Hard Discipline (Lessons In Dominance #4)

Chapter 1

Odette

T he Uber drops me off right in front of the huge glass edifice that is The Clouds, Manhattan’s newest and most exclusive hotel, and I hate it on sight. It’s a monument to rich men and greed, and also it’s kind of phallic. I’m sure a man designed it.

I struggle to pull down the hem of my too-short black dress as I get out of the car at the same time as I’m trying to balance on the cheap black patent heels I bought online a couple of years ago and never wear.

I’m also second-guessing myself as to why I’m here, but hey, at least I am here.

I’ve been working on my follow-through, which, and I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not great at.

But still, I’m out of my apartment so that’s something.

My mom named me Odette after the princess in Swan Lake, which I do not love.

It doesn’t help that I have long pale hair and am built on the small side, so people think I’m either a victim or a princess—AKA too helpless to look after myself.

Which isn’t true. To be honest, I wish I was built taller, stronger, and more muscular than I am, but I’m a woman and we’re never happy with the body we’re born with.

I could have gone to the gym, I guess, but that would involve being around strangers and I’m not good with strangers—so weak, with noodle arms, it is.

On the sidewalk outside the hotel, the doormen nod as I approach, and one holds the door open for me.

I wonder who they think I am in my obviously cheap clothing.

A sex worker, probably, though I’m not as well dressed as, say, a high-class escort would be.

Still, I was told I’d be expected so at least I don’t have to plead with them to let me in.

Inside, everything is black marble and gold, the reception desk a huge slab of the same black marble as the floor. A man sits behind it, wearing black, and as I open my mouth to say I’m an expected guest, he points me towards one of the elevators.

Okay then. I close my mouth and walk over to it, nervously clutching my glittery silver evening purse, which now feels like the wrong choice.

My God, I hate places like this, which is a little rich coming from someone currently dating the son of a billionaire, I know, but still. This is not my natural habitat and it shows. It makes me feel conspicuous, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s feeling conspicuous.

The elevator doors open and I search the for button I need. The instructions said that I was to meet him in the Pinnacle Suite and sure enough, there’s a button just for that suite. So I press it. The elevator doors close and we’re moving.

So, okay, the reason I’m here is not for sex work (which is fine, I’m not judging), but sex.

Just sex. I signed up to this app called The Club, which is kind of like a dating service for people into BDSM, and I’ve been matched with some guy called Master Six.

This is what they term a “playdate” but obviously this kind of playdate isn’t for kids.

I did a lot of research before deciding The Club was the way to go, so it wasn’t like a spur of the moment thing.

Sure, I don’t know this guy from Adam — his bio was only a list of things he’s into and there was no picture — which is usually a giant no from me, but The Club members are vetted and clinic visits are mandatory, so he’s probably not a psycho.

I kind of lied on my own bio, though. I said I was an experienced submissive, but I’m not.

I’ve actually never done any BDSM before, so what I’m doing tonight is probably going to end up being a giant mistake, but oh well.

C’est la vie . I’m not backing out, not now.

I was assaulted last year while I was in college (Yale if you must know).

I was out with some girlfriends and I left the bar early because I needed to study, and I didn’t notice the guy following me.

He shoved me up against a wall and punched me in the face and then…

yeah, it’s all still a blur. Anyway, I’ve always been anxious, but the assault pushed my anxiety into a full blown panic disorder, and eventually I ended up dropping out of college.

I was there on a scholarship, so that was a bummer, but even more so was the six months I spent in my apartment, not wanting to leave it.

I’m much better now — I got some therapy and the panic attacks are under control — but I’m not where I want to be.

My relationship with my boyfriend, Lucas, isn’t going well.

He’s a nice guy, but he didn’t sign up to babysit a poor, frightened mouse, and I’m really conscious of that.

He’s never said anything, but ever since the assault he treats me as if I’m made of glass, and even though I told him he didn’t need to, he still does.

Especially in bed, which is where the main issue is.

He touches me as if I might break, constantly asking me if I’m okay, which makes me more anxious not less.

I feel as if he’s the one who’s not okay and I’m the one having to give him reassurance, which isn’t fair, because he’s trying.

But still, it’s not sexy for me and it makes it difficult to get lost in the moment.

Anyway, I wouldn’t have done anything about it if it wasn’t for Gideon Fairfax.

He’s Lucas’s dad and I met him for the first time last summer at the Fairfax Estate in the Hamptons. He’s some kind of property billionaire, and Lucas has a problematic relationship with him, because after Lucas’s mother died, his father basically pulled away and buried himself in work.

So far, so terrible, billionaire dad.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part, the really, really , like, terrible part, is that Lucas’s dad is the hottest fucking man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I should also say not including Lucas but I can’t say that because he’s hotter than his son.

He’s got that older man vibe, where men kind of settle into their looks and what was once pretty, becomes harder, stronger, edgier.

Also, he’s just got this…aura about him.

It’s the confidence of a man at the top of his game, a man with money and power, a leader through and through.

He has a presence, a charisma, a magnetism, a… .

I don’t know… Something that you can’t put into words, that you can only feel.

Anyway, the day Lucas introduced me to him, Mr. Fairfax’s startling blue eyes met mine and I forgot what I was going to say.

I just stood there gawping at him like a fish trying to breathe air.

He shook my hand, said something about being pleased to meet me, then asked me where I was from.

I couldn’t remember how to speak so he had to ask me twice.

So fucking embarrassing. But I could have gotten used to him and his effect on me, if it hadn’t been for the incident with the horse.

Some girl was riding on the beach below the Fairfax estate and a dog startled her horse.

Lucas and I had been sunbathing, and I’d looked up at the barking dog just as Mr. Fairfax was coming out of the water.

So I had a front row seat to him taking control of the horse situation.

He grabbed the reins and ran one large hand down its neck and flanks, his deep voice issuing firm orders.

He was only in swimming trunks, but he may as well have been wearing a crown for all that impaired his air of command.

Meanwhile, I sat there, my mouth open, staring at the expanse of smooth, olive skin wet from the sea, the sunlight shining on the water sheening every perfect muscle of his body. And my God….what a body it was. I never knew anyone’s dad could look like that, but Lucas’s dad did.

That night, in bed with Lucas, I tried to get him to be a little firmer with me, tell me what he wanted me to do, that kind of thing, but he didn’t understand.

So I had to get myself off after he’d fallen asleep, guiltily imagining I was the skittish horse, with Mr. Fairfax’s strong hands on me, his voice telling me what to do…

Anyway, months of fantasies and continually disappointing sex with Lucas later, things between us are going downhill fast, and I need to do something to fix it. I mean, the problem is me, and I can’t tell Lucas what I want, because I don’t really know.

Hence me signing up to The Club. I get off on dominating fantasies featuring Mr. Fairfax, so what I want by signing up is to find out if I’m actually submissive.

And if I am, that means that I can tell Lucas what I need, instead of him trying to guess.

But obviously I need someone experienced, someone I can trust, and that’s why I got The Club app.

The elevator stops and the doors slide open, revealing a silent, peaceful looking sitting area with a low couch and a table with a single orchid artistically arranged in a glass vase.

To the right as I step from the elevator car, is a door.

A gold plaque on the wall beside it tells me that this is indeed the Pinnacle Suite and a book has been put between the door and the frame to stop it from closing.

He said the door would be open and I should just walk in.

I swallow, my anxiety getting worse as I stare at the door standing ajar.

I shouldn’t have lied on my application form when I joined The Club.

You’re supposed to put in your bio if you’re new to the scene, or only interested in exploring, but I didn’t.

Because the other reason I’m here is that I didn’t want anyone to treat me like I’m made of glass or go easy on me.

I want to feel strong, have someone silence the constant hum of anxiety in my brain, and maybe Master Six will do that for me.

I fucking hope so, because if this doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’ll do.

I keep staring at the door, not moving. Turns out that thinking a thing is fine, but when it comes time to doing it, then it’s a whole different story. Still, I’ve managed to get myself this far, so falling at the first hurdle would be dumb.

I take a steadying breath and make myself walk through the front door of the suite, letting it close behind me.

It’s deathly quiet inside. In front of me is a very short hallway, so I walk down it, my heart thumping, the heels of my pumps sinking into the thick, cream carpet. The whole place reeks of luxury on a level I can’t even begin to imagine; clearly Master Six isn’t short of cash.

I step out of the hallway and into a huge living area dominated by big plate glass windows.

They’re massive and since the curtains aren’t drawn, all of Central Park rolls out before us like a thick dark carpet dotted with lights.

The room itself has a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the same thick cream carpet as the hall and a huge modular couch in pale velvet facing the windows.

A gigantic TV hangs on one wall, with yet more seating in front of it, and on the opposite side of the room is a long sideboard with lots of shelves and drawers.

A man is standing in front of it with his back to me.

He’s pouring drinks. He’s very tall and from the way the plain black cotton of his business shirt stretches across wide, muscular shoulders, he’s clearly built.

He’s wearing black pants and I can’t help but notice that his waist is narrow and his thighs powerful.

His hair is short and black, and as he deals with the drinks, his movements are unhurried.

Interest flickers inside me. I didn’t give much thought to what kind of guy Master Six would be, or whether he’d be hot.

I was too busy overthinking my impulsive agreement to meet him.

But now I’m here and so is he, and he looks like he should be in a boxing ring or maybe charging across a battlefield with an axe, and hell, I’m only human.

I only hope he’s as hot from the front as he is from the back.

He doesn’t turn and he doesn’t speak, though he must know I’m here, and my anxiety intensifies. I should announce myself, but I’m sure my voice will shake and that’s not a great first impression. Besides, there’s a strange familiarity to him that’s tugging at me and I don’t know why.

I frown, studying his powerful figure as he calmly drops ice cubes into one of the tumblers.

No, I’m not sure what about him is familiar, and that’s a good thing since no one knows what I’m doing right now and I don’t want anyone to know, either.

Especially not Lucas, because obviously this is cheating.

Even though I’m doing it for him. For us, really.

After all, it’s not like I’m going to do this again.

This is very definitely a one-time thing.

I finally muster up the courage to announce myself, since it seems this guy isn’t going to say anything anytime soon, but as soon as I open my mouth, he says, “You’re late.

” He drops more ice cubes into the second glass.

They make a metallic clinking sound. “Take your clothes off then go and kneel by the windows.”

His voice is deep, dark as night, with a roughness to it that strokes over my skin like a cat’s tongue. It’s familiar, so, so familiar, and the coldest of shocks go through me as I realize why.

It’s Gideon Fairfax’s voice. Which must mean that this man is Gideon Fairfax.

Lucas’s dad.

Fuck.

I freeze. I’m dead. Deceased. Just completely inanimate. A husk. My brain is screaming, It’s fucking Lucas’s fucking dad! over and over.

It can’t be him, it can’t be. But what if it is? What do I do? Stay here? Run from the room screaming from the room like a fucking lunatic? A little of both?

I need to get out, move, disappear before he turns around, but he’s turning and I know already that it’s too late. My body tenses, ready to go, but it’s as if everything has dropped into slo-mo as Gideon Fairfax finishes his turn, and yes, it’s him.

And yes, I’m fucked.

Totally fucked.