Tied Up in Wonderland Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 London Saint James

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-114-5

  Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston

  Editor: Natascha Jaffa

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  Adventure. Love. Wonder. Never let them go.

  XoXo

  London

  TIED UP IN WONDERLAND

  Naughty Fairy Tales

  London Saint James

  Copyright © 2012

  Prologue

  “Lift that beautiful ass for me. I want to see your sweet pussy,” he said in a low grumble. I wiggled. My hands were tied together at the wrists with a rope, and stretched out in front of me. They’d been secured to a hook that hung on a brick wall. The dress I bought last week lay strewn upon the large slate tiles at my feet, in a wanton splash of ocean blue.

  I experienced a whoosh of air. It hit me before the sting of his large palm landed on my bare ass. “Do as I instructed.”

  A sound of enjoyment squeaked from me as the pleasure from the slap rippled over my sex. I licked my lips, stood up on my tiptoes, and lifted my ass for him.

  “Fuck me,” I said.

  He smacked my ass once more. I bucked. “Little Alice is so impatient.”

  Something soft skimmed down the length of my spine. The sensation, almost feathery. I chilled and squirmed. My naked upper body bent over a stainless steel table. The cool surface enticed my exposed nipples. When I moved, the friction against the hard, cold, exterior caused them to stiffen. They became pebble-like hard.

  “Spread your legs,” he demanded. I spread them. “That’s it.”

  Strong fingers waltzed down the crack of my ass. Parted my body, intimately. He licked my shoulder blade before his mouth pressed into the small of my back. When he kissed each dimple on my lower back, he traced his finger down the seam of me. I squealed. He murmured low sounds of pleasure. The vibration of his voice mapped the progression of his mouth across my right globe. He kissed. Caressed. Squeezed the plump flesh as if he were kneading pie dough.

  “Your ass is artwork,” he whispered.

  My forehead fell to rest upon the cool steel beneath me. His rock hard cock pressed into the hindmost part of my right upper thigh.

  “Esta noche voy a tocar todas las partes de su cuerpo,” he said. The sound of his voice trailed over the curve of my neck like a whisper of seduction.

  Spanish. He’s speaking Spanish to me. Chills danced over the canvas of my skin.

  “Please. Tell me what you said.”

  “Tonight,” he replied, “I will touch every part of your body.” He fisted my long blonde hair. Pulled it with gentle force. Sucked on my earlobe. My sex quaked. My breasts lifted from the cool steel as I arched backward. It was pleasure/pain. Exquisite.

  “Voy a todas las sensaciones propias,” he said. He bit the side of my neck, nuzzled his nose in the hallow behind my ear before he translated. “I will own every sensation.”

  He reached around and plucked one of my erect nipples before he rolled it between his strong fingers. I grabbed at my restraints. Tugged. He swiped my hair over my left shoulder. Placed his mouth firmly to the back of my neck. Raked his teeth over the sensitive flesh. I trembled. His body enveloped me. Fingers, possibly two, plunged deep inside my quivering wet pussy. Shock at the invasion was overtaken by heat, stretching, and bliss.

  “Mmm…” I moaned.

  He angled his fingers. In that one maneuver, he demonstrated his skill as a Master. His touch caused me to shake from somewhere within. I wanted more. In a moment of pure incoherent pleasure, I may have said, “More.”

  He fingered me deeply. When I began to fuck his fingers, he pulled out. Swatted my ass. The stinging blow wasn’t expected. I writhed. Twisted. My pussy ached for more. My ass tingled. He plunged at least three fingers back inside of me. Cries of pleasure escaped my lips.

  “I will own every sound you make,” he said.

  Oh yes. He would own every sound. And I feared before the night was over, he would own me.

  Chapter One

  “Everyone, let’s give it up for Allison McCray,” my editor announced. “For her hard-hitting exposé on ramped steroid use in college baseball. She hit this one out of the park.”

  My colleagues clapped and cheered.

  “Way to go, Ally,” Erica said in her low, wispy voice.

  Derik hooted, “Whoot, whoot!” while twirling his fist in the air like a goofball.

  I rolled my chair back from the walnut conference table, stood, and did a curtsy. “I would like to thank the academy—”

  “Smart-ass,” Jeff said.

  “Nice curtsy,” Derik interjected.

  I winked and smiled. I was a smart-ass, most of the time, but in this group, you had to be.

  “All right, all right. Everyone settle down. As editor and chief of this newspaper, I will take the credit for making a good decision in hiring Allison. As well, giving her the go ahead with the steroid story.”

  Derik clapped. “Way to go, Chief.”

  Everyone laughed. I took my seat.

  Dwayne Holden, our fearless leader, gracefully flipped Derik the bird. “Now, what do we have on the agenda? And don’t be a bunch of wisenheimers. I want some unique ideas. Something to really hook our readers, and build upon our customer base.”

  Erica Anderson, who always dresses like a pent up librarian, with her strawberry blonde hair pulled up in a bun, sat far back from the table in her white lacy blouse and black skirt. She shook her foot nervously, bringing attention to those horrible black no heel slip-on dress shoes, and raised her hand.

  Dwayne rolled is chocolate brown eyes. “Yes, Erica?”

  “I was thinking about a piece on the value of yogurt as a diet aid,” she said, and dropped her hand.

  Jeff busted out laughing.

  Erica flipped around in her seat to glower at Jeff. Her expression, appalled. Her pink lips pursed before her chin dropped. “What, Jeff?”

  Jeff shook his head.

  “Erica,” Dwayne said. “I’m not sure yogurt is edgy enough to draw in the readers.”

  “I don’t know, Chief,” Derik said with a side-way smirk. “There’s always Friday night yogurt fights down at The Beaver Club.”

  Dwayne rubbed at his graying sideburn. “Thanks, but no thanks, Derik.”

  “Speaking of clubs,” I said.

  I was on the verge of breaking a huge story about a particular underground bondage club. To either substantiate or put to rest the allegations of women being drugged and sexually exploited. The first problem: one only gets into that club by invitation from someone called Master Hatter. The second dilemma: the club wasn’t exactly on the map. According to a new source, the location changed. It cropped up in different places around Seattle. But with digging, good investigative skills, weeks of feet hitting the pavement, and a little luck, I’d obtained a lead. Or I should say Alice Smith, college party girl and aspiring sex slave, obtained a lead. It came from a friend, of a friend, of a friend.

  I had my background story down pat. All my fake credentials of a college student were in place. My false identity could only be described as perfection. Complete with driver’s license, passport, and a dorm room addre
ss. Trust me when I say obtaining a dorm room address wasn’t easy, but when I wanted something as bad as I wanted this story, well, nothing would stop me. This Alice was going to spiral down the allusive rabbit hole.

  “I’ve sort of been snooping around,” I said. “Trying to find out more about the underground bondage club called Wonderland. All kinds of rumors are flying in regard to this place, including some disturbing allegations of women being drugged.”

  Dwayne’s eyes flashed. “Do you have a lead? A good source?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Good. Work on it. Keep me informed,” he said. Dwayne glanced around the table, his unkempt hair becoming more of a mess as he scrubbed his hand through his gray curls. “What else do we have, people?”

  After discussing a recent rash of convenient store smash and grabs, as well Jeff’s contribution of the newest internet business scams, I glanced down at my watch. 9:03 a.m. Dwayne’s meetings use to be under an hour. They were getting longer. When Dwayne gave us his signature nod, all of us fled from the conference room table. We always scattered in different directions like we were running from a crime scene. Everyone pretty much hated our early morning, first of the week get-to-gathers. Seven a.m. was far too early. Especially for a Monday.

  On my way out of the conference room, I inadvertently dropped my pen, but Derik, who usually followed me around like a love sick puppy dog, was sure to pick it up and hand it back to me. Once he placed the pen in my hand, his fingers lingered. He rubbed my palm in a slow, sensual manner. I yanked my hand back.

  “Are you ever going to be nice?” he asked.

  “Are you ever going to stop hitting on me?”

  He shrugged. I rolled my eyes. He proceeded to tell me how sexy my eyes were in the morning light. When he said they sparkled like emerald green jewels, I wanted to gag. We were inside the office, underneath florescent lighting, so his cheesy line really pissed me off. Don’t get me wrong. Derik was cute and all. With his big blue eyes, his stubble covered chin, and his sandy brown hair that always hung long and swooped over his right eye. Not to mention he did dress well. Maybe too well, for a reporter. I suppose it’s hard to say what in particular I disliked about Derik, other than the fact he liked me. Sounds crazy, I know. I’m one of those women who’s hopelessly addicted to the bad boys. The look, but don’t touch guys. Those roguishly sexy chaps that you can only dream about from a far. You know the type. The one who never even knows you’re alive. Case in point. Mr. Mysterious.

  Besides the fact Mr. Mysterious lives in the penthouse apartment of my building, I know very little about him. He moved in six months ago, and caused quite the stir with the building management when he made special arrangements to have a rare marble and jade sculpture of a Chinese dragon hoisted up the exterior of the building, and brought in through one of the windows of his apartment. What I can also confirm: he’s single, drives a silver Aston Martin, and has a Harley Davidson that rarely leaves the parking garage. He pretty much keeps to himself. Never throws parties in the penthouse, and seems to work at night. I’ve come to the “work at night” conclusion due to the fact that’s when I see him the most.

  Last Friday evening I passed Mr. Mysterious in the foyer. He was going out as I was coming in. Something that happens often. What’s the old saying? Two ships passing in the night? Anyway, I about gave myself whiplash, turning to see him saunter past the doorman, dressed in his tightly fitted designer black leather pants, those scrumptiously hot, clunky, biker boots, and a black T-shirt that he wore well. A twenty dollar bill given to Sherman, the doorman, procured me the name of Zaden Quinn. A one-time world-traveler, and native born to New Zealand. Amazing what twenty dollars gets you. With Zaden’s exotic good looks, his lightly colored cinnamon infused skin, his silky black-blue hair he always wears down to his shoulders, and those eyes that mimic the color of expensive cognac, there’s no denying. Zaden puts the bad in “bad boy.” He’s enough to give any woman heart palpitations. Zaden, a.k.a. Mr. Mysterious, would be the one. That is, if he even knew I existed.

  After excusing myself, and heading for the ladies room, I got rid of Derik. I wasted some time inside in an attempt to ensure my freedom from him. I blew my nose, threw away the tissue, washed my hands, checked my make-up in the mirror, and combed my fingers through my hair. I really hated the new eyeliner I had on, and made a mental note to buy another brand.

  On the way to my cubicle, my cell phone pinged. I yanked it out of my front pant pocket, tapped the icon, and read a text.

  I have what you want. Meet me in twenty minutes at The Grind. Don’t be late. Lydia

  Lydia was my connection to Wonderland, and what could possibly be the story of the year. I typed my reply.

  Lydia. I’ll be there. Alice.

  I practically jogged to my cubicle where I picked up my purse, hit the intercom button, and heard Dwayne yawn before he asked, “What’s up?”

  “I got a text from a source on that Wonderland story I mentioned this morning.”

  Dwayne’s voice picked up in tone. “Yeah? Well?”

  “I’m leaving to meet her. I’ll let you know what I come up with,” I said.

  “Can you trust this lead?”

  “I think so, but only time will tell.”

  “Okay. Stay sharp. And don’t take any wooden nickels.”

  I chuckled. “Sure thing, Dwayne.”

  Dwayne loved the wooden nickel quote. I’m not sure how many times over the past year and a half I’d heard it, but I knew it was his way of saying, “Don’t be fooled.”

  I disconnected the intercom call, jerked my keys out of my purse, and headed for the door.

  Don’t let me down, Lydia.

  The parking lot of The Grind was overflowing, but I located a spot and pulled my little white Kia Soul in next to a monster of a truck. I got out, locked my car, and was forced to go around the huge pick-up parked beside me. When I rounded the back of the black monstrosity, hanging off the ball-hitch, was what looked like a chromed pair of testicles dangling down, complete with detailed veins. Just above the swinging pair of testies was a monogrammed license plate. I read, “DUSTY”, unsure if “Dusty” was the vehicle owner’s name or if they were trying to say they had “Dusty” balls. Needless to say, I chuckled while the wicked side of me wanted to go inside and make an announcement. To the driver of the truck with a dusty ball sack. You left your lights on. I didn’t. Only mulled over the idea.

  I stepped inside The Grind, and saw Lydia already seated in the far back corner. The expression on her face looked as though she was worried. She fidgeted in her chair. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles, fingers tapping the edge of the table.

  “Hi,” I said as I took a seat across from her.

  “Hey,” she said in almost a whisper.

  “Would you like something to drink? My treat.”

  “No. But thanks.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, I’m so jonesing for a coffee. Do you mind if I get one?”

  “No. I don’t mind. Go ahead.”

  “I’ll be a minute. Then we can talk,” I said.

  Lydia nodded her head.

  I placed an order for a large cup of dark roast, and a chocolate cheesecake brownie. Stewart, the name on his name tag, handed me my change, my coffee, and the brownie. I tucked the loose change into my purse, grabbed my morning goodies, and turned around from the counter to head over to Lydia. Two steps forward and I saw him out of the corner of my eye. Mr. Mysterious, Zaden Quinn.

  That silly girl inside of me wanted to giggle, and fawn all over him. Fortunately, the grownup took over, and I maintained my composure. I did, however, give him my full attention. He wore faded low hung jeans. A black leather belt, with a big square buckle. A crisp white T-shirt that caressed his body in all the right places. And biker boots. I almost stumbled over my own feet, before I caught myself. He must have noticed my graceful maneuvers. Zaden tiled his head to one side, looke
d me straight in the eyes, and bobbed his chin once in a manly gesture to acknowledge me. I smiled, and forced myself to go back to Lydia.

  Once seated, I took a bite of my brownie. I almost came while sitting in the middle of The Grind with the taste of the most decant chocolate swirled cheesecake brownie lingering on my tongue. It was like pure sin to the taste buds. An explosion of WOW. No, not even that explanation could fully cover what my mouth experienced. Perhaps miraculous manna from heaven might come close. Delightful. Spectacular. Brilliant. Orgasmic. Okay, this tasty creation was all the aforementioned rolled up into one little cake, which made me want to clap my hands.

  “Should be illegal. Shouldn’t it?” a voice that sounded as good as the brownie tasted said from somewhere close behind me.

  I twisted in my seat to see Mr. Mysterious. I’d never heard his voice before. His voice alone was the epitome of seduction and decadence, tinted with a slight accent. I wondered if he even recognized me as someone from his building. All I had time to do was grin since he kept on going. Zaden sat two tables down from me, coffee and brownie in hand.

  “Do you know him?” Lydia asked

  I scooted around to face her. “Um…no.” After all, that really wasn’t a full lie. I didn’t really know him, but I wanted to know him in the most sinful ways.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Sorry, Lydia. I suppose I have been a little side-tracked this morning.”

  “It’s fine,” she assured.

  “So, when you texted, you said you had what I wanted.”

  “Here’s the deal. Master Hatter is real picky about who he allows in his club.” I nodded. “I was told to give you some advice.”

  “And what’s the advice?”

  “Only seek out Wonderland if you’re sure.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure.”