Down the hall is the dungeon… with every BDSM accoutrement one could hope for. And down the hall from the dungeon are all the private rooms for long-term members. The doors are color-coded and locked. I’ve never seen one, though they interest me.

  That’s where the real fun happens. Or so I imagine.

  I wouldn’t know.

  I… hear things. See things.

  And hell, I want to know more. But who has time for things like relationships? I’m a full-time college student and legal guardian to my younger brother and sister. And God, if Child Protective Services ever heard that I was involved in a kinky scene in a club, I can’t imagine what they’d do with that. It’s much safer for me here at the bar.

  So much safer.

  I place my bag in a locker in the small employee room near Tobias’ office. I eye the vending machines with envy, my stomach aching with hunger. That muffin seems like a long, long time ago.

  I bite my lip. The cash in my pocket weighs heavily. It isn’t much, but hell I need it. Figures we live in one of the most expensive cities ever. We pay twice as much for basic groceries than the national average. I feel a little dizzy when I turn away from the machine and put on one of the clean aprons that hangs on a hook. We serve warmed mixed nuts at the bar, and employees are free to help themselves. That’ll tide me over.

  I enter the bar area and can’t help but smile. Travis, who hails from Texas, stands at the bar dressed in full cowboy attire. He shoots me a boyish grin and tips his hat to me when I take my place behind the bar.

  “Howdy,” I say with a snicker. He’s wearing worn leather jeans, a wide leather belt with one of those massive oval metal buckles, cowboy boots, a bandana or something tied around his neck, and a large, tan-colored Stetson.

  “Howdy, purdy lady,” he says. I groan.

  “You hit your older brother up for some…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Gitup?”

  I giggle when he swats at me with a dishtowel.

  “Supposed to be fancy dress night,” he drawls, shaking his head at me. “You didn’t get the memo?”

  I stick my tongue out at him. “I have work to do, cowboy.”

  “Hey, Cora.” I look up to see Diana and Beatrice approaching the bar. At least I think it’s Beatrice, as she’s dressed from head to toe in black leather in a Catwoman costume, whip and all. Diana’s one of my favorite people here, tall and graceful with long, super curly hair and kind eyes. I grin at her. She’s wearing a full-on Wonder Woman costume.

  “You look awesome. Is that… Beatrice under all that black leather? Catwoman or Dominatrix?” She’s tiny, but tonight she’s wearing platform boots and carrying a scary-looking leather whip.

  “Dominatrix my ass,” comes a growly voice to my left. Beatrice’s husband Zack, wearing just civilian clothing and a scowl, takes her by the elbow and draws her to him. “Remember what I said about that whip, woman.” He’s her long-term dominant, and one of the more serious guys around here. Pulling her close, he kisses her, then when he’s got her disarmed, he nimbly flicks the whip out of her hand.

  “I’ll take that,” he says.

  “Zack! You fooled me!” Beatrice playfully smacks his chest.

  “Watch it,” he says, shaking his head and coiling the whip in his hand. “Lest you forget. I’m experienced in relieving people of their weapons.”

  “He’s just jealous he doesn’t look half as good as you,” Diana teases, taking a glass of wine that Travis hands her.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Zack says, rolling his eyes. “Did you get something to eat yet?” he asks Beatrice. “They’ve got food over by the pool tables tonight.”

  My stomach aches.

  “Since when?” I say, trying to pretend like I’m not starving and just curious why they’re serving food.

  “Well,” Diana says, taking a seat at the bar. “A few months back, we asked for member feedback, and lots of people wanted more food so they could stay longer, so we decided on our themed nights we’d have some tables set up in there. The problem is, people keep trying to sneak food in the dungeon, and that’s not happening.”

  “Why not?” I ask. I have no idea what goes on in the dungeon, and I wonder what the reasoning is.

  Beatrice giggles and Travis walks over to me. “There’s sex in there,” he says with a grin. “Bodily fluids? May not be okay with the NYC health department.”

  “Oh, ew,” I say without thinking, wrinkling up my nose.

  “Well,” Beatrice says. “Don’t ew it until you’ve tried it.” She bites her lip when she looks at Zack, who responds by giving her a flick of the whip. Squealing, she comes up on her toes, and I instantly feel my body heat from the sound of the crack.

  “I just meant… about the food, not the… well… public sex.” My damn cheeks flame, so red, they likely match my hair, as if they all know my breasts are swelling and a pulse of arousal just flared between my legs.

  God.

  I’ve been watching people interact here for months, reading every book I can at Marla’s, and telling myself this isn’t for me. But somehow that flick of the whip did strange, erotic things to my body. What the hell?

  A few customers place drink orders, and I get busy filling them. I need to eat something, though. It doesn’t usually affect me like this, but I’m so hungry I can barely think straight. I’m handing a gin and tonic to a girl wearing a slinky mermaid gown, when I feel someone staring at me. The hair on the back of my neck prickles and I glance around the room. It takes me a minute until I see him, and when I do, I nearly drop the drink.

  Standing against the dungeon door, he takes up the whole door frame with his massive height and breadth. He’s wearing nothing but head-to-toe black and a mask that covers his eyes and nose. It takes me a minute to realize he’s in a mime’s costume, yet his shirt is sleeveless, showing strong, muscled arms covered in tattoos. Like a sexy sorta twist on an age-old classic. Mute. Powerful. Cloaked in mystery. I want to see all of him. And why is he staring at me?

  “Who is that?” I ask Beatrice on a whisper. I lift my finger to point, but before she turns to look, he crooks a finger at me. I blink. Once more, he beckons, then turns around and walks straight into the dungeon. He’s more than a mime. He’s a puppeteer, because I feel the tug like I’m attached to him when he walks away, like I need to follow him. To somehow satisfy an unknown hunger in me that’s as powerful as physical starvation.

  “I don’t know who he is,” Beatrice whispers back. “Not sure I’ve seen him before. But, babe? If it were me? I’d go.”

  “Go where?” Diana chirps up.

  “The dungeon,” Beatrice says, filling her in quickly.

  Diana gives me a grin. “Isn’t it around your break time?”

  Two

  Liam

  I almost didn’t come here tonight. Though I always come here wearing a mask, I’m not into the whole juvenile “fancy dress” bullshit, but when I remembered I had a mime costume in the back of my work closet from the last time I did this under duress, I decided I’d do it. I work too damn hard, and the only reprieve I get is when I’m working out or at Club Verge.

  Club Verge is exactly thirty-two minutes from my Manhattan office. When I relocated here from my Boston office, I was pleased to find out an old friend of mine opened this place. Tobias and I were both members of a Club in Boston a full decade ago, and though we parted ways, we were good friends back then. He took me in, gave me a private room since he knows me, and I like how he runs this place. Tobias and his small, dedicated staff have protected my identity. They keep this place tight, running heavy security and vetting every single member who comes in here. I like it here. When I step through that black door, I’m no longer Liam Alexander, Wall Street executive and C.E.O. of Alexander Enterprises.

  I’m simply master.

  There are many beautiful, fetching women here who easily succumb to my mastery over them. Few who are looking for a full-time relationship, and that suits me well. I like to leave my identity at the door and assume the role of anonymous master when I’m here. No one knows my net worth. No one disgusts me with their cloying attention. No one panders to me, hoping for some sort of payout.

  But then I saw her… the beautiful brat from the bookstore. I don’t know what came over me, as I wasn’t planning on picking anyone up tonight. But when I saw the way she leaned against the bar with her hands wrapped around her waist, a classic sign of vulnerability and fear… when I saw the way she looked at me with wide eyes, her mouth parted… I had to have her.

  She doesn’t know who I am.

  And I plan on keeping it that way.

  At first, I feared she wouldn’t come, and stood in the shadow of the doorway to watch. When her friend whispered in her ear, she nodded. Diana, her boss, gave a nod. And now she’s coming my way.

  I have no idea what I’m going to do with her when I see her. This isn’t like me. I like things orderly and planned. Routinized. I’m hardly spontaneous. But this girl… this girl with her fiery red hair and cliché temper to match, she does something to me.

  I provoked her in the bookstore earlier. I have little patience for poor service, but something told me she had good reason. I wasn’t really annoyed at her. I wanted to see how she’d behave if I toyed with her. Would she crumple and cow to me like every other woman I see?

  Or would she fight me?

  Yeah. I know I’m a bastard.

  When I saw her pale, freckled skin heat with anger, the pink tone made me want to draw my tongue along that fragile, gorgeous collarbone of hers. When her eyes flashed at me, I imagined capturing her slim wrists in my hands, pinning them against that counter, and slamming my palm against her full ass until those beautiful eyes brimmed with tears.

  I like to cause pain… of a certain type.

  I like to make them cry then kiss it better.

  I’ve seen her at the bar, but she didn’t really catch my attention before now. She’s always so busy, so distracted. Travis knows me, so he’s the one I order drinks from. And until today, I figured she was just some kid looking to make an extra buck.

  I didn’t know her eyes were a delicate robin’s egg blue, wide and rimmed in impossibly long lashes.

  I didn’t know her skin was as pale as fine porcelain, dotted with fetching freckles. I want to count every one of them, especially the ones hidden from me.

  I didn’t know her flaming red hair begged to be wrapped around my fingers. I want to tug her head back until that gorgeous mouth of hers falls open and capture her full lips between my teeth.

  I want to defile her. Overpower her. Dominate her.

  But first, I need to seduce her.

  Before she even steps foot in the dungeon, I know I’m making a mistake. I want to become a long-term member here, so I have be careful. Taking advantage of one of Verge’s employees is a dumbass move, and not one that I should make.

  I can have a little fun, though.

  Will it be so easy? To beckon to her? And have her submit to me?

  I wait by the doorway to see if she’ll come, and when I see her coming my way, I can’t help but smile. Her head is tipped to the side, as if she’s curious. Without a word, I extend my hand. I fully intend on making the most of being a mime for the night.

  “Hi,” she says awkwardly, a pretty pink coloring her cheeks once more. Lifting her hand, she wiggles her little fingers at me. I take her hand in mine and bow, greeting her in silence.

  “Mimes don’t… um… talk, right?”

  I shake my head no, then lead her inside the dungeon. But as soon as we set foot in the room, she tenses, and I can feel her resisting. I turn to give her a quizzical look.

  “I—I’ve never been in the dungeon before,” she tells me. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  I nod, then point to a vacant loveseat.

  “Okay,” she says hesitantly. I sit down on one end, and wordlessly tug her onto my lap. Her whole body tenses, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she sits primly with her hands on her lap. I enjoy watching the flush of her cheeks deepen. When her beautiful eyes go wide, I point to the sign above us, a large red delicious apple with the bold word APPLE below it. Beneath the word, the caption reads Club Safeword.

  I’m told for safety reasons the Club administration took it upon themselves to issue a universal club safeword. Originally it was Big Apple, in honor of the city’s nickname. But they shortened it to apple, and now every room in the Club has a sign reminding members. I’ve never heard it used, but it’s a convenient safety net for tonight. If I’m a mime, I can’t negotiate a safeword.

  “That’s the club safeword,” she says. “You want me to… use it if I need it?” She breathes a little more heavily. We both know why she’d need to safeword.

  I nod. Looking from me to the sign, then back to me again, she finally swallows, then nods.

  “Okay,” she says. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m not a—I don’t know. Bottom? Submissive? I just… I mean I’ve read about them, but…”

  I place my finger to her lips.

  No more chatter, little girl.

  When my skin touches hers, she shivers.

  Perfect.

  The girl deserves to be punished for her behavior today. Even if I did test her limits, she should know better than to chat with her boyfriend instead of serving coffee to loyal customers.

  I left her a tip, but only so she’d see that I could.

  Dragging my thumb along the apple of her cheek, I let my silent touch speak for me. I want to explore her whole body, until she’s trembling with need. When I gently drag my touch along the thin skin at her collarbone, I can feel her pulse racing, the heat of it making my dick hard. If she feels my erection under her ass, she doesn’t let on, but lets me touch her. After a few minutes of the gentle caresses—fingers at the edge of her hair, fingertips to the temples, the lightest of touches along her shoulder to her elbow—she begins to relax.

  I open my mouth to tell her she’s a good girl when I remember that I’m silent tonight. Instead I nod, which seems to please her.

  Without a word, I point to several items around us. A spanking bench. Horse. St. Andrew’s Cross. I leave out the stocks and exam table, the harnesses and electric play equipment, not because I’m not into that sort of thing… but if this is her first time, I want to be easy on her.

  Every time I point to something, she turns her head to look at me, and shakes it a little.

  “No,” she says, at the sight of someone strapped to the cross. “No way.”

  I take the top of her hand and point back to the sign above my head.

  “Right,” she says. “But I don’t need to safeword yet, right?”

  I nod.

  “Only if I need,” she continues. “Still… no. I don’t want… that.”

  What does she want? She’s said no to everything. I wonder why she came in here at all.

  I’m beginning to think she wants nothing and is just here to observe, when we see Zack and Beatrice come in. She’s wearing his collar and chain, and he’s got a firm grip on it. On hands and knees, she follows him, but he’s slow and careful while they walk. As if they’re the only couple in the room, he leans down and whispers in her ear.

  Cora stills.

  Sitting down on a loveseat, he pats his knee, and Beatrice bends over his leg eagerly. She wants a spanking. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he swats her ass hard with his palm. Once. Twice. Three times. Beatrice moans when Zack leans down and whispers something in her ear before he gives her a few more sharp spanks. She molds to his lap as if she’s meant to be there, and it’s clear they’ve done this a time or two. It’s a tame spanking, and over-the-lap isn’t really my thing. But still… my cock strains beneath Cora’s ass when Beatrice moans, clearly aroused by the spanking, and she turns to look at me. To my surprise, she nods, her cheeks flushed.

  I point to the couple and raise my brows.

  This? Is this what you want?

  Biting her lip, she nods, then to my surprise pushes herself off my knee and flops belly down over my lap, like she wants to do this before she loses her resolve.

  “Is this okay?” She asks, too quickly, her nerves getting the best of her. “Am I… should I… gah, I don’t even know what to ask. But yes. Yes, I know that if I don’t like what you’re doing, to safeword.”

  Gently, I place my finger to her lips to get her to stop her incessant chatter.

  Shaking her head, she goes on.

  “Just a few smacks,” she says. “Oh, God, do you even call it that? I’m just curious is all.”

  Whack.

  “Oh!”

  I take her by surprise when I smack her beautiful ass hard with my palm. So she wants a spanking. I don’t need to be asked twice. I’ve wanted to punish her since she threw sass at me in the bookstore, so the tingle in my palm is immensely satisfying. I swallow hard. Jesus, I love this.

  In one fluid motion, I capture her wrists and bring them to the small of her back, before I deliver a second sharp spank. She tenses when I spank her but doesn’t say anything. I glide my hand along the curve of her ass, feeling the heat straight through to my palm, until I get to the tops of her thighs, then drag my palm across her full ass again. Lifting my palm, I spank her again, harder this time, then soothe the sting with firm strokes of my palm. A slow, over-the-knee hand spanking is probably the tamest thing we could do here, and maybe that’s why this is where she wants to start. But it’s also immediately intimate, and I wonder about that.

  After a pattern of spanks and caresses, I gently part her thighs with the back of my hand. She tenses but doesn’t protest when I drag my fingers between her legs. I rub the fabric at her slit, firmly, loving the way her breathing accelerates. Christ, she’s gorgeous.

 

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