Something about the sound of the party downstairs—or rather, the absence of sound, since the bass had stopped thumping underfoot—alerted Chloe it was nearing midnight. Unfortunately, she and Dave were still tied up, or…Dave was. He looked so delectable lying there with his arms outspread, his fingers clutching the iron headboard. Not that his hands could go anywhere else. Not with his wrists secured with white satin.

“You want to see the ball drop, don’t you, babe?” Chloe whispered in his ear.

He gave a tight nod. All the muscles of his upper body were contracted into lovely bulges and taut sinew under feverish, sweat-sheened skin.

She drew an ice cube down the midline of his abdomen, inch by slow inch. Meltwater pooled in the channel, and she licked it away at intervals, watching from the corners of her eyes as his body reacted. She could definitely get addicted to having him captive like this.

~*~

Chloe hadn’t even wanted to go out for New Year’s Eve. The first holiday since they’d announced their engagement meant they’d been smothered with hugs and congratulations, but also inundated with advice and questions and demands for details. All out of excitement and affection, of course, but still overwhelming. Her socialization cup was full, and Chloe wanted a break, to stay home in her flannel pajamas, eat ice cream out of the carton, and watch Die Hard until midnight. Unfortunately, Dave had been insistent. They could not back out of the company party at his boss, Issac’s, luxury condo.

When they left the house, Dave looked smokin’ hot in his black suit, his hair sleeked back and formal-looking, and his cheeks shaved smooth. Chloe amended her wish list: stay home in her sexiest lingerie, eat ice cream off Dave’s abs, and ring in the New Year under a tangle of sweaty sheets. She ran it by him as they sat dead stopped in traffic.

“Come on, Chloe. We’re not about to turn around now,” he said, in a voice that implied she was being unreasonable. Maybe she was, but by the time they made it through another unexpected traffic jam, this time on the bridge to Isaac’s Eastside high rise, her outlook had degenerated from resigned to crabby.

There were two cars ahead of them at the valet station when Dave turned to her and said, “Smile, babe. It’s going to be fun.”

Smile? Chloe opened her mouth to tell him where to stick his smile advice, but with the kind of perfect timing only Dave could pull off, they inched forward, the valet attendant opened her door, and she had to settle for a sneer. Dave returned it with a little head tilt that said, touché!

Chloe might have growled, at both him and herself.

He took her hand and wove it under his elbow as they made their way toward the building’s entry. “I love you, Chloe Lindgren,” he whispered, nipping her ear. The doorman, dressed in full regalia, opened the door with a grand gesture and they swanned through. “Next New Year we’ll be an old married couple. I promise we can stay home if you want.”

This was one New Year’s Eve; she could meet him half way. Chloe turned, and though her smile was forced, she said, “Let’s do this.”

And then Dave started in on the martinis. The more he sipped, the more effusive he grew. His bro-tastic co-workers egged him on, Chloe’s smile grew tighter, and when she glanced around, she caught Isaac eyeing their group. Glowering, really.

The dude was a full-on dominant. Obvious about it to the point of keeping his subs practically bound to his side, even in public. There was no one at his side tonight. As far as Chloe knew, he hadn’t taken up with anyone new since he’d split with his most recent paramour, which just gave him more leisure time to use his keen observational prowess on the rest of them.

As tenuous a hold as she had on herself, she didn’t need Isaac picking at the twine like a damn crow feasting on road kill.

Dave was laughing and spouting off about how Chloe tried to bribe him to stay home by tempting him first with flannel pajamas, then an offer to—

Chloe gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. Dave sloshed his drink, the guys exploded with laughter, and her head throbbed like a volcano ready to erupt. She didn’t care who got caught in the blast zone.

Isaac, dark and stealthy as a panther in the rainforest, inserted himself into the group. Good. Let him deal with his raucous underlings. Chloe turned away, muttering about needing a stronger drink and maybe a gag for Dave.

“That could be arranged, you know,” Isaac said to her sotto voce, startling her both with the statement and with him zeroing in on her rather then the men.

Chloe’s brows shot northward. “Ex-cuse me?”

“I think it’s a fine idea.”

She wanted to say, well, you would but she didn’t possess quite that much chutzpah. Still, she must have had a look on her face. Isaac, making a pretense of looking at her engagement ring, carved her farther away from the group.

“I’ve told the bartender no more martinis for him,” he said. “But if you need a quiet place to…hash this out…” He gestured vaguely, but didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. He was like a fucking farmer. Tossing the tiniest kinky seeds onto fertile ground and letting them take root.

And root they did. Chloe bit the inside of her cheek, first one side, then the other. This should have been the most awkward conversation ever. Instead, the gears in her head started spinning at piercingly high rpms, delicious ideas playing out in her imagination. Ideas involving lessons in silence and restraint of the sort a dominant might employ.

She looked up at him, and Isaac raised his chin toward the stairway to the second floor. “Third door on the right. It’s stocked, it’s secure, and…” He scratched his stubbled chin with two fingers. “Relatively soundproof. It’s just a spare room.”

“Um…thank you. I may just…”

He watched her patiently, but when she didn’t finish, he said, “I wouldn’t want you to spend New Year’e Eve in misery,” and then turned on his heel and left her there.

Well. The man was imperious and unnerving as hell, but she had to hand it to him. He knew his human psychology. He’d seen right through her—not that there was much of a secret about what she’d rather be doing, thanks to Dave. But somehow Isaac knew his suggestion would appeal to her, deep down.

And it did appeal. Enormously. Chloe took the stairs at a forced-calm pace, then slipped into the room Isaac had directed her to.

It was nothing like she’d imagined. It was utterly feminine, for one thing. The bed’s metal headboard, painted in a rosy cream, evoked curling vines and burgeoning blossoms, and the bed coverings were soft and rich-looking, in gradations of white like a seashell in sunlight. The furniture was light-colored wood, and she opened drawers and cupboards, finding ropes and blindfolds, restraints and even lingerie, as well as tools she associated with more advanced inducement of both pleasure and pain. Paddles and electrical implements, and even something that looked like a wicked pizza cutter. There was also a small refrigerator sitting next to the bedside table, with fresh ice inside, and an erotically painted bowl of hardened wax on top, sitting on a rack over an unlit warming can.

Ignoring Isaac’s lingerie collection—she was already wearing her laciest bra and panty set, and a garter to hold up her stockings—Chloe hung her dress in the armoire, dropped her panties on the floor inside, and then strolled over to the restraint drawer, debating over her choices before deciding on satin ties rather than cuffs. After another moment’s consideration at a different cupboard, she pulled a slim paddle—it looked like a pastry spatula in a padded leather sheath—from the collection. It was mostly for show. She didn’t think she could actually be moved to use it. At least not with any force. Though she and Dave had introduced some light kink into their repertoire, paddles were a step farther than they’d gone. Chloe was more interested in the appearance, in sending her fiancé a message. Don’t humiliate your already-cranky fiancée in public, lover boy.

When she deemed everything ready, she sent Dave a terse text to come upstairs. Less than a minute later the clip of his familiar stride on the wood flooring outside unleashed curl of panic in her belly. What was she playing at? She had no real leverage, no way to make Dave cooperate.

Her misgivings evaporated when he stepped inside. His face transformed from worry to confusion, and from there to pure, unadulterated lust. He closed the door with a sturdy click.

Chloe felt terribly lusty, too. Her breasts and lower bits all responded to the expression on Dave’s face. She ached to be touched and fondled, but that wasn’t the plan. To distract herself, she raised the small paddle and waved it in a figure eight, like a kinky magic wand. “Take off your clothes, David. All of them.”

His mouth dropped open. “Chloe, we’re at—”

“Who do you think allowed me the use of the room?” she said, cutting him off as she edged past him to turn the lock.

Tiny beads of sweat popped out on his forehead, and try as she might, Chloe couldn’t keep herself from brushing her nipples, just to discharge some of the excess sexual energy. It worked…sort of. The surge fired straight downward, but left her with a kindling afterglow. One that only made her want to duplicate the sensation again. And again.

Dave’s eyes followed her hand. “Oh, God,” he groaned quietly.

She couldn’t agree more, but she couldn’t say so. She had a persona to maintain. “You’re still dressed,” she said instead, slanting the paddle between his legs. His hips flinched back when she exerted just a tiny bit of upward pressure. “Why is that?”

“What is this, Chloe?”

“No, Dave.” She slid the flat of the paddle back and forth across his growing erection. “You’re not to talk. You’ve said enough tonight.”

And with that, his face registered comprehension. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, babe. You know how me and martinis—”

“Excuses,” she said, her tone clipped. “I could switch out this benign thing for one with an electric zap. There are several options available.” She waved languidly toward the various cupboards. “Clothes, David. And silently. Think of it as restitution.”

She stood with her head and hip both cocked as he undressed, his movements careful, deliberate, one eye on her most of the time. He stopped with his black boxer briefs still on. Chloe stared at him, daring him to defy her, and when he didn’t move, she let the paddle thwack rhythmically against her thigh. He swallowed hard, and Chloe savored the feeling of being in control. Dave didn’t dislike it, either, if the hard-on straining his waistband was any clue.

He pushed his underwear down slowly, revealing himself by degrees. There were some things Chloe simply couldn’t look away from, and Dave doing a striptease was one of them. She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from ruining her Domme façade by grinning.

When he stood naked before her, she said, “Excellent. I’m going to tie you to the bed. Nod if I have your permission.”

He did, and she took her time about it, bending over so that her breasts were close to his face, dragging her leg across his chest as she moved from tying one hand to the other, giving him peeks of the warm recesses between her thighs. She smirked when he licked his lips and groaned. “Uh-oh. That’s a fail.”

He curled his fingers over a curving vine on the headboard, as if hanging on for dear life. And wasn’t that one of the most erotic things she’d ever seen.

“Here’s the deal, babe,” she said, perching on his abdomen, her feet on either side of his body. “The way I figure it, you owe me an hour of practicing silence and self-control. No sound, and no coming. This is a test. You only have to pass one more task than you fail. If you do, we get to join the others downstairs to watch the ball drop and share a toast to the New Year.” She leaned forward, took one of his nipples between her teeth and bit down lightly before releasing him, but not before his body flushed with heat she could feel on the backs of her thighs and elsewhere. “Be good, and I promise,” she added, maneuvering herself off him. “I’ll take care of what I assume will be very. Blue. Balls. Deal?”

“Dea—” He clamped his mouth shut.

“Mm, progress,” Chloe said. “I’ll give you credit for that. You’re back to even.” She reached between his legs and skimmed her nails from behind his balls to the head of his cock, catching hold of him when it jumped into her hand.

He was struggling already, and she tried not to smile. She used her thumb to wipe away the drop of moisture clinging to his tip, then clamped her fist tighter on his shaft. His fingers flexed on the headboard, and her body answered his reaction. A wave of pleasure started between her thighs and bloomed through her midsection. Isaac had been right, this was exactly what she needed. Power and pleasure all wrapped into one erotic package.

She straddled Dave’s abdomen again, this time facing his legs, and wondered for a moment if she should have tied his feet as well. Probably unnecessary. His lower body was deathly rigid, and his thighs looked more like a sculpture than flesh. He’d stay put. She dragged her hand down his cock, and at the base, worked her fingers around his balls again, manipulating them with a bit more aggression than she normally would. She didn’t intend for this to be too easy for him.

His hips snapped upward, bouncing her on his stomach, but he stayed silent and ultimately relaxed back to where he began, though she could hear him sucking air through his teeth. “Pass,” she told him, leaning down to swirl her tongue over his smooth crown. She meant for her position—offering him an unfettered, yet unattainable view of places she knew he loved to see and touch—to add to his difficulties. Imagining how she must look to him sent another heavy shot of lust up her spine, leaving her hands and feet buzzing.

He hissed in another breath when she drew the edges of her teeth up the length of his cock, but she didn’t scold him for it. Her fingers didn’t stop playing below while she worked her mouth to the very top, closed her lips over him, and sucked back on his tip, drawing another spot of fluid. The tendons on the inside of his thighs rose under his skin as he clenched the muscles cradling his pelvis, but he remained silent.

It was all Chloe could do not to take him as deep as she could, and not just as torture. The desire to take her own pleasure by giving him his—to taste him, and feel the hard and soft of him against her tongue, to hear him beg and praise her, growl filthy words at her, to know what the beautiful agony on his face would look like—the desire to experience all of it, right now, was hard to overcome.

She scooted back, her feet braced against the undersides of his arms, and used his firm chest to bring herself another shot of relief. Bummer she hadn’t accounted for how aroused this game would make her, especially when she could feel the gusts of his breath on her wet flesh.

“Fuck, Chloe,” Dave groaned from behind her. The bed shook. “C’mon, untie me.”

It was exactly what she needed to get her head back in the game. “Aw,” she drawled, sitting up a little and rocking herself atop his chest. “Fail.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t wiggle your ass in my face and expect me to stay silent. That’s cheating.”

“Double fail.” She hiked her leg over and rose off him.

The bed rocked as he yanked at the headboard again. “Dammit,” he bit out.

“Triple.”

They had another stare-off. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything more. Chloe sashayed away. It really was better for her if she didn’t touch him. She opened the paddle cupboard and pulled out a flogger made of dozens of soft leather tails. She had no clue how to use it without hurting him, she just wanted to drag it over his skin and see what would happen. He’d either wilt or…

Hm…Not. His cock flexed as the tassels dragged along his front, and his head rolled back, his chin pointing toward the ceiling, his throat fully exposed. The way his body arched and strained as he searched for control did tantalizing things to her. Hot, wicked things that left her body trembling and her mind turning to all the ways she might torture him to make him repeat them, over and over again.

Dave muttered under his breath, and she had to decide if she’d make him pay for it. She leaned closer. His eyes were screwed shut and she thought she heard him naming the players on the Seattle baseball roster. She almost laughed. “Do you know what the score is, baby?”

He jerked his head, no.

A trick, but he passed.

“Let’s say we’re back to even.” She danced the flogger’s tails over his cock and balls, then turned it to wedge the handle between his thighs. He went rigid, his hips rising off the bed, and his arms turning to an artist’s anatomy study of musculature as he gripped the ties and strained against the headboard.

“Are you afraid, or is it that you want me to flog you?” Chloe asked. She wouldn’t try it, at least not without some instruction first, but his reaction was so very intriguing.

He turned his head in her direction. His eyes were open, but they were fogged with such carnal need she almost gave up the game. She was in bad shape, too, after all.

Instead, she bent over, ran her fingers through his hair. “How ya’ doin’, babe?”

He licked his lips and closed his eyes.

“I need more than that. I’ll stop if this is all too much for you.”

His eyes flew open, now clear and direct, and he raised his head. Her heart pounded. Had she gone too far, ruined the night?

He mouthed fuck me.

Chloe laughed. “You cheating dog.”

He tried giving her a come-hither message with his brows, but it only made her laugh harder. She dropped the flogger and went for the ice. She wouldn’t have any trouble torturing him with that.

She showed no mercy, freezing his most sensitive places—his nipples, and his sack. He grunted and she scolded, counting marks against him, but only so she could watch him grit his teeth and fight for control of his body. He rode it all out so heroically, Chloe’s mindset turned. She wanted to fuck him, to break him completely, and to take her own denied pleasure.

His eyes were closed again, and his mouth slightly open, the scratch of his breath loud and clear. That’s when she noticed the absence of sound from downstairs. Even though he nodded in answer to her question about seeing the New Year’s ball drop, she continued her path with the ice cube. She reached down and feathered her fingers between his legs. “Good man,” she said. “You might just have earned your reward.”

His Adam’s apple rose and fell, but he still didn’t make a sound. Not as she trailed the cube down his belly, drew lines and circles with it. Chloe enjoyed his body’s involuntary responses, the tics of muscles, and the jerk of his cock, until it got to be more than even she could stand. She left the cube melting in his belly button and knelt between his legs. She licked his balls and the length of his cock, lapped and kissed and crawled her way up the length of his body until she reached his head. “Dave,” she whispered and licked the underside of his chin.

He scared the bejeezus out of her when his head snapped up, and he seized her lips with his. His kiss was incendiary, all the pent-up heat and sexual frustration of however long they’d been locked in this room, all flooding out with his fiery kiss. He couldn’t physically keep her there, but she couldn’t draw herself away. Not from such naked need.

She was a terrible dominatrix.

It was Dave who broke the kiss. He pulled back and mouthed, I’m. Sorry.

Chloe’s heart thumped in her throat. “You’re just saying that because you want me to get you off.”

He shook his head. I love you, he mouthed, and then he said aloud, “More than life.”

Damn. She couldn’t possibly count that against him. “You aren’t going to die, you know.”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” he said, his voice hoarse from strain and disuse. “Unless you fuck me. It’s like CPR, you know.”

Chloe snorted, then noticed the faint sound of champagne bottles being freed of their corks downstairs. “We’re out of time,” she said, pulling the corners of her lips tight together as she scooted backward. “Sorry.”

“The fuck we are,” Dave said, raising a leg and wrapping it around her hips in some kind of naked wrestling move. He arrested her progress and pushed her down, his cock rigid beneath her, poised and ready for action. “Even if you untie me, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hm,” Chloe said, tapping her finger on her lower lip. She rocked slightly atop him. “Wasn’t there something about professional obligation?”

“Fuck that, too,” he growled.

She pretended to think about it, until he started to squirm. “I suppose it would be unsporting of me not to acknowledge your accomplishment.”

“I would be wounded,” he said. “I deserve a medal.”

“Do you now?” Chloe rose, reached down, and guided him inside her by slow degrees. An inch in, half an inch out, over and over. “What kind of medal did you have in mind?”

He caught her by surprise when he thrust up, filling her to the brink. “The winner’s kind,” he said.

Once she began to move atop him, there was no keeping quiet. For either of them. She rode him hard and deep, canted her hips to find the perfect spot with the head of his cock, and rolled over and over it to the point of distraction. Dave sucked her breast deep into his mouth—the only thing that stopped his dirty, exquisitely detailed monologue of promised payback. He closed the erogenous circuit between her nipple and her g-spot. Electrified, her body spiraled tighter, her movements grew more focused, her words turned to incoherent gasps. She clutched her fingers around his wrists and panted, “You can come. I forgot to give you permission.”

He raised his knees behind her, and took them the rest of the way. Chloe knew she was crying out, but she couldn’t stop herself. Their bodies slapped together as noisily as any paddle swats, and when Dave roared, “Oh, fuck, Chloe,” she lost it. Flew apart and floated away, her extremities tingling into phantom limbs, leaving only the trunk of her body throbbing and clenching and well-tested.

She’d meant to torture and break him. Teach him a lesson. She should have known she couldn’t possibly do it without including herself.

When her breathing slowed enough she wasn’t drowning out all other sound, Chloe discovered their climaxes apparently coincided with the playing of Auld Lang Syne, which was turned up loud enough to be heard across the lake in Seattle.

“Happy New Year,” Dave said, nibbling her ear. Chloe was flopped atop him like a wet towel.

“It’s our wedding year,” she muttered, her face plastered into the curve of his neck.

“Pajamas-and-Die-Hard New Year year,” he said with a humorous grunt.

“This wasn’t so bad.” She lifted her head enough to kiss her almost-husband’s lips. “I want to do it again some time.”

“We can definitely make that happen.”

“Did I tell you I love you?”

“I can’t remember. Did you?”

She licked up the column of his throat, tasted salt and Dave. “I think I did…”

By the time they ambled down the stairs much, much later, the living room was littered with streamers and glitter, empty glasses, and at least one necktie, but all the guests had gone. Isaac sauntered up to them, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, champagne glasses in hand. “Better?” he asked, handing them each one.

“Yes,” Dave said.

“No,” Chloe said, at the same time. She was temporarily satisfied, but the night wasn’t nearly over yet. This atonement thing had a lot of upside, and she hoped Isaac wouldn’t mind if he found a pair of neoprene cuffs missing from the drawer. She’d send them back with Dave when they returned to work next week.

Isaac looked from Dave, to her, and then slowly returned his gaze to Dave. “She’s greedy,” he said. “You’re fucked, son.”

Dave’s grin rose higher on one side than the other. “Am I?”

“Thoroughly,” Chloe said.

She tipped her glass, and all three of them clinked, the crystal ringing in the night. “May it be your year,” Isaac said.

“Oh, it will be,” Chloe said, holding Dave’s gaze. “It will be.”