It had been a week since the painting of Claire had been hung over the fireplace in their bedroom. Ari paced the hall, dressed in a tux. He tugged at the bow tie. He fucking hated formal events. He stared down at the invitation in his hand. It had been in the stack of unopened mail just like Kane had said it would be. He ran his fingertip absently over the raised black lettering on crisp off-white Crane card stock. He turned the invitation over to see the indentation on the back. Engraved. Kane always used the best stationery—especially when it came to Saskia's art shows.
It wasn't just about the kink with those two. It was about art: the unbridled passion and obsession of it. Kane had taken her on as his protégé and molded and mentored her and had seen to it that her art found an audience. It was a hungry audience, as dark and sexually twisted as Kane and Saskia.
Ari wondered if it was too soon to take Claire out in public. There wasn't even a hint of defiance in her. They were a perfectly matched pair of complementary opposites, joined together by fate. He'd started to believe this so strongly that it had finally caused the lingering self-recrimination to go silent. After all, if this thing between them, however twisted, was meant to be, why fight it? Why beat himself up over taking this woman who was obviously so deeply alone and needed everything he could give her.
Still, the easy way between them, the routine, the orders, the obedience, the pleasure, was that enough to take her off the property? Could he take that risk with her now? Or ever? Realistically he knew it would be cruel to never take her anywhere, to keep her locked up in this prison. And besides, he wanted to show her off.
The moment Kane had left the painting with him, Ari had shut himself in his office and ordered a dress for Claire online. He'd made a note of all her sizes when he'd first brought her to his home and undressed her.
While he was at it, he'd gone ahead and bought other things for her: shoes, winter boots, jackets, coats—both formal and casual, jeans, shirts, sweaters, casual dresses. He'd had everything shipped rush delivery.
At this moment, if she was following his orders, she was putting it the evening gown on right now. As if on cue, she stepped out into the hallway.
“You look beautiful,” he said, trying not to gape at her like some lovesick fool. Correction. Ari fucking loved formal events.
Claire wore a floor-length teal evening gown that brought out the brilliant green of her eyes. It was off-the-shoulder with a plunging neckline and a high slit up one side that would reveal plenty of thigh and allow him easy access. The only jewelry she wore was the gold collar around her throat.
“Master, are you really taking me out?” She looked hopeful, but wary, as if this were some prank and at the last moment, Ari would rip it away.
“We're going to Kane's estate.” He could see the pulse leap in her throat when he revealed their location. Nervous? Afraid? “We're attending his pet's art show in his private gallery.”
Even though Ari had commissioned the painting, he was in the market for more. He'd seen some of Saskia's work, and was eager to purchase a piece to add to his collection. Her paintings always went fast when she had a collection ready to sell.
“Come with me.” Ari led her down the hallway toward another wing of the house he generally kept locked. He pressed his thumb against the biometric keypad, and the door slid open. “It's okay,” he said at the wary expression on Claire's face.
In the time she'd been with him, she'd never asked about the locked wing. Maybe she'd never noticed it or ventured that far through the estate. Or maybe she'd been afraid to know what he kept behind such security.
She gasped as she took in the walls and walls and rooms and rooms of paintings he'd collected over the years. He needed her to know the way he felt about art before taking her to a show. He hoped she would appreciate it as much as he did.
He watched as she slowly moved through his collection, her mouth frozen on a gasp. Multiple times she reached out as if she would touch a piece, but each time she jerked her hand back before he could say anything to stop her.
“Is this real?” Claire asked, pointing at the Monet.
“It's real. I have one of the few pieces in private collector hands. I also own a Van Gogh.”
She seemed impressed. She moved on to a section of contemporary art and stopped in front of a Quill nude.
“This looks like the painting you had made of me,” she said finally.
“It's the same artist. I bought that one from another collector, but I wanted one of my pet.”
She blushed.
He would never get tired of seeing her blush. It was such an innocent gesture in the middle of all their debauchery.
“We should go. It's a long drive. We'll be late.”
Claire felt giddy with more excitement than nerves when they arrived at Kane's estate. She wasn't surprised Ari's interest in art went beyond his friends' paintings, but she had been surprised by the massive amount of art he'd acquired. And its quality. It was an enviable collection. Some of the pieces he had were coveted by museums around the world.
She'd played dumb with Ari when she'd seen the nude, but she'd known. Quill's work had grown a great deal since the piece in Ari's private art gallery—though she wasn't sure the man was capable of making bad art.
Kane had signed the painting of Claire with a Q in the lower right-hand corner, which was odd, because he'd normally signed his work with his full name—or a closer scrawled semblance of it anyway. He had to know he couldn't get away with selling this work to the public now. Joseph Quill was dead. Or at least the news had said he was. A plane crash over the Atlantic.
His work had sold for high prices before his far-too-young-and-tragic death had sent them into the stratosphere. Had he faked his death? Well obviously, since he was alive and well now. It was possible Kane could just be an obsessive fan of Quill, mimicking his style, but if he was, he was better than the original artist. And that seemed unlikely.
Claire wondered if Kane could be charged with fraud? After all, his death had caused his paintings to go into very high demand overnight. Suddenly everyone in the art world had been nostalgic for Quill nudes. She still couldn't believe he'd painted her while she'd been oblivious to his true identity—at least she had been until she'd seen the finished product.
And now she found herself nervous over the prospect of seeing him again because not only had Quill painted her, but he'd touched her. When Claire had studied Quill's work, she'd developed a bit of a crush on him in the way one might have a crush on a long dead classic literary figure. She'd never seen so much as a picture of him but somehow she felt that a man who painted like that had to be hot.
The living version did not disappoint. Still, as stimulating and attractive as he was, no one compared to Ari for her. If Kane and his pet were bound by art, Claire and Ari were bound by secrets and captivity. They were bound by the things they'd done to each other both dark and painful, and beautiful.
Ari parked around the back of Kane's property and helped her out of the car. He led her through a large, well-lit elaborate garden, through pathways of entangled rose bushes and sculpture art, all in classical styles. There was not a single modern harsh geometric metal art installation to be found. Ari had obviously been here many times before to know his way so well.
The garden opened out at a large building with columns and climbing vines.
They were greeted by a very good-looking bald guy at the door. He looked like a bodyguard or a bouncer.
“Marcus,” Ari said, nodding.
Claire tried to hide the reaction she was sure must have flitted across her face at the revelation of the man's identity.
Marcus gave her an assessing look. “I see you got rid of Holly,” he said, his eyes not leaving Claire.
“Actually, she left. She got a modeling contract overseas,” Ari said. “This is Claire.”
“Is she a brat like the last one?” Marcus asked.
Apparently Holly had a reputation with these people.
“No,” Ari said simply, “she isn't.”
“Good. You deserve to be with someone who can appreciate you.”
She felt Ari tense beside her at that statement. She grabbed and squeezed his hand, and the tension seemed to deflate out of him.
“You're a little late,” Marcus said. “Some of the art has already sold. If you want something, I'd grab it fast. The alcohol and money are flowing. And Saskia's work has only gotten better since you last saw it.”
Ari nodded. “Thanks for the tip.”
They were about to go in, when Marcus put a hand up, blocking their way. “Wait. I almost forgot.” He turned and picked up some papers from a table behind him. He handed one to Claire and one to Ari. Each bundle was 3 sheets of paper stapled together. He gave each of them a pen.
“You can't go in unless you sign. We know we can trust you but it's protocol, you know that.”
Ari sighed. “Kane and his NDAs.” He skimmed it, initialed a few things, and then signed the last page, printing his name underneath on the indicated line. “Claire, sign,” he said. There was no room for argument.
She initialed on her pages in the same places Ari had initialed, and then signed the last page, likewise printing her name on the bottom.
Marcus took the papers from the two of them and put them in a second pile on the table behind him.
“And cell phones,” he said, indicating a basket behind them filled with phones.
Ari took his phone out of his pocket and put it in the basket. “Claire doesn't have a phone,” Ari said.
Marcus looked her up and down and smiled. “Where would she possibly put it?” He looked back to Ari. “Okay, you can go in. Have fun, kids.”
The fact that they'd had to sign non-disclosure agreements to get in the door, even though they were invited guests, made Claire suddenly nervous again. Nobody had to sign an NDA to go to an art show or buy art. So what else was about to happen in this building? Ari squeezed her hand and guided her inside.
When they stepped into the outer lobby, she whispered, “Is everyone here...”
“Kinky?” he supplied.
Claire nodded.
“Probably seventy-five percent of them. The rest are tourists, but Kane knows and trusts them to have invited them.”
“Tourists?” Claire asked.
“People who like to brush up against the darkness but for whatever reason can't bring themselves to really go there. It gives them a little thrill but they don't need it.”
Even though he didn't say it, Claire could feel the “like us” at the end of his statement. Was that true? She couldn't speak for Ari's needs, but did Claire need this?
The few men she'd been with before hadn't been kinky. The fantasies had existed as mere theory inside her head—until Ari. She hadn't been able to get off with those few men she'd dated years ago in college, but she'd thought it was just her. Didn't a lot of women fake it? Didn't a lot of women have trouble with orgasm with a partner? She was sure she'd read that somewhere.
She'd told herself that maybe in a long term relationship it would get better. Maybe they'd introduce toys. Maybe they'd figure it out. But she just hadn't had the opportunity to find out. With Ari, there hadn't been a single time he'd touched or fucked her that her body hadn't responded like some starved creature in the desert, arching toward him, moaning and writhing, and yes, coming. Not a single moan or whimper had been artifice with him.
So did she need this? Yes, she probably did. And how the fuck would she have ever trusted a man again after the basement? How would she have trusted a man for a sweet vanilla fuck let alone the absolute power Ari wielded over her? She would have died alone in that apartment if this fucked-up thing hadn't happened between them. No one else would ever understand, but Ari had saved her. Claire took a long, steadying breath, willing herself not to cry.
Instead, she turned to Ari and whispered, “W-what do I call you in here?”
The subject hadn't come up in the car. They'd spent the hour-long drive discussing his art collection—Ari obviously surprised that she knew art as more than just a tourist—but they hadn't discussed this most basic issue. She'd assumed she would call him by his name, but now she wasn't sure.
“Master, of course,” he said. “There will be other people here with pets using the same titles. You'll blend. And you won't be the only woman wearing a collar tonight.”
Claire wasn't sure how much she would blend, but she nodded and allowed him to lead her through the doors into the art show.
The space they entered was a huge, incredible art gallery, with a high ceiling and a domed skylight in the center of the room. The walls were white—to showcase the art. Imposing columns stood around the circular room which looked as if they were holding the gallery up and supporting it.
The art hung on the walls, protected inside glass cases which were obviously fireproof, given all the candelabras standing at what might otherwise be a little too close to the art. At the moment, though, the candles weren't lit.
There were a lot more people in the space than she'd expected—maybe fifty. Or maybe it felt like too many because of the NDA and the suspicion that art wasn't the only thing that would be passing from one person's hands to another tonight. She smoothed down the beautiful teal dress Ari had given her and stayed close to him.
Claire's eyes immediately found Kane's. He was dressed sharply in a tux, looking as suave as Ari at the moment. She quickly looked away from him. The only thing she could think when she looked at him now was Joseph Quill had painted her. She was one of Quill's nudes.
Claire was pretty sure every woman under the age of fifty—and maybe some older—who knew contemporary art had fantasized about being the subject of a Quill nude. She'd always thought the women in his paintings looked well-fucked. And now she knew why, having been up-close-and-personal with the artist's illicit process.
The place between her legs flared to life at thoughts of the dirty debauchery she'd somehow become a part of every time she'd looked at one of those paintings. There had been secrets that had been shared with her, encoded in the expressions on those women's faces. And now that she was one of those women, she had the decoder ring. She knew exactly what those women had felt as they'd sat perfectly still while Quill painted them.
Ari was stopped by a handsome man going gray at his temples. “Ari?”
“Yes?” he replied, guarded.
The man chuckled. “Our host said to look for the towering viking,” he said in a cultured British accent.
“I get that a lot,” Ari said.
“I'm Lindsay. Kane tells me you'd like some of that cream. I order it wholesale by the crate. I'm afraid I can't share my supplier, but I can get you a crate if you'd like. It should last you and your lovely pet quite a while.” His gaze cut appreciatively to Claire, and she felt the blush overtaking her again. But she wasn't afraid of him. None of the men here had the same creepy terrible feel of those men in that basement.
Claire glanced away and noticed a dark-haired man speaking to a blonde woman wearing a glittering back collar and a sleek black floor length gown that also glittered with rhinestones.
“Kiska,” he said in a thick Russian accent, “Would you like one of these paintings for our room at the house? Or perhaps more? I will buy you whatever you like.”
“Yes, Master,” the blonde said.
“Go. Choose something.”
The woman noticed Claire watching her and smiled, then went to look at the paintings.
“Claire,” Ari said, calling her attention back to him.
The words, “Yes, Master?” tumbled out of her mouth without her thinking about it, and she was oddly grateful that few seemed to notice this title being thrown around.
“Let's go look at the art before it sells out.” He took her hand and guided her toward the paintings.
In the background she heard various endearments like pet, kitten and my little slut, and responses of Sir and Master, floating on the air around them.
Many women wore collars. They weren't dog collars. They were elegant jewelry like hers. Some were gold, some a silver-white metal. Some had jewels, some were more simple. Claire could immediately spot the tourists, as Ari had called them. They'd huddled amongst themselves toward the back of the gallery, eating hors d'oeuvres off passing trays, whispering and staring open-mouthed at the art—what they could see of it from that distance anyway. They reacted whenever a woman said the word Master, as though it were shocking and dirty—even as it clearly excited them.
“Start over there.”
Both Claire and Ari spun at Kane's voice.
“There are twenty-five paintings in the collection. They tell a story. So you should view them in order before the story gets broken up by buyers.”
“Like kittens at the pound,” a woman beside him said. The artist.
Saskia had long dark hair and eyes the color of rich melted chocolate. She wore a platinum collar with black diamonds, long black opera gloves, and a floor-length red evening gown with thin spaghetti straps and a high slit up one side. In fact, as Claire looked around, she noticed every woman wearing a collar seemed to also be wearing an evening gown with a high slit up the side. Had Kane explicitly requested extreme side-slits in the evening gowns or had the men in attendance just wanted to be able to touch their pets in any way they wanted at any time without clothing getting in the way? It seemed too planned to be coincidental.
Had Kane demanded Ari buy Claire a gown like this, or did he already know the dress-code from previous visits?
“I'm Saskia,” the artist said, “Kane's pet. You must be Claire.”
Claire smiled awkwardly at the woman, feeling suddenly guilty about the things she'd done with Kane. Did Saskia know he touched other women? Was he cheating on her? Did they even look at it that way? Claire had no idea. She'd had a hard time thinking through that sort of complex calculus while dealing with the potent effects of the cream.
But the my slut is your slut frat-boy mantra between Ari and Kane had to be known by her. Which meant... Ari had been with her as well.
“My pet is gaining quite a following in certain circles of the art world,” Kane said, sounding proud. His hand rested possessively against her lower back. “We had a waiting list for the entire six months it took her to complete the collection. I drove her the whole time like a relentless bastard, but the results speak for themselves.”
Given her brief experiences with him, Claire could just imagine the depravity he'd introduced into Saskia's creative process.
Ari led Claire to the spot Kane had indicated and they started to work their way through the series, looking at each painting in turn. They were each titled simply and enigmatically: Chapter One, Chapter Two, and so on—as if Saskia had written a book with pigments rather than words.
As they moved around the gallery, Claire could see a story unfolding. Each painting had a woman with dark hair. Saskia. All the images were kinky, each a tableau of dominance and submission. A shadowy male figure was in each image with the woman.
In the beginning he seemed undefined, blurred. He felt distant and cold and cruel. Terrifying. Claire could feel the woman's fear and disgust toward him shining out from her eyes. In some of the paintings there were other people present. Sometimes someone else was fucking the woman while the cruel distant stranger looked on.
But at some point things started to shift. Instead of pulling away from him, she moved toward him. He became more defined in each painting, less blurred around the edges, less shadowy. Light started to come in and by the last painting, Epilogue, one could see it was definitely Kane. In that last painting, rather than overt dirty kinky images, rather than power and surrender, the two of them were cuddled together in a bed.
Claire gasped when they stopped in front of one of the paintings in the series to get a closer look. Chapter Seventeen. There was Kane, Saskia, and... Ari. There was no mistaking his tall broad frame, the hair, or those arctic blue eyes that could both freeze you and melt you in a single glance.
“I want this one,” Ari said to no one in particular.
Claire took a closer look at the price. Each painting was selling at a hundred thousand dollars. And they were selling. It wasn't vanity pricing meant to stroke an ego but not fill a bank account. People were happily paying the price. Over half of the paintings already had red sold stickers on the title cards affixed to the wall beside them.
Kane appeared suddenly behind them. “I knew you'd pick that one,” he said. “Fond memories?”
“I can't believe you'd let her paint all this... as private as you are,” Ari said under his breath.
Kane shrugged. “I won't stand in the way of her art. She's brilliant. She can paint what she likes. Anyway, only the last painting in the series clearly shows it's me, and that one isn't for sale. I'm keeping it.” He pulled a roll of round red stickers out of his jacket pocket and marked Ari's painting as sold. “Marcus is handling the money, so you should go pay him. I'll keep Claire company.”
Ari looked back and forth between Claire and Kane. “Will you be okay, little one?”
“Yes, Master,” Claire said. Even though she wasn't sure how she felt about being left alone with an artist she'd once had sexual fantasies about.
Ari hesitated but finally nodded and went off in search of Marcus.
She'd thought all the women at this party were free agents who had some kink they'd woken up to and that they'd each gone in search of a man to scratch that itch, but these paintings spoke of something darker. And she wondered suddenly if Saskia was a slave in the way that Claire was a slave. A prisoner. Though she surely didn't seem like one. Then again, Claire knew nothing about her screamed, help me, a psycho is holding me hostage. Not with the way she'd clung so close to Ari since they'd arrived.
Ari had been consistently kind to her. Saskia obviously hadn't seen her own situation with Kane in the same way. Claire glanced across the room to find the artist mingling and speaking with the guests about her work.
“I need to speak with you. Now,” Kane hissed.
Claire turned suddenly back to the intimidating artist. “I... uh... okay.”
Kane arched a brow. “Are we forgetting our manners, Claire?”
“S-Sir,” she stammered.
“Good girl.” He led her out of the gallery and to a glassed-in room that looked like a conservatory but which obviously served as an art studio. The room was spacious. Was this where he and Saskia painted?
“You must have amazing ventilation in here. I can't even smell the turpentine,” Claire blathered nervously.
“We don't use turps. We use a natural method utilizing linseed and walnut oils mostly. But you know I don't use them because I didn't use them when I painted you.”
“Oh, right,” Claire said, flustered.
He'd somehow backed her against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Claire could feel the panic moving in. And then all at once, the flashback hit her. The smells and sounds of the basement. That drip, drip, drip of the leaky pipe in the corner that drew out the mice in the night when everything else was quiet.
“Please... please...” she begged, her arms going up defensively. She felt herself starting to hyperventilate, curling in on herself, shrinking to the ground, becoming very very small. Small enough to disappear if she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated hard enough.
“Claire!”
She heard Kane's voice only distantly. She couldn't find her way back out. The only thing she could feel was the terror.
Then suddenly Kane wasn't there, it was the man in the basement. “No!” she shrieked, cringing from the man.
No... she looked again. It was Ari.
“What in the fuck did you do to her?” he demanded.
“I just wanted to talk. I didn't mean to trigger anything.”
Ari knelt in front of her now, stroking her cheek, then petting her hair, whispering soothing words to her. After several minutes, the worst of the panic receded. She could see she was in the art studio with Kane and Ari. She looked down at her hands, willing the tremors to stop. Someone left the room in a rush. She thought it was Kane.
A few minutes later he was back, handing something to Ari, then Ari was trying to get her to drink.
“It's just water, little one. Drink. It'll help you calm down.” He stroked her hair while she drank the water, then Claire shakily put the lid back on and handed the bottle back to Ari. He sat next to her and pulled her into his arms.
“Shhhh. Everything is okay. You're safe. I should take her home.” He said that last part to Kane.
“No! I don't want to go home,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
Claire nodded. Although she'd been nervous about what might happen here, she wanted to find out. It was the first time she'd been able to be out anywhere in years and feel safe. Until this moment, anyway.
Ari turned back to Kane. “Now tell me what the fuck you were doing?” he said, his voice a low growl.
“I needed to ask her something.”
“Then ask.”
Claire looked up at Kane. He seemed apologetic. He was obviously used to dealing with people who were less damaged—people who could take his intimidating presence without crumbling apart at his feet.
“I need to speak with her alone,” Kane said, his intense gaze never leaving hers.
“Over my dead body,” Ari said, still pissed off. “You remember how you felt when I tried to rescue Saskia out of that club and get her away from you? Multiply that by a hundred and you are close to understanding how I feel right now.”
“Master, please. It's not his fault I had a flashback. Anything could set one off under the right circumstances. Normal things. It was an innocent mistake.”
“Him backing you against the glass wasn't an innocent mistake. It was a clear intimidation tactic. Even without your history, he had no right to do that. You aren't his.”
“I thought we had a sort of timeshare arrangement,” Kane quipped.
“Shut up,” Ari gritted out.
Kane raised his hands in surrender.
Ari untangled himself from her and stood. He looked back and forth between Claire and Kane as though not trusting his instincts about leaving her alone with Kane a few minutes ago proved exactly why he shouldn't ignore them again in this moment.
“Will you be okay if I stand just outside the door?” Ari asked.
Claire nodded.
“Fine,” he finally said. He turned his full focus on Kane. “But if I get even the slightest hint that you're bullying her, this night is not going to end on good terms between us.”
“Understood,” Kane said. “But you have to know I would never hurt your girl.”
“Do I?” Ari challenged, his stare glacial.
“I would protect her just as you would Saskia. You know that. I got carried away. I pulled the scary dominant shit on her, forgetting she doesn't know me well enough for that. Okay?”
“You never pull the scary dominant shit on her. I don't care how well she knows you. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
Ari nodded and left the room, but he clearly wasn't happy about it.
When they were alone again, Kane extended a hand and helped her off the floor. Then he took a few steps back to give her space.
“Well? Spill it. Why did you look at me like you'd seen a ghost when you saw me tonight? What do you know that you shouldn't know? More importantly, how in the fuck do you know it?”
Claire took a deep breath. “What if I tell you something you don't want to hear? What happens?”
“I'm not going to hurt you if that's what you're asking. But I need to know.”
She sighed. “I know you're Joseph Quill.”
The resigned look on his face said he'd known that before the words had come out of her mouth. “And how do you know this?”
“Before... things happened... I wanted to work in art restoration. As part of my studies, I took a lot of art history classes as well as a survey on famous contemporary and recently deceased artists even though I wouldn't need to know that kind of thing specifically for what I wanted to do. It was interesting, and I was into everything about art except actually making it myself.
There was a heavy focus on your work. So I recognized it when I saw the painting you did of me. Though I wasn't a hundred percent sure you were him because I hadn't seen your work in so many years. At least I wasn't sure until I saw Ari's art collection tonight before we came here. He's got a Quill nude in his private gallery.”
Kane raised a brow. “He does? He never told me that. The last I checked all of the work was in the hands of private collectors unwilling part with them.”
“It's one of the earlier pieces. The only girl you were known to have painted multiple times.”
Kane laughed suddenly. “Motherfucker. I'd wondered where that painting got off to. There is only one piece of that girl in private hands. I was planning to steal it from the previous owner. I'd tried to buy it first, but they wouldn't sell. They must have decided to sell after all. I guess they chose another buyer. They probably didn't appreciate the way I'd talked to them.”
“I'm sure Ari would sell it to you if he knew how much it meant to you.”
Kane laughed again. “Right now he wouldn't sell me a pint of blood if I was bleeding out. But it doesn't matter. I'm happy for him to have it. I don't need it anymore. I've moved on.”
“Can I ask you something?” Claire asked.
“Sure.”
“Why did you fake your death? You didn't need to be dead to sell art for millions of dollars. You were well on your way, alive.”
Kane shook his head. “I didn't fake it. I was running a tech start-up, and I couldn't afford any scandals. The kind of art I do would have qualified as a scandal. My art was taking off at the same time as the startup. I wasn't sure which horse to bet on, so I bet on both. I got someone to pose as Joseph Quill for public appearances. He was the one who died in the crash. I'm mainly doing kinky art installations as Jacob Hunter now, but I still do my nudes for people I know I can trust. Though I still make them sign NDAs. You can't be too careful.”
It was one thing to know he was Quill. It was yet another for him to confirm it.
“I was a huge fan of your art,” she said quietly, feeling a bit starstruck even after everything.
“Was? Claire, you wound me.”
“Am,” she clarified. “I still can't believe Joseph Quill painted me.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, Saskia is a fan girl, too. And for the record, that girl in the painting you saw... she's not the only one I've painted multiple times. She's the only one I've painted multiple times that ever went up for sale. Saskia is part of my private collection.”
The way he said it made it clear he meant more than all the paintings he must have done of her. He meant she, literally, the woman, was somehow a creation of his, and a piece of art he would never part with.
“You can't tell anyone what you know,” he said. “It could cause a lot of problems for me.”
“I assumed as much. And I would never... I swear your secret's safe with me.”
He stared at her for a long time, then finally nodded. “I believe you. Come. Let's go back out. It's about to get a lot more interesting out there.”
Ari was waiting for her when she stepped into the hallway. His eyes met hers, a question in his gaze. She nodded and he held out a hand to her. She took it and allowed him to pull her into his arms. That was when Saskia rushed up, flushed with excitement.
“Guess what, Master?”
“You sold them all?” Kane asked.
“Yes! A man named Logan bought the last six!”
“You know what that means, that he bought six?”
Saskia blushed. It was the first time Claire had seen the woman anything other than poised and composed. She looked at the ground. “Yes, Master.”
He put his hand under her chin and raised it so her eyes met his. “I can show mercy. You've been such a good girl, I can change the rules for you. You haven't met Logan after all.”
She shook her head. “N-no. It's okay.”
“Oh. I see. You're attracted to him,” Kane said. But there was no anger in his tone. Just indulgent amusement.
“Yes,” she said, in a sort of breathless way, a flush rising in her cheeks.
He nodded. “Good girl. You know how much I like what a dirty little whore you are.”
Saskia had gone from confident and imposing to shy in a matter of moments under whatever dark power Kane exerted over her.
Claire had no idea what any of this meant. It was as though they were speaking in code. And though Ari could have led her away back to the party, he seemed to want to stay right where he was.
“You know, at this rate, your debt will be paid off within another year,” Kane said.
Saskia's face fell. “And then would you let me go?”
Kane laughed. “I will never let you go. But once you pay off your debt, I will let you keep your earnings.”
Relief came over the other woman's face. Claire was busy putting the pieces together even more sure now that Saskia was somehow Kane's real, actual slave—someone who couldn't leave, but who didn't seem to be making any great effort to try. Kind of like Claire.
Kane clearly wasn't worried about saying any of this openly in front of Ari and Claire. But then it was all mutually assured destruction at this point, wasn't it? It was just another layer in Ari and Kane's strange bond.
“And are you going to stop selling me to your friends?” Saskia asked, still seemingly unconcerned with Claire and Ari's proximity to the conversation.
Claire tensed at that.
“Definitely not. You know how I enjoy watching other men fuck you for my amusement.”
Saskia's blush went deeper, accompanied by a small smile this time. Claire released the breath she'd been holding. If Saskia was into it, Claire wouldn't judge her. And the fact that the other woman was engaging in sex acts with multiple men made Claire feel less terrible about the fact that Kane had touched her. Saskia wasn't expected to be faithful while Kane fucked around behind her back. Somehow this was all even. Fair.
Kane pulled Saskia into an embrace and pressed a kiss against her throat above her collar. “Are you ready, pet?”
“Yes, Master.”
Kane turned then, for the first time acknowledging Ari and Claire since they got to the hallway. “Let's go, then. Time to learn why everybody signed NDAs.”
In the main gallery, Marcus was lighting the dozens and dozens of candles around the perimeter of the giant room. Claire looked up, relieved to find a sprinkler system in the ceiling.
Marcus wasn't wearing a shirt, and Claire couldn't be sure if it was his lack of shirt in an otherwise formal environment or the lighting of the candles which had caused the room to go quieter and talk to turn to whispers. Marcus had a black dragon tattoo on his back that wrapped around one side of his torso.
Ari took Claire's hand and pulled her back to the middle of the room with the rest of the guests, as Kane and Saskia went to the area of the gallery Claire thought of as “the front” because of the way the paintings were displayed.
Kane's fingertips trailed over the dragon as he passed the other man, eliciting a small shiver. Marcus paused in his candle lighting when Saskia was within reach of him. He gripped the back of her neck possessively, pulling her in for a hungry kiss. She melted against him, unconcerned with the crowd of people now watching the front of the gallery with rapt attention. He whispered something in her ear. She nodded. Then he nodded. He and Kane exchanged a glance. It was all very cryptic.
Marcus went back to lighting the candles. When all of them were lit, he disappeared for a moment into the hallway, and the lights went out. In the lower light, Claire noticed she and Ari stood in a circle of illumination. She looked up to see the two of them were just under the skylight, the full moon shining down on them.
Her attention was called back to the front by a spoon tapping against a glass. “May I have your attention,” Kane said. He stood in front of a table with a large crystal bowl on it.
The room fell silent. Anticipation hung on the air, concentrated most heavily with the tourists in the back. They stood closer together as if they were about to spend the night in a haunted house and were now having doubts about it. Too late now. The ink was dry on the NDA's.
“I'm Jacob Hunter,” Kane said. “Saskia and I are so pleased to have you here. All twenty-four pieces that were for sale have now sold. Congratulations to all who acquired the art they wanted. I heard rumors there was some fighting over a couple of them.”
A smattering of polite laughter from the group.
Kane continued, “You all signed non-disclosure agreements before being allowed inside. As you know, that wasn't because of anything forbidden in Saskia's art, but something forbidden in my own. I have my own piece to share with you. Let's get started. If you purchased one of my lovely pet's paintings tonight, please raise your hand.”
Ari and about ten other people—three women, the rest men—raised their hands. Several must have bought more than one painting. Marcus moved through the candlelit room and handed a white envelope to each buyer.
“Please read your cards,” Kane said.
Ari opened the envelope and pulled out the card. The engraved black ink was legible under the moonlight coming in from above them, but other buyers took their cards closer to one of the many lighted candelabras to read. Ari held his card so that Claire could see it, too.
Thank you for purchasing an original Saskia Roth. You will be allowed to touch, fondle, lick, suck, and fuck the art entitled Gift with Purchase for a period of five minutes for each piece you purchased. Enjoy.
Claire's eyes widened. “What art is someone going to want to do that to?” she whispered.
“Saskia is the art,” Ari said.
“Oh.” Suddenly the implications of the stranger who had bought six paintings became clear. He would get thirty minutes to do whatever he wanted with Saskia, in front of the entire gallery of people. She looked around at the guests with cards, wondering which one of them was Logan. Some of the buyers had raised an eyebrow upon reading the card. Some had lascivious smiles on their faces. Some seemed to be trying to figure out just what they could do in the time allotted to them.
Ari turned to Claire, watching her, no doubt waiting for a reaction.
“What are you going to do with her?” she whispered.
Ari leaned in close to her ear. “I'm going to fuck her, gently, slowly, but I'm not going to finish. When the timer rings, I'm coming for you. I'm going to finish inside you right here in this gallery.”
Claire was suddenly so turned on she couldn't think. Wasn't she supposed to be jealous? Cry? Be angry? But all she felt was the steady throbbing pulse of growing arousal between her legs.
“I want you to watch me with her,” he continued, practically growling the words in her ear.
“Yes, Master,” she whimpered in response.
“Good girl.”
Kane spoke again. “When you've read your card, please put it back inside the envelope, and don't share it with the others around you. When your name is called, you will turn in your card. Marcus will set the timer based upon the number of paintings you purchased. You may decline your time if you don't wish to participate, but you cannot sell or trade it to anyone.
Those of you who did not purchase a painting are welcome to engage in whatever lewd acts you wish amongst yourselves. We have party favors for everyone. Please feel free to take one.” Kane pulled a familiar white tube out of the crystal bowl behind him. “Ladies, I promise you, it's like nothing you've ever experienced.”
A tall good-looking man with hawkish features carried a chair and cello across the front of the room. He placed the chair near Kane and sat.
“Nolan, play something dark. Give us some music to fuck to.”
“You know I bought a painting,” Nolan said.
“We'll give you a five-minute break,” Kane replied smoothly.
The man just chuckled and began to play slow sensual strains.
Marcus rolled what looked like a sturdy leather table into the room and positioned it at the front close to Nolan. As it had rolled past them, Claire glimpsed a placard that read: “Gift with Purchase by Jacob Hunter”.
“Saskia, come here,” Kane said.
The woman joined him.
“Turn,” he commanded.
She turned away from him, and Kane slowly began to unzip the long red evening gown. Saskia looked flushed with excitement even in the candlelight. He pushed the thin spaghetti straps off her shoulders, then pushed the gown first down to her waist, then over her hips.
Appreciative whistles sounded from the audience.
An imperial-sounding male voice said, “Leave the gloves on.”
“Of course, Phillip. She wore them for you,” Kane said.
Chuckles rose from the group.
The red gown pooled at her feet. “Step out,” Kane ordered.
He took her hand and helped her out.
“Good girl. Now turn, slowly, let them all take a good look.”
Saskia turned slowly all the way around to the sound of whistles and cat calls rising over the cello music. Kane took one of the white tubes of arousal cream out of the crystal bowl and returned to her. He spread the cream between her legs. The room went silent as they watched, mesmerized by the way she arched her body into his hand as he stroked her.
When he was finished, she got on top of the padded leather table and crawled to the center of it, facing the audience on her knees, legs spread wide.
“Appetizing, don't you think?” Kane said, a smile curving his lips.
Marcus read off a notepad: “Anton Volokov.”
The Russian and his blonde pet went up to the table and turned in their card. The buyer whispered something to Marcus. Marcus relayed whatever was said to Kane. Kane nodded. The Russian led the blonde woman over to the table where Saskia knelt, waiting, her breathing changing, her nipples hardening.
Marcus set the timer for ten minutes. The light ticking sound disappeared behind the strains of the cello. Claire couldn't take her eyes off them. The blonde woman began to kiss Saskia while Anton started to fondle her breasts and stroke between her legs.
Claire looked around the room to find one-by-one men were taking the white tubes out of the crystal bowl and returning to their pets. At first hands slipped under the high-slits in the women's evening gowns to grope and finger, then to apply the cream.
The buzzer sounded and Anton and his pet stopped touching Saskia, leaving her whimpering and begging them not to stop. The cream had obviously kicked in, and the Russian had known exactly how to touch her to keep her from coming.
“Sorry,” the Russian said, “Be a good girl. Rules are rules. The next one will satisfy you, I'm sure.”
Ari took Claire's hand and led her away from the group over to a buffet table in the back. “Eat something,” he said. “It'll help settle your nerves.”
Was it that obvious?
The two of them ate from the buffet as Marcus moved through two more names on the list.
“Are you okay?” Ari asked.
“Yes, Master.”
Moans and whimpers began to sound around the room as the arousal cream took effect. Tuxedos and dresses started to come off. Soon there were couples and groups fucking around the room on the gallery floor like animals in heat, having lost even the pretense of respectability or formal etiquette. Gone was the polite laughter and all that was left was guttural moans as fingernails dug into backs and hands slapped hard across exposed ass cheeks.
“Aric Dalgaard,” Marcus said.
“Aric?” Claire said, confused when Ari took her hand.
“My kid sister couldn't pronounce her consonants on the end of words. She kept calling me Ari. The family thought it was cute. It stuck.”
It was cute. It was kind of charming that this large adult male had edited his entire identity to accommodate a small child's speech impediment.
Ari guided her to the front, leaving her just a few short feet from the leather table Saskia panted on, waiting to be touched or fondled or fucked again. He gave Marcus his card and began to undress. He took a one-hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and left the clothes in a pile on the floor.
“Hey, Doll,” he said gently when he approached Saskia. “Are you doing okay?”
As if he needed to ask. The woman's eyes were glazed with lust. But Claire found she liked that he did ask. That he cared about Saskia's comfort and mental state. It made Claire trust him more.
“Yes, Sir,” Saskia said, licking her lips.
He tossed the hundred-dollar bill at her. “Buy yourself something pretty.”
She pouted. “You paid ten thousand last time. Now I'm just worth a hundred?”
Ari laughed. “I paid a hundred thousand this time. The hundred is just a tip because you're so cute.”
Marcus started the timer. Ari climbed on the table with her and flipped her over onto her hands and knees. A moment later he was inside her, slowly fucking her, cupping and stroking her breasts.
Claire was captivated. Nothing she thought she should feel with Ari had manifested. When she'd kept him prisoner she hadn't felt the relief she expected. When he took her captive and began to train her body to his own desires, she didn't feel the revulsion or terror she expected, and in this moment she didn't feel the expected jealousy.
Instead, watching him fuck Saskia, she felt aroused. It was the most erotic thing she'd ever watched. Seeing Ari from an angle she could never see him when he was inside her, watching the sleek animal way he moved, his body gliding with ease inside another.
She felt a hand in hers, pulling her back to the circle of moonlight. It was Kane, she realized suddenly, as he stood behind her, leaning in, kissing the side of her neck. His fingers strayed under the slit in her dress, between her legs.
Claire moaned and sagged against him as he pressed two fingers inside her.
“Already so wet,” Kane growled in her ear. “Does it excite you to watch him fucking my pet?”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, her hips thrusting against his fingers.
“Good. I'm so glad Ari has a pet I like now. The four of us are going to fuck together many times in the future. You can count on it. He's going to be inside you. I'm going to be inside you. He's going to be inside her. I'm going to be inside her. And we'll both watch you and Saskia together.”
“Yes, Sir,” Claire gasped.
“I'm not using the cream on you tonight. You're going to own the fact that you want this. You're going to come without anything dropping your inhibitions.”
Kane unzipped her dress, and pushed the gown down over her hips and to the floor, much like he had with Saskia. “Turn,” he whispered in her ear.
Claire turned to face him, her heart thundering in her chest. This should terrify her. But in this moment there was no fear, no flashbacks, nothing but the smell of sex and the desire that kept climbing higher and higher.
His gaze roved hungrily over her, then his hands followed behind, trailing over every inch of her as if he planned to paint her again right here, right now. But instead he bent down, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking until he wrenched a whimper from her.
“Please,” she begged.
Instead of giving her the pleasure she needed, he turned her back around to face Ari and Saskia and held her in place. “Watch them,” he said in her ear. “Watch your master fuck my dirty little whore.”
He rubbed her clit with the fingers of one hand, while the other stroked between her ass cheeks, one finger pressing inside. Claire let out a gasp as his finger slid in and out of her ass. She rocked back against him.
Her eyes met Saskia's as the other woman writhed beneath Ari.