CHAPTER 1 #2
“Are you interested in D/s as a whole? Or just the interaction?”
“I’d say I have a unique curiosity about Domination and submission as a whole,” I said truthfully.
Although I’d told my brother I wanted to visit the club to get a better understanding of this lifestyle, I wasn’t exactly certain I would categorize myself as a submissive.
Sure, I was curious, but I was more interested in picking the brains of those who lived this lifestyle than I was about defining my own sexuality.
Would I openly tell my brother that? Absolutely not.
With him, I tried to play it off as curiosity.
The last thing I wanted Zeke to know was that I intended to make test subjects out of his closest friends.
But what Zeke didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
However, I was still trying to determine how to play this with Edge.
If I kept it on an academic level, letting him know this was research for my dissertation, he might toss me out on my nearly naked ass.
On the other hand, if I played up my interest on a sexual level, perhaps he’d make it a little more personal, give me an in-depth view of this lifestyle.
Either way, I didn’t want to scare him off before we ever got started.
When Edge took a step closer, those devastating eyes raking over me slowly, I got the feeling he didn’t scare easily.
“How about we start with the truth,” he suggested.
“Truth?” Was the air thinner in here? It was getting harder to breathe the closer he got.
“Why are you really here, Miss Lautner?” His eyes narrowed. “The men and women in this club like to have virgins for lunch.”
“Do they?” Yep. I’d been reduced to a breathless puddle within five minutes of talking to him.
The backs of his knuckles grazed my cheek. “Oh, yes. And I happen to know some who are very hungry tonight.”
Did that mean he was intimidated by the fact I could be pure, untouched?
Was he one of those assholes who thought conquering a virgin was the highest-ranking honor among men?
I’d met those guys before, of course. The ones who would gladly open your door, even pay for dinner, but their expectation was clear.
If they treated me like a lady and fed me, I was responsible for giving it up.
I inhaled sharply when the tip of his finger trailed along the underside of my jaw, inching lower as he skimmed my neck, my chest, stopping just shy of my cleavage.
It was impossible to think clearly with him touching me. I knew he was attempting to intimidate me, likely hoping to send me running from the room.
“Are you?” I asked, failing to keep my voice from quivering.
“Am I what?”
“Hungry?”
“Starving.” The single word spoken in a dark, seductive growl. “As a rule, though, I steer clear of virgins.”
“We’re still talking about kink club virgins, right?” I asked, feeling the need to push back.
“I don’t know, are we?” he taunted.
I got the feeling Gregory Edge would not be the guy who would take my virginity and display it on his mantel like a trophy.
However, I did get the sense he could be the guy I’d willingly hand it over to if my libido had anything to say in the matter.
Even as I stood here, my hormones rioted, my body willing to accept his help in relieving the overwhelming ache, that inner turmoil that couldn’t be assuaged by a battery-operated boyfriend.
“Would you like something to drink?” Edge waved his hand toward the bar. “Everything but alcohol.”
“Is it true Trent Ramsey doesn’t allow alcohol in his clubs because it hinders one’s ability to make sound decisions?” I blurted before I could think better of it.
His sharply pointed eyebrows lowered. “It impairs judgment,” he explained, his gaze studying me as he spoke, “and in turn, impairs consent.”
Ah. That made sense. “I’m good,” I told him, willing my nerves to chill.
“Then we’ll move on to the tour.” Edge held out his big hand, signaling for me to walk in front of him.
Alrighty then. Jumping in feet first, no life vest.
I forced my feet to move, my eyes continuously scanning every inch of the club just as I’d done while I had waited for Edge to join me.
This floor wasn’t much different than any vanilla—as my brother referred to non-BDSM-related things—nightclub I’d been to. The music was loud, the people were louder, and everyone seemed to be having a good time despite the fact that there was no alcohol served.
“Would you prefer to see the theme rooms first? Or the dungeon?”
Was he still trying to intimidate me? It felt as though he was, so I figured I could give him a taste of his own medicine.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get a little taste of everything,” I said, peering up into those cool blue eyes.
God, he had pretty eyes. They were a stark contrast to his tan face, brightened all the more because of his jet-black hair and the dark slashes of his eyebrows. Although his nose was a little narrow and long, it didn’t detract from his attractiveness in the least.
“Is that right?”
His smile was both sexy and mischievous, and that tingling in my belly intensified.
He didn’t wait for me to answer before he added, “Then let’s begin, shall we?”
Master Edge’s hand moved to the small of my back as I continued to walk.
I inhaled deeply, shocked by the sensation.
Similar to his inquisitive gaze, his touch stirred things inside me.
I did my best not to focus on how his fingers grazed the thin sliver of bare skin between the corset and my boy shorts.
“We’ll take the stairs down.”
I nodded, then headed in the direction he had gently nudged me. As we descended, the music changed. While upstairs had a club feel with techno music, this was more industrial. Darker, sexier.
I tried not to act completely surprised to see so many people in various states of undress.
After all, I had read plenty of erotic romance novels that had depicted a dozen or two different clubs.
While the descriptions varied in many ways, there was always one common theme: someone was undoubtedly naked.
More than one, as was the case here.
“Worried you might end up naked?” he goaded, the words spoken low in my ear.
“No, actually.” Yeah, that wasn’t exactly the truth, although the thought didn’t freak me out the way I expected.
Of course, it was something I’d considered for some time.
After debating as to whether or not I could go through with it should the opportunity present itself, I’d finally come to a firm decision.
Yes, I could. After all, from a clinical perspective, it would be good research.
There were only a couple of people who were playing, one woman strapped to a spanking bench, another to a St. Andrew’s cross.
I only knew what those were because I read so much—blogs, research papers, magazines, and yes, erotic fiction—and anytime I came across a new kink toy, I Googled it, curious as to what it looked like.
Fair warning to those who hadn’t yet used their good friend Google to look up kink club apparatus: some of them weren’t for the faint of heart.
With strong fingers curling over my shoulders, Edge stepped up behind me. The position felt distinctly possessive and ridiculously sexy, but again, I knew it was another attempt to intimidate.
His voice, dark and seductively rough, rasped against my senses. “She’s completely at his mercy. Bound, gagged.” He inhaled, exhaled. “Naked and vulnerable.”
Yep. She was.
“She belongs to him tonight. Only him,” he whispered.
I found it hard to pay attention when he was so close. His hands were warm on my skin, his body solid at my back, and he smelled so freaking good.
I hadn’t expected it, to be honest. I had expected Edge to do his due diligence, to steer me through the club, point out what was what, and then take me back upstairs and leave me to my own devices.
I hadn’t considered I’d become the game.
Strangely enough, I liked the idea.
More than I would ever admit to my brother.
Chris Cavanaugh
“Master Cav, it’s an honor to have you here.”
As I entered the dimly lit club, I slowly lifted my gaze, meeting the eager eyes of a petite blonde I’d had the pleasure of spending time with during previous visits.
“An honor?” I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment at the blatant disregard for club protocol. And thirty seconds in, to boot. Perhaps a new record.
“Yes, Sir,” she said sweetly, her fake lashes fluttering. “I’ve been hoping you’d arrive.”
I’d heard that line before. A few dozen times, in fact.
Kink clubs—hardcore, bondage, fetish, didn’t really matter—each had its own distinct ambience, a certain aura, if you would.
It consumed you from the moment you stepped inside, got into your blood, thrummed in your veins, hardened your muscles, heightened your senses.
Perhaps the easiest way to describe it was anticipation fueled by adrenaline and lust. A heady concoction, one that tripled when I walked into this particular kink club.
Dichotomy was probably my favorite of all the joints I’d visited over the years.
Roughly a decade ago—twenty-five and full of myself—I’d stumbled onto the BDSM scene.
A few short hours after learning what it was, I sauntered into a club thinking I was hot shit, acting as though I knew what the hell I was doing.
For the record, I didn’t. Not by a long shot.
But that was then, this was now, and in the last ten years, I’d honed my skills to a fine point, accepted the role I’d opted to play.
Rather than respond, I pinned her in place with the expression I knew most submissives dropped their eyes from. Showing zero respect for the fact that I was a Master at this club, the submissive before me continued to make eye contact, clearly not realizing her mistake.
“Liz?”
Her pencil-thin eyebrows rose, hope, clear and bright, shining in her eyes. “Yes, Master Cav?”
I doused that hope when I said, “Did I ask you to approach?”