by Lynn Burke
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2018 Lynn Burke
ISBN: 978-1-77339-554-8
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Audrey Bobak
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For the man who showed me what it means to treat a woman like a gift rather than a piece of property.
FIRST TIME
Elite Escorts, 3
Lynn Burke
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
Daniel
I handed Micah his Grey Goose on the rocks and sat on the chair beside him. The Blushing Cherry’s spotlights flicked on the raised platform winding through the strip joint’s lounge, and the curtains pulled back.
“Porn Star Dancing” came to life with the whine of a guitar.
Black leather thigh-high boots with four-inch stilettos made Lacey seem much taller than her five-foot-two height. A scrap of material covered the pierced clit I had sucked into my mouth years ago, but the strapless bustier molded to breasts she hadn’t sported in high school.
Fucking Lacey. Dark-haired little minx with her pixie haircut and bright-green eyes. Red lipstick and dark eye makeup … fuck was she hot.
My cock swelled as she strutted down the platform’s center toward the pole in front of our chairs. Micah and I both had her in high school, and once at the same time in college. She’d dropped out after her sophomore year, started stripping, and wouldn’t give either of us the time of day anymore unless we were tucking bills into her panties while she fucked the air in front of our faces.
She worshiped that goddamn pole, hooking her leg and spinning, sliding upside down, those new, perky breasts wanting to spill from their leather cage. All the while, arousal parted her lips, dilated her pupils, and thrummed the pulse jumping in her neck. Lacey loved to dance—and be watched.
When she finally abandoned the pole to get closer to the wide-eyed, salivating men staring at her, the musky scent of the arousal soaking her thong jerked my hard cock, pre-cum seeping from the throbbing head.
Fuck, did I want her again.
As always, we tucked some bills into her panties like the other men lining the raised platform, and she strutted away without a backward glance.
“Goddamn.” I shifted on my chair and cleared my throat as quieter music kicked on. Intermission and refill time. I’d had my fill of The BC but would stick around for Micah’s sake.
He ran a hand over his head, loosening strands of blond hair from his man bun. “That fucking woman. I’d love to have her on payroll.”
I chuckled. “Good luck with that. I can’t even get her new number.”
Micah tipped back his drink, emptying the tumbler. “Last I spoke to her, she claimed stripping made her more money than Elite ever would.” He huffed a laugh. “Stubborn little minx. If only she knew.”
Micah owned Elite Escorts and paid his employees well. I’d been able to pay off my student loans ten times faster than the usual in-debt graduate, all because people wanted to be tied up and given a euphoric, out-of-body experience.
Even in high school, I’d been obsessed with the thought of tying women up, taking them to the brink of orgasm and keeping them there until they begged me to let them go over.
I might look like a mean bastard at six-foot-seven with full sleeve tatts and my red hair slicked back into a ponytail, but I wouldn’t raise a hand against a woman no matter how much someone offered to pay me. Came from a shitty childhood and the father who thought roughing up my mom made him a real man.
The fucker.
They were still together—don’t ask me why. I loved my mom but didn’t ever visit because I couldn’t stand the sight of the bastard who had sired me. Thank God I looked like my mom and inherited her calm, non-violent personality. My size alone usually kept people from fucking with me, at least.
“Let’s go get another drink,” Micah said, standing. “This round’s on me.”
“Heard from Jarod lately?” I asked as we made our way to the packed bar.
“Fucker’s too busy with his new woman,” Micah grumbled, his brow furrowed.
Our friend had been employed by Elite until meeting Christine. Good and truly fucked from their first meeting, Jarod quit Elite not long after their first date. The bomb threats hurting Boston’s nightlife had ended the night both he and Christine had gotten buried by rubble because some religious-assed freak decided it was his job to cleanse Boston from sinful inclinations.
The fucker’s own words were found in one of the hundreds of diaries littering his apartment—or so the newscasters chatted about in the weeks following the blast that had claimed twelve lives.
Ever since, it seemed those who enjoyed bar hopping, dance clubs, and strip joints had doubled in number. Either that, or everyone who had stayed home during the threats decided to make up for lost time.
Jarod and Christine had survived the bomb and their resulting happiness definitely brought a level of jealousy I’d never felt before. Christine adored him, which was all too evident when the two of them happened to come over to Micah’s to watch the Sox play. The way her gaze lingered on him and the look of pure love in her eyes hit me every time.
To find a woman like that…
Micah would kill me. He and Elite had lost two of its highest-paid escorts in the previous ten months—all because they’d fallen in love.
“The fuck is on your mind, Cooney?” Micah asked as we waited for one of the two bartenders. “You’re brooding worse than a woman.”
“Just thinking about finding a good woman.”
“Fuck.” He scowled at me.
“One who won’t be intimidated by my size and ropes.”
“Stay away from that kink club downtown you go to every Friday, then.” He held up his hand toward the closest bartender, fifty dollar bill in hand. “I don’t need you leaving me like Reid and Jarod.”
“Every woman I’ve met at Chantelle’s is more interested in the pain rather than the ropes.”
“Thank Christ.” Micah turned on the charm with the big-busted bartender who finally made it to us. Dimples flashed along with his white-teethed smile. “Two Grey Goose on the rocks.”
She moved off without a word, seemingly unfazed by one of the prettiest boys I’d ever seen.
A minute later, we sat down again, drinks in hand, and waited for the next stripper, but my mind refused to focus on the peeking nipples and lace. I wanted a woman of my own, one I could give all of my attention to, one who loved my ropes as much as I did. A woman to help me prove to the world that a boy doesn’t always grow up to be like his bastard father.
****
Friday night, and I headed downtown to Chantelle’s as usual. I hadn’t even shrugged off my coat when Chantelle herself opened the door to her office and motioned me in.
Brow raised, I crossed the reception area, entering her domain. Nude paintings lined three of the walls of her office, large windows overlooking Boston’s skyline covering the fourth.
“Have a seat, Master Cooney.” She settled behind her desk, and I sat on the leather chair facing her. “Master Lamond can’t make it tonight, so I need to you fill in.”
My raised brow furrowed. “You know I don’t teach classes.”
She peered at me over the wide oak desk
, hazel eyes flashing. “You’re the best Shibari Master I’ve ever met.”
“And you’ve also said I scare the shit out of most clients who want to be tied up.”
Her Botox-puffed lips lifted in a Cheshire cat smile. “You look like a badass Dom, but we both know you’ve got a gooey center.”
I grimaced. “I hope you don’t mean that as a compliment.”
“Look.” She leaned forward, elbows on her desk, hands clasped in front of her. “I need this favor.”
“There are others on your payroll. Why me?”
Chantelle’s gaze bore into me, and I fought not to shift beneath her Domme stare. “There’s a couple who won a two-night freebie Shibari class, and I can’t cancel.”
“Chantelle doesn’t do giveaways,” I said, unease twisting my stomach.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust my ability to read people?”
“I’ve never met a dominant as intuitive as you.”
“Then do this for me.”
I huffed but didn’t take my gaze off her. “I’ll need a sub.”
“Ask for a volunteer.”
“Yeah, right.” I chuckled. “No one has offered themselves willingly to me since I joined here last winter. It’s always been because of your recommendation or prodding.”
That damn smile appeared again, and she stood. “Trust me.”
A sigh heaved my shoulders, a frown once more furrowing my brow. “I’ve never taught a class before. What the hell am I supposed to say or do?”
Chantelle sat back in her chair and riffled through some papers. “Demonstrate a few of the basics. Wing it.”
“Wing it,” I mumbled.
“Yes.” Her hazel-eyed gaze pierced me in my chair. “Once a volunteer is in front of you, use your own judgement. You, too, are an intuitive dominant.”
Pride puffed up my chest the slightest bit.
“You’ve got this.”
I dipped my head. “Fine. But if anyone demands their money back because I was a total failure, you’re not docking my pay.”
She smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’m assuming you’ve had the participants fill out medical history forms for circulation problems, aches, and pains I need to be aware of?”
“Of course.”
“No mobility issues? Bending, those sorts of things.”
“There is a blonde woman with some minor health issues, but I spoke with her about not volunteering.”
I exhaled a huge breath and nodded my head.
A few seconds later, I exited Chantelle’s office, my mind troubled. She was up to something, and the thought of her devious, controlling nature scared the shit out of me—even if I towered over her five-foot-nine height.
I entered the lounge to find the dimmed area already packed. Every stool at the bar along the right was taken, and the groupings of chairs and couches scattered around the room held parties in full-on fun mode.
Naked flesh. Blowjobs. The sounds of asses being tanned—and fucked—filtered through the soft music drifting down from overhead.
One new couple caught my attention. Arrogance oozed from the wiry Dom as he stared at a woman getting her ass handed to her. His unimpressive hard-on ridged the front of his leather pants. A single rose tattoo inked his arm.
The voluptuous, dark-haired woman on the leash behind him … wide hips, thick thighs that would be gorgeous wrapped in rope, huge bare breasts with large, soft nipples.
Not an exhibitionist or voyeur…
She didn’t follow her Sir meekly as he walked around. She cowered behind him.
An insecure and co-dependent, with a Dom who took advantage of her quiet nature, my gut told me, sending a tingle of anger down my spine. I stepped off to the side and watched as he led her around the room. They drew near, and I forced myself to keep my gaze on her rather than the prick leading her around like a dog.
“How about this?” the wiry man chuckled, drawing her forward to the ménage scene on the couch to my left. “Double penetration. Two cocks shoved so far up your dry cunt you can’t remember your name?” He laughed again, and the woman trembled, her hands sneaking down to cover the thatch of black hair hiding her pussy.
My fist itched to break Wiry’s nose, the first hint of violence I’d felt in years.
“Well?” Wiry asked, yanking on her lead rope when she didn’t answer. “Does this turn that frigid, fat body of yours on?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“Goddamnit, Becky.” Wiry strode off, pulling her behind him. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
Tearing my gaze off her swaying, lush ass, I swore. Striding across the lounge didn’t lessen my anger, and I continued on with my cussing through the guarded door leading to the private rooms and down the carpeted hall. I wasn’t prone to violence, but if those two were taking the bondage class, I was in deep shit.
“Not my monkey, not my circus,” I muttered while pushing open the door to the private room Chantelle had set up for classes. “Don’t get involved.”
Adrenaline laced my bloodstream, but my hands held steady while rifling through the supplies of silk and hemp rope that had been laid out. A few basic knots, I thought, trying to focus on the task ahead of me. I pulled a chair onto the stage, positioning it on a side angle from where my small audience would sit.
Ask for a volunteer, Chantelle had said. I snorted. I highly doubted I’d get away without having to talk someone into sitting on the chair while their spouse or partner watched.
“Hopefully, one of the new Doms won’t mind sharing for an hour,” I muttered to myself.
Or, my conscience whispered, maybe Wiry and Becky will be in the class, and you can ask her to join you on stage. Show her what a real Dom is like.
I shook my head.
Not. Getting. Involved.
Chapter Two
Becky
Tears pricked at my eyelids, but I refused to cry in front of the other people in Chantelle’s lounge. An exclusive kink club that Stephen had won a two-night free pass for bondage classes—even though he didn’t remember entering into the giveaway that had never taken place to begin with.
I had hoped like crazy that something—anything—we would see at the kink club would finally turn me into a normal woman.
I’d loved Stephen since we were freshmen in high school. My only boyfriend, the only man I had kissed. The only one I had sex with. Thank goodness for lube, though, because my body refused to produce any of its own.
Not a single twinge of arousal rose between my thighs from the scenes around the lounge. The spanking, I couldn’t even stand to hear, since I knew from too much experience that pain wasn’t my thing.
That fact had never stopped Stephen from trying, though.
I cringed at the idea of a threesome, knowing that no man but Stephen would ever be turned on by the sight of me.
A whisper of … something … slid over my skin as Stephen paused beside two men fucking a blonde woman. As usual, his crude remarks burned my cheeks, and I clenched my eyes shut as he announced to all within hearing distance that I was frigid and unable to perform sexually.
Layers of scents clouded the room, but a waft of spicy citrus flitted past my nose, and I lifted my head, breathing deep. That whisper, a definite tingle, stirred between my thighs. I’d never smelled anything so delicious.
A quick glance around didn’t reveal which man wore the cologne, but a wide-shouldered giant strode across the lounge, red hair pulled back in a ponytail, tight ass encased in what looked like worn, supple black leather. Heat rushed through my body, and I shifted on my feet, lips parting. Every step, confident. Every stride flexing that fine backside.
I tore my gaze off of him and returned my attention to the floor.
Jealousy was one of Stephen’s character flaws, and I knew better than to get caught staring at another man. It would earn me at least an hour under his flogger.
Digging my short nails into
my palms, I followed along behind Stephen, hating that he’d insisted I be naked for our first foray into the kink world. He’d said he wanted to show me off, but I knew he got off on humiliating me.
He needs this, I reminded myself as I did every time Stephen wanted to play. While I didn’t understand how posting videos online of us together helped with his issues, I trusted him.
My nerve endings caused my limbs to twitch a short time later while heading back through a hallway lined with doors. I kept my focus on the navy carpet beneath my bare feet and Stephen’s tug on my collar if I lagged behind.
We entered a room, and the lack of sexual sounds and scents enticed me to lift my head. A handful of other couples mingled, their quiet murmurs loud in the stillness as Stephen led me deeper into the room.
“Good evening,” a deep voice said, hushing the others in attendance and drawing my attention to the dais in front of us. The red-headed giant loomed over us, his dark-eyed gaze roaming across the couples one by one. His attention snagged on Stephen, and a frown flitted over his brow before he moved on to the next couple.
He can’t even stand to look at you.
More tears stung, and I lowered my head, eyes clenched shut.
“I am Master Cooney.” His deep voice rumbled in my ears and pebbled my skin as he went on to welcome us to the Shibari class. He continued speaking, but I didn’t listen. Although his dismissal hurt, my body longed to get closer to him. Like a magnetic pull, his presence made my feet twitch to walk forward.
I’d gotten a glimpse of a sculpted, hairless chest and full sleeve tattoos. A bad boy dominant who probably liked to beat the hell out of women just like Stephen did to me. I shouldn’t find him attractive, but I did.
Stephen tugged on my lead rope, his hand on my lower back ushering me forward. “My Becky volunteers.”
“Wha—”
“Don’t you dare embarrass me,” Stephen whispered against my ear, unfastening the lead rope from the collar he’d bought to properly parade me around the kink club. “Get your fat ass up there and be a good little sub for Master Cooney.”
