It’s the bartender from last night, wearing tight jeans, a soft flannel shirt rolled up to show his tats, and oozing far too much sex appeal for my liking. He sits down at one of the stools close to the counter and I squeak out a “Hi,” hating that my voice has once again risen to that Minnie Mouse octave.
“Told you we might meet again,” he says as he takes off his silver tinted sunglasses, revealing those impossibly blue eyes I wish I could avoid.
Felicia probably sent him, I decide, and then I promptly begin plotting how I could strangle the woman in her sleep and get away with it.
“You did.” I tap my pen against my pad of paper, but then stop, realizing I’m giving away just how nervous I am with the action. “What can I get you?”
He smiles a wicked smile, and I almost expect him to say, “You,” but instead he orders a large cup of dark roast and I hand him a mug for the thermoses, where we keep the regular brews on tap.
“So what brings you to my little corner of java heaven?” I try to sound witty, but that damn squeak in my voice keeps betraying me.
“Felicia told me where I could find you.” His eyes never leave me as he sips at his steaming coffee.
I knew it! I think, grabbing my cleaning rag and squeezing it while I pretend it’s the head of a certain perky blonde I know. But then, as if he can see the annoyance written all over my face, he adds:
“I asked her where you hung out. She said this was the best place to track you down.”
I gulp in a large breath of air and nearly choke on it. Yeesh, I’m acting like a ninny. Grow up, little school girl!
“And why would you want to track me down?” The moment the question leaves my lips I regret it.
His face takes on a wolfish look. “Because I have a proposition for you?”
“Proposition?” My rag goes still, but at least I keep my voice within normal range this time.
He nods. “Felicia tells me you’re a struggling student. Working two jobs just to get by.”
And living with Jeanie, I almost tell him, who never cleans her side of the apartment, but I love the woman anyway. Because she always does dishes, and I hate dishes.
I just nod, not wanting to give him more information than I am comfortable with.
“What if I said I had a job to offer you?” He reaches out and his big, callused finger traces circles over the back of my hand. I shiver as electricity seems to spark through my every nerve, but I don’t pull away from his touch.
“What kind of a job?” I have to clear my throat and ask twice before the words come out right.
He stares straight into my eyes as his fingers encircle my wrist. Heat from his touch seers my skin. “How much do you know about BDSM?”
I pull back as if he has scalded me. “That’s an awfully forward question.”
He shrugs. “I think it’s an honest one.”
“I don’t even know your name!”
He grins, holds the hand not wrapped around my wrist up for me to shake. “Rider Sykes. And you are?”
Tentatively I take it, trying to ignore the intense energy that seems to pass from his palm to mine when we touch. My mouth goes dry, and I have to lick my lips before I reply, “Christy Tyler.”
“Well, Christy, I’ll ask you again. How much do you know about BDSM?”
I fiddle with my cleaning rag, adjust some dishes, blow a strand of straight, black hair from my face, anything to avoid his eyes and question. Until he clears his throat and stops my hand with his massive palm.
Thinking about the fuzzy handcuffs Ethan bought me for last Christmas, I tell him, “I’ve read Fifty Shades and some other books.” I shrug self consciously. “I know there’s spanking, handcuffs, that sort of thing. That’s about it.”
His hand stays on top of mine as he pins me again with those piercing eyes. I want to pull away yet I don’t want to.
“I see.” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses one, two, of my fingertips. His tongue flicks out ever so quickly over the top of my thumb. “How’d you like a paid education in the topic? A new job that’ll let you quit the two you have now?”
My throat closes off and I choke. An elderly lady at the counter growls, “Can I get some service here?” And a teenager snickers as he sidles up behind her at the counter.
“Excuse me a minute,” I mutter before I pull myself away from Rider, which isn’t easy despite my embarrassment.
After I serve these two and make sure the place is relatively empty, I return to him. “You’re offering me a job? You barely know me.”
He shrugs again, and his soft flannel shirt pulls tight over those sculpted shoulders. “I know enough to see you’d be the perfect practice submissive.” He then pulls some neatly folded papers from a pocket in his jeans and hands them to me. “Here’s the contract. Everything that would be expected of you is outlined in here. If you’re interested, give me a call by tomorrow afternoon. My cell number is at the top.”
He gets off the stool and moves toward the door. I admit, I watch his ass move in his snug jeans as he goes, but I blurt words that stop him before he walks out.
“If I do say yes—and I’m not saying I will—I have one rule. No sex.”
He turns back, gives me a smile that almost makes my heart jump into my throat. “Your wish is my command.”
“I thought I was supposed to be the submissive?” I quip.
“Ah, you really do need to learn a thing or two about BDSM, I see,” he drawls as he opens the door. “Submissives, sweetie, have all the control.”
And with that he’s gone. I slip around the counter to peer out the front of the coffee shop after him. Wouldn’t you know it? He’s riding a Harley.
***
“What’s to consider, hon?” Jeanie pulls off her baseball cap, throws it on the table, and finger-combs her frizzy black hair. “If it were me, I’d have already signed the contract.”
Felicia’s bright blue-eyed gaze darts between us. “What did it say? What’re his terms?” She pauses only long enough to take a drink of her beer. “What kind of cash is he offering?”
I groan and grab a pillow from our couch then bury my face in it.
“You should see the amount!” Jeanie says. “She can quit both jobs and have money left over.”
“Woman, why haven’t you called him to tell him yes?” Felicia shoves my shoulder.
The contract is fair, if kinky. But sex was even an option before I gave him the “no hanky panky” stipulation. There was a box marking whether the practice submissive would engage in sexual intercourse or not. I checked “no,” which also baffles my two best friends. Thankfully I could use beer and nachos to divert their attention from the subject.
Apparently, Rider is a friend of Ron’s, I learn from Felicia. He works at the club where she had her bachelorette. I guess Rider’s friend owns the place, and he’s the newly hired dominant, but there’s been some complaints about his style and technique. Not that he’s too harsh or rough with the ladies, but that he isn’t dominant enough. Rider wants to practice his domination skills on someone who isn’t a client so he can improve. For whatever reason, he’s decided I’m the perfect test dummy.
But the contract and me taking the job? Oh, no way Felicia and Jeanie are letting this go. They’re like a pair of tenacious Chihuahuas with a meaty bone.
“Call him tomorrow and say yes!” Jeanie shakes a cheese smothered chip at me for emphasis.
“You’re both way too eager to see me spanked for a living.”
This earns me a giggle and a high pitched cackle. “He wants to do a lot more than spank you.” Jeanie eyes the contract again and Felicia demands she hand it over for her perusal.
“Christy, this guarantees you can pay off your student loans early,” Felicia says around a mouthful of chip. “You can’t afford to turn him down.”
Sighing, I think about Harleys, tight jeans, and whips. Bad boys will haunt me until the day I die, I decide. “I might as well accept. I’m doomed anyway.�
�
My friends cast each other smug smiles, and I think about spiking their desserts with laxatives when they do.
***
My hands are slick with sweat as I punch in the number Rider included on the contract. It rings once, twice, and my heart pounds a bit harder with each mechanical whirr. Finally he answers on the fourth ring, just as I’m about to hang up.
“Rider here.”
“Hello.” I have to clear the damnable squeak from my voice. “Hi, it’s Christy.”
“Oh, I know who it is.” I can almost see the wolf grin I’m sure he wears. “So what’s your answer?”
I chew my bottom lip, inhale deeply. “Yes, I’ll be your practice submissive, but I’m not bending on the no sex rule.”
“I’m disappointed, of course.” His voice takes on a low, husky tone that makes my belly tighten. “But it is optional, like you saw in the contract. I respect your wishes.”
“Great.” Jeanie pokes her head in my open bedroom door and I try to wave her away. “So when do I start?”
“Meet me at the club tomorrow.” He rattles off a time too, which I write down along with the exact address. Then I hang up and look at a wide-eyed Jeanie.
“I want full details when you get home tomorrow,” she says before she disappears from my room.
My cheeks burn hot with the thought of what tomorrow will bring.
***
I arrive at the club just as the sky opens up and rain pours down in sheets. My faded grey t-shirt is clinging to me when I walk in the door, and I’m thankful no fancy leather costume was required for this practice session since it would be ruined by the storm. My jeans and scuffed sneakers are equally soaked.
Rider asks if I’d like a robe and to throw my clothes in the dryer, but I opt for a couple towels and to stay in my sodden clothes.
“You’re going to get sick if you stay in those,” he says, holding out a fluffy, white robe and towel. “Come on, I’m not the big bad wolf. I won’t ravish you the second you’re in nothing but a robe.”
“All right,” I relent, “but the robe stays on through the practice!”
“I’ll do you one better. We’ll wait until your clothes are dry before we start.”
Another gentlemanly move. My mouth snaps shut and I silently hate him for being so nice.
Once my clothes are back on, nice and warm from the dryer, he leads me from the plain office we’ve been waiting in and takes me on a small tour of the club.
The main area he shows me has a huge dance floor with a raised platform running down its center, dividing it into two. There are huge wine glasses on each table, and these are filled with condoms. The tables have drawers in them that hide an assortment of disposable sex toys. A disco ball and glittery steel cages hang from the ceiling. But he takes me into one of the private playrooms to practice.
“So your friend owns this place?” My eyes grow wide as I follow him and take everything in.
“Yup. It’s a part of the Surrender Inc. franchise. Ever heard of it?” He opens a door made of dark walnut and stands aside so I can enter.
“No.” I take a cautious step over the threshold. “What’s Surrender Inc.?”
My arms brushes over his chest as I walk by and I feel the fine dusting of hair on his chiseled pecs tickle my skin. My face heats and my body feels electric, but I hope I don’t show the effect he has on me. He’s shirtless today, clad in only a pair of tight fitted leather pants. I try not to stare at his chest too much either.
He stops me with a hand snaked around my shoulder. “It’s a sex club and resort franchise. My buddy only owns the one club, but he knows some of the major shareholders. The richest of rich come to play at the main resort, Sanctuary. Or so I’m told. I’ve never been there.”
I simply nod and swallow hard as my gaze takes in the playroom and its contents.
I don’t know a ton about BDSM, but I know enough from the erotic romance I’ve read, and some of Jeanie’s dirty magazines, to know a spanking bench when I see one. There’s also a rack that reminds me of medieval torture devices. A cross with shackles for wrists and ankles. And stocks. Glass cases line the walls and these are filled with whips, collars, handcuffs. He explains more about the room’s contents as he leads me around.
“Pick your pleasure,” he says, stopping in front of me.
The heat from his body makes the tiny hairs on mine stand on end. I try to breathe normally, act cool. This is just practice after all. Not the real thing.
Still, I stall for time. “Why do you need to practice anyway? How can someone be a failure dominant?” I regret the last sentence the moment it leaves my lips.
He glares at me, purses his lips, then his face becomes an aloof mask, but I can still sense the anger simmering under the surface. “Some of my clients feel I’ve been too soft on them. I need to learn not to hold back. To respond to my submissive’s wants and needs by observing their cues and better communication. Failure is not an option.”
He sounds like Arnold Schwarnehager in a bad sci-fi movie, but I don’t tell him that. I have the good sense to bite my tongue this time. However, I can’t help but ask, “What happens if you do fail?”
He looks annoyed, but he holds the mask of aloof calm, control. “Then I’m out a job, or I go back to tending bar at this place. And this job pays better than the bar tending. So you’re helping me as much as I’m helping you. See?”
The arm around my shoulder slides to my waist, raising tiny goose pimples down my back as it does. I suck air between my teeth.
“Who’s paying my salary then?” I’m curious, but I also still don’t quite trust him.
He can tell, and little wrinkles form at the bridge of his nose as his frown deepens. “My buddy. He’s investing in me. Let’s put it that way. Let’s get started.”
I cast him a dubious look, but his stony face says more questions are not welcome. His elusive buddy makes me suspicious, but I decide if payment is late or anything goes wrong, I’m out of here and out of this job faster than you can say chocolate and peanut butter. I have the weekend off from both my other jobs—wonder of wonders—but I haven’t given my notice yet, just in case things don’t work out. Like I said, never trust a bad boy.
He crosses his nicely defined arms over his chest. “Have you decided?” Pins me with an intimidating stare.
My decision is based on my last assignment for my historical law class. I point to the stocks, hoping they’ll be the least harmful and compromising instrument of torture.
He nods and, taking my hand, leads me to it.
My heart does a double-time beat in my ears. “What am I suppose to do as your practice sub?”
He opens up the polished, pine stocks and gestured for me to get in. “I’m going to read your response and ask you how it feels. What you like and don’t like. What you want more of and what you don’t. We’ll have safe words you can use should you become uncomfortable with anything. Remember the ones I included in the contract?”
Vaguely, I do. We go over them again as I gingerly place my head in the cool bevel at the center of the wood then drape my wrists within the smaller notches. The stocks lower over my neck and I try not to panic as the hinges give a tiny squeak and he snicks the lock shut.
Breathe deep. In and out. Relax, I tell myself.
“And now you’re going to … spank me?” I hate how meek I sound, but I admit the feeling of vulnerability that rushes over me at being bound this way is oddly enjoyable.
He crouches in front of me, takes my chin in his hand, grins as he gazes into my eyes. “You bet I am.”
“So what’re you taking in college?” he asks as he walks toward a wall full of glass cases.
“Law,” I simply say, not trusting my voice to get out much else.
He turns back to me, holding a paddle that reminds me of ping pong games played with my sister. “A lawyer, huh? I might have to spank you twice as hard.”
My cheeks flush with heat at his threat. “Haha. Lik
e I haven’t heard a hundred or more lawyer jokes by now.”
He just gives a sexy grin as he shows me the paddle and then walks behind me. Every click of his boots makes my stomach tighten and my mouth a little drier.
Through my jeans, I feel the surface of the paddle skim over my butt. First one cheek and then he slides it across the other. My stomach grows tighter still and that traitorous thing between my legs tingles with more heat. I bite my bottom lip then clench and unclench my hands.
“You ready, sweetie?” His voice is a sexy drawl that makes my nipples stiffen.
“Ready,” I croak, thinking, as I’ll ever be.
The paddle skims up my back, charging my skin with electric energy as it slides across my thin t-shirt. He slips it down over my sides, down my hips. As he does so, one big leg nudges between mine. Our knees touch and then our thighs rub against each other. My sex screams to be touched. My nipples are aching. I bite my lip harder, wondering when the first whack will happen, when—
Smack!
The paddle whistles through the air before it slams into my ass. A sharp sting radiates out from where it hits, and I cry out “Ouch!” He asks if I’m still comfortable with continuing and I say yes. The pain intrigues me, stirs my darker sexual fantasies I’ve never confessed to anyone. Not Ethan, not one of the bad boys I’ve dated.
He traces the paddle from my inner knee up my thigh and I tense. He promised no sex and no touching naughty bits. I fist my hands, waiting, wondering if he’ll break my rule and what I’ll do then. But just as the paddle sweeps to the mid-thigh of my jeans, he pulls it away and then swirls circles at the base of my spine.
“How’s this feel so far?” he asks, his voice husky enough to do things to me. “Tell me what it’s like for you.”
I take three deep breaths before I dare speak. “It’s … interesting. I expected to hate the pain, be afraid of it, but I don’t and I’m not. I thought the vulnerability would be freaky, but it isn’t. I kind of like it.”
He chuckles low in his throat and the paddle slips down one butt cheek. “Are you turned on?”
I lick my lips, think about my reply. “That’s what you want, right?” Realizing how my question sounds, I quickly add, “For your clients to be turned on, I mean.”
Surrender Boxed Set (Surrender Series Volume 1 - 7. BDSM romance with man love, bad boys, and billionaires.) Page 22
