DangerousLust

Lila Dubois

Leona
is playing a dangerous game. To outsiders it might seem as though she’s a
normal college senior with good grades, an internship and a post-graduation
plan. But all the studying and partying in the world isn’t satisfying her. Not
even her best friends know about her secret desire—to be a sexual submissive.

One
night, lonely and frustrated, she arranges to meet with a Dom she’s been chatting
with online. Master Clay is everything she imagined, but the experience is more
intense and frightening than she’d anticipated. Bit by bit she slips into the
world of sexual submission, addicted to the intensity of each experience.

Leona’s
secret sex life leaves no room for anyone else in her life, even Brad, the
geeky-sexy young computer programmer she meets at her internship. Until a
chance run-in with Master Clay in the outside world leaves her reeling, and she
turns to Brad for comfort and in lust.

A Romantica®
BDSM erotic
romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Knowing something was a bad idea
wasn’t going to be enough to stop me from doing it.

The small of my back was sweaty, my skirt was wrinkled from
sitting on the bus and my hands were sweating. I brushed out the wrinkles and
looked around the bar in the Hotel Normandie. There weren’t many people sitting
at the low tables, and the Moroccan lanterns with their pieced metal and
colored glass bathed everything in jewel tones. Little seating areas cloaked in
tent-like hangings offered privacy. That plus the hotel’s proximity to campus
had made me suggest this place for our first meeting.

The lack of bouncer also made it one of the few bars I knew
I could get into since I couldn’t afford the $120 fake IDs many of my friends
had. I’d be twenty-one in three months and was young for a senior, but until
then I was stuck staying home when everyone else I knew was out at a club or
bar. I didn’t really mind. I couldn’t afford to party like that anyway.

I could taste my heartbeat on my tongue and I was slightly
unsteady on my black high heels. I was glad that my roommates had already left
by the time I got dressed. I didn’t want to explain to them where I was going
in a black skirt, sheer black blouse that I’d borrowed from one of their
closets, and heels. Not that I would have explained, even if they asked. I
didn’t want to be told this was dangerous, didn’t want someone freaking out at
me and screaming that this was a bad idea. I knew both those things already—and
I didn’t care.

I scanned the room again, looking for anyone who could be
Master Clay.

Master.

Even thinking the word was enough to have my skin prickling
with arousal. A detached part of me had trouble believing that I was here to
meet a Dom, a man who I only knew through Tumblr. A man who I hoped and prayed
would do things to me and with me that most people would find depraved.

I’d left a note explaining where I’d gone hidden in my desk.
If I disappeared tonight eventually they’d find the note. The fact that I’d
needed to leave that note should have been enough to stop me from doing this.
To stop me from making what was, on the surface, a terrible decision.

I didn’t see any men sitting alone. I walked through the
bar, discreetly checking the tables hidden inside the little tents. All I knew
was that Master Clay would be waiting for me. We hadn’t exchanged pictures,
which I was glad of. Not that he hadn’t seen pictures of me, at least parts of
me. My knees were shaking as I walked.

These were my first steps into a world that I’d been
fantasizing about for nearly a year.

Last year I’d picked up a cheesy book my junior year roommate
Adriana had. She was a joint bio and anthropology major, with a pre-med
emphasis. She was gorgeous and wicked smart, but she’d had terrible taste in
books—at least that’s what I’d thought when I’d seen the covers.

I loved to tease her by doing dramatic readings of the
blurbs. Adri never minded, and sometimes she’d insist that I’d like them, but I
didn’t believe her. One weekend when she was out of town I’d picked up her ereader
out of boredom.

It had opened my eyes to a world I’d know existed but hadn’t
understood—BDSM and fetish.

Reading about a girl who was seduced and mastered, who was
in a defined relationship with a man who was both sexually competent and
depraved, had made me hotter than actual sex ever had.

I read everything on Adri’s Kindle, even bought a few books
of my own, eating into my limited entertainment budget. When words weren’t
enough I’d turned to Tumblr, starting a secret account and collecting images,
stories and GIFs that I liked. Six months ago I’d started taking pictures and
videos of myself and posting them. I made sure my face was never in them but
still knew it was risky. Within a month I had thousands of followers—men and
women asking me about myself, asking if I wanted to be in a real D/s
relationship.

When the first person asked I’d been so scared I’d almost
deleted the account. But the university hadn’t come knocking on my door
demanding that I leave or threatening to take away my scholarship. After a few
weeks of panic I’d started to enjoy myself, flirting with everyone who contacted
me but always saying no to their invitations.

Over the summer, when I was at home in Texas, I hadn’t
posted anything—my grandparents didn’t have internet and there wasn’t good cell
phone service in Northwest Texas. Since coming back to school, I had plenty of
time to spend looking at pretty pictures of girls tied up and on their knees,
waiting to be used. My class load was light, and even with my internship I had
more free time than I was used to. Hours spent immersed in this secret world
had broken me down, made it harder to say no when people asked if I was
interested in something real.

I made a complete circuit of the bar, returning to the main
door. There were no lone people—no sexy man in a suit looking at me with
commanding eyes. I twisted the chain strap of my purse in my fingers, fighting
back disappointment and tears. Master Clay, a Dom whose posts about what D/s
meant had always made my pulse speed up and body heat, had been the only one of
the people who contacted me that I’d ever considered responding to. His profile
said he was in LA. When I’d decided to try to make my fantasies a reality,
Master Clay was the obvious choice.

And it seemed that Master Clay wasn’t here.

Maybe he wasn’t real or wasn’t who he pretended to be
online. He might be a twelve-year-old boy, might be an eighty-year-old man in
Missouri. Or maybe he was what he said—a successful, strict Dom in Los
Angeles—who didn’t want anything to do with a novice college student.

Stopping by the door, I scanned the room again. It was now
ten minutes past the time we were supposed to meet. I doubted he’d be late—he’d
made a point of telling me that he expected me to be on time.

Shifting in my uncomfortable strappy heels—borrowed from
another roommate, since the only black heels I had were ugly pumps I wore to my
internship—I debated what to do. I could wait, since I didn’t know where he
lived and he might have gotten stuck in traffic.

Or I could accept that he wasn’t coming, accept that this
stupid idea wasn’t going to work out, and go home and lick my wounds.

“Leona.”

I heard my name a second before a hand slid around the back
of my neck, thumb and fingers pressing lightly.

I gasped, freezing in place even as my heart started beating
so loudly that I was sure he could hear it.

His thumb stroked up and down the side of my neck and goose
bumps broke out along my chest.

He made a noise low in his throat, then murmured, “Lovely.”

Fingers slid away from my body and the man who’d touched me
came around to face me. For the second time I gasped.

A handsome, trim man in a black suit stood in front of me.
He was a few inches taller than my five foot five, but I was wearing heels,
making him easily five foot ten. He was middle-aged, at least forty-five, with
brown hair worn a little long. There was a five-o’clock shadow along his jaw,
and his heavy brows didn’t detract from his piercing blue eyes.

All the things I’d planned to say were forgotten. He was
exactly what I’d imagined he’d be—and having him standing in front of me was
terrifying.

His lips twitched and he held out his hand. “Leona Thies?
You can call me Clay for now.”

I stuck my hand out. The instant my fingers touched him my
nerve endings sparked to life. I stared at the lamp over his shoulder. “It’s nice
to meet you, Clay.”

“Shall we have a seat?”

I followed him to one of the tables hidden in a tent. He
motioned for me to precede him, then held up his hand. As I sat on the U-shaped
bench and tucked my purse among the brightly colored pillows, a waitress
appeared.

“A Ketel One martini, very cold, slightly wet, and a Glenlivet
25.”

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with hard eyes and her
blonde hair in a bun, looked at me. I tensed, sure she was about to ask me for
my ID. Clay touched her arm and said, “Thank you.”

The waitress’s gaze snapped to him. She nodded and
disappeared.

Clay ducked into the tent and took a seat opposite me. A low
round table separated us, but its lack of height meant there was nothing for me
to hide behind. I pressed my palms flat on my bare knees. Clay crossed his legs
and stretched one arm along the back of the seat. He studied me—I could feel
him looking at me.

“You surprise me, Leona.”

I licked my lips. “Surprise?”

“How old are you?”

I bit down on the urge to lie. “I’m twenty.”

“And are you really a college student?”

“Yes.”

“At UCLA?”

I nodded. I’d told him I was in school, but not where.
Considering the part of town we were in it was the most logical option.

Clay let out a small laugh.

My stomach clenched and I felt sick. He was laughing at me.
Grabbing the strap of my purse, I started to slide out of the booth.

“Stop.”

The word vibrated the air, making my skin prick the same way
his touch had.

I closed my eyes and took a breath, gathering myself.
Meeting him had thrown me off, but I wasn’t going to sit here while he laughed
at me.

I plastered a smile on my face and turned to him. “It was
nice to meet you. I’m sorry, I can’t stay.”

Clay leaned over and grabbed my elbow. He wasn’t hurting me,
but I knew that if I wanted to get away I’d have to fight his grip.

“Leona, return to your seat. We’ll talk and then you can
leave.”

I met his gaze, saw the surprise on his face when I did so.

“I will not be laughed at.”

He nodded once but didn’t let go. “Of course. Let me explain
my amusement. I assure you, I wasn’t laughing at you.”

I stayed on the edge of the bench, close to the exit, but
relaxed. Clay let go of me and sat back.

There was a pause when the waitress brought our drinks. I
looked at the martini. I’d never had one before. Clay picked up his glass of
what looked like whiskey and raised it in a toast. I did the same, carefully
lifting the triangular glass.

“To pleasure.” Clay tapped his glass to mine and took a sip.

I did the same, glad I’d taken only a small sip when the
vodka hit my tongue.

“It is very rare that a woman who claims to be a lovely
young college student truly is. I came here expecting something, someone else.
The fact that you are truly who you said you were surprised me. My laugh was
one of delight, not derision.”

I bit my lip and slid back to where I’d been sitting.
Picking up my glass, I took another sip.

He smiled. “I’m guessing a martini isn’t your normal drink.”

“No. This is the first time I’ve had one.”

“The first time you’ve had a drink?”

“No. A martini. I drink. Vodka and Diet Coke, mostly.”
Looking at my fancy glass, I closed my mouth. I didn’t want to appear
unsophisticated, and I bet Clay didn’t drink vodka diets.

Clay nodded. His gaze roamed over me. “You really are
lovely.”

Smoothing my hands on my thighs, I hoped I wasn’t blushing.
I wasn’t pretty in a conventional way. I had thick, dark-brown hair and brown
eyes—an inheritance from my mother, a Mexican migrant worker who’d come to work
on my grandparents’ farm. My skin was pale, more like my blond father’s. My
hair was so thick that it was hard to deal with, so I kept it shoulder length
in an A-line bob, longer in the front than the back, with long bangs.

“Thank you,” I whispered. Taking a drink started to relax.
“You weren’t what I expected either.”

“Oh? And what did you expect?”

“I tried not to expect anything. But I hope you’d be…exactly
what you are.”

“And what do you think I am?”

“Well, you’re not a twelve-year-old boy with a dirty
imagination.”

Clay laughed. “I may not be twelve, but I assure you, I have
a dirty imagination.”

This time I was blushing—I could feel the heat in my cheeks.

“Are you ready to discuss why we’re here?”

I dropped my gaze to the low table, then nodded.

“Answer verbally, please.”

“Yes.”

“We’ve already crossed the first hurdle—there’s no deception
we need to overcome. What I want to know is why you—a lovely young woman who
could be dating a man your age, who could be focusing on finding a relationship
that will lead to marriage—is interested in submitting.”

Of all the questions he could have asked, that was the one I
didn’t know the answer to. I’d asked myself a million times. Maybe it was
because the relationships I’d had up until now hadn’t really been
relationships. They’d been strange, confusing mixes of sex and friendship, or
just sex. Maybe it was because of my parents’ relationship. What had happened
to them terrified me.

There was nothing I could do but be honest. “I don’t know.”

Clay nodded. “How did you learn about BDSM?”

I told him about the books my roommate had, how that had led
me to looking around online. How browsing Tumblr had turned into posting photos
of myself.

When I was done Clay nodded. “You had a gentle introduction.
Few people ease into it the way you did. I think, from following you, that I
have a fairly good idea of what excites you.”

I licked my lips and pressed my legs together. Thinking
about the man sitting across from me scrolling through pictures of me sitting
on my bed topless or bending over the bed wearing nothing but panties excited
me.

“Leona, I’d like you to come sit here.” He motioned to the
bench near him.

I slid around until I was sitting against the back wall at a
right angle to where he was.

“I want you to look around. Notice that you’re in shadow and
could only be seen by someone who ducked down to look at us.”

I nodded in agreement.