by Dubois, Lila
“But those photos would be of me having sex with a bunch of guys, I’m not—”
“No.” He raised his hand. “There would be no sex. No kissing. Physical contact, definitely, and you would have to be naked and be touched sexually by the men, by me.”
He held her gaze, letting that sink in. Addie looked at his hands. There were nice hands, with neatly trimmed nails. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering this…but she was.
“Physical contact…leaves you a lot of options. In my world, men respect and treasure women, they don’t beat them up.”
“You wouldn’t be beat up here either. Spanked?” Lane looked her up and down…slowly. The teasing, playful man who’d barged in was disappearing with each breath. He was shedding the sheep’s clothing to reveal the wolf. “Possibly.”
“But that would hurt. Why would I agree to it?”
“You don’t seem like the kind of woman who’s afraid of a little pain, or who doesn’t know how to see the beauty and pleasure in things other people find strange.”
He was right. She didn’t have to admit it though. “You know me now?”
“No.” Lane was off the ottoman and stalking toward her so fast Addie didn’t have time to think about her reaction. She backed up, fight-or-flight responses engaged. Her back hit the wall a split second before he was on her, looming over her.
He pinched the fabric of her robe between index finger and thumb and pulled it off one shoulder. The silk slithered down, catching on the tie around her waist. Addie gasped, the inhale causing her breasts to brush his chest. Addie, who prided herself on always being in control of herself, had no control as Lane caged her with his body, his presence.
Tracing the back of his hand down her bare arm, over the pool of fabric at her elbow, he circled her wrist in his hand.
Inch by inch he lifted her arm, drawing it above her head and pressing the back of her wrist against the wall. He studied her for a moment, eyes darkening.
“I don’t know you, Addie Sanchez.” He dipped his head, lips millimeters from the corner of her mouth. “But I’d like to.”
And then he was gone.
Addie was ready for the kiss, waiting for it. When Lane backed away she could only stare at him, stupefied. He wasn’t going to kiss her?
“The contract is in the back of the book. Goodbye, for now.”
With that, he let himself out of her apartment and was gone.
Chapter Two
For the hundredth time that hour, Addie considered turning back. The point of no return had actually passed several days ago when she finished negotiating and then signed the contract, but she’d told herself that she could walk out at any time.
Lulu had, surprisingly, thought this was a great idea. Addie had taken in the foot fetish book and the contract and told her friend everything. After a moment of silence, Lulu had said that if Addie wasn’t completely comfortable with it she shouldn’t do it, but that Lulu didn’t think it was porn, and that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She’d called it a visitor’s pass to kinky-sex-land.
Hearing Lulu’s relaxed acceptance calmed Addie’s nerves. If the only question was did Addie want to do this, then the answer was yes—it was frightening, edgy, different, sexy.
All things Addie liked to think she herself was.
Her biggest concern had been what other people would think. The contract said they could keep her real name out of it. The likelihood that anyone she knew would ever pick up the book and recognize her was slim, so she wasn’t worried there.
It was Pissarro who had identified one of the other issues Addie hadn’t thought about since she brought it up to Lane.
“You, as a submissive? If you were a lezzie you’d be the top, Adelita.”
“Probably,” Addie admitted, sitting on a bench in Pissarro’s store.
“So is it going to be fake, like NASCAR?”
“NASCAR is real, wrestling’s fake. And this will be real too.”
“I can’t keep track of straight-people things, you know that. But back to the important point—they’re going to teach you to be a bottom?”
“A submissive, yes.”
“Oh, this is not going to work. Didn’t they meet you?”
“They did.” Addie didn’t tell Pissarro about the way she’d frozen under Lane’s hands as he towered over her.
That was over a week ago. Now the contracts were signed, plans laid out, and today was her first day on set.
Everything was happening on a sound stage in North Hollywood, not far from the office building where she’d met with Helen. Addie pulled her restored and tricked-out chrome-and-purple 1979 El Camino into the narrow parking lot at the back of the building and parked it between a 7-Series BMW and an M-Class Mercedes.
“Maybe it pays to be kinky.” Addie tipped the rearview mirror to check her bangs, making sure they were perfectly in place. “Or, you have to be rich to play.”
Sliding out of the car, she tip-tapped across the parking lot in her T-strap heels. One of the things she’d negotiated for was to be in charge of her own wardrobe. They’d cite Lulu’s store in the book. Hopefully that would drive traffic to the store and more people would buy the clothes Addie designed and sewed. It increased the possibility Addie would get recognized, but after seeing the foot fetish book and realizing how focused the photos were, it seemed unlikely.
A plain metal door in the back wall had a piece of paper with “C&C” taped to it. Addie rang the bell beside the door and waited.
Lane sat forward as the bell in the makeshift office rang. Emory, seated to his left, finished tapping out an email on his phone before slipping it into the laptop bag on the floor beside his chair. The thirty-something Dom wore a dove-gray business suit that set off his light-brown skin. Alton was standing in the corner near the panel that controlled the lighting, staring out the window that overlooked the floor of the soundstage. He was roped in muscle, not an ounce of fat on his arms, which were displayed by the sleeveless black leather vest he wore.
“I’ll get her.” SJ stood, the chair she’d been sitting in barely shifting under her slight weight.
SJ Kim was their photographer. At barely five-foot, the Asian-American woman was slight but not fragile. In the fetish and BDSM communities, she was considered a world-class artist, known for both photography and painting. Lane planned to have at least one of the photos taken during the project signed and framed.
“Are you looking forward to this?” Emory asked him. He’d steepled his fingers, resting his chin against his thumbs.
Lane snorted. “Who wouldn’t be? Addie’s gorgeous.”
“Breaking a new slave can be a chore,” Alton said from the corner.
Lane hid his fist under the table. “She’s not a slave, she may not even be a true submissive. She’s just here to be introduced to the lifestyle.”
“What the two of you do is hardly the lifestyle.”
Lane was half out of his chair when Emory put a hand on his arm and murmured, “Leave it. She’ll be here soon. Listen.”
Settling back in his chair, Lane’s heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Now that he wasn’t focused on beating the crap out of Alton, Lane could hear footsteps on the metal stairs that led to the office, which was perched midway up one side of the large soundstage.
He smoothed his expression into a smile as the door opened.
SJ was speaking quietly to Addie as she held the door open for the other woman. Their distraction gave the men a moment to look Addie over before she turned her attention to them.
Decked out in a skirt that hugged her body from high on her waist to her knee and a buttoned white shirt with a little collar, she was a far cry from the loosely dressed submissives Lane was used to. Her hair was a fall of even, glossy black waves, her bangs a perfect curve across her forehead, her lips fire-engine red.
“Perfection,” Emory whispered, rubbing his fingers across his lips.
She was. Nothing about her appearance
was overtly sexual but she was undeniably sexy. She seemed supremely confident, but Lane saw the tremble in her fingers as she put her hand on her hip, watched her tongue dart over her lips as she licked them nervously.
When SJ motioned toward them and Addie’s attention switched from the photographer to him, Lane rose. Emory did the same, and Alton stepped out of the corner.
“Addie, it’s nice to see you again,” he said.
“Again?” Emory whispered under his breath.
“Thank you.” Her chin notched up, challenge radiating off every line of her body. “I know you,” she pointed at Lane with a red-nailed finger, “but not you two.”
“I’m Emory Setter, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Her hand slid into Emory’s, their skin nearly the same color. Lane bit back an unexpected flare of possessiveness and jealousy.
“Master Alton.” Alton nodded, but didn’t offer his hand.
“Master Alton?”
“That’s the proper way for a slave to address a Master.”
“Slave?” Addie’s hand slipped from her hip. She looked to Lane. He could see the worry, and maybe a hint of fear, in her eyes. “I’m not sure about this.”
“Maybe we’d better talk about what each of us…specializes in.”
“Oh, so now you have sex superpowers?” Addie swept her gaze over them, crossing her arms in front of her breasts. She pulled up her shields, the hint of fear gone.
“More areas of specialty,” Emory corrected smoothly, though one side of his mouth kicked up.
“BDSM should be a lifestyle, though some choose to,” Alton looked at Lane, his lip curled up, “dabble.”
“Gentlemen.” SJ’s quiet voice cut through the rising tension, capturing everyone’s attention. “Let us sit. Then talk. Please.”
Lane jumped forward to hold out a chair for Addie, who sank gracefully into it, crossing her ankles and tucking them under the chair.
“Adelita, the men represent different subcultures of an already hidden world.” SJ spoke softly, her words painting an elegant, dark picture. “Each of them sees BDSM in a different way, can make it beautiful in a different way.”
“Call me Addie. So I’ll take turns with them?” She bit her lower lip and looked away. “This sounds so…”
“Hot?” Lane asked.
Addie looked up, their gazes met. She didn’t answer.
“Yes, you will have time with each of them. There are specific things considered emblematic of the culture, which must be a part of the play. Beyond that, the gentlemen will be responding to you.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Emory cut in before Lane could answer, “above all what a good Dom—that’s short for Dominant—wants is to bring both himself and the submissive he’s with to the absolute height of pleasure. Through BDSM you’ll find physical and emotional pleasures so intense they border on pain.”
Addie licked her lower lip, breathing deep. “So when I’m with you, I’ll be—”
“Orgasming. Yes.”
“Oh.” She looked at her hands for a moment. “You mentioned specialties?”
“You’ll be mine first,” Lane said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m the least…formal. I introduce you to the terms, the toys and light bondage. For me, BDSM is something that stays in the bedroom, maybe in a club playroom, but it’s about control in order to obtain the most pleasure for both of us.” Lane kept and held her gaze as he spoke, lines of intensity whipping between them like electricity.
“You’ll come to me next.” Emory tapped his fingers on his knee. “I enjoy the formality of a well-planned scene.”
“A scene?” Addie finally looked away from him to Emory. “I don’t understand.”
“The slave girl at auction is a classic, and one I always enjoy. The naughty schoolgirl is another.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Ohhh.”
“When you’re done playing,” Alton sneered the word, rising from his chair to circle around Addie, looming over her, “I’ll teach you what D/s really means.”
She took a deep breath, then asked, “How?”
Lane had to admire her courage. He wasn’t sure if, in her position, he’d have said anything.
“When you’re with me, you’ll learn the freedom that comes from being entirely under my control. Your pleasure, and your pain, will be mine.”
“That certainly sounds… interesting.” She scooted her chair back half a foot, forcing Alton to stop circling, and crossed her legs. “I’m sure that will be an experience.”
Well played, gorgeous.
There was a muffled chuckle to Lane’s right. He looked over to see Emory pressing his fist over his mouth.
“And will each of you be there the whole time?” Addie asked.
“Do you mean will we be watching each other’s sessions? Maybe, that depends on what you’d prefer,” Lane answered.
She paused for a moment, examining each of them. “I’d like to keep the voyeurs to a minimum.”
“Okay, then.” Lane didn’t think she realized that she hadn’t actually flat out told them they couldn’t watch. One of the first things she was going to have to learn was that specificity was key in this world.
“When do we start?” she asked, looking around the room.
Lane stood. “Now.”
Addie stood on the edge of a beautiful bedroom. A massive four-poster bed sat on a platform on one side. There was a seating area in front of a gas fireplace and even a small dining table set with a sturdy rectangular table. It looked like a million-dollar-a-night suite in a swanky hotel—except it had only three walls and no roof.
“Welcome to my play place. What do you think?” Lane put his hand on her back.
When he applied pressure, Addie took a step up from the concrete floor of the warehouse-like sound stage to the hardwood floor of the fake room.
“It’s nice, big.”
“We’ll need the space, to move around in.”
“It’s…PG.”
“Were you expecting whips and chain on the walls?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll have to wait for Alton’s space for that.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve said that a lot today. Do you need to take a step back?”
“No, I can handle this.”
“You’re going to enjoy this. You shouldn’t seem so grim.”
“I’m not grim.” Addie took a step away, Lane’s hand falling from her back. She watched the photographer silently assemble and check several large cameras. “You’re not videoing anything, right?”
“Still photography only,” SJ said. She held up a camera, snapped a photo of Addie’s legs. She flipped the camera around, showed Addie the resulting image. The hem of her skirt was barely visible at the top of the image, the swell of her calves the focus of the image. The seam at the back of her stockings was just visible on her right leg.
“Gorgeous,” Lane said, his hand once more on the small of her back. “Are you ready to start?”
“Do we need to take test shots or anything?” Addie asked. Her stomach was full of butterflies, her fingers tingling. Though the dark sound stage and warm lighting in the mock bedroom made it seem as if it was the middle of the night, she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that it was noon. Noon on a Tuesday seemed like a strange time to start something as dark and kinky as a BDSM photo shoot.
“Nervous? Ready to back out?” Lane raised a brow.
“I’m not backing out.”
“It’s okay to be nervous.” Lane slid his hand along her neck, under her hair, his thumb pressing behind her ear.
“I can handle anything.”
“This isn’t a battle.”
“Sex is always a battle.”
Lane leaned in, blew across her neck. A shiver racked her upper body. Her discomfort with the fact that it was noon, that there was a woman with a camera only two feet away, disappeared.
Lane had morphed from an eas
ygoing guy into a wolf.
Addie put her hands on his chest, pushing him away, wanting space to breathe, to think, to gain some composure and control. He caught both wrists in his free hand and forced them down. Her hands were between their crotches and she could feel his erection through his jeans.
“Why don’t we start with the basics?” Lane leaned away just enough to look into her eyes. “The first of which is, once you walk into the bedroom, you’re mine. I touch you when I want, how I want. You don’t push me away.”
“What about a…safe word?”
“You know more about BDSM than you admitted.”
“I did some research.”
“Smart and gorgeous. My favorite flavor. There’s not just a safe word, but a series of safe words. Just like a traffic light the words are green, yellow and red.”
“Green means go?”
“Or ‘oh yes, please, Lane, I want more’.”
Addie giggled, she couldn’t help it. The laugh dispelled some of her tension, and Lane let go of her hands. Had he been holding on to her because she was edgy? Would he always let go if she relaxed?
“I thought you said this wasn’t porn?” she teased.
“It’s not, but you’ll be saying something like that.”
“Confident, aren’t we? So you’re sure that every time you ask I’ll say ‘green’?”
“I’ll only do safe word checks if I sense something is wrong. It’s up to you to use your safe words if you’re uncomfortable or scared. Yellow means pause and reassess. Red means full stop.”
“You’re trying to tell me that you’ll be able to sense when something’s wrong with me?”
“Yes.” Lane cupped her elbow and led her to the seating area. He guided her to a padded armchair.
“Men can’t do that.”
“A good lover should be able to tell when something’s not right in sex, and a Dom must be able to. Failure to understand a submissive’s reactions to what’s happening, sometimes better than she understands it herself, is unacceptable.”
“So a Dom is really the ultimate lover.”
“I like to think so.”
