Just One Night: Volumes 1-3 (Just One Night #1-3)

by Kim Black

  Completed Story

  Kim Black

  Just One Night by Kim Black

  Volume I-III

  Copyright © 2015 by

  Kim Black.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design and Formatting by

  Kim Black at TOJ Publishing Services.

  Editing by

  Nicki Kuzn & Donna Bayar Repsher

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The scanning, uploading, and/or distribution of this document via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and is punishable by law.

  Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.

  All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Kim Black Books

  Paperback ISBN-13: 978-0996381017

  E-Book ISBN-13: 978-0-9963810-2-4

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  International Amazon Bestselling Author Kim Black is a born and raised New Yorker. She is engaged to a wonderful man and loves spending time at home with her family. She currently resides in Bronx, NY, but is a true Brooklyn girl. You can take the girl out of Brooklyn…

  From the time Kim picked up her first book at her middle school library, she fell in love with the feeling of getting lost in another world. Books became her escape and she dove head first into the many books she loved with joy. She strives to provide that same feeling for her readers.

  In 2011, she was introduced to the world of erotic romance and fell in love with the genre, reading any and everything she could get her hands on. By the following year, she decided to take a chance at self-publishing an erotic romance series and thankfully she has been fortunate enough to have gained a fan base, though she still finds it unbelievable.

  While Kim Black may be known for her angst and suspenseful, sexy romances, she is working on branching out into other romance genres.

  Kim holds a Degree in Graphic Design and Animation and is the CEO of a new publishing services company, TOJ Publishing Services, where she provides authors with custom graphics, marketing and promotional services.

  She is also a proud PRO member of Romance Writers of America and is a part of two of their chapters: RWA-NYC and KOD-RWA. ♥

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  One night is all Blake Hanson requires.

  Tomorrow he will move on to

  the next eager and willing sub.

  And women are always eager for him.

  No commitments. No feelings.

  Just Sex.

  It is his only rule. His guide.

  And he never loses control, until…

  ~~~~

  The night isn’t over for Blake Hanson

  Not by a long shot

  He needs more, craved it even

  A round two, so to speak.

  He knows that Alyson Lane is trouble

  Trouble that he should avoid at all cost

  Still, he can’t keep away

  And neither can she…

  ~~~~

  Alyson Lane thinks that she can leave,

  but she will not walk away from this.

  From Me.

  Alyson hasn’t realized it yet,

  but she’s made a big mistake.

  It’s one thing to agree to go our separate ways,

  it’s another to shoot Blake Hanson down.

  No, Alyson chose wrong and

  I am going to make sure she knows it.

  I am not a man to be turned away from.

  I will not be denied.

  She is my sub and I…

  BLAKE

  I don’t do relationships, ever! I have no use for them. All I want I can find in the encounters I arrange online. One night with a beautiful sub, willing to allow me to do whatever I desire to her. Total control.

  There are no questions, no dinners and no awkward unnecessary conversations. There’s just me, my sub and the private suite at The Dungeon.

  Why? Because I can. I can do without the necessary obligations that come with relationships. There’s no need for me to expose my personal, private inner demons or to offer up some weak part of myself only to have the relationship shatter to pieces in the end.

  I have no time for that shit!

  At least I’m not a dick about it. I always lay my cards on the table the second they answer my ad. I’m never one to mislead them into my bed—I don’t have to. One look at my picture, the same picture I’ve been using for the past three years, and they agree to my terms. It’s worked every single time.

  The woman with me tonight is no exception. She hadn’t waited even ten minutes before she was begging to meet me, promising that I would never regret meeting her.

  So far… she’s okay. She’s nothing special, there’s nothing extraordinary about her that might cause me to look at her twice. Her breasts, thighs and pussy are the same as the other countless women I’ve met and brought into my private suite.

  Eagerly looking up at me, she waits for me to instruct her as she kneels before me. She’s cute enough, but she’s definitely not a knockout. It doesn’t matter to me, I won’t see her again after tonight.

  “I seem to recall instructing you to be ready at 8:00 p.m. sharp,” I begin, as I circle the slender, pale-skinned brunette. Her name escapes me, but I remember all that I need to for tonight: her safe word—David, the name of her dog.

  “Sir, I apologize. I was let out of work late,” she offers, her head bowed down to her chest. Her breathing accelerates and I can see that she’s already enjoying our little scene.

  Stopping behind her, I tug at her hair—not enough to hurt her, just enough to make her gasp in surprise. She looks up at me, her eyes burning with lust.

  “You do understand the position you put me in, don’t you?” I hiss into her ear, allowing my breath to tease her lobe and cause her to whimper softly.

  “Yes, Sir. I… I should be punished,” she says, simply.

  Releasing her hair, I stroll over to the chest I keep one side of the room, my back turning away from her, where she waits, kneeling. “Kneel, bend over, facing the bed. Panties off. Ass up. Face touching the mattress. And don’t move.”

  I take my time rolling up my sleeves while she makes quick work of removing her panties and positioning herself as instructed. She’s eager and I can already smell her arousal.

  Opening the chest, I pull out my flogger, a personal favorite of mine. Strutting back over to her where she waits by the bed, I look at her pale ass and lick my lips, anxious to paint her bottom a pretty shade of pink for defying me.

  “Hands above your head,” I whisper, as I gently caress her skin, noticing her sharp intake of breath at my touch.

  She isn’t half bad. So eager and so willing. Just the way I like it.

  “You like that,” I murmur, as I nudge her legs apart.

  “Yes, Sir, I do.”

  Running my right hand over her ass, I grip her meaty flesh before trailing my hand lower.

  “Fuck. You’re already dripping,” I murmur before stepping away from her.

  She does as she is told, bringing her hands up high above her head and pushing her bottom up toward me, silently asking me to begin her puni
shment.

  “Only for you, sir.”

  For tonight, maybe.

  ALYSON

  What the hell am I doing? I ask myself, as the car I am riding in makes its way along the busy Manhattan streets. My heart is beating a mile a minute with each passing street light.

  The seriousness of my agreeing to meet this stranger tonight suddenly weighs heavily on me, and I fight against the growing urge to jump out of the town car he sent over to pick me up.

  He hadn’t even offered to get me himself; instead, he told me that his car would collect me at 8:00 p.m. sharp. I thought it was rude, but I didn’t realize quite how much it would bother me until, well after the car took off, taking me to God knows where.

  I hate this feeling in the pit of my stomach, a nagging discomfort that hasn’t let up, no matter how much I try to calm my shaky nerves.

  He could be a killer. My mind races, thinking of all the possibilities I could be walking into. A killer who is first going to have his way with me, and then dump my body into the Hudson River.

  A chill runs through me as I realize that there is a good chance my body won’t ever be found should this encounter go south. No one will look for me, since I have no family left to worry about or miss me and no friends to wonder where I’ve gone. I am completely alone and totally vulnerable to him, to Blake.

  Clutching my purse against my chest, I berate myself for telling him that I have no family in the city. I should never have told him that I’m the only survivor of a tragic accident that occurred years ago, a terrible memory that I rarely allow myself to think about, much less speak about. I tucked that memory away fifteen years ago.

  He didn’t need to know that piece of information, and truthfully, I only told him about it because our email conversations up to that point were all of a sexual nature, never about anything real. I thought that revealing such a personal detail about myself might cause him to divulge something personal about himself in exchange for my admission.

  He hadn’t.

  I have only known the man via email for a week, and now I am on my way to meet him for the first time. I don’t know why I had agreed to this date or why I continued talking to him after our online misunderstanding, yet here I am, heading straight into the unknown.

  You agreed because you are 22 years old, all alone, and you have never had an orgasm. My inner voice makes me feel pathetic, as I think back to our very first conversation.

  I had been surfing the net in search of a job, when I stumbled across an ad which I believed to be for a position as a substitute teacher.

  Perfect, I’d thought to myself, as I clicked on the title and began to thoroughly read the ad:

  New Sub Needed

  Must be clean, in your 20’s and experienced. No novices. Headshot required. Contract mandatory.

  I was completely confused by the ad. Why would a headshot be required? Why was there no mention of a resume, and why did the school feel it necessary to require that the substitute be clean? Had they recently employed a bum or something?

  I didn’t understand and I wrinkled my nose as I attached both a copy of my resume and a full-body photo of myself. I didn’t have professionally taken headshots to send, and I decided that it shouldn’t matter what type of photograph I sent. My resume, which highlighted my years of experience as a teaching assistant, from the time I was in high school until the time I graduated college a few months ago, should speak for itself. This job was perfect for me, I thought, as I hit the send button with enthusiasm at the prospect of finding a job after months of searching.

  It wasn’t until I received a response a few moments later that I realized the error I’d made and it wasn’t just a regular mistake, it was a monstrous one, and I was completely mortified as I read the responding email several times.

  I see that you aren’t capable of following instructions, Ms. Lane. This does not bode well for you if you wish to be my sub. Nonetheless, please answer the following questions to the best of your ability.

  The questions that followed had me wide-eyed and confused. They included terms like ‘edge play,’ ‘forced orgasm’ and ‘rope bondage,’ all of which made my cheeks blush red. I immediately Googled each term, eager to understand what this man was referring to. I couldn’t help but blush further as I read the definitions.

  Do people really do this shit?

  A bit curious, I answered each question using my trusty friend, Google, as my guide. I lied my way through each question, thinking there wasn’t harm in doing so, but when he sent me an invitation for tonight along with a very improper photo of himself, something told me to say “yes”. At the time, that something had been a throbbing ache for the man in the picture, an ache for him to make me feel things I had never felt before. I had no doubt that he would do so, and the eager part of me, already drenched, needed to experience a night with him. This is why I now find myself in this predicament; on my way to meet this bondage sex-god and terrified beyond words, yet still horny as hell for him.

  I can only hope that he will send me back home once he discovers that I am unskilled in the art of BDSM. Surely, he won’t be too upset with me. It is, after all, just a misunderstanding.

  After sending my acceptance to him last night, and using his picture to alleviate the pressure between my legs, I stayed up late researching BDSM, wanting to be prepared for whatever this date might lead to. I know he expects sex; it’s a given since that was his purpose in placing the ad in the first place. I wonder how long he’s had it posted. How many women have already responded to him?

  The car slows to a stop at a red light, the busy sounds of the city slightly muffled by the windows suddenly closing, as though the driver knows just what I’m thinking. I can’t help but eye the door handle to my left, wondering how crazy it would seem if I suddenly bolted from the town car and ran like mad.

  It’s not like I’d get very far anyway, I decide, shaking the crazy thought from my head. I’m wearing a form-fitting red lace dress and matching six-inch heels. The driver, who hasn’t uttered a single word from the time I climbed in, is fit. Really fit. He’d more than likely catch me before I even rounded the back of the long, black town car.

  Rolling my eyes, I decide in that moment that I don’t like him, figuring he can’t possibly be a good person if he’s going to help his employer kill me by driving me to…

  Shit, where are we? I wonder, confused, when we veer off a bridge.

  Brooklyn?

  We’re in Brooklyn, I realize, as I read a green sign with white lettering welcoming us into the borough as we weave around several cars.

  Sighing, I sink further into the comfortable black leather seat and close my eyes. I know there isn’t much I can do to stop this from happening, so I opt to simply accept it for now, figuring that I will just deal with the consequences of my irresponsible choice to meet him once we arrive at our destination.

  When the car comes to a stop, I suddenly stiffen up, as I wait for the driver to open my door. I have never been to Brooklyn before, so I don’t even bother looking out the window to figure out where he’s taken me.

  My breathing quickly accelerates as I sit in the back seat, my chest suddenly feeling heavy as I recall the contents of his last email to me this afternoon.

  Red dress, high heels, no panties!

  See you tonight,

  Blake

  At the time, I found his message sexy and mysterious, but now, as I sit in the back of his town car in Brooklyn, I don’t find it sexy at all. Instead, I find it both daunting and embarrassing to sit here with my lady parts exposed.

  The car door opens and a gust of autumn wind rushes into the car, as the veiny, thick hand of the driver stretches out towards me. I don’t make a move to grasp it yet. Instead, I send up a silent prayer to the universe, hoping that something or someone up there will watch over me as I walk into the unknown.

  Finally taking his hand, I shimmy out of the town car, careful not to flash the man as I exit. I stand at his side
as he closes the door. Once closed, he turns to face me. He is a handsome man, older, but built like a house—a strong man with kind eyes, but I’m not a fool. He looks as though he might be lethal.

  He gestures for me to walk ahead of him, his right hand coming to rest at the small of my back. There’s an unmarked and dingy building ahead of us, with not a single window at the ground level, a fact which causes my anxiety to spike higher with each step I take.

  The sound of my heart thumping in my ears drowns out the clicking of my heels on the pavement along deserted street. All I can do is stare at the rusted metal door ahead of me, wondering what I will find on the other side.

  Gulping, I stop in front of the intimidating building and close my eyes tightly, while taking a deep breath meant to still my rising anxiety.

  “Right this way, Ms. Lane,” I hear a man’s voice say, causing me to open my eyes. The driver has the door open and is waiting for me to step through it, a knowing glint now evident in his gaze. He smiles and nods his head and I reluctantly return the gesture.

  Maybe he isn’t a bad man after all, I consider.

  Taking in one last deep breath, I take the first step.

  Here goes nothing.

  BLAKE

  I toss back a shot of brandy and ask for another one before swiveling around in my stool to examine the room. I haven’t liked the way I’m feeling since the moment I entered The Dungeon, and I curse myself for asking Alyson to meet me here tonight.

  I’m anxious, which doesn’t make any sense to me since she is no different than any of the other women I have brought here. Aside from the fact that she has virtually no experience, she is just another beautiful woman. Still, I am nervous.

  “Fuck!” I groan, as I look at my watch for the sixth time tonight. They aren’t late yet, but I still fight the urge to text Jaxon, my driver and personal assistant, for their ETA.

  I need to calm the fuck down. I give the room a once over. One look at the dimly lit club reassures my reasoning for placing the ads. The women here are boring, offering me no challenge, and I’ve already run through most of the regulars. I’m not one to linger with a sub past the contract’s expiration date.