by Lila Dubois
“If you found our session just now distasteful then say so. Otherwise I’ll be the one meeting your BDSM needs.”
He left no room for argument or dissent. Sasha shivered as his will, his command, washed over her.
“Yes Sir.”
“Good. Now I want to maintain the boundaries between our professional and sexual relationships.”
“I would prefer that.”
“Then I will formally end our session. Come here.”
Sasha took a few steps, until they were close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.
Emory caressed her cheek, tipped her chin up and kissed her.
Sasha melted into his arms. The spanking had been all fire and burn, like whiskey. This was champagne—bubbly and intoxicating.
He pulled away, their lips clinging until the last second. She blinked her eyes open in time to see something that might have been surprise, might have been confusion in his pretty blue eyes.
Then his gaze shuttered and he pulled away. He turned and walked behind his desk, taking a seat.
Sasha turned, touching her lower lip wonderingly. She shook herself and forced the feelings down. It was time to be Sasha Brazil.
With a deep breath, she locked away her sub, then returned to her chair. She pulled on her jacket and took a seat, smoothly crossing her legs.
Emory picked up his phone. “Mary, send Sean back in, but before you do please confer with him on his schedule. We’ll need to meet tomorrow at his office. Also check in with Ms. Brazil’s assistant.” Emory looked at her and Sasha tensed. “I’ll need a meeting at her home on Saturday.”
* * * * *
Sasha took deep breaths as her Pilates instructor hooked her feet into the straps and helped her roll up until she was balanced on her shoulders, her body in a giant C that required a huge amount of core control to maintain.
“Engage your core. Now push against the straps. Feel it in your glutes.”
Sasha’s concentration wavered as the mention of her glutes made her think about being bent over Emory’s desk getting a spanking. Her left foot slipped out of the loop. Her instructor, a lithe former ballerina, caught her leg in strong hands.
“That’s enough for today.”
“Sorry, I lost focus,” Sasha said as she disengaged from the Pilates machine. She rolled up and stretched.
“You got in a solid workout.”
“Thanks.”
Her instructor took Sasha through a series of cooldowns and stretches, then left. When she was alone, Sasha took a bottle of water from the fridge in her home gym. Leaning against a weight machine, she turned the bottle between her palms.
Emory.
He certainly hadn’t been what she’d expected. There was no doubt that he was very lawyer-y, with his precise words and three-piece suits, but he was also more commanding than she’d expected. And that was before he’d dominated her.
Setting down the half-drunk bottle, Sasha flopped down on a large exercise ball, lying on her back to stare at the ceiling.
As wonderful as their session had been, the further she got from it the more mixed feelings she had about it.
It made sense—he was a Dom, she was a sub, and right now she needed to keep that fact a tightly held secret. What could be simpler than having someone who now knew her secret, and who had a vested interesting in keeping her secret, be her Dom? The issue was that it made sense. It was too practical. It was boring.
If there was one thing Sasha hated, it was boring.
His cold precision had been exactly what she’d needed that day in her office, but she worried what he would be like in a longer session. Even as a sub, she was not particularly patient. For her there was a fine line between extending the scene for the sake of sexual tension and taking too damn long.
Emory seemed as though he might be one of those Doms who’d spend hours and hours examining her hair. Boring.
Then there was the fact that she felt, well, easy.
To the uninitiated, a submissive was by definition easy, but that wasn’t true. Most Doms had to work for it. Once they had her, yes, she was theirs to do with what they liked, but she’d learned, after some very hard lessons, to protect herself. At least, she’d thought she had. Most men told her how lucky they were to have her, if even for a night.
Emory had just…topped her and then declared that she was his. He didn’t work for it. Part of Sasha couldn’t help but wonder if he really wanted her as a sub or if he was protecting his client, his investment.
It was a stupid fear. It was more likely that he’d been so excited to discover his hot actress client was a sub that he’d wanted to box her in before she could get away.
But that didn’t seem like something her calm, cool and collected lawyer would do.
Which left her with the conclusion that he didn’t really desire her. She was just a sub he was willing to top, for her own good.
Grimacing, Sasha rolled off the ball and looked at herself in the wall of mirrors on one side of the room. She twisted to the side to check her ass, her breasts, in profile.
She was hot, she knew that. She was known for it.
Disgusted with herself, Sasha headed for the stairs up to the main floor of her house. This is why she didn’t like having men in her life, she spent time she didn’t have obsessing.
At least obsessing about Emory and their upcoming session had stopped her from worrying about the blackmail.
“Jayne!” she yelled as she came up the stairs.
Her assistant appeared in the doorway to the office. “How was your workout?”
“Good. I’m feeling restless.”
Jayne’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”
“Aww, don’t be like that,” Sasha said with a grin.
“You seriously don’t have space for any more cars. Or clothes.”
“There’s always room for more clothes. Plus, you know you love organizing closets.”
“Damn, you know me too well.”
“I’m going to shower and change and then we’re going to go recklessly spend money on frivolous things.” Fuck the blackmailer—she wasn’t going to close herself up like a hermit and count her pennies in case she had to pay him off. She was going shopping.
“You’re borderline insane,” her assistant said, phone in hand to notify Sasha’s security team and driver.
“Trust me, I know.”
* * * * *
Emory rolled his neck, trying and failing to relieve the tension at the base of his skull and in his shoulders. This day’s work had left a bad taste in his mouth, but he did what he needed to do to protect his clients.
Mr. Sawatsky was in debt and behind on his child support payments. That explained the blackmail attempt. The insurance adjuster seemed boring on paper, except for his BDSM predilection, which was not exactly secret because he paid for his Kink.com subscription on his debit card.
One effective way of neutralizing a blackmailer was counter-blackmail.
Though he disliked doing it, Emory had gone after the man in what he assumed was his weak spot—his child.
He’d found a YouTube video of Mr. Sawatsky’s teenage daughter playing the starring role of Peter Pan in her high school musical. After that it had been a simple matter of making sure Mr. Sawatsky realized that he was in far over his head.
Emory had Sean send an email to the principal of the daughter’s school, informing him that Mr. Sawatsky had nominated his daughter for movie star Sasha Brazil’s Strong Young Woman award. Miss Sawatsky had been selected as first runner-up and would receive signed merchandise from Sasha’s latest movie, a plaque, and her school drama department would receive five thousand dollars.
In the letter, he’d been sure to mention that Mr. Sawatsky’s application had included a video on a flash drive. He’d also included a consent form, which both parents and the principal had to sign. Emory had no doubt that Mr. Sawatsky would be showered with praise and thanks by daughter and friends, and that signing his name on t
he consent form that formally and legally acknowledge his daughter’s award would scare him. Signing things usually scared people, as it should.
If all that didn’t scare Mr. Sawatsky into backing off there were more direct, and more forceful, actions Emory could take.
For now, this would have to be enough.
It was late, long past dinner. The drive from Beverly Hills to his home in Marina Del Rey seemed endless, though at this time of night it should take no more than thirty minutes.
Leaning back in his chair, Emory opened a browser and, with a vaguely guilty feeling, typed “Sasha Brazil”.
A flurry of pictures and blog entries popped. Dated today, there were paparazzo shots of Sasha shopping on Melrose. She was dressed in ivory-white pants, strappy heels and flowing shirt that had a few straps where the back of the garment should have been. The tattoo on her shoulder was ebony against the gold of her skin. Judging by the bags both Sasha and the woman with her carried, she’d been on quite the shopping spree. The title of one of the blog posts was “Hollywood’s most badass chick goes badass shopping”. Emory smiled to himself when he saw a shot of her coming out of Lulu L’amore, a rockabilly boutique. For such a large city, L.A. could be dangerously small.
Soon, he’d have his hands on her.
Closing his eyes, Emory pictured her bent over his desk, her sweet ass exposed for his pleasure. She’d been warm, wet and tight when he slipped his fingers into her.
It still amazed him that she was a sub, but after the soft way she’d looked at him, her ready obedience and clear need for domination, he had no doubt. Deep inside an otherwise confrontational, aggressive woman was one of the softest, neediest subs he’d had the pleasure of touching.
She was too good to let go.
He winced as he remembered the way he’d told her that she’d have her sessions with him. He’d had no right, and he should have waited until she was out of sub-space to say anything. But he’d worried that once she’d scratched her itch she’d build up her defenses and shut him down.
Everything he’d said was true—she needed to be careful, she needed to stick with someone she knew and she could trust. The obvious solution was himself. But all that logic didn’t touch the truth of the issue, which is that he wanted her.
She was a riddle he couldn’t solve, a puzzle he wanted to piece together, a woman too enticing to be resisted.
Emory just hoped she never found out that the real reason he’d demanded she partner with him for her BDSM needs was not for her own protection but to satisfy his lust for her.
* * * * *
He was nervous.
He was an experienced Dom who’d played with dozens of subs in a variety of locations and scenes, and he was nervous.
Emory pressed the button on the call box and identified himself to Sasha’s assistant, then rolled up the window and waited for the gate to open. Sasha lived in Santa Monica. Not the usual choice for a celebrity of her status, it was nonetheless one of the most expensive zip codes in the country. A junior partner in Emory’s firm lived not far from here, but it was in a one-bedroom condo a block farther back from the beach and cost twice that of Emory’s condo in Marina Del Rey.
He didn’t want to know how much this had cost.
The stone driveway took him through a beautifully manicured front yard that included mature orange trees and man-height birds of paradise. He moved past a tree and got his first good look at the house—a sprawling mansion with a modern Spanish aesthetic. Emory turned to park in front of the house, not sure if he should follow the straight leg of the driveway under the arch and all the way back to what he presumed was the garage.
Going to his trunk, he selected a small duffle bag, leaving the larger case of toys. He mounted the steps, bag in hand, and rang the bell. It was opened almost immediately by a blonde holding a computer tablet and two cell phones. It was the same woman he’d seen in the photos of Sasha’s shopping trip.
“Mr. Setter?”
“Yes. You must be Jayne.”
“Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” She opened the door and let him in, then held one of the phones to her ear and said, “Guest is confirmed.”
“Are you speaking with Sasha’s security?”
“She has two full-time security people who have guest quarters with me.” She blushed. “I mean in the back.”
“Do they travel with her?”
“Sometimes. Other times Sasha prefers to travel alone.” Now Jayne looked wary, and Emory wondered how much she knew. He assumed that she had to know Sasha’s secret, but if she didn’t he wouldn’t tell her—just as she clearly wouldn’t tell him.
“That’s not advisable.”
“Well then, you tell her that.”
Emory raised a brow. “I will.”
“I’m sorry, I just worry about her.”
“Understandable.”
“Her appointment before you is running late.” Jayne checked the phone, then the tablet, expertly juggling the electronics. “You can wait in the front living room or get set up in the dining room if you need a table. The office isn’t really set up for guests.”
“The dining room will be fine. Thank you.” Testing the waters, Emory said, “I expect our meeting will last late into the evening.”
“Sasha said that. You’re blocked out on her calendar from now until midnight. Her schedule is open tomorrow too except for a few hours to work out. I’ve prepared a room in the guest wing if you need it.” Jayne led him through the house to a massive dining room with a table large enough to seat twenty. “I have the night off, but I’m not going anywhere—I’ll be in the back house all night. If you or Sasha need anything call this number,” Jayne fished a card from her pocket, “or pick up the house phone and hit the button that says ‘Jayne’.”
“Simple and effective. Thank you again.” Emory placed his bag and briefcase on the glossy wood table. Though it was polished and glittering, the wood was old and battered, the surface of the table not perfectly flat. The chandeliers above were delicate iron rather than glittering crystal.
“Sasha will meet you here as soon as she’s able.”
Emory nodded and took a seat, pulling out his phone to check his email. When the door closed behind Jayne, he put the phone down and looked around. This room, the whole house, was much different than he’d expected. He’d thought to find either sleek modern pieces and lots of glass, or opulent expense. The modern Spanish-style house and furnishings seemed out of place with either the tough movie star or the sexy submissive.
It was entirely possible that she’d either bought the house furnished or simply had a designer do it.
Emory rose and walked the length of the room, examining the art and sculptures that hung or sat between the floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall. The more he saw, the more he could see her in the space. A bold modern painting of teal and graphite black was as intense as she was. A six-foot sculpture of a woman emerging from stone was as interesting, while a seascape in bold blues and greens was as beautiful.
The door opened and Emory turned.
The fading daylight coming in the windows struck her, highlighting the gold of her skin and streaks of amber in her hair.
Nerves and curiosity both died away to be replaced by a desperate longing. He wanted her.
“Were you waiting long?” she asked, closing the door behind herself.
“No. Your home is lovely.”
“Thank you.”
She took a step but paused, as if not sure what to do. Her eyes were unsure, almost wary.
“Sit.” Emory’s tone was the same but the word was hard and demanding.
She pulled out a chair, easing gracefully into it. Returning to the table, Emory selected a chair of his own. Though they weren’t even in touching distance, there was an intimacy growing between them. An understanding of what would happen made the air thick and close.
He took a few documents from his briefcase.
“We’re going to identify our mutual
interests and set ground rules before this proceeds any further.” Emory set a BDSM sex checklist in front of her on the table, then placed a pen precisely on top of it.
She didn’t move.
“It’s my own version, and includes some items not commonly seen elsewhere.”
Still no response.
“Sasha, you will—”
She shoved the papers across the table. The pen rolled off the edge and clattered to the floor. “I don’t need your stupid form. If you’re not man enough to do this then just say so.”
Emory’s shoulders tensed. A sharp retort was on the tip of his tongue when he caught himself. Just as she was clearly wavering on the cusp of giving in to her sub, he hadn’t fully allowed his Dominant self to emerge. If he had, he would have immediately recognized what she was doing.
Like that day in his office, she was trying to push him to dominate her now. She wanted to excuse herself from the uncomfortable beginning of the scene and skip right to the good stuff by pushing him to put his hands on her and punish her.
That was fine for that day in the office. She’d needed it, and they’d had limited time to deal with the issue. Today was different. He would not allow her to top from the bottom.
Emory picked the pen up off the floor. Rising, he circled around behind her chair and placed the pen in front of her.
“You will complete the checklist. Now.”
She turned to look at him, her gaze searching his face. He stared at her until she dropped her gaze. A shiver ran down her back and she picked up the pen and pulled the papers back into place. He returned to his seat.
Chapter Three
Sasha’s fingers were trembling. She clutched the pen tighter, hoping to still them. She didn’t want to fill out his form or discuss ground rules. She wanted his hands on her, now. It was both arousing and alarming that this time he hadn’t risen to the bait. Rather than bending her over the dining room table and spanking and fucking her, he’d held firm in his demands.
Sasha’s sex had flooded with moisture as he stood behind her radiating command. On a very primal level, she’d accepted that he could and would master her and that she couldn’t make him do what she wanted.
