The Dom's Secret: A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance
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The Dom’s Secret
~A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance~
© 2018
By Cassandra Dee and Katie Ford
Please note that this book was originally published as Hot Sugar. It has been expanded and revised with BDSM themes for your reading pleasure.
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© 2018 Cassandra Dee and Katie Ford
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over.
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ALSO BY THE AUTHORS
Standalones
His Captive
Buck Me Cowboy
Beg Me: Sold To My Dad’s Boss
Daddy’s Pretty Baby
Loving the Babysitter
Reverse Harem
Seven Brothers of Sin
Six Ways to Sin
The Billionaires Club
Sold at the Auction
Virgin for Sale
Serving Him
Buy Me
Anonymous Encounters
MFMM Ménage Romance
All the Best Men
MMF Bisexual Romance
Double Dare
Double Exposure
Their Secret
The Falling Series
Falling for My Dad’s Best Friend
Falling for My Boyfriend’s Dad
Falling for My Son’s Best Friend
The Virgin Series
Delivering the Virgin
The Princes Series
Double Princes
Triple Princes
Box Sets
Taking the CEO Home
Love Unbound
DEDICATION
To all the girls who like their fun a certain way.
This one’s for you!
NOTE FROM CASSIE AND KATIE
Hi! Thanks so much for reading The Dom’s Secret: A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance. I hope you enjoy the steam between Carrie and Mason!
We have a special bonus short for you called My Co-worker’s Toy in this volume. You’ll love it, we promise!
Plus, be sure to join our Facebook group Alpha Males on Top to hear about new releases, discounts, and freebies!
Love,
Cassie and Katie
ABOUT THIS BOOK
THE DOM’S SECRET: A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance
BAD GIRL NEEDED. INQUIRE WITHIN.
The want ad beckoned.
Bad girl.
What does that mean?
Hands shaking, I responded because we needed the money. My little sister was going hungry, and I’d do anything to help her.
But Lordy, the man who answered blew me away.
Because Mr. Channing is everything I’ve always dreamed of.
Tall, handsome … and a Dom.
That’s right, the billionaire’s got a room full of toys. The kind that make you gasp and scream.
I should be scared.
But I’m not.
There are chains hanging from the ceiling.
Manacles mounted on the wall.
And a big wooden cross in the middle of the room.
No, not the kind of cross with an angel up top.
It’s the wicked type that makes you scream.
But I’m not scared because Master is my religion now.
His words are my command.
His breath on my cheek.
His hand on my shoulder.
And whatever Master wants, be it pain or pleasure …
I only have one word.
YES.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Dom’s Secret
ABOUT THIS BOOK
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
Deleted Scene 1
Deleted Scene 2
Deleted Scene 3
Deleted Scene 4
Deleted Scene 5
Deleted Scene 6
Deleted Scene 7
Deleted Scene 8
My Co-worker’s Toy
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
Trailer Park Virgin
ABOUT THE BOOK
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
The Dirty Virgin
ABOUT THE BOOK
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
Beg Me
ABOUT THE BOOK
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
A Baby for the Billionaire
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTE
R TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
A SNEAK PEEK
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
MORE BY CASSANDRA DEE
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
CHAPTER ONE
Carrie
“Can I have ten dollars?” Nicole asks hopefully, her big blue eyes pleading. Nicole is my little sister, and she’s fourteen but acts about two sometimes.
“What for?” I ask sternly, hands on my hips. “Why do you need ten bucks?”
Her lip trembles, jutting a bit.
“I want to get some white-out,” she says slowly. “You know, to fix my homework.”
I blink. White-out? Really? Who still uses that stuff? I thought it was toxic, killing brain cells right and left.
But Nicole nods again.
“It’s for my book report, Carrie,” she pleads. “You know I wanted to borrow your laptop but you were using it all the time. So I had to write it by hand, and now I need white-out to fix my mistakes.”
Inside I feel myself caving. Because it’s true. We only have one computer in the household, and that’s mine. And I have been using it a lot for my creative writing class, so Nicole didn’t get a chance to hop on.
Slowly, I reach into my pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills.
“Here,” I say gently. “Take this.”
Nicole smiles brightly now, gripping the bills.
“Thanks Car!” she chirps. “You’re the best,” are her happy words, before skipping off. I sigh again. Because Nicole’s my little sister, but sometimes she’s more like my child. I know I should tell her the truth but it seems too brutal for someone so young.
Because actually, I don’t have any money to spare, not even a few bucks. Just yesterday, I saw my mom hiding the yellow sheet of paper they nailed to our door. The one with the big red letters in front in all caps. I couldn’t quite see what it said, but it was most likely an eviction notice.
And it’s not like Mom has any way to pay our rent. Rhonda and Jim have been gone for a few days now, which is nothing new. Probably off on another bender, getting lit and doing nothing about our housing situation. So yeah, things are bad, much worse than a few bucks for school supplies.
But I don’t want my little sister to worry. Nicole has dyslexia as well as mild anxiety, and growing up in this household hasn’t been easy. I don’t want her to get worse, she’s frail already. So I take another deep breath before seating myself at the kitchen table. Bills, bills, bills, piling up everywhere. Stacks and stacks, falling off onto the floor, pushed behind the refrigerator even.
But right now isn’t the time. I need to work on my paper right now.
Because I’m a first-year student at our local community college. And I’m lucky to be there. I want to be someone and to make something of myself. I don’t want to be like my parents, constantly flitting from one job to another, living hand to mouth, never knowing when the next paycheck is coming. I want to hold my head up high, and not be afraid to walk into a nice restaurant. I want to be safe and secure, without worrying that I was gonna lose the roof over my head.
Right. The roof. The would-be eviction notice.
But I couldn’t think about it now.
So instead, I stare at the screen blankly, my computer humming. This creative writing class was driving me nuts. They were discussing something about a clef a romans and macrocosm / microcosm. What did those terms mean again?
Because the truth is, I’ve been struggling to get a sentence down on paper all evening. Writing is my thing usually. Words are what makes me happy, but recently, with all the trouble from my family, it’s been tough to concentrate.
But I have to. A degree is important. Investing in myself is important, especially for education.
Despairingly, I stare straight ahead. Nothing comes, my mind like a blank slate. And devilishly, my fingers began to move on their own.
But not to type, oh no.
Instead, I begin to surf the web.
The world wide web has been my downfall for a long time. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve lost to endlessly reading random sites. Not even educational sites like the news or following the stock market. But really random things like BuzzFeed and Bored Panda, mind candy that sucks you in, only to spit you out three hours later, dazed and confused. I should find some blocking software to prevent my bad habits. That would help my procrastination, for sure.
But my fingers are devilish once more. Because there’s a pop up in the corner that catches my eye, the fluorescent pink lettering impossible to miss.
MAKE CA$H! it screams. EA$Y MONEY!
I snort. Yeah, right. Just another get-rich-quick scheme where they pump you full of hope, only to rob you dry. But would it hurt to look? Would it be so terrible? And before I know it, my fingers click on the ad.
A new site pops up immediately.
There are no pictures. But the lettering sings a tune like a siren calling to drowning sailors. I can’t help but stare, my breath coming fast.
$$$ Cute, Innocent Girls Wanted. Be a $ub Today! $$$
My face flushes.
Is this …?
Could it be …?
It has to be. I’m inexperienced when it comes to dating and relationships, but not dumb. I know what a sub is. Sub is for submissive right? You date a guy for money, and he gets to control you.
But what does “dating” mean?
What kind of control?
And how much money?
It’s the last question that firms my resolve. Because if there’s anything my family needs right now, it’s money. We need cold hard cash to put food on the table so that my little sister doesn’t go hungry. It’s not just about movies and popcorn, white-out and school supplies. It’s about the real deal. The stuff that makes the world turn.
So lips pressed into a line, I click. The screen flashes with a site called Sugar Babiez, a sexy-looking woman smiling while sitting on a couch. Oh god, oh god, is this really happening?
But it is.
This is the only way out right now. I could try and get a job tutoring, or maybe working as a barista somewhere. But what would it pay? Probably somewhere around minimum wage. That’s nowhere near enough, not when our circumstances are so dire.
Maybe I could make more as a sub.
A lot more.
Maybe even four figures.
Hope makes my heart pound. We need it so badly, even a thousand dollars would make a huge difference. I could pay some of the overdue bills, especially the electricity and gas ones marked “final notice.” I could go to the grocery and buy some nuts and real cheese, not the government-issued cheese product we usually eat.
So maybe this is a possibility.
The rush to my head is overwhelming, my vision literally going blurry for an instant. But first things first. If I want to explore, then I have to create a profile.
What should my user name be?
A bunch of things jump into my head.
Honeybunz.
Jewelz.
SweetThing314, for my birthday March 14.
But those sound idiotic, like I’m a teen who spends all her time on the phone. So instead, I enter my real name, Carrie, and the site accepts it alarmingly fast. No “User Name Taken.” No suggestions of “Carrie314” or “Carrie12345.” Just Carrie.
Oh god, oh god.
Maybe I’ve screwed up already.
Am I being dumb?
Am I being hopelessly naïve?
Oh god.
But there’s no way I’ll actually meet someone on here, I tell
myself. This is just to see who’s on the site. So taking another deep breath, I fill out the basics on myself. Five five. Curly brown hair. Brown eyes. Average build. Well, that’s not actually true. Because I’m a curvy girl, with a big butt and huge, soft tits, along with hips that swing like a pendulum. So slowly, my finger unclicks “average” and instead presses down on “A little to spare.” “A lot to spare” would be more accurate, but that’s not a choice.
Oh god.
Moving on.
But it gets worse because the next screen prompts me to upload a pic of myself. What? I don’t have anything!
But it makes sense. Pictures tell a thousand words right?
So I surf around my laptop hard drive, trying to find something suitable. Definitely not my school ID, I have huge glasses and my hair’s a mess, it’d been windy that day. Definitely not a shot from my recent trip to Six Flags with Nicole, I look about fifteen years old with a giant ball of cotton candy and a silly smile.
But there’s nothing else. There really isn’t. I don’t have any suitable pictures, not something that I could upload here.
For a moment, I consider using someone else’s pic off the web. It’d be so easy, and no one would ever know. I’m not going to really “join” this site, anyways.
Or am I?
Because what if something okay comes along?
Or more realistically, what if we need the cash so bad that this is the only way?
That’s the real answer for sure.
So trembling, I get up and grab my cell. Making my way to our tiny shared bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Huge, round eyes with masses of curly brown hair. A chin that’s shaking somewhat, but at least they won’t be able to see that in a photo.
And holding my cell towards the mirror, I snap a pic. It’s terrible. Really, really bad. The flash obscures my face, making my head look like an exploding lightbulb. All you can see is my scoopneck tee with big boobies pressing forwards.
So I take another one, turning off the flash this time. This version’s better, at least you can see my face. But the expression is all wrong. I look like a haunted deer, eyes wide and staring, poised and ready to run.