Authors: Lila Dubois
DangerousLust (2 page)
“I want you to remove your shirt. You may leave your bra
on.”
I froze, gaze meeting his.
“Are you scared or aroused?”
“Both,” I whispered.
“I want you to know that I absolutely respect your
reputation and would never put you in a situation where someone might see you.
I have no interest in public displays.”
“The waitress.”
“If I hear her coming I will move down and intercept her. Do
you accept that my doing so will protect your privacy?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then you will remove your shirt. And this is the last
time you will question this order.”
This was the tipping point. He’d given me an order. I could
obey or I could leave.
I untucked the shirt from the skirt and pulled it up and
off.
I was wearing a simple cotton black bra. For a second my
arousal was muted by embarrassment at my lackluster lingerie.
Clay stared at my breasts, not hiding where he was looking.
He touched the thick strap. “You should be wearing lace.”
My fingers curled into fists on the bench. I bit my tongue,
told myself to be quiet, but a lifetime of being poor had made me defensive.
“My clothes are all functional. Even if you order me to show
up wearing lace I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I…I can’t afford it. I’m on a scholarship, and my
internship barely covers my bus pass.”
Fingers traced my collarbone, sliding up my neck to lift my
chin. My gaze met his.
“Then I will not order you to do so without first outfitting
you with lace and silk. Normally I do not purchase items for new partners, as
it can muddy what will already be murky waters, but for you, Leona, I will make
an exception.”
He smiled slightly and I relaxed.
His fingers dropped back to my chest, trailing over the edge
of my bra. My nipples tightened into points, and I was glad of the thick
material that hid my reaction. From the way he was looking at me I had a
feeling he knew, even if he couldn’t see.
“Have you ever been tied up for sex?”
“No.” My voice trembled.
“Have you even been spanked for pleasure?”
“No.”
“A virgin.”
“I’ve had sex.”
He raised a brow. “There’s sex…and then there’s sex.” His
fingers dipped inside my bra to stroke my nipple. I gripped the seat as
pleasure shot through me. My head fell back and my eyes closed.
“Stand and unzip your skirt.”
Without thinking I did as he asked. I swayed on my feet as I
fumbled with the zip at the back of the skirt. I let it fall around my ankles,
revealing my black cotton thong.
He laid his hand flat on my belly, his thumb sliding just
under the top of my underwear. Without thinking I spread my legs, wanting his
hand between them on my aching pussy. My skirt, still around my ankles, stopped
me.
One finger traced my thong from front to back, skimming over
my pussy. I shuddered, and for one blissful, terrifying instant I thought I’d
come from that alone.
“Get dressed and sit down.”
My gaze snapped to him. I opened my mouth to protest, but
the look on his face warned me not to.
I zipped my skirt and put my top back on. Only when I was
sitting did I realize that I hadn’t cared where we were, who might have seen.
Nothing had mattered but that pleasure he’d let me taste.
Clay handed me my glass. My fingers were shaking so much
that I spilled a little. He steadied my hand, guiding the glass to my mouth. I
looked at him over the rim.
“Leona, you said you don’t have class on Tuesday and
Thursday?”
“Just my internship, from eleven to five.”
“I would like you to join me at my home on Wednesday night.”
“To…talk?”
“No. To play. Though I should warn you that I do not
consider BDSM a game. I consider a well-crafted session to be akin to art.” He
took folded papers from inside his jacket. “Fill this out and bring it with
you. It’s a checklist. Since you are a novice it will not carry the same weight
with me that it would if you were an experienced submissive. But be sure to
read and sign the last page.”
I took the papers and pressed them against my lap. “Don’t
you fill one out too?”
He finished his drink. “If we were negotiating a scene, then
I would. This is not a negotiation, it is an invitation. Do you understand the
idea of risk-aware play?”
“No.”
“Some people advocate for a warning system known as ‘safe,
sane and consensual’. I consider that naïve. There is risk in BDSM play, both
physical and emotional. If you’re my submissive you must accept that risk.”
The arousal that hummed through me demanded that I just
agree to whatever he said, whatever he wanted. The cautious part of me, the
part of me that had left a letter in my desk so that the police would know what
happened if I disappeared, wouldn’t let me.
“How can I accept a risk that I don’t really understand?”
Clay laughed. “You’re very smart. I will promise you this—I
will go more slowly with you than I would with another woman. It is both an
honor and a privilege to be the first to taste a woman’s submission. I do not
take that lightly, but I am also a hard man. I will demand things from you that
you might find frightening.”
“I’ll have a safeword?”
“More than that, we’ll use the stoplight system. Do you know
it?”
“I read about it. Yellow if it’s starting to hurt or if
you’re panicking. Red to make it stop.”
“Yes. For me red means I will stop what I’m doing. It
doesn’t mean I won’t start again or will end the scene entirely. I don’t
believe in topping from the bottom.
“I also don’t believe in creating impossible rules as an
excuse for fake punishment. If I want to spank you I will.”
I licked my lips and gulped some martini. The idea of being
bent over Clay’s lap was… I shuddered.
“If you do something truly in need of punishment then there
will be no pleasure, and you will not forget it.”
I nodded, sure I could follow his rules.
“You’re certain you’re still interested?”
“Yes.”
“Say it again, and this time address me properly.”
“Yes…Master Clay.”
He nodded. “Lovely. Outside my home you will call me simply
Clay, but I wanted to hear the word ‘Master’ from your lips.”
“Are there rules I should learn before I get to your house?”
“No, I will teach you everything you need to know. A good
Master doesn’t let his sub suffer or question.”
He rose. “Shall we?”
I tucked the list into my purse and stood. I was both
relieved and disappointed. I didn’t want this to end. Didn’t want to wait to
get to the good stuff, but another part of me was anxious to get away and
analyze everything he’d said and done.
I watched him drop a fifty onto the table and my eyes
widened. He held the curtain aside so I could exit. I brushed by him, his body
firm and warm.
He offered me his arm. No one had ever done that for me. I
wasn’t sure where to hold. Seeming to understand he took my hand, tucking it
around his forearm.
“How did you get here?”
“The bus.”
Clay frowned. “I don’t want you taking the bus, but it would
be a mistake for me to drive you.”
“I’m okay taking the bus.”
Clay took his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a
few times. He led us out of the hotel. A sleek black car was parked in the spot
of honor in the driveway. I wasn’t good with cars, but even I could tell it was
rare and expensive.
The valet jumped when he saw Clay, who said, “Bring it up,
but I’ll wait for my companion’s ride.”
The valet moved the sleek black car until it was parked
directly in front of the doors.
“Do you live on campus?” Clay asked as we stood waiting.
“Yes, it’s easier with my scholarship.”
“And your major?”
“Math and art history.”
“An interesting combination. And what do you hope to do with
it?”
“Graduate school for applied mathematics. I’m going to take
the GRE in January.”
“Wonderful.”
A black Town Car, the bumper tagged with white lettering
that marked it as a chauffeur car, pulled up. The driver got out and held up a
small sign that said “Leona.”
“Your ride is here.” Clay led me to the car. When I
hesitated he said, “All I did was call a Town Car service. I assure you they
are in no way affiliated with me. Give the driver your address. I will take
care of the tip.”
“Thank you. I’ve never been in a Town Car.” I was feeling
very elegant and sophisticated as I clung to Clay’s arm.
“Then I will send a car to pick you up also.”
The driver opened the rear door. Clay tucked a finger under
my chin. I held my breath, sure he would kiss me but he didn’t.
“Until next time, Leona.”
“Thank you for the drink, and the ride, Clay.”
He held my elbow as I got into the car. The driver closed
the door. I watched Clay tip the man. I continued to watch clay as the Town Car
pulled away.
When he was out of sight I lay my head back and smiled.
Salli Capara was a thin, blonde woman with black eyebrows.
She motioned for me to step out into the hall where there was more space. I
stretched slightly as I did—there were boxes stored under my desk, and my legs
started to cramp from the weird position I sat in.
“Leona, my darling Leona,” Salli sang. She was intense and
interesting—and working for her made me sure that I didn’t want to spend long
working in the art world.
A cute surfer-type guy wearing hipster glasses with thick
black frames was waiting in the hall. He had curly blond hair, a go bag with a Poké
Ball patch on it and a tablet tucked under his arm.
“Leona, this is Brad Marshall. He’s going to develop the app
and QR scanning part of the exhibit. Brad, this is Leona Thies. She’s a senior
at UCLA and a double major in math and art history. Perfect, perfect for this
project! Leona is working on content development of the math teaching piece of
the new exhibit. There are two other interns on the project also, but she’s our
lead. They’re useless, Leona’s wonderful.”
I took Brad’s hand, hiding my smile at Salli’s words. I had
a feeling she probably called me useless when I wasn’t here, but I was working
hard for her.
Brad’s hand was big and warm and he smiled in a way that was
both sexy and adorable. A warm flush spread over me and I tipped my head down
so my hair would hide the blush. It must be leftover feelings from my meeting
with Clay last night. I wish I’d masturbated more—maybe that would have stopped
me from having a totally crazy reaction to Brad.
“Nice to meet you, Leona.”
“You too, Brad.” I managed to sound almost normal, though
Brad’s smile was seriously distracting.
“Leona, can you show him the mock-ups and what we have so
far? I want you to move into the conference room so you have some space. This
place is not creative. You will be creative. You will marry art to science.”
“Okay, Salli. Give me a second to get my bag.” I duck into
the closet office and threw my laptop into my bag along with my headphones and
phone. Slinging it over my shoulder, I joined Salli and Brad in the hall.
Together we headed for the elevator. Salli got off on the first floor and I motioned
for Brad to stay on.
“We’re going up to the fourth floor.”
When the doors opened I got off. This level was the
curators’ offices and meeting rooms. One of the smaller conference rooms had
been turned over for the upcoming exhibit I was working on.
Brad looked around with interest at the stark white corridor
decorated with pieces of beautiful modern art.
“Leona. Am I saying that right?” His attention shifted back
to me.
“That’s me. This is the conference room we’re using to
develop the exhibit.” I used my badge to open the door, then flipped on the
lights.
Brad reached over my head and held the door open. He was
tall, probably over six feet, and broad. I set my bag down as Brad looked
around. The little room was crammed with high-quality prints of a few of the
pieces that would be included in the new exhibit. They were taped to the walls
and propped up on easels.
There were computer renderings of what the exhibit would
look like spread out in the center of the table and held down with cubist glass
paperweights from the gift store.
“I’m not gonna lie.” Brad set down his bag and pulled out a
big laptop. “I don’t really get what I was hired for.”
“What do you do again?”
“App development. Most of my clients have been restaurants
or real estate people. One of them is a board member and recommended me for the
job.”
Salli had talked about bringing in someone to do the app,
but I didn’t realize it would happen so soon. “That’s cool. I know nothing
about apps or how we were going to do some of the things they want for this
project.”
Brad dropped into a chair. “Okay, brown eyes, take me
through it.”
“Brown eyes? We just met. It’s a bit soon for a nickname.”
“It’s never too soon for a nickname.”
I meant to roll my eyes but giggled instead. “You’re weird,
Brad.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I hope you really need those glasses and aren’t making some
hipster fashion statement.”
“I spend all day staring at a computer. I need them. But I’m
not a hipster. At least not on purpose. My ex picked them out. She said they
made me look like a member of Mumford and Sons instead of a stoner.”
I slid onto the table and crossed my legs, looking him up
and down again. “You need a scarf for full-on English hipster. Mostly you have
a surfer look, or maybe it’s a stoner look.”
“Hey now, I resent that. I don’t surf.”
“But you do enjoy Mary Jane?”
He grinned. “Of course not. I’m a responsible small business
owner who works hard for his clients.”
“Small business owner? How old are you?”
“Technically I am a one-man small business. And I’m
twenty-six. What about you? No, wait. I’m going to guess. You look like you
could be twenty-four, twenty-five, but I be you’re twenty-one.”
“That wasn’t impressive. Salli told you I was in college.
I’ll be twenty-one in three months.”
“The countdown has started.”
I thought about the martini from yesterday and couldn’t stop
myself from smiling.
“If you’re in college how are you in charge of so much of
this big exhibit? I thought it was supposed to be some national thing?”
I blinked and focused on his question. Brad was one of those
easy-to-get-along-with people. It was going to be fun working with him.
“The exhibit is called
Behind the Image Lies the Truth
.
The idea is to take paintings and sculptures with heavy geometric elements and
then break down the shapes mathematically. By looking at the proportions and
ratios of what’s represented it’s supposed to explain why some pieces are more
appealing. We’ll compare the breakdown to similar representations in nature.”
“And you’re going to do the math part, the breakdowns?”
“Yep.”
“Are you like a math genius?”
“No. But I am studying it. Planning to do a PhD in applied
mathematics.”
“Gorgeous and smart? Brown eyes, I better watch out for
you.”
“Yes, beware. The man-eating co-ed might get you.”
“I think I saw that movie.”
“Spike TV? Skinamax?”
“Spike. How did you know?”
“I actually starred in it. Overworked intern is my cover
identity.”
Brad laughed, his whole face lighting up. I slid off the
table and took a seat next to him. Moving my laptop so he could see it, I
pulled up some of the content I’d developed. After I’d showed him a few of the
geometry-based explanations that went with the example paintings on the wall,
he sat back.
“This actually sounds really cool. What kind of user
interaction are you looking for?”
“Well, we were hoping to develop something people could
download on their smartphones so that they could scan each painting and then
see an overlay of the analysis and breakdown.”
Brad hunched over his laptop and started typing. For the
next hour we talked through the possibilities. When he had what he needed to
develop a few options I escorted him out, using my keycard to get us out of the
building, which was locked up since it was after hours.
“Are you coming back?” I asked as I pulled on my black jacket.
I only had four or five pieces of nice business attire, one of which was this
tailored jacket I wore practically every time I came.
“I’d like to. Dr. Capara, Salli, suggested I coordinate that
with you, since her schedule is busy.”
“Okay, that sounds good. I’m here Tuesday and Thursday from
eleven to five and all day Friday.”
“Cool. Then I’ll see you on Thursday?”
“Yeah. This is my stop.” I pointed at the bus sign.
“You’re taking a bus home?”
“Back to campus, yeah. It’s easy.”
“I could give you a ride.” Brad adjusted the strap of his
bag. “I live in Santa Monica, so you’re on my way.”
It was funny the way life worked. If this had happened last
week I might have jumped on the chance to get a ride from him. It wasn’t just a
ride, I could see that in the way he was looking at me. Brad was cute and
fun—easy to talk to. He looked like a good kisser. But I was done with that. I
had Master Clay.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”
He paused, then nodded. “It was nice to meet you, Leona.
I’ll see you Thursday.”
Brad headed for the parking lot. As the bus pulled up to the
curb I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder at him. I took a seat in the
back of the bus and put my bag on my lap.
What was I doing? All Brad offered was a ride. He hadn’t
asked me out. Was I really so conceited that I just assumed Brad wanted to
sleep with me, and therefore I needed to turn him down because I was going to
see Master Clay? Embarrassment curled in my belly, making me feel slightly
sick. Had Brad been able to tell that I assumed the offer of the ride meant he
was interested?
And what if my first instinct was right and Brad was
interested? Did being in a D/s relationship with Master Clay mean I couldn’t
date? Would I be able to date someone normal after Master Clay?
The bus jerked along Santa Monica Boulevard, leaving me too
much time to think. I’d been very careful all day not to let myself freak out
over what I’d done last night. Master Clay was everything I could have hoped
for. I knew he would give me what I wanted. I’d finally have a relationship
that meant something. A relationship I could understand.
My heart rose in my throat as the car climbed into the
hills. Luckily the driver hadn’t asked me where we were going when he picked me
up half an hour ago.
Master Clay lived in the hills part of Beverly Hills. It
wasn’t far from campus, but we’d gotten stuck in traffic. I didn’t know what
time Master Clay wanted me there, so all I could do was hope that we weren’t
late. The car had picked me up at four thirty. I’d had two hours to prepare
after my last class.
Not wanting my suitemates to know where I was going, I’d
showered and done my makeup and gotten dressed in the bathroom, putting on a
sweatshirt over the low-cut silky tank top I’d decided to wear. I wore a stretchy
cotton skirt and I’d left my suite in comfy boots, changing into silver flats
once I was out. My sweatshirt and boots were tucked into my bike locker. The
cotton skirt wasn’t fancy, but I couldn’t keep wearing my internship clothes—I
needed them for work and couldn’t afford to do more dry cleaning. I looked cute
but not sexy.
I hoped Master Clay didn’t see me and change his mind.
We pulled up outside a big white house. It was three
stories, with a round driveway that swooped around to the door. There were at
least fifteen large windows in the front of the house. The yard was all white
roses and ivy, with a large, geometric marble fountain, probably a piece of art
in its own right, in the center.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. I hoped we had the wrong address. It
was one thing to meet a man who was sophisticated and successful. It was
something else to get involved with someone like this—so far outside my income
bracket and comfort zone that it wasn’t even funny.
The driver got out and came around to my door. When he
opened it I hesitated. It wasn’t the sex or power games that had me worried—it
was the fact that Clay was rich and I was a poor girl from Texas.
“Miss?” The driver leaned down to peer at me. His face was
totally blank—his expression so carefully controlled that I knew he was
wondering who I was and why he’d brought me here.
Another tipping point. Another chance to turn back.
I got out of the car. I wasn’t going to think about it,
wasn’t going let my brain get in my way.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“Would you like me to wait?”
I paused but then shook my head. “No, thank you.”
Standing outside the large white door inset with beveled
glass panels, I listened to the Town Car pull away. My hand shook as I reached
for the bell. Chimes sounded from inside the house. It seemed like an eternity
before I saw something moving behind the glass.
Master Clay looked as if he’d stepped out of a Marc Jacobs
ad. He wore pale gray slacks and a blue button shirt. The collar was open, the
cuffs folded back. In the fading sunlight his eyes seemed even more piercing
under his heavy brows.
“Leona, welcome to my home. Please come in.”
I folded my arms over my belly and stepped into the foyer.
The floor was white marble, the walls a pale cream and high above me was a
blown-glass chandelier. There’d been an exhibit on glass art in LACMA when I
first started, and I had a funny feeling that I’d seen the hanging artwork
before.
“Is that by Dale Chihuly?” I asked.
Clay looked surprised. “It is. You know him?”
“I like art.”
“Ah Leona, you are a rare find. I purchased this piece just
recently. Come with me.”
He offered his arm, and this time I knew what to do.
I tried to look around as we walked from room to room, but
touching Clay made it hard to think, hard to focus.
“Normally the front door is reserved for guests. Submissives
park in the back and use a side door to access a section of my home that I’ve
dedicated to the lifestyle.”
I hesitated. “I can go back out.”
“If I wanted that I would tell you. I’m merely giving you
information.”
We were in a library. Each of the walls was lined with
bookcases, bookcases so tall that there was a ladder on a roller. I felt like
Belle in the Beast’s castle. French doors opened to a patio lined with bougainvillea
and set with wrought iron furniture.