The Honey Trap: A BDSM Alpha Romance

by Lucy Wild

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  EPILOGUE

  EPILOGUE - RICH

  ALSO BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  BONUS STORY

  MY MOUNTAIN MAN AND ME

  ONE - JOY

  TWO - RICH

  THREE - JOY

  FOUR - RICH

  FIVE - JOY

  SIX - RICH

  SEVEN - JOY

  EIGHT - RICH

  NINE - JOY

  TEN - RICH

  ELEVEN - JOY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  THE HONEY TRAP

  LUCY WILD

  © Copyright 2017 Lucy Wild

  Want to hear about my new romances before anyone else? Love alpha males and innocent girls? Sign up to my mailing list and get the novel, Don’t Touch, completely free.

  © 2017 Lucy Wild

  All characters in this book exist only in the imagination of the author and bear no relation to anyone with the same name or names. They are not inspired by any individual and all incidents are pure invention.

  All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part. Excepting in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or distributed without the express permission of the author.

  This book is intended for mature audiences and may contain explicit language and scenes.

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  ALSO BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  Billionaire Bad Boys

  Last Week

  Playing Games

  Saving Hope

  Dark Romance

  Kept Safe

  Quick Reads

  My Mountain Man and Me

  Study Hard

  Wrecked

  Age Play

  Daddy Dom

  Daddy’s Here

  Daddy Play

  Don’t Touch

  Historical

  A Little Wager

  Little Conspiracy

  Pretty Little Rose

  Historical Collections

  Obedience – Five Stories

  The Sting of Pleasure – Fifteen Stories

  Contents

  ALSO BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  BONUS STORY

  MY MOUNTAIN MAN AND ME

  ONE - JOY

  TWO - RICH

  THREE - JOY

  FOUR - RICH

  FIVE - JOY

  SIX - RICH

  SEVEN - JOY

  EIGHT - RICH

  NINE - JOY

  TEN - RICH

  ELEVEN - JOY

  EPILOGUE - RICH

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  It was against the rules. I wasn’t allowed to do this. Every part of me fought against my desire. I should turn round, walk out the door, not look back. I should curse the name of the place and all those who had tempted me inside. I should run, get out of there before it was too late.

  Instead, I loosened my tie, slipping the knot through my fingers, setting the last vestige of my respectability down on the back of the red leather armchair next to me. Undoing the top button of my shirt, I took another look at her, my heart already racing at the thought of what I was about to do. She looked stunningly beautiful even with the lights dimmed and her body in shadow.

  Completely naked, laid on her front, she was draped over the wooden table, her wrists held by the chains, her ankles spread wide apart. Her hair dangled down towards the floor, obscuring the blindfold I’d wrapped round her face moments before. The only sound was her breathing. The door was expertly soundproofed. Not a single noise penetrated from the rest of the club despite the ear splitting volume of the music out there. It was as if the place didn’t exist.

  The only thing that existed for me was in this room. Her and me. I continued to stare as I finished unbuttoning my shirt. Could she tell I was undressing? She knew it was against the rules as much as I did. She must not have heard me. If she had, she’d have asked me what the hell I thought I was doing, stripping naked just to spank her. She’d want to know what was wrong with me. It would take a lifetime to tell her.

  I stopped, resisting reaching down to remove my belt. If I took off any more layers, that would be it. I wouldn’t be able to resist her, the throb of my cock was painful enough already.

  “Are you ready?” I asked, leaning down over her back to whisper in her ear, my chest pressing against her, the feel of my skin on hers making my heart race even faster.

  “Y…yes,” she stuttered, her voice quiet. “Yes, Sir.”

  I smiled. Being called Sir had felt strange at first but the more time had passed, the more I’d come to enjoy it. It felt right. After all, while we were inside these four walls, I was in charge. I decided what happened. I ordered. She submitted. That was why we were here. It was why she’d agreed to strip, why she’d agreed to let me bind her to the table, why I was lifting my hand above my head.

  “We agreed a dozen, did we not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Before she’d finished speaking, I’d brought my arm down through the air, slapping my palm onto her left buttock, my cock throbbing in response to the smacking sound that echoed round the room.

  She let out a sharp gasp as I brought my hand away but she managed not to cry out. She soon would. My hand slapped down again on the same spot. This time, when I lifted it away, the skin of her ass began to darken. I could picture how she felt, trapped, in pain, beholden to me, unable to do anything but wait for it to end.

  I spanked her twice more before pausing, shifting my position, staring at her ass as the skin reddened further. It was a sight I’d come to love, the way it accentuated her flawless skin, her soft curves, everything about her made me want her more, want to be inside her. But that was forbidden. I was to go no further than spanking. That was the rule. With my hand resting on her ass like that, all I’d have to do was slide it lower. There was nothing she’d be able to do about it. No one else in the club would know. It would be our little secret.

  My hand lingered, feeling the heat from where I’d spanked her. I moved it a tiny bit lower, listening to her breathing growing heavier. The first word from her and I’d stop. A single note of dissent and nothing else would happen. All she had to do was tell me to leave her alone and I would. Neither of us would be in trouble for breaking the rules then. We could pretend there’d been no danger of that at all.

  She stayed silent, even as my fingers brushed the top of her thigh, the heat of her pussy noticeable against the skin of my hand. Another half inch and I’d be touching her in the place I’d thought about so often, I’d be doing the thing I’d been aching to do since I first met her. I froze, giving her one last chance to tell me to stop.

  Her hips shifted, moving towards my hand as she let out a tiny moan. It was all the encouragement I needed. I moved my hand upwards, finding her wetness, sliding my hand through it, seeking out her clit. Another moan escaped her as I slid my hand backwards, my cock pressing painfully against my trousers, wanting to be in her as much as I did.

  I took a step back. This was it. I couldn’t resist any longer. I reached down to my belt and was just undoing the buckl
e when my phone made a noise from across the room. Swearing silently, I marched over to my jacket, hanging from a hook by the door. I pulled out my phone and read the message.

  ‘My office. Now.’

  Not now, I thought.

  “What is it?” she asked, making me realise I must have spoken out loud.

  I swiped the message away. This was my moment. No one else could make this decision for me. I had to choose. My employer or the woman I wanted more than any other? A choice harder than any I’d ever had to make. And I got the feeling that whichever option I took, my life would never be the same again.

  ONE

  I wasn’t sure whether or not to tell him. He’d likely find out if I didn’t. He found out everything. But then, why should I make his life easier? I was a grown up for crying out loud. I’d long passed the stage where my father needed to know everything about me. Just because he was a politician, that didn’t mean I’d signed up too. I was my own person, no matter how regularly he told me otherwise.

  “What you do reflects on me,” he said so often when I was growing up that it might as well have been painted on my bedroom wall in giant black letters. “Your behaviour has consequences, things you might think nothing of now can come back and bite me later on.”

  I would nod, acting as if I had the faintest idea what he was talking about.

  “So when you hit another girl at school…so when you cross the street without looking…so when you slouch in church…” I could spend forever listing the things that he thought would affect his career. “When you do those things, it has an effect on those around you, ripples that you might not even be aware of. Do you see, Kathryn?”

  I could picture what would happen if I told him about this. It would be the same conversation we’d had hundreds, maybe thousands of times before. Did I want him to lose his job? Did I want the public to vote him out? Did I want to be the one that ruined his chance to change the world?

  I looked up at him. He was slowly sipping from his soup spoon, his eyes fixed on the phone which was laid on the table next to him. That phone was more important than me by far. Why distract him from it? Still, I had to try. He was my father, after all. Didn’t he have a right to know?

  “I’ve got an interview tomorrow,” I said, picking up my glass of water.

  “Hmm,” was the only reaction I got followed a few seconds later by, “That’s nice.”

  “It’s for a job.”

  “Would you look at this, that son of a bitch has clawed back two points in the polls.”

  “A job at a bar.”

  “Give me a minute, sweetie. I just need to ring Nate.”

  I rolled my eyes. I swear if he could have swapped me for his special advisor, he’d have been far happier. Then he could have talked work at home and at the office without the pretence of a family life.

  I wondered what my mother would have done if she was still alive. Would she have been able to contain him, to make him see that there wasn’t much point reaching the top of the ladder if you had to leave everyone behind to do it? Or would she have boosted him up? It was a pointless question. She wasn’t around to ask.

  I pushed my plate away. “Excuse me,” I muttered, getting to my feet and turning away. He didn’t even notice. He was already ranting into the phone.

  “Nate? Ernest here. Have you seen the poll results?” Pause. “Don’t tell me to relax. What the hell are we going to do about it?”

  His voice faded away as I headed upstairs to my room. I’d told him at least. He might not have listened but that wasn’t my fault. My conscience was clear. I’d told him I was interviewing for my first proper job.

  Since finishing college for the summer, I had been looking for work. It wasn’t that I needed the money especially. It was the independence. I didn’t want to be relying on him for money forever. I wanted to stand on my own feet, work for a living, see what it was like to support myself.

  I laid on my bed and dug out my phone, dialling Jessica’s number. Of all my friends, she was the only one who knew about the interview.

  “Kitty Kat,” she said when she answered. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking how much hotter than you I look in this bikini.”

  “You went shopping then?”

  “I am standing in front of my mirror looking so sexy, I’m surprised Vigo the Carpathian doesn’t leap out and take me.”

  “Will you ever speak to me without including an eighties reference?”

  “Maybe. Bueller?”

  I frowned as I lay back and stretched my feet out. “Hang on, Vigo came out of a painting, not a mirror.”

  “All right, Little Miss Pedant. The Candyman then.”

  “What, in between handing out sweets and singing a song so sickly, it made me want to throw up on a squirrel.”

  “Imagine if it was the Candyman working in that shop. I’m not sure Charlie would have survived to make it to the factory.”

  “It would make sense though, murder town 101. A coldly psychotic monster spending his time bumping off kids,” I paused, “and then the Candyman.”

  She giggled. “I can’t talk this shit with anyone else, do you know that? So, did you tell him?”

  “I tried. He wouldn’t listen.”

  “Shocker. Ernest Waterman doesn’t listen. I’ll alert the papers, shall I?”

  “Very funny, Jessica.” She was right but it didn’t stop it jabbing at me a little. My father was famous for steamrollering those who got in his way but the familial bond still made me want to defend him, if that makes sense?

  “What will you do if he finds out?”

  “I haven’t even been to the interview yet, give me chance.”

  “That reminds me. About that, I meant to mention something.” She went quiet.

  “Well, what is it? The bar’s actually a front for mafia drug laundering?”

  She laughed. “No, nothing like that. I just don’t want you to freak out if they mention the back room at the interview.”

  “The back room? What back room?”

  I heard her sigh. I knew that sigh. It meant she was working out how to word something.

  “Come on,” I said. “Spit it out.”

  “Like your mum.”

  Only Jessica could make a joke like that about my mother. “What is it?” I asked, becoming impatient. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

  “It depends. What do you think about BDSM?”

  “About…BDSM?” A vision of collars and chains, spanking and submission, all rushed into my mind at once. “Never heard of it.” Would she believe me? Had I kept the knowledge out of my voice?

  “Christ, you really are innocent, aren’t you?”

  I blushed. She didn’t need to know what I liked to watch on the internet. “Just tell me.”

  “Well the back room is a sort of private club, they call it the Honey Trap.”

  “The Honey Trap?”

  “Yeah. It’s a BDSM club, strictly hush hush, invitation only, all that stuff.”

  “So how do you know about it?”

  “I might be the cleaner there.”

  “You said you were cleaning an accountant’s office.”

  “I might have lied a tiny bit. I tell you what, cleaning up in a club like that is an eye opener and no mistake.”

  “Is it legal?”

  “What, cleaning?”

  “No, the BDSM thing.”

  “Course it is.” A pause. “I think. Anyway, it doesn’t matter that much. You won’t have anything to do with it, you’ll just be working the front bar. I just thought you should know.”

  “Jeez, Jessica. Now I’m not sure if I should go or not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” I couldn’t tell her I was worried if I saw the things in there I’d fantasised about so much, I might end up doing something I regretted, something that really would cause problems for my father.

  “Look,
go to the interview. Let them tell you about the place. Then decide. Don’t do anything rash. Remember, it was hard work getting you this interview.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t tell me it was some kind of den of iniquity.”

  “Den of iniquity? You sound like your father.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sorry, you don’t sound like him. You’ve never sounded like him.” There was a note of pressure to her voice, it was subtle but it was there, lurking between the words.

  “Look, I’ll go to the interview all right but it better not be-”

  “A wretched hive of scum and villainy, I got it.”

  I was on the phone for another hour, the conversation becoming more random as the minutes passed by. When she finally went, I turned to my laptop, opening it up and loading the internet. I typed in The Honey Trap but nothing came up. If it was real, it was clearly not the advertising sort of place. I glanced behind me, making sure the door was closed before typing in BDSM, telling myself that what I was about to do was nothing more than research in preparation for the interview. I almost believed the lie as one of my favourite spanking videos appeared before me.

  TWO

  It’s strange now to look back at how I was then. I really believed in what we were doing. Call it the folly of youth or the hypnotic gaze of our glorious leader. Call it delusion if you want but know that I genuinely thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t agree to the job to get closer to Kathryn. I took the job because Waterman asked me to.

  I was sat in the town hall with the rest of them, all of us ranged around the long table as Ernest Waterman stood at the front of the room, banging his fist on the wood, waking up Mrs Pellam who’d been drifting off during the budget talks. “It’s a moral outrage,” Waterman said. “And the reputation of the town is suffering. We’re down two more points and it’s the housewives, the soccer moms, the stay at homers. They don’t like it and neither do I.”

  From my left, Gary Cross made a polite attempt at a cough, trying to get a word in edgeways. “But they have met the licensing criteria, Ernest, they aren’t doing anything illegal.”

  “It’s not about what’s illegal,” Waterman snapped back. “It’s about immorality. The bloody Honey Trap is a cesspit and we need to get it shut down. Would you want your sons and daughters going there? Getting chained up and whipped? Cynthia, would you want that?”