by Kendall Ryan
Once done, I smile at my reflection. I look marginally better.
I can’t believe how fast the week went by, that it’s somehow Thursday already. I had no further communication with the Gentleman Mentor all week, other than an e-mail he sent last night when he confirmed our appointment and the location.
Seeing that I only have five minutes until our meeting, I grab my purse and exit the car. I want to be inside and seated at the bar as he instructed before he arrives. Striding across the parking lot, I notice the sky is painted in pink and orange hues at that point just before the sun sets.
It’s pretty and romantic, I think, then correct myself with a shake of my head.
This isn’t romance. It’s business. I have to keep my head clear.
Chapter Three
Hale
There’s a certain energy that runs through my veins the first time I meet a new client. Tonight is no different. On the outside, I’m collected and calm, but inside, I’m filled with anticipation.
I’ve never brought a woman so close to my home turf, but of course my little bookworm has no way of knowing the underground BDSM club, Crave, I hold a membership to is located directly next door to the jazz club where she should be arriving at any minute. I can practically smell the fear and excitement on her skin.
From an armchair near the fireplace, I watch the scene playing out in front of me—a woman strapped to a leather bench while a Domme teases her, trailing a flogger along the back of her thighs.
I watch the women with mild interest. Floggers and whips aren’t my thing. I prefer my own two hands. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as the crack of my flesh against hers, the feel of heat radiating from warmed skin. As I watch her squirm and try to be quiet, I appreciate the amount of courage her public submission takes.
From across the room I see Reece, and based on the look of satisfaction on his face, I’d guess he’s returning from one of the private rooms. He’s the owner of the club, but so laid-back, most people wouldn’t suspect that.
I’ve visited a couple of other clubs, and Reece’s club is by far the best. The others felt cold and more like a gymnasium, with sterile equipment and wide-open spaces, yet this place feels dark, moody, and sensual. The play spaces are built for quiet, sensuous scenes, leaving the more risqué kinks for the private rooms. Sconces provide dim lighting and low bass-filled beats thrum in the background, creating a soft hum of anticipation. There’s no wonder it’s grown into the biggest fetish club in Chicago in three short years.
When Reece gets closer, I tip my head in silent greeting. The big man lumbers up, squinting at me curiously. “Cameron Fucking Hale. I haven’t seen you in, what…at least a month, brother?”
“Sounds about right.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling oddly defensive. This lifestyle is lived out differently for each person in it, but Reece doesn’t seem to get that. He doesn’t understand why I’m not here every night enjoying a different sub.
I’m really not one for a meet-n-fuck. Sure, I’ve done it before, when necessity calls for it, but I much prefer the slow, sensual exploration of a partner’s naughtiest desires, and then exploit the fuck out of them. Pushing a woman to her limit is as gratifying to me as the sexual release itself.
Reece takes the seat next to me and surveys the room with the watchful eye of a predator. He’s a businessman and a Dom in all aspects—qualities I appreciate and can relate to. I silently note the scene in front of us has progressed to nipple clamps and ice cubes. Interesting.
“Where have you been, man?” he asks. “I’ve missed seeing your pretty face.”
I shrug. “Working. Staying busy.” He knows as a senior associate at the law firm, intent on making partner, I work way too fucking many hours.
He turns to me with a smug grin. “Still working to train the uncivilized?”
“I’m still mentoring, yes. But trust me, I get a lot out of it.”
His smile says he’s not so sure. “Yes, you were always that way—a do-gooder. I like them well-trained and ready to play. I’ll show them my preferences, break any bad habits their previous Dom taught them. But, shit, I don’t want to start from scratch.”
I know what he means; a well-trained sub is a beautiful thing. Still, something excites me about taking a woman to that place. The journey is sometimes more gratifying than the destination.
“It’s more fun than you might think.” My thoughts drift to my newest conquest, and my heart rate kicks up a notch. Glancing at my watch, I see it’s just now six. My nervous little kitten is probably entering the club next door, heart pounding and eyes wide. Imagining the fear and uncertainty swimming inside her arouses me.
“You too busy for lunch next week?” Reece asks, his eyes still on the women before us. “It’s been too long.”
“Never too busy for lunch. Just come downtown to my office.”
“Sounds good, man.” He claps me once on the back.
Reece, despite not understanding my preferences and tastes, is the closest thing I have to a best friend. I have work acquaintances, friends, and even a roommate, but none of them know about my lifestyle. Reece knows all about my past and supported me through the shittiest time of my life. He’s the one who introduced me to this life.
“I have an appointment to get to,” I say, rising to my feet. “But I’ll see you next week?”
“Count on it. I’ll need to hear all about your newest plaything.” He grins at me unevenly.
“Not a chance. You know I don’t kiss and tell, like you.”
“Or spank and tell.” He smiles again. “Have fun tonight.”
“I always do,” I say, tipping my head before heading to the door.
Immediately upon entering, I congratulate myself on choosing the Dakota. It’s perfect, swamped with a sexually-charged energy. Moody jazz floats through the air, and dim lighting casts faint shadows in all the corners.
When I spot her, my stride falters. But only for a second. Holy fucking hell. Anyone watching wouldn’t know my entire world just got knocked on its ass. I’m not usually one for keeping secrets, yet the moment I see her, I know what must be done.
Fixing a cool expression on my face, I start toward her again.
She hasn’t noticed me yet, so I take a moment to drink her in. Her cocktail is half full, and her hand is gripping the glass. She’s nervous. And questioning herself. She takes another sip and her shoulders relax.
Good girl.
I approach her from the side of the bar—and with her eyes trained on the front door, it’s not the direction she’s expecting.
“Bookworm?” I ask, though I know it’s her. I can smell the scent of nervousness and desire on her.
She turns to face me, her expression a puzzle. “Yes,” she says softly after several tense moments.
I take a minute to survey her. She’s petite, just like I imagined her. Brunette. Big blue eyes whose gaze drifts between mine and the floor as if she doesn’t know where to look. There must be some goddamn mistake, because there’s no way she’d need any help attracting a man. But if it’s my help she wants, I won’t refuse her.
“May I?” I ask, pulling out the seat next to her and moving toward it. She’s timid, and I need to remember my manners.
“Please,” she says. “I’m Brielle.”
“No names.”
“Everyone calls me Brie, though.” She twists her hands in her lap.
“Sweetheart?” I say, and her gaze darts up to mine. “I said no names.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She swallows down her nerves. “But what should I call you?”
“You may call me Dom.”
Our gazes connect, and a flash of desire pools low in my spine. Fucking hell. This should be interesting.
Chapter Four
Brielle
“You want to be fucked hard. Taken and worshiped. Am I right?” he asks, pinning me with that dark, sexy stare. It’s as if he’s reaching into my mind and determining my wants, needs, and filthies
t desires before I even speak them.
I lift my glass to my lips before realizing it’s empty. Crap.
He’s moved us over to a booth in the dark corner of the club where he can watch me and all my embarrassing reactions to his intrusive questions without interruption.
“Answer me,” he says. His tone is firm, yet kind, and his eyes haven’t left mine for a second.
A hot shiver runs through me. “Y-yes,” I manage.
My first impression of him is that he is tall. Much taller than me, with a mess of dark hair and the most gorgeous mocha-colored eyes that have flecks of chocolate and caramel. His square jawline screams of masculinity, yet his full lips suggest a softness to him. Nicely sculpted muscles under a finely tailored black suit. Expensive wristwatch. A couple of days’ worth of beard growth on his jaw. Notes of crisp cologne greeted me when he neared, causing my heart to riot.
My second impression, with his commanding tone that demands attention and his direct nature, is that he enjoys being in control. Though, I suppose that’s no surprise. News flash, Brie—he’s a Dom!
He’s handsome, completely gorgeous, and I’m both relieved and nervous. I wonder what he thinks of me.
“Your hands are shaking,” he says. “Tell me why.”
I look down at my hands resting on the table. He’s right. I can see a slight tremble in the tips of my fingers. “I guess I’m a little nervous. I’ve never done this type of thing before.”
He nods once, still scrutinizing me. “Are you sure that’s all? Have you eaten?”
I open my mouth to respond when I realize that I really haven’t. Three cups of coffee and a muffin ten hours ago probably don’t count.
“N-no.” I hate how I keep stumbling over my words, but I can honestly say I’ve never been quite so thrown off in the presence of a man. I was too nervous to eat lunch and assumed I’d eat dinner when I got back to my apartment tonight.
He lifts his hand and signals to the waitress. She strides over a second later carrying two menus. Dom refuses his but hands one to me, then dismisses our waitress.
I sit there, holding the menu and feeling like an idiot. “I’m not ordering and eating if you’re not.”
“I’m not the one shaking from lack of food.”
“You can’t be serious. I’m fine.” I place the menu on the table and move my hands to my lap so he can’t see them.
He leans closer, his eyes pinned on mine. “Lesson one. You need to put yourself first, Brielle. You need to take better care of yourself if you expect someone else to.”
My name on his lips surprises me. He said no names, yet he didn’t hesitate to use it. “You can just call me Brie,” I remind him. “Everyone else does.”
“I’m not everyone else. And it’s a beautiful name.”
My skin warms at his compliment. “It’s a mouthful. I think it was my parents’ compromise between Brianna and Gabrielle. But honestly, don’t worry, I’m fine,” I add, brushing off his concern.
“I need you to understand something. When you are in my care, I’m responsible for you. I need you to trust me to care for you. And right now, I would like you to have something to eat.”
I nod. He’s abrupt and controlling, but I can’t argue that his intentions aren’t sincere. I pick up the menu again and scan the pages for something that sounds appealing, but food is the last thing on my mind. I see a field-green salad and close my menu just as the waitress approaches again.
“Yes, the field-green salad please,” I say confidently. I want to prove to him that I’m not a complete moron. I can feed myself, for fuck’s sake.
His brows draw together as he watches me. “Are you a vegetarian?”
“No.”
He turns to the waitress. “Can you add chicken or steak to that salad?”
“Yes, either,” she says, looking between the two of us as if she’s trying to figure out what’s going on.
He turns to me once again. “You should have protein, Brielle. It will make you feel better.”
Now that he knows my name, it seems he’s taking every opportunity to use it. The bastard. “Chicken, please,” I say to the waitress, my humiliation complete.
“Would you like another drink?” His voice is low as if he’s trying to spare my embarrassment. The concern in his eyes is genuine.
“Yes, please.”
“What are you having?” the server asks.
“Peach schnapps with soda,” I say.
“That’ll be all,” he says to the waitress, taking the menu from my hands and handing it to her.
When my salad arrives, he watches me while I eat, his mouth curling into a slight smile when I take a bite of chicken. This man is strange. Why would he care if I ate? I just met him. And I’m certainly not at risk of starving to death.
Realizing I’ve eaten almost every bite without offering him any makes me self-conscious. There’s a ripe cherry tomato left at the edge of the plate.
“Would you like a tomato?” I ask.
“No, I don’t want your tomato. At least, not in the sense you’re offering.” He smirks.
My cheeks burn, but I pretend not to notice his cheeky remark. Instead, I take my last bite of salad, wipe my mouth on the napkin, and look up at him. I’m ready to get down to business.
“If we decide to work together, how does it work?” I take a sip of my cocktail and wait for him to answer.
“We’ll get to that, but first you failed to answer my last question in our e-mail exchange.”
I blink at him, feigning ignorance.
“What is one thing you’re scared of?” he says to remind me.
I swallow and take a deep gulp of air. I’ve taken several days to consider his question, somehow knowing that he wouldn’t let me get away without answering.
“My greatest desire is to be loved, and I’m most afraid of never finding it,” I say softly. It sounds silly, overly romantic, and immature when I say it out loud, but it’s the absolute truth.
His next words are sharp and blunt. “Don’t be afraid of what you want. I can turn you into a sex goddess that men want to fuck, and I can make you into the perfect housewife. My goal is to learn you and help you reach your goals.”
“I just want a certain man to notice me,” I say quietly.
“I understand.”
I look down at the empty plate in front of me. My stomach is turning somersaults, and the salad I ate is threatening to return.
“You’re nervous.” His voice is soft and controlled.
“Yes,” I admit.
“And you’re unsure about working with me.”
“I need a little time to think it all over.”
He nods once in understanding. “The choice is yours. I get thirty of those e-mails a day. If you’re not sure, if you can’t devote yourself to this one hundred percent, then I’m afraid I can’t either. I’m a busy man, and I only have time for serious students, Brielle.”
I take a moment to mull it over. Although I need the help, there’s something that still confuses me. “This dominant thing…I’m not sure about that since I’m not a submissive. I don’t know how this will work.” And I really don’t see how being tied up and spanked will achieve anything.
“If I told you to go into the restroom and remove your panties right now…does that excite you?”
My pulse throbs in my neck, and my belly stirs with butterflies. “Maybe a little.”
“That’s what I thought. Don’t worry about the labels. I’m your guide, your leader on this journey. Are you okay with that?”
“I guess so.”
“Yes or no, Brielle?”
“Yes,” I manage.
“Good.”
“How do we begin?” My voice is shaky, but at least I’m able to maintain eye contact with the gorgeous and domineering man before me.
“We would meet weekly at a time and place I choose. I would issue you a challenge. As I get to know you and see how you react to me, I will know which things you
need help with. My tutoring would center on those issues. You have to give yourself to me fully and trust in this process for it to work. For you, it would likely be self-confidence, the art of seduction, and as you’ve indicated, sexual awareness.”
Everything he’s just described is exactly what I want, what I crave. There’s only one thing that’s bugging me… “You don’t really expect me to call you Dom, do you?”
He watches me curiously. “I do.”
I’m desperate to know his name, and I don’t even know why. Maybe because this isn’t some game to me. This is my life. And if I’m trusting this stranger with my body—and my head—I want to know more about who he is.
“You already know my name. Why can’t you just tell me your first name?”
He lets out a heavy sigh, and I can tell there’s something he dislikes about me questioning him. “I’ve had two unfortunate incidents of women falling for me and trying to track me down in my personal life. My first name is uncommon, and because of what’s happened in the past, I can’t risk it. Or rather, I won’t. So it’s Dom or nothing. Your call.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“A girlfriend?”
“No.” His tone is firm, and even though I don’t know if I should, I believe him.
“You’ll need to sign a basic nondisclosure agreement. Anything we do together shouldn’t be shared or discussed with outside parties—that’s to protect us both. I also insist that clients have STD testing completed. The results take about a week to come back, which is fine. Our first meeting isn’t going to be sexual.”
“It’s not?” I hate the sound of disappointment in my voice. Where the hell did that come from?
“Is that a problem?” His mouth curves into a slight grin as if he’s just read my mind and liked what he saw.
I straighten my spine. “Of course not.”
“For you, and what we hope to accomplish together, I would recommend six sessions. It’s enough for me to give you the time and attention you deserve, but not so much time together that…” He trails off, losing some of his self-assuredness for the first time this evening.
