by Laura Kaye
“Shoulda seen it when we first bought it. It had been abandoned for the better part of a decade. Filled with trash and debris. Birds nesting all over the place. But you could still look at it and see it deserved to be saved.” He winked at her again, more of that mischievousness in his gaze. “Even if it was for a club like this.”
She chuckled, Master Quinton’s easy manner and friendliness chasing away the rest of her nerves.
“Excuse me,” he said as a waitress in a latex mini-dress with strategically placed cutouts waved for him.
Taking another sip of champagne, Mia’s gaze swung around the place—and collided with a tall man leaning against one of the leather couches. Wearing black jeans that showcased strong thighs and a black dress shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his biceps, he was so ruggedly sexy that it stole her breath.
Brown hair. Blue eyes. Dominance so palpable in his gaze that Mia found it hard not to look down. Kneel. Submit. From just that one look.
Despite the way his arms were crossed, she could make out the leather cuff on his wrist, like the ones that Master Griffin and Master Quinton wore.
And then he started toward her.
Her heart tripped into a sprint and her body came alive with each step closer he took. He moved with a swagger that communicated confidence and grace, control and agility, like if she fled, he’d easily give chase—and take her down to the ground in an inescapable hold.
She almost wanted to put that theory to the test. But she couldn’t. She was frozen to her seat. All she could do was watch him, as if it was all he wanted her to do.
By the time he stood in front of her, Mia’s skin felt tingly. Her erect nipples pushed against her sheer top, and a dizzying need had settled between her legs.
He slid onto the stool next to her, his knee brushing her thigh. The contact jolted heat through her. Those piercing blue eyes cut to her face. “Mia, I’m Master Kyler. Welcome to Blasphemy.” His voice was just deep enough that she could easily imagine it turning into a growl.
She didn’t bother to wonder how he knew her name. “Thank you, Master Kyler. I…I’ve been wanting to come for a while.”
“What made you decide to come tonight then?” he asked, turning toward her on his stool.
“Well, uh,” she said, almost feeling like she had to shake off the haze of arousal his very presence caused. “Today I finished all the preparations for a big gallery opening I’m hosting on Friday night. I felt like I needed to unwind from the stress of working under my first big deadline in this job.”
He nodded, his gaze dropping from her face to her throat to her breasts. His attention snagged there for a second, causing her face to flush, before traveling downward to her thighs, almost indecently bare because of the skirt’s short length. And then his eyes flashed back to hers.
And they blazed so hotly with interest that Mia gave in to the urge she’d felt and lowered her gaze.
“Look at me.”
She did, instantly and without even a thought. It was pure instinctive reaction. Excitement coiled in her belly because with just that one command, he was already exciting her more than just about anyone she’d ever met in her whole life.
Whatever else he was, Master Kyler was the real thing.
He held out his hand, silently requesting hers. She gave it to him. Because, honestly, with the way he was making her feel, what wouldn’t she give him? He grasped her wrist and turned her hand palm upward. His touch was firm without being hurtful, strong, sure. His hand was big, his fingers distractingly calloused. “How long have you been in the lifestyle, Mia?” he asked, the fingers on his free hand perusing the ribbons on her white leather cuff. White, for unattached, unclaimed.
“I realized I was submissive in college, and I had a couple of boyfriends who tried to be dominant when I told them what I was interested in. But it was really in graduate school where I found a community and learned what it meant to be a submissive. That was about five years ago.” She gasped as his fingertips dragged over her forearm. She felt the touch everywhere, which emphasized exactly how badly she wanted it everywhere, making her squirm in her seat.
Master Kyler watched her reaction, fully aware of what he was doing to her. And, good. Because she wasn’t sure what might happen between them, but whatever it was, she wanted it. God, she needed it.
“May I please ask what the ‘M’ on your cuff stands for?” Her gaze snagged on the way the worn leather was knotted at the small of his wrist. The fashion was almost medieval, like something a knight might wear under his armor. And it was seriously hot as hell.
“There are twelve Masters at Blasphemy. We founded the club six years ago and we own it jointly. We also set the rules and settle any disputes. In addition to the Dungeon Monitors, you may always come to any of us if you need help or have a concern.” He held up his left hand. “Do you like my cuff?”
She nodded, even as heat flooded into her face. Because, busted. Though, of all the things he might’ve caught her ogling about him, she supposed his cuff was among the lesser embarrassing to admit to. “Yes.”
“Yes…?” He nailed her with a stare.
“Yes, Sir,” she rushed out.
“And why do you like it?” he asked, shifting toward her. Most of his body invaded the space of hers. But not nearly enough.
“Because it’s hot,” she said. “Sir.”
One side of his mouth slipped into a grin, and if she’d thought his serious face was hot—and it really freaking was—his face with a little humor shaping it was jarringly gorgeous. She’d probably be stunned to see a full-out smile. “Is it, now?”
She smirked at him, her belly doing a little flip as she contemplated sassing him. “Are you fishing for compliments, Master Kyler?”
And then it happened. That full-out smile, and deep laughter to boot. A nearly killer combination. One that revealed that there was a good sense of humor underneath all that intensity.
He shrugged with one shoulder. “Maybe I am. What man wouldn’t want to be complimented by a beautiful woman like you?”
Just like that, the intensity returned. In mind-boggling spades. Even though the hint of a smile still played around his mouth. And, oh, his mouth. Full lips. A small scar above the right side of his top one. A harshness to the set of his jaw that communicated dominance and authority without him having to say a word.
“Thank you, Sir,” she managed.
“Would you like to find a spot to talk more privately, Mia?” he asked.
Butterflies swooped through her. Because yes. Yes to the millionth power. “I would, Sir.”
He got off the stool, his grip on her wrist changing until he was holding her hand, his big palm completely engulfing hers. Champagne glass in hand, she followed. And then he was guiding them through the rectangular space, revealing more and more of Blasphemy’s secrets to her. A fuck bench with a grouping of couches around it for watching. A bondage chair with a male submissive tied up, the rope in a series of crisscrosses over his chest. A woman restrained in upright stocks, her Domme spanking her with a nasty-looking paddle. An ornately carved St. Andrew’s cross, the wood somehow looking like it fit naturally among all the old marble.
Master Kyler led her to the side of the room, into the dimmer space under the second-floor balcony, illuminated here and there with torches on tall iron sconces. When they turned the corner into the shielded hallway, Mia suddenly found her back pressed into the cool marble. The Dom pinned her wrist against her chest, his fingertips just brushing the bottom of her throat. Arousal lanced through her so hard and so fast that the thong she wore left no doubt that she was wet.
“I can’t decide if I love or hate that fucking skirt,” Master Kyler said, his blue eyes piercing, suddenly stormy.
Yes! Yes! Yes! Heart pounding, Mia smiled, even as she dropped her gaze. “Does it not please you, Master Kyler?”
He hummed and leaned in even closer. “Look at me.” His gaze ran over her face, like h
e was studying her, reading her, seeing all of her. And, God, his scent—soap and leather and something quintessentially male—was more intoxicating than the champagne. “It might please me too well.”
For a moment, something that looked like a frown flashed across his expression, and then it was gone again. He pulled her from the wall and took her hand once more. At the end of the secluded hall, a couch and table sat alone, the little nook deliciously private.
He settled into the corner of the couch, and his grip on her hand tightened as she moved to sit beside him. Stilling, she met his gaze.
“I would like you to sit on my lap. I’d like to hold you while we talk. But I’d understand if you’d prefer a little distance for now, so you are free to say no.”
Mia’s gaze swept over his body—his broad shoulders, his lean abdomen, his hard thighs. Her body knew where it wanted to be, even if her mind needed a moment to work up the courage to admit it. “I’d like that, Sir.”
His expression filled with satisfaction, and then he scooped her off her heels and put her in his lap.
The move was so unexpected that she couldn’t help but laugh, throwing her head back like a kid riding a roller coaster, just along for the thrilling ride of it.
“Liked that, did you?” he asked, giving her that sexy smile again.
Grinning, she nodded, but for a moment, she couldn’t talk. Because her senses were absolutely swimming in him. His hardness against all her softness. The press of what felt like a deliciously long cock against her ass. The possessive curl of his arm around the small of her back. His face so close to hers.
“Good,” he said, his expression shifting into all that serious intensity again. “So did I. And you feel fucking phenomenal against me. But now I need to know, Mia—would you just like to chat, or would you like to talk about playing? Tonight. With me.”
Chapter 3
Kyler wanted to play with this new little submissive. Badly. He enjoyed her laugh, the honesty in her eyes, the hourglass shape of her beautiful body. Satisfaction flooded through him at the solid weight of her in his lap, at the flared curve of her hips, absolutely perfect for grabbing, holding, restraining.
Mia licked her lips, the action drawing his gaze and leaving the red-painted skin wet, shiny. “I…I’d like to talk about playing.” She said the words quietly, as if they weren’t easy for her to admit, but he still respected the hell out of her being able to be direct about what she wanted.
He gave a tight nod. “I’m glad to hear that. What would you like to know about me?” he asked, curious to see what she’d think important to know about a new Dom.
She tilted her head, her gaze running over his face before quickly dropping. “You said you helped co-found this club six years ago. How long have you been a Dom? Did you have specific training?”
Kyler was glad to see her starting with such basic questions because it meant she was thinking about her own safety and well-being. “I got into the lifestyle in my mid-twenties, so, about a decade ago, but I’d realized this was something I needed even before that. It was like the difference between a kiss that was nice and one that set your blood on fire, between hugging a friend and being pressed up against someone who you’d sell your soul to get inside of. Once I started realizing those needs, seeing them for what they were, I sought out the community. A Dom with years of experience gave me a lot of guidance, and I joined a club that offered workshops and mentorship for newbie Doms. And I bottomed for a Domme at that club because I wanted to experience what that was like firsthand.”
“It’s always interesting to hear how other people come to this,” Mia said, her fingers toying with the back of his hair. Kyler leaned into the touch. Suddenly, she pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
He caught her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. Kissed the tender, sensitive cup of her palm. “Don’t be. You can touch me. We’re not in scene right now, Mia. It felt good.” More than good, if he was being honest. And in a comforting, almost familiar way at that. Something he didn’t much experience.
She gave a little nod and settled her arm around his shoulder again, her hand falling against the back of his neck, her fingertips playing with his hair.
“What else?” he asked, stroking his fingers over the sheer white lace covering her shoulder. He usually preferred more skin showing, but this top looked fucking amazing on her—highlighting the perfect curves and cleavage of her large breasts and the warm tone of her skin.
“Do you have any special rules or expectations of a submissive?”
His fingers traced the line of the deep V-neck on her shirt. Satisfaction roared through him as her mouth parted and her eyelids momentarily closed. “I have one primary rule—honesty. A D/s relationship is based on trust—your trust that I will take care of you and your needs and respect your limits, and my trust that your reactions while playing are genuine and that you’ll be truthful when something is too much for you physically or emotionally. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t push your boundaries if I thought you could handle it or if we’d talked about doing so, but it does mean that I would always listen to your safe words, which means I’d need to know that you’d use them. What are they?” he asked, knowing this was part of what Master Griffin would’ve discussed with her.
“Yellow for slow down or wait, and red for stop,” she said immediately.
“Good. Do you have a problem speaking up for yourself during a scene and using your safe words, Mia?” Kyler kept his gaze locked on her eyes. Nothing but honesty there.
“No,” she said.
“Have you ever used a safe word during a scene?”
“Yes. It’s how I know I’m not a masochist. I was curious what a more intense S&M scene would be like. As soon as it started to heat up, it scared the hell out of me. It hurt, and not in a pain-that-becomes-pleasurable kinda way.”
Kyler was glad that wasn’t her kink, because he wouldn’t be able to give it to her. And the idea of sending her in the direction of Master Zeke didn’t make him happy at all. Not one bit. Where the possessive urge came from, Kyler didn’t know. It sure as shit wasn’t like him. “Did the Dom stop?”
She frowned, and anger curled into Kyler’s gut. Because he knew what the answer was before she said it. “Not right away.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. I’m okay about it. Now,” she added.
On instinct, Kyler pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You can trust me to take care of you, Mia.” Sitting back, his gaze swept down her face, enjoying the pleased expression she wore. From the promise of his words or the kiss? He laid his hand against her sternum and slowly slid his palm upward until his thumb and fingers separated around the base of her throat. He applied just the slightest amount of pressure there.
She sucked in a breath, and that one reaction surged blood into his cock. Mia squirmed, rocketing his arousal even further.
“Be still,” he gritted out.
She froze, her eyes on his.
“How important is the breath play to you?”
Her eyes dilated, her expression read as needy, and her breathing quickened. Her obvious excitement went a long way toward answering the question. And these reactions were exactly what he loved about it. But did she need it?
“I don’t have to have it, but…” She looked down, her lashes fanning out against her skin.
“Look at me and finish that sentence,” he said, his voice full of grit. Because against his fingers, her pulse was flying.
“But it probably excites me more than anything else, and it gets me off faster than anything else,” she said, her cheeks turning beautifully pink.
“Does it now?” Not that he really needed to ask. His grip tightened, just a little.
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice breathy, full of desire.
“Say my name,” he said, wanting to hear it with all that arousal coloring her tone.
“Yes, Master Kyler.”
Fucking hell.
> In a quick move, he slid his hand up her back and fisted her ponytail, tugging her head backward and her whole body closer. Hand still gripping her throat, he shifted them so that she was almost reclining, allowing him to look down into her face.
And he thought her pulse had been flying before.
“You like to be choked?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Choked to the point of not being able to breathe?”
“Yes, Sir.”
His grip tightened. “Gagged?”
“Yes. Sir,” she added, as if she’d momentarily forgotten protocol.
Jesus Christ, his cock was like fucking steel. “Asphyxiated to the point of passing out?” he asked, his gut twisting.
“I’ve never done that. The idea of it…”
He nailed her with a stare, allowing her the time to gather the words the little furrow in her brow said she was looking for.
“It both excites me and scares me, but I’m not sure which more.”
“Thank you for the honesty. I won’t go that far, Mia. I won’t put plastic over your head and I won’t duct tape your mouth. I also won’t use any bondage position that hangs you primarily by the throat or neck. If any of those are things you need, I won’t be able to give them to you,” he said, hoping like hell she didn’t need them. Occasionally, he had a moment of discomfort—maybe even cognitive dissonance—about the fact that he was both a cop and a Dom who got off on bondage and submission and spanking and even role-playing scenarios that flirted with non-consent. Because he’d seen the trauma real abuse caused. But what he did was safe, sane, and consensual, and he drew the line where any of those three might be compromised, which in his opinion included the edgier breath play.
A fast shake of her head. “No. I don’t want any of that. I just want—” Her eyes went wide.
“What, little one?” Satisfaction at her answer mixed with curiosity about what she’d not said. He needed to know.
Her throat worked under his hand in a hard swallow. “You.”
The word hit him like a blowtorch, licking molten heat over his skin and his cock. “Then tell me now. Do you have any further questions?”
