An Undercover Submissive [Safeword LLC 5] (Siren Publishing Sensations)

by Peyton Elizabeth

  “Which is why I resigned.” Trish didn’t seem to be willing to set down her oversized bag. Sander was coming to realize how stubborn she could be. “Once I realized who you were, I understood the conflict of interest. Again, why are we even here? Did you ask Kennedy to set this up?”

  “Before I respond to that,” Sander replied, taking another step closer, “answer me this. Why zero in on the Senator? There were numerous people at the club, with high-profile positions, that were engaging in scenes similar to that of Shelton.”

  “Look, I don’t know what Kennedy told you about our conversation. I’m not saying that every woman or man in that club—”

  “You mean submissives?” Lashe asked, interjecting. Sander knew he was seeing how far he could push her before she lost her cool. “Or Dominants?”

  Trish blew her bangs out of her eyes again and rolled her eyes. “Fine. You want labels? I spoke to several submissives at the club. I realize that some of them truly like kinky sex. But when a woman says no, she means no. The submissive that the Senator was hitting with a cane clearly said the word no. And we have him representing our state?”

  Sander closed his eyes and hung his head at her clear misconception of the lifestyle. He knew that starting a conversation about the ins and outs of BDSM was not going to get them anywhere right now. It was time to lay that to rest for the time being and move this thing forward. He looked back up, making sure he had her attention.

  “You seem to me to be a very blunt person. A ‘tell it like it is’ woman, that is, when you’re not undercover. We value honesty and have no doubt you will be so during our two-month contract.” Sander knew by how her cute plush lips pursed that she was going to argue that point, so he talked right over her. “With that said, are you going to stand there and tell us that you aren’t physically attracted to us?”

  Sander knew that he’d caught her off guard with that question. Again, he concentrated on those luscious pink lips of hers and knew that was one of the first things he was going to taste when he had a chance. He brought his gaze back up to her brown eyes, noticing the gold flecks from even three steps away. He took one closer and noticed that her pupils dilated. The left side of his mouth tilted just a bit.

  “The first time we saw you was when you were undercover at the club, wearing nothing but a corset, panties, garter, and stockings—somewhat conservative and totally out of place at our club. Maybe that’s why you stood out to us, but the way your ample breasts spilled out of the laced cups was like two bowls of gelatin ready to be eaten. For someone so petite, your legs seem to run a mile long. But you know what caught our interest the most?”

  Trish shook her head, almost mesmerized. He liked her like that, but knew the little minx in her wouldn’t stay that way for long. Sander waited long enough to hear her slight whisper ask him what he wanted her to.

  “What?”

  “The way you watched the scenes being played out in front of you. You were spellbound, yet almost fearful of wanting what those submissives had. Do you know what that does to a Dominant?” Sander asked, taking another step. He was one away. “It’s as if you had released your pheromones in the air and we were the only ones paying enough attention to catch your sweet scent. There is still something about you, whether it’s your vulnerability or your naiveté, that Lashe and I want as our own.”

  “I’m not a thing that you can own,” Trish said, although her voice had grown hoarse.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Sander replied, closing that last step. He took his hands out of his pockets and brought one up, brushing away her flyaway bangs. “Your submission must be freely given.”

  “This will never work,” Trish said, her dark eyes flitting back and forth as she tried to read his expression. Sander was good at keeping his cards to his chest, and now was no different. “I won’t stop the article I’m doing on the Senator and I’m not like those w–women who—”

  “Want to hand over control of their body? Have you ever done that? Do you understand the depth of freedom you could feel?” Sander dipped his head, lining up his lips with hers. He would have given anything to lay claim to them, but knew that would only scare her away. But he did want her to feel the electricity that was between them. “Give us a chance to show you what the Lifestyle entails, our little minx.”

  Trish stepped away, breaking the spell. Hell, even he’d been caught up in the physical attraction they’d seemed to weave around themselves. Sander had left his fingers linger in midair where they had caressed her cheekbone before slipping his hand back into his pocket. He felt Lashe come up to stand beside him.

  “We’re not asking you to stop the article on the Senator, but we are asking for you to give us time to prove to you that BDSM is not what you think it is. Give us seven days,” Lashe request. “If you want to go on a week-by-week contract, I’m sure that Kennedy will provide that type of service. At the end of each week, we’ll discuss things.”

  “Day by day.” Trish tilted her chin, as if she felt like she’d won a round or two in the ring. “Take it or leave it.”

  Chapter Three

  Trish waited while Lashe went to retrieve Kennedy, sparing Sander a few looks to make sure he stayed on his side of the office. Her hands were clammy, and she ran her palms down her jeans. They were her dark denim pair, the nicest in her closet, yet seeing the threads that these people were wearing made her feel like she’d just stepped out of a cardboard box in a side alleyway. She was truly just a simple country girl, whose passion for journalism ended her in the heart of a city that she despised. What would Sander and Lashe think of her family back in Otterville, Illinois?

  “Did you come prepared today? Do you have a suitcase with your things?”

  “Yes,” Trish said, although she had to clear her throat afterward. She shot Sander a sideways glance, seeing that he was back across the room and leaning his shoulder against the windowpane. She realized they’d never really answered her question on whether or not they had asked Kennedy to set this up but figured what was the difference? She’d probably be home in her one-bedroom apartment by ten o’clock tonight. This was never going to work. “Although I did hear a woman at the club say that when a woman was placed through Safeword LLC, she didn’t take anything with her. Kind of like servitude, wouldn’t you say?”

  Sander laughed, the smile transforming his face. Trish hadn’t denied his question earlier—the one where he asked if she was attracted to them. She was. Sander radiated masculinity and power, from the top of his perfectly styled haircut to the tips of his Gucci shoes. His dark brown hair was cut short on the sides yet slightly longer on top to allow for a few strands to fall across his forehead. Sander’s green eyes almost had a dark hue to them and she wondered what they looked like when he was—oh, my God. She gave her head a quick shake. She wasn’t going there.

  “Kennedy places all kinds of submissives. Some enjoy the Lifestyle twenty-four-seven, while others prefer to serve their Masters after their daily grind. I have no doubt that you are neither of those.”

  “I’ll play along,” Trish said, closing the distance to one of the two guest chairs in front of Kennedy’s desk. Her eyes landed on the art on the wall, and she crinkled her nose at it. What was the attraction of a crop? Granted, the man’s hands were nice and the blue of his ring was beautiful, but Trish just didn’t get it. Mentally shrugging her shoulders, she plopped her bag into the chair. “What kind of submissive do you think I am?”

  Sander stared at her intently with those dark green eyes of his, making her want to shift on her black slipper shoes. She looked down at them. The matching flower with a see-through gem in the middle wasn’t the reason she’d bought them. They were comfortable. Which wasn’t a feeling she would apply to herself right now. Why did he stare at her like that? Trish felt her nipples tighten underneath the white bra she wore, causing her to cross her arms.

  “So I hear we need to amend the contract,” Kennedy announced, walking in the door and causing Trish to jum
p. She let her arms hang down. Her fingers felt the hem of her white shirt, making sure that it covered the waistband of her jeans. Again, she felt way underdressed seeing Kennedy’s navy-blue suit, properly fitted just right—probably done by some tailor that she had on call. Lashe followed in the room behind her. “Trish, Lashe tells me that you’ve decided on a day-to-day contract. I must admit, I’ve never done one quite like that, so if you’ll give me a few moments to draw one up that is to your and the men’s satisfaction, I would appreciate your patience. Please feel free to make yourself comfortable over on the couch. May I have Jenny get you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you,” Trish said. “Although I do have a question for you. What do you know about my sister?”

  Kennedy’s expression didn’t change. “Just that you have a sister. You had placed her as your emergency contact. If you are referring to my previous statement, I think you read too much into it. But if there is something that you’d like to share with us that might affect your placement, now would be the time tell us.”

  “No,” Trish replied, “there’s nothing.”

  She hesitantly walked over to the couch, not sure if she believed Kennedy or not. Either way, it didn’t really matter. Unless Kennedy or James actually spoke to her sister, which she would be aware of if that had happened, then they knew nothing.

  The couch was closer to Sander, who was still studying her attentively. If he kept that up, she was relatively sure that her nipples would fall off. Hey, she admitted she was attracted to him. She was drawn to both of them. She looked back at Lashe, who had decided to follow her. Great, she thought. No wonder these applicants felt the need to submit. Men like this oozed sex, and Trish was the first to admit that she hadn’t had any in quite a while. A long while, but who was counting?

  Lashe took a seat in the overstuffed chair, for which Trish was grateful. She sat on the edge of the couch, trying to keep her eyes off of him. It wouldn’t do for him to think his good looks—who was she kidding?—his downright sexual appeal enamored her. She shouldn’t compare, but Trish couldn’t help herself. Whereas Sander seemed more conservative, Lashe had a carefree attitude about him. He laughed and joked continuously yet never failed to have a sexual quality surrounding him. He, too, had dark brown hair. His was slightly longer than Sander’s and went over his dress shirt collar. Lashe had fuller lips and were moving, as if he were speaking. Shit, he was.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “While Kennedy is revising our contract, I thought we should go over your soft and hard limits. We could get that out of the way.”

  Trish inhaled and then released the pent-up air to blow her bangs away. She really did need a haircut, but had been rather busy lately. They wanted to talk about limits? She almost laughed outright, but then saw Sander still looking at her. She couldn’t take it any more.

  “What?” Trish asked, throwing her hands up. “You need to stop that. And you never answered my question.”

  “What question?” Lashe inquired.

  “She wants to know what type of submissive she is,” Sander replied, shifting so that his back was leaning up against the window. “Trish, my gut feeling is saying that you’ll submit in the bedroom, but nowhere else. And that is perfect for us. We have demanding lives with careers that keep us busy the majority of the time. As for my stare—get used to it.”

  “It’s true,” Lashe said in agreement. “He’s got this habit of studying people.”

  Sander kept talking, with Lashe adding a few comments of his own, but Trish’s mind went right into the gutter the minute Sander had mentioned the bedroom. She imagined they would both have chest hair, although not too much. The way their bodies were outlined in their suits made her think they had well-contoured bodies, maybe from working out in a gym. Images of the three of them—wait. How does that work? And the way his voice lowered did something to her insides. She felt queasy, very much like she did when she went on an interview…only worse.

  “Trish?”

  She quickly looked over at Lashe, unable to prevent the stain of red that was rising in her cheeks. Was he aware of where her thoughts had gone? Trish hadn’t been herself since she’d walked through the door and spotted them. She felt like a bumbling idiot when she was a relatively sane, calm, and conservative person. Being around them brought the worst out in her. How was she going to make it through the rest of the day?

  “Please look over these changes,” Kennedy said, intervening.

  Trish was grateful and stood up quickly. She walked to where Kennedy was coming around the desk with papers in her hand and snatched them from her fingers. The one good thing about being a journalist was that she could speed-read with the best of them. Trish walked to the chair and pulled out her glasses. Perching them on her nose, perused the contract.

  Sander and Lashe had to obey her soft and hard limits. She had given her safe word on the application she’d filled out—Caption—and they would abide by it. There was also a secondary safe word, which would cancel the contract. Monarch. Trish scanned the rest and only stopped when her eyes landed on the word intercourse. If they managed to have the contract for seven consecutive days, that was when they were allowed to have sex. Was that legal? Trish’s journalistic mind ran through scenarios of broadcasting Safeword LLC to the public as prostituting out women.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  Trish bit her tongue, knowing she would do her research later. She assumed she would get a copy of the contract and would have a lawyer friend of hers look it over to decide if it was legal in the state of Illinois. At least she wouldn’t have to have sex with them for seven days. That would give her plenty of time to gather information for her article.

  “Um, nope. It’s suitable to me.”

  Trish turned to hand it back to Kennedy but found Sander standing there instead. Her glasses slipped further down her nose as she came to an abrupt halt. She was close enough to feel the heat coming off of his body. His scent seemed to engulf her, and Trish wondered if he knew how intoxicating the fragrance was. She felt him move and knew before she saw his hands what he was about to do. His fingers took the sides of her glasses gently and slid them off of her face. As innocent as the act may have been, it somehow had raised her body temperature to the point of creating an ache that sat low in her pussy.

  “As much as I love the librarian look, it’s a sin to cover those beautiful eyes of yours.”

  Okay, she thought, so every girl likes a compliment. Did he really think her eyes were pretty? Trish felt a slight trickle between her folds and realized she’d just creamed her panties. She backed up quickly, while at the same time shoving the papers in his chest.

  “Was role-playing on her soft limit list?” Lashe asked, leaving his chair and coming up behind Sander. “A librarian and professor scene could be quite interesting.”

  “No,” Trish spit out, more annoyed with her body than she was with him. “All of that stuff is a hard limit.”

  “So basically, you’ve left us no room to maneuver,” Sander said, finally taking the contract and smoothing the papers against his chest. Was there chest hair under those buttons? “I’m sure we can work with what little you have left to us.”

  His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, but Trish tried to tell them that she wasn’t submissive. Hadn’t she and Kennedy had this same conversation? What more could she do to prove to them that there wasn’t a submissive bone in her body? Trish studied Sander and Lashe as they looked over the paperwork. Sander’s fingers flipped one of the sheets. Okay, she admitted, maybe—just maybe—it would nice to lay in a bed where a man actually knew what he was doing and just enjoy the pleasure. Trish could even see maybe some satin ties to keep her bound, but that was stretching her limits.

  “M–maybe bondage is okay, as long as I could still say my safe word,” Trish said, looking back down at the leather flower on her shoe. She blew her bangs out of the way. “But no cuffs, you know, the metal kind.”

  L
ashe surprised her by stepping forward and reaching down for her hand. He lifted her arm and wrapped his fingers around wrist. The feel of his firm hold caused her breath to hitch. She stared at the differences between his skin and hers, fascinated by the variances. She had never felt so warm, and she wasn’t referring to the temperature of his flesh.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Lashe said softly. For the first time, Trish saw a tenderness inside of him that she didn’t know he possessed. “Place some things on your soft list instead of your hard list. Leave the hard limits to something that you are opposed to due to health reasons or because you morally object to them. Experiences should not be limited because of your fear of the unknown. Extend your trust to us little by little, until it grows to its full maturity. We’re willing to do the same.”

  “You aren’t the one who’s exposing himself,” Trish said, allowing him to see a little part of her vulnerability. “I’m the one who’s risking everything.”

  “Oh, little one,” Lashe replied, his voice lowering. The change of tone caused her to lean forward just a bit. “If you only knew the power you hold in your delicate little hands, you would know how nonsensical that sounds. Show us a little bit of trust and we’ll return it tenfold.”

  Lashe’s green eyes held more brown flecks than did Sander’s, and they seemed to deepen the more he spoke. Trish tried to remind herself that she was doing this all in the name of journalism, but she felt that slipping away. Her body was responding in a way she hadn’t expected. She felt herself losing her grip on the solid reasoning she’d convinced herself of these last few days, but that didn’t stop the shocking words that tumbled out of her mouth.