by Leigh Lennon
Temptation
Dungeon Elite, Book One
Leigh Lennon
Temptation
Copyright @2020 Leigh Lennon
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This book is a work of fiction and is the product of the author’s imagination.
Editing by Jenny Sims
Proofreading services by Deaton Author Services
Content Editing by Ashley Cestra
Cover Design by LKO Designs
Formatting: Drue Hoffman
Beta Readers: Kelly Green, Nancy George, Megan Harris and Rebecca Berland.
Contents
Temptation
Playlist:
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
A Note to my Readers
What I have learned along the way
Other Books by Leigh Lennon
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To Nancy
You’ve been with me since the beginning and for that, I will always adore you!
To Mom
Who was the first person in life that introduced me to the
love of books at an early age!
And though my books would have made you blush,
I know you would have been my # 1 fan,
as you always were!
I miss you!
Temptation
Eve
I’ve never been loved. Growing up with a drunk father taught me to trust no one. When a man offers me a way to achieve my freedom, I’m put to the test. He thinks he’ll win when all I see is a man who wants to strip me of my freedom. I’ll play his game, because in the end, I’ll be the victor.
No man will ever have full control over me again.
Chadwick
I’ve never loved another. I own them, I play with them, and I let them go. Until I meet Eve, and I see more behind her eyes. She needs to be owned and dominated. I can’t promise her love, but she has me rethinking everything I’ve ever known. She thinks she’ll win our little bet, but she’ll learn.
I always get what I want.
Playlist:
Boy Epic, “Dirty Mind”
Britney Spears, “I'm a Slave 4 U”
Britney Spears, "Toxic"
Chicago, “Love Me Tomorrow”
Ed Sheeran, “Thinking Out Loud”
Frank Sinatra, “Chicago”
James Arthur, “Impossible”
K.Flay, “Blood in the Cut”
Laine Hardy, “Ground I Grew Up On”
Major Lazer (feat. Wild Belle), “Be Together”
Norah Jones, “Stuck”
Pink (feat. Chris Stapleton), “Love Me Anyway”
Reba McEntire, “Just Like Them Horses”
Rixton, “Me and My Broken Heart”
Usher, “Good Kisser”
Zella Day, “Hypnotic”
Prologue
Eve-Fifteen years ago
“It’s so cold, Daddy,” I cry out. Standing on the street, I’m trying to shield myself from the wind in a small alcove of the dumpy hotel where we are waiting outside of.
“Yeah, honey, I know. Darryl should be back anytime, and we’ll get you into bed.” The name Darryl has my body more numb than it already is. Darryl is one of my daddy’s drinking buddies, but at the age of twelve, I’ve begun filling out, and his eyes always wander over me. He gives me the creeps, and even at a young age, I understand men like him are sickos. But I’d give anything to get out of the cold winds of Chicago.
“Daddy, where’s all our money?” I’d seen him the other day at our PO box opening his disability check, and when he cashed it, I’d been hoping he’d pay our rent with it. But I’d come home from school to an eviction notice and a box of our stuff left in front of the door by our landlord.
“Oh, honey, it wasn’t enough. But don’t worry, I love you more than anything. I’ll get us out of the cold tonight.” It’s always the same thing every time we find ourselves homeless. He swears he loves me more than anything, but not more than his alcohol. One day, I’ll be on my own, and no one will ever have the power over me again.
Ten years ago
I pop my head into the little office of the property manager. “Eve, sweetheart, why are you not in school?” Larry is more of a caregiver to me than my own father, but if I don’t drop off the rent, my father sure as fuck won’t. It’s been a year since I’ve had to stay the night in homeless shelters or with the creepy ass Darryl. His interest in me is more prevalent since my breasts have become the focal point of my body. He even told my father he’d pay next month’s rent if he could break my ass in.
And my father’s reply? “We have rent for this month, already.” He didn’t punch the man for asking him to ho his daughter out for rent. But, what can I expect from a drunk?
Larry’s still waiting on my reply but is moving to his little fridge he keeps in his office. “The missus sent you some of her famous spaghetti and meatballs.” Larry is always feeding me. He knows my hours at the little diner next door and how rent depletes my money as I’m the one paying the rent and not my father. “So, what is the reason you’re not at school?” he asks again.
“It’s a holiday. I worked an extra shift today and thought I’d drop off the money before…” I don’t finish the sentence because we both know my father will most likely drink it if I left it lying around the apartment.
He places the Tupperware dish in my hands, giving me a weak smile. “I better go, Larry, but I’ll return this later in the week.”
“Ah, no need, kid. And the missus wants you over for dinner soon. You got it?”
“Yes, sir, I sure do.” I turn on my heels, taking the steps to our second-floor walk-up. Turning the key in the door, I shut it and lock it behind me, walking straight into the rinky-dink kitchen, while I heat the only dinner I’ll most likely have tonight.
“Hey, beautiful.” The voice scares me, causing me to drop my food on the floor, but I recognize it right away.
“What the fuck!” I scream at him—at Darryl. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He’s cozy on the cigarette-stained couch, but with my harsh words, he’s across the room in a second from me at the only barrier, a small pen
insula island.
“Ah, that’s no way to greet your uncle Darryl.” This title gives me more heebie-jeebies than his gaze roaming my body. “It looks like you dropped your dinner.”
“No shit,” I reply, and I tear off some paper towels to clean it up. I hate wasting the food, but I won’t be eating anything off this floor, that’s for sure.
“I’m sorry,” he begins, and when I turn around, he’s in front of me, too close to me. “But I’m here now, and the things I can do to you. I’ll make you forget all about your spilled milk.”
“It’s spaghetti, you asshole.” I walk past him, and he pulls me by the wrist. “I’m tired of this, little girl. You’re mine, and it’s about time I claim your ass. Why else do you think your dad gave me the spare key?” His grip is too tight, and I can’t yank my arm from his grasp. He pushes me up against the kitchen sink, pulling up my shirt to graze his hands over my bra. It’s instinct, and I know what I need to do.
It happens so quick, but with a jerk of my knee, he falls to the floor, holding his family jewels. “If you aren’t gone in one minute, I’ll call the police and have you arrested.” I run down to Larry’s office. He calls 911, but by the time they get to the apartment, Darryl is gone. But my life will always be linked to my father. And I swear it’s now, I know I’ll never be under another man’s thumb again.
Chadwick
15 years ago
My mother is pacing in front of me, and I think she’ll wear a hole in the Persian rug she bought on her recent trip to Turkey. “I don’t like it, Chadwick, not one bit. I’ve told you that when your dad and I are gone, Mrs. Raulsey is to stay with you in the nanny’s room right down the hall from your bedroom. It’s why we built it.”
Mrs. Raulsey, or who I call Pamela, has been my nanny since I can remember, but at fifteen, I’m not in need of a nanny, though my mother insists she stay at the house, in their absence. She’s raised me with her son, who is more of a brother to me than the best friend I consider him to be. But if we’re going to place titles on anyone, Pamela has been more of a mother to me than my own mother.
I want to say so much to the woman standing in front of me. At fifteen, my mouth knows no boundaries, and a very specific fuck you is on the tip of my tongue. It’s been a long time since I’ve loved this woman in front of me, if I ever have.
Pamela is kind and loving and everything in a mother I wish my own mother could be. I see in the way she cares for her own children—her son, Greer, and daughter, Grace—and that they are everything to her. And as a single mother, Pamela Raulsey has more love for her children and me than both my parents combined.
Since an early age, not many have been able to tame me and certainly not this piece of shit who’s more concerned about appearances than my own well-being. I love few, but the few I love fiercely will always have my protection. This woman may share my DNA and my last name, but she doesn’t deserve my love and affection.
I stand, hoping she really does wear a hole in the thirty thousand dollar carpet. And if she doesn’t, I’ll help her. Walking past her, I take the can of orange soda in my hand and pour it on the rug.
“And that, Mother dearest, is what you can do with your fucking demands.” Somehow, at the young age of fifteen, I know what standing up for myself feels like, and right now, it’s freeing.
Six years ago
The memories of all the baseball games my parents missed, even the national championship game—they never had the decency to show up or even call—have shaped the person I am. I think about this on the premiere night of my first club; a place where everyone with similar kinks can come to play.
They call me a bored, entitled billionaire with a fetish, but I don’t give a fuck. I like what I like and never apologize for who I am. I protect my customers. No one knows I own Dungeon Elite. Shit, no one but the elite realize that this premiere club even exists in Los Angeles with plans to expand in major cities such as London, Seattle, New York, and Chicago. But I don’t hide who I am. I’m Chadwick Westbrook, and I demand control both in and out of the bedroom.
Chapter One
Eve
It’s a sad place I’ve lived these past two years. But still, every little piece of my heart breaks. It isn’t much—but it had been mine. And even if the gloomy and wretched apartment is desolate, my name has always been the only one on the lease. Until my father broke into my apartment and found the little cash I’ve saved in the past year. Theoretically, it was supposed to get me into a better place, but Murphy's law has never been my friend. I lost my job and haven’t paid rent for the past two months, so my ass is being kicked to the curb.
Relying on charity from someone I barely know, I’ll be calling her couch home for the next couple of months. She’s even secured me a job at a new club opening this week. I begged her until she took pity on me. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.
She’d been a waitress at the pit we worked at before it was shut down for health code violations. Kira had claimed it would be no skin off her back to lose her job since she’d secured employment at a private and swanky night club. “I can’t promise anything, sugar,” Kira crooned when I asked her about it. “It’s a hard job to get into. They only hire from within. But I’ll see what I can do for you, hon.”
Though I found this odd, she was able to line up an interview for me with one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met. He offered me a waitressing position in their upstairs restaurant. As long as I can make a pretty penny at this swanky place, my hope is to have a new apartment in a couple of months.
There’s so much I plan on doing differently with this money. Opening a bank account is first. But as I close the door to my sad little place, I know I’ll miss my solitude. I’ve never been handed anything in life. No, I’ve worked and scraped for all I have. All I own is five bags, and now it doesn’t even include my own address.
Ratty clothes and a couple of knickknacks are what I’ve been reduced to. With very little in my wallet, an Uber delivers me to the address Kira texted today. Looking up at the large skyscraper apartment building and the doorman, I scan the address again. “I think there’s some mistake.” The driver looks back, a frown crawling up on his lips.
“Lady, look, I have another call coming in. This is the address. If you want help with all your shit, you need to get out now.” Still parked on the street, I’m on the sidewalk when he throws my things at me. Handing him one of my last six tens for the tip, he takes a look at the little bit of money I’ve given him and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him.
The bags sit on the sidewalk as people avoid them as though they carry the Black Death. They aren’t pretty ones either. All the bags were things I’d found for my dumpy apartment, which were normally left in the lost and found at the dive bar where I’d worked.
“Ms. Lipton?” Turning my head, I meet the gaze of the kindest blues. This short and stout man in his sixties with white hair grabs three of my bags. In his voice, is a paternal kindness I’d never had with my own father. Maybe it’s pity sympathy because tears lace my eyes the second the driver leaves me on the curb with my riffraff like I am riffraff. “Ms. Singletary told me you’d be arriving today.”
I guess Ms. Singletary is Kira. I’d been so desperate for a place to stay that I hadn’t asked for her last name. Though his pace is slow, his intentions are sincere, helping me with my old and tattered luggage.
“Kira you mean, right, sir?” I ask for clarification. Though the fact he knows my last name is a good sign.
“Yes, Kira Singletary.” He touches my hand, a gentle Santa Claus smile covering his face. “Now, dear, you’ll be okay. I know it because Kira is a kind soul.”
I want to laugh because she can’t be ready for my type of crazy. She doesn’t need my money. But I wonder, with a place this luxurious, why she’d work at the dive bar where hands felt us up more than we’d both care to admit.
A minute later, we’re in the lobby with a young man behind the counter who’s on the
phone, loud enough I can hear. “Yes, Ms. Singletary. Yes, ma’am. I can help her upstairs.” With a click of the phone, a young man appears at my side. “Ms. Lipton, I’ll help you up to Ms. Singletary’s apartment.”
Both men assist me as we load my things into the elevator, and the younger one escorts me to her floor. I swear he pushes the button for the penthouse, but I must have misread because this can’t be possible.
Chapter Two
Chadwick
This club has a different footprint from the first ones I opened in New York and Los Angeles. Though I’ve been specific about my clubs having a dungeon, the main playground as I call it, the private rooms are two levels above in this new club. With a restaurant on the first floor, the members’ rooms can only be accessed by the stairwell leading from the basement unless you’re me. I have my run of the whole fucking place. It’s what I like, and I always get what I want.
As I search through the applications of the new hires, something catches my eyes. I never hire a person who’s not in the BDSM lifestyle. I require two things. They understand and practice BDSM, and they sure as fuck better have a glowing recommendation from a club member. So I’m bewildered when I see one that’s blank under the comments where all recommendations are made.
