Conquering Sabrina Read online

  “You look beautiful, Sabrina, but you should have worn something warmer. The chateau is full of drafts,” he teased.

  “I will be fine, Monsieur Valoire,” she insisted, irritation audible in her tone. She edged away to maintain some distance between them. But his hand caught hold of her arm when her distracted mind tried to lead her in the wrong direction and brought her back to heel. His strong yet gentle hold brought another string of images swirling into her mind.

  This time they were in a large set of stables. Raoul was leading her to an empty booth. There were several horses tethered in booths. One of them was being brushed by a groom, another was being fed. The sound of horses snorting and hooves clattering on the stony floor filled her mind, setting the scene. Again, just like her memory in the car she wore a pretty feminine floral cotton dress enhancing her generous cleavage. The material was thin, almost transparent, offering a watching admirer a tantalising glimpse of her curved outline. She wore no underwear and when the material pressed close, the tight mop of neatly shaven curls at the top of her pubis was visible.

  Raoul had been riding. In his free hand he carried a riding crop. Once in the booth, he commanded her to stand before him. Once more she felt aroused anticipation coupled with fear at the punishment he was to bestow upon her. Sabrina could not recollect the reason for her chastisement, only that it had been significant.

  Raoul slipped the dress from her shoulders and watched it swish down her body to the straw-covered floor and ordered her to step out of it. She found herself trembling and glancing behind her at the groom brushing Raoul’s black stallion two booths down. He paid her nakedness no attention and continued with his task. Raoul kicked the dress to one side, unimpressed with her coy attempts to curl her body inwards and cover her modesty with her hands.

  A long leather strap hung from a large iron hook on the wall in front of her as though it was kept there for such occasions. Raoul pulled the strap from the hook and took firm hold of her body. He wound the strap tightly around her hands and pulled her captive form towards the hook. The hook was low down in the wall and as he tethered her to it, he cruelly made her keep a small distance so she was forced to bend and stretch her back. She felt him arrange her with his cool hands, instructing her to stretch and part her thighs. Her lover stroked her pale pink delicate skin with a featherlike caress, delving beneath her body to cup her breasts in a soothing action. She warmed to his protective possessive touch. He made a remark that she reminded him of one of his beautiful mares. Never had Sabrina felt so exposed or open.

  Raoul retrieved his riding crop lying on top of one of the walls of the booth. He trailed the leather end the length of her spine, down the crevice of her buttocks, making her move against it. She was to receive ten strikes of the crop.

  Sabrina felt him move the crop under her body to her breasts to lightly circle her taut nipples. She cried out with pained surprise when he unexpectedly struck her breasts with the crop. The heavy globes quivered with aftershock. She had been shocked and indignant, but another two strikes of the riding crop bracing harshly across her nipples silenced her complaining tongue. Her nipples burned and tingled in unison with a sudden wet aching need pulsing in her pussy. The feeling was exquisite and yet painfully torturous. God help her, she wanted more. He moved the crop down her stomach to the crevice between her thighs. Sabrina obediently parted her legs on his stern command to receive the leather flap at the end of the crop, biting her lip at what was about to come.

  Raoul remarked at the seeping wetness coating her clit and thighs. He sought out the small bud between her legs and beat it with the riding crop. At first his strikes were gentle and teasing, and then they built in severity. Sabrina groaned and bleated, feeling pleasure build and strengthen as he whipped her clit with increasing harshness. She was desperate to come. Her clit was so swollen, engorged, and sensitive. It made her whimper. Her feelings were conflicted. No lover had been allowed to sexually tame her. It was something she had ruled out completely when they’d tried it, but here she was allowing this man to make her surrender to him and she couldn’t get enough of it.

  Sabrina’s soft gentle submissive cries grew louder, attracting attention from the grooms as she strained like one of Raoul’s tethered mares against her bonds ready to come like a bitch in heat.

  “I think we should gag you, cherie. Next time I will have you bridled,” he chuckled, whipping her clit with a little more force. “Now come for me, darling,” he commanded, giving her clit a harsh spank. Her body was more than willing to obey and came with a force she had never experienced. She bucked her release with a loud scream, stirring all the other horses in the stables.

  Sabrina found herself blushing at the scene replaying in her mind. She was confused and disturbed. Again, Raoul appeared amused as though he could see the images in her mind. His dark eyes smouldered down at her as he guided her through a string of rooms until they finally reached the dining room. Something was very wrong. Why did her mind choose to insert him in her memories? They couldn’t be real.

  What if… No. It couldn’t be…

  The dining room was a deep earthy gothic red, garnished with Flemish tapestries and portraits of the chateau’s previous ancestral owners. The long oak table was dressed with elaborate candelabra dripping lightly with molten wax. The flames of the candles flickered shadows around the room as they entered. It was just the way she liked to have dinner, romantic by candlelight, and in this chateau it was a dream come true.

  Did you know?

  Maybe he’d had her followed, checked out. She wouldn’t put it past a rich man like Raoul. He pulled out a high-back chair covered in Spanish leather for her to sit next to him at the head of the table.

  “So, Monsieur Valoire, when can I expect to view the historic documentation you possess on your ancestor Christophe Valoire so I can begin my research?” she asked as they were served a light starter of goat cheese and salad dressed in aromatic oil. She was determined to dismiss the lascivious wanderings of her mind.

  He caught her eyes as the butler poured ruby wine into the crystal glasses.

  “You are a workaholic, Dr. Michaels. I thought you could take a few days to relax and enjoy your stay and allow me to show you around the Loire Valley.”

  He was looking at her so intently, she felt her eyes lower and her cheeks flush in response.

  “I would have liked that very much, but I have to give a lecture in Paris in a couple of days and I need to prepare.”

  He was undeterred.

  “Well, we will just have to see what we can achieve in the time we have together.”

  Sabrina managed a nervous smile. He was making it no secret that he wanted her and he wasn’t about to let her go. He continued their conversation, his deep velvety tone playing havoc with her every attempt not to melt and fall at his feet like some love-struck teenager. Damn it, he knew the effect he was having. She could see it playfully dancing with humour in his eyes, and she was helplessly playing along to his piped tune. She didn’t like being manipulated.

  “I have read your book and recent articles, Sabrina. I am especially interested in your research concerning gender issues in popular culture in Europe.”

  Raoul engaged her in conversation about her work, but she felt distracted and on edge. The more she looked around the room, the more convinced she was that she had been in it before. She couldn’t explain it. Maybe she’d visited the place as a child. But the explanation didn’t seem adequate. Even the tapestries and the scenes they depicted were more than familiar.

  Even the long oak table seemed to provoke strange memories. She couldn’t help gasp and bring her hand to her mouth when inside her mind she saw herself naked kneeling upright on top of it. Her mouth was gagged with a leather band, her hands also bound in front of her with a leather strap. Her breasts were heavy and swollen; her poor nipples clamped tight on a nipple chain that led down the length of her smooth stomach to another small clamp on her clitoris. The tiny bud throbbe
d and pained, its blood flow cut to increase the delicious sensitivity between her thighs. Her pussy was so wet, so needy for Raoul’s touch, she thought her clit might burst. He walked around the table in a dark business suit carrying a riding crop. He struck a strong powerful, dominant figure who was determined to take her in hand. She could not confirm it, but the whole scene appeared related to the weekend of punishment and atonement he had promised her after disobeying him regarding his protection.

  Confusion at the safety and reassurance she felt at Raoul’s treatment of her had continued to war with righteous feminine indignation, yet try as she might, she could not deny the soothing touch of his dominant power over her, just as her present feelings also seemed to suggest.

  Sabrina’s buttocks felt hot against her legs after having just received a sound bare-bottom spanking over his knee. After her punishment, Raoul had sat her on top of the table and applied the clamps. He’d worked her with his finger, bringing her to orgasm so she was good and wet, making application of the clit clamp easier and more visually stimulating for him. The pain had made her cry a little at first, but he had stroked the squeezed bud tenderly until she stilled and her labia swam with creamy moisture once more. He walked towards her and leaned over the table to sweep her dark hair behind her neck, instructing her to lift her arms up into the air and thrust her breasts forward in offering until her body resembled a bow.

  “You will learn I am master in my own home, Sabrina. I will not permit you to be reckless with your safety. My word is law on this matter. I will not have another man harm you. You are mine,” he told her firmly with meaning before striking her across her breasts with the riding crop.

  “Sabrina, are you ill? You look a little pale,” Raoul asked, shattering the image in her mind and bringing her back to the present. She stared at him with wide frightened eyes, wondering if she was going mad.

  “No, no, I’m fine,” she lied, trying to cover her shock. “I just have this weird déjà vu feeling that I’ve been here before. It’s silly, really,” she joked. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. “Maybe in my last lifetime.”

  Raoul said nothing, taking another sip of wine. For a moment his eyes avoided her. She found it odd that he would not make some remark or even a joke.

  “I look forward to reading your work on my rogue ancestor, but for now I want to hear all about you,” he insisted, putting down his glass, quickly changing the subject.

  Raoul’s eyes never left her face as she took a hurried sip of her own wine.

  “There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid,” she said nervously. “Maybe we should talk about something more interesting.”

  She smiled sweetly, expertly covering the pain that slashed at her insides with a knife. But he was to remain annoyingly inquisitive.

  “No. I’m intrigued. Tell me about yourself.”

  She didn’t miss the command in his tone, just like in her broken images. There was no escape. He was not about to allow her to bow out gracefully. There was nothing to tell. No family to talk of, no lover, no husband… Sabrina looked away, desperately searching her mind for a way of excusing her behaviour.

  “Well, I don’t see you wearing a wedding ring, so I take it that you aren’t married?” he quizzed. His voice was soft, but Sabrina could hear some malice lingering in his tone. Nothing felt right here. Her images, the evening, his behaviour and her own felt surreal. Something was definitely wrong. Maybe she should really leave now.

  Sabrina jumped when he suddenly picked up her hand she rested on the table, and gently examined her fingers. He stroked each one sensually, circling the pad of his thumb in the middle of her palm. She watched entranced, completely under the spell created by the rhythmic stroking, despite herself.

  It was a normal thing to ask, to see if there was any competition. He wasn’t hiding his interest. But there was a curious firmness in his tone that appeared to challenge her answer, dared her to say no.

  “No, I’m not married,” she told him truthfully.

  He smiled gently.

  “Where is your wedding ring, Sabrina, cherie? Did you lose it, or did he take it from you when he hurt you?” he asked softly, carefully.

  Confused by his questions, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, wondering, hoping with all her heart…

  Almost as if on eerie cue, the wind that had been building outside swirled around the chateau with a deathly cry from an open window, extinguishing the burning flames of the candles. The lamps at intervals on the walls also went out as if a fuse had been blown. Sabrina felt suffocated as the wall of darkness imprisoned her sight and pressed down upon her. She was terrified of the dark and had never known the reason. She struggled when she felt Raoul’s arms close protectively around her in a gentle hold.

  “Hush, Sabrina. It will only last for a few moments. The lights are always going out. It happens in old buildings. Shhh, you don’t have to be frightened. Sabrina, you are home where you belong now. You came back to me, Sabrina. You came back, my beautiful wife.”

  Chapter Two

  “I am your wife?” She questioned it, but inside she knew the truth for the first time. The images, shocking and arousing as they were, confirmed it. Was the submissive woman she saw in her memories really her? She was nothing like that. How could this be?

  “Yes, you are, darling. I know the doctors told me to be careful with you, but you are my wife. I have been without you for too long.”

  The butler brought in a lit candelabra, momentarily ceasing their conversation. He sat it on the middle of the table without speaking and quickly left. Ribbons of light danced around the walls and over Raoul’s face as he came back into view. It was filled with love. It made her panic, wondering if she could trust the revelation. A part of her prayed it was true, but there was another half dismayed at the nature of their marriage her broken memories had revealed. Her feelings were angry about the personality her mind denied and hid from her. She was a strong woman in control of her own life. This could not be her true character. It just couldn’t. She was ashamed and fearfully guilty of her aroused feelings as the memory visions had played in her mind. Dismayed at the kind of woman she had been with this man, she railed at her past, at Raoul, unwilling to accept who she really was to herself and others.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Let go of me. I’ve never been married. You heard about my lost memory, didn’t you? You aren’t the first man to try to make me think I was his wife.”

  “Sabrina, don’t say those things. I love you, you are my wife.”

  “You’re lying. My family have made no effort to find me. Why would my husband want to claim me as his own now, after all these years? He would be remarried by now... This is a cruel, sick joke...”

  Sabrina’s eyes filled with angry tears.

  “Enough. I won’t listen to this. I will prove it to you,” Raoul snapped, reaching down to scoop the candelabra off the table.

  He tightened his hold on her wrist with a grip that would have been better suited to a vise, making her squeal, and led her out of the room. Sabrina made every effort to drag her heels, pulling at his hand to force him to let go. Raoul only tightened his hold further and dragged her along.

  Sabrina’s eyes could see nothing but what the candles allowed her to see. They travelled through the dark rooms, the wooden floors creaking and groaning with centuries of use under their feet, highly audible in the ghostly silence that settled on the house. Finally, they reached a room that she presumed was Raoul’s study by the elaborate desk and leather chair he dragged her behind. He came to a stop in front of a large framed canvas and raised the candelabra, directing her to look at it.

  Sabrina gasped out loud. There was no mistaking her own image. She was seated in a chair in a black velvet ball gown cut away seductively across the breast. Her hair was longer, more curled than the medium-length bob she now wore and her eyes twinkled with happiness. It was breath-taking and a shock to the system. She tried to take a step
back and found herself half falling to the floor, half fainting with shock. Raoul caught her waist skilfully and pulled her up close to him. It was then that the lights came back on.

  She glanced around the room. The place was littered with photographs of herself and Raoul very much in love. The room began to spin with a carousel of broken memories, a hundred swirling images that were there in a second and gone in a heartbeat. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Her body began to sway alarmingly as she looked up at the canvas again. Raoul slipped his arm under her legs and swept her up into his arms to deposit her onto a chair. He quickly moved away and poured her a glass of cognac from the drinks cabinet.

  “I know you don’t like cognac, Sabrina, but you will drink it. You need it for the shock you have just experienced. Now drink.”

  He was right. She didn’t like it. She wasn’t keen on alcohol apart from wine. Sabrina obediently took the glass, too dazed and confused to pass comment on his correct knowledge. But her trembling hands made her clumsy and he took control holding the glass to her lips, instructing her to sip slowly. She coughed as the fiery liquid hit the back of her throat and tried to push the glass away, but he was firm, giving her no choice but to continue drinking. He watched her anxiously when frustrated tears gathered in her eyes once more.

  “You have been using your middle name, Sabrina. Your first name is Melissa.” He gave a small laugh. “You hate it, so you use Sabrina. Michaels is your maiden name.”

  He knelt at her feet, gently cupping her face with his hands.

  “There is no Christophe Valoire, is there?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  Raoul shook his head and smiled.