any sort of response, he stroked a hand over her hair, a touch that was as familiar now as it had been an hour ago in her bedroom.
“You look as though you have seen a ghost ma cherie!” He laughed, as did the other men standing around watching them.
Lips pursed against a sudden rush of annoyance -damn she hated being manipulated- she turned on her heel, only to be drawn up short as he easily caught and held her wrist.
“Oh, not so fast, cherie, eh?” He purred in her ear. “The night…she is only just begun, oui?”
She tried not to shiver as his tongue caressed the outer shell of her ear, as his breath tickled deep into that sensual spot just inside.
“Not. Fair.” She murmured, low, throwing a glare up at him.
“Ah, ma petite cherie, all is fair – in love and war- yes?”
Her chin raised a fraction higher, and she debated kicking him in the shin. Arrogant Bastard. Yet her heart beat thickly with the rising of heat between her thighs. She’d never been one to lie to herself. There was something here. Something…
“Perhaps that open mouth is for kissing, oui?”
“She’s got a bit of a temperament, that little slut,” warned one of his companions.
“Ah.” He nodded, looking down at her as she frowned up at him. It took less than a heartbeat for his lips to take hers.
“Lovely,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m not one to take liberties as a usual course of events, little one, but in your case? I think we both know that I will.” He drew her closer, whispering against her tumbled hair.
“Remember, mon amour….”
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