Vienna Betrayal: Billionaire Mystery Club Romance: Vienna Trilogy #1 (Orchid Club Book 7)

by Lila Dubois

  That information was from her club paperwork.

  Alena Moore, American philanthropist and businesswoman, wasn’t married and was the sole heir to a wealthy family in the American south. Last names were rarely used at the club, but a quick search of the Wall Street Journal on his phone for any mention of a woman with the first name of Alena had yielded results. The article had been a profile piece on her philanthropic endeavors, accompanied by a photo of a lovely woman wearing a navy suit, her dark hair in a bun.

  It was, if not officially against the rules, rude of him to have gathered more information about her than what was present in her club paperwork.

  Alexander didn’t care about being rude. He cared about being in control.

  The article, and the paperwork from Lillian, gave him a superficial biography. She was a wealthy, powerful woman, and like many, she sought release through BDSM.

  He watched as she undid closures on the cloak. Words and still pictures couldn’t convey how lovely she was. Couldn’t express the sense of poise and almost amused confidence that radiated from her.

  He’d been drawn to the mystery she presented. The woman in the red cloak.

  According to Lillian, he was the first Dom to request Alena’s paperwork since she joined several months earlier. He doubted that meant he was the first club member to have her as a scene partner. The other tops probably hadn’t bothered with paperwork, relying on verbal discussions for negotiation.

  Alexander preferred written communication whenever possible.

  Alena pushed the cloak back and off. It pooled around her butt and legs.

  She was a study of pale flesh and black lace. A soft-looking corset hugged her breasts and stopped at her natural waist, leaving a band of bare flesh across her lower torso. The panties were also black lace, except for the satin bows at each hip.

  “No sex,” he said, holding up her papers.

  Her brows rose and he winced internally.

  You are an idiot.

  The internal voice was familiar, and sounded like his father.

  “Not on the first date, suga’,” she said with a smile and a wink.

  Unexpectedly, he let out a soft laugh.

  “If that’s a deal breaker…” She glanced at his face, her confident expression turning questioning.

  “Of course not. BDSM doesn’t have to be sexual.” He set her papers aside. He didn’t need them. He’d glanced over her list twice on the walk back, and knew exactly what he wanted to do to, and with, her.

  “I’m glad it’s not a dealbreaker,” she said, some of that confidence returning.

  “Why?”

  “Fishing for compliments, Alexander?”

  “Master Alexander or Sir when we play.”

  “Are we playing?” She cocked her head. “We haven’t negotiated.”

  “Safeword?” he asked.

  “Well then, I guess we are.” She took a breath, and her breasts strained the lacy cups of the corset. He could just barely see hints of the darker flesh of her areolae. “Sherman. My safeword is Sherman.”

  “Sherman?” It sounded like a name.

  “Sherman, as in ‘like Sherman through Georgia.’”

  He grunted in acknowledgement though he’d never heard that phrase before. It must be an American idiom. Part of him wanted to ask her to explain, just to hear her talk.

  But another part of him, a much stronger voice, wanted her on her knees, wanted to rip that lace from her body and play with her, use her, until she was sobbing in mingled pain and pleasure.

  He needed his hands on her. He needed to start, and finish, these negotiations.

  “No penetration—ass, vagina, or mouth—with my cock or bare hands.” He reiterated the limits she had spelled out in her paperwork. Penetration didn’t automatically fall under the “no sex” clause because depending on what was inserted, and how the insertion was presented, it could be non-sexual, much as a doctor’s visit wasn’t sexual.

  “That’s correct, Sir.” The way she smiled made it clear her use of “Sir” was deliberate.

  “No neglect play or high protocol rules.” He stood, needing to move.

  “That’s right, Sir.” She turned her head to watch him as he circled her.

  “Sexual contact and pleasure?” He knew the answer but wanted her to expand on the simple statements on the paperwork.

  “I’d prefer to keep my panties on, but it’s not a hard limit. BDSM play is sexual for me, if I’m with a partner I know and trust. First time out of the gate, I want to keep it platonic.”

  “What about sexual contact for punishment.”

  “Are we talking about edging? From where I stand, well, sit, that’s just rude to leave a lady wanting.”

  His lips twitched in a half-smile as he went on. “Light to medium impact play.”

  “Right again, Sir. You memorized my sub paperwork very quickly.”

  “Impact, bondage, and power exchange are all acceptable. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why no heavy impact?”

  “I find that heavy impact play takes me out of subspace, rather than putting me in it. It feels physically, and emotionally, like a beating.”

  “‘Heavy’ is not a precise term.”

  She licked her lips, which were a sweet berry color. “True, but if I can’t trust my partner to know heavy impact play from light, then I shouldn’t trust him with my body at all.”

  It made sense when she said it, but for her own sake Alexander thought she should have a more detailed list of implements as well as upper limit counts.

  “Why no alone bondage or human furniture?” he asked as he took a step towards her.

  “I have no desire to be tied up and left alone in a corner. These events only last three days; why waste them? And as a woman, I object, philosophically, to being treated as a doormat or side table. Society does that well enough, and this is an escape.”

  “Some need it.” Her words made him feel slightly guilty for the times he’d rested a drink on the pert ass of a submissive.

  She tipped her head, a smile playing about her lips. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  “No,” he agreed.

  Her expression turned chagrined. “I’m sorry, that was terribly rude of me.”

  He nodded to acknowledge her apology. If he’d had a list of hard limits, discussion of why he was so taciturn—and how he’d gotten that way—would have been at the top of the list.

  “Shall we begin?” he asked.

  “You don’t want to negotiate for your needs?” Alena countered. “You know what I want, Sir, but I don’t have your papers.” She gestured to the folded sheets he’d set aside. “How will I know what you like in your play partners?”

  “I’ll tell you.” Alexander was behind her, and he leaned in, let his nose brush the strands of her dark hair. “Or I’ll punish you. Stand up.”

  “You’ll punish me for breaking rules I don’t even know?” She rose to her feet, and he got his first good look at her ass, the lower curve of each cheek exposed by the cut of the lace panties.

  “Yes.”

  Her breath caught and then she swallowed—a small, involuntary expression of excitement or trepidation.

  “That’s…” her voice trailed off.

  “Unfair?” He stayed behind her, where she couldn’t see him. It was a deliberate power move, which just so happened to give him time to continue studying her backside. The wide black ribbon bows at her hips tempted him to rush, to get past the foreplay and start pinning that ass with a spanking.

  But he wouldn’t.

  He would savor her, and in doing so bring her to the outer edge of pain where it transitioned to pleasure. If she’d been willing to engage in more sexualized play he would have planned to do the inverse, pleasure her until pleasure became pain.

  He headed for one of the trunks scattered around the room. The Doms had been invited to take what they needed from any trunks or chests, all of which had been stocked with
things they might need, though almost every Dom also had their own kit of personal toys.

  “…perfect,” she breathed.

  He paused, surprise making his brows rise as he looked back at her.

  Alena turned just her head, soft waves of dark hair framing her face “I’ve always liked a Dom who’s a little bit cruel.”

  “You want a sadist?” She’d asked about his limits, and sadism was one of them. Not because he didn’t enjoy it.

  Because he might enjoy it too much.

  “No. I want a Dom who will make me feel things that a sane, repressed person would run screaming into the night to avoid.” One corner of her mouth curled in a half-smile.

  Alexander couldn’t help but return her smile with one of his own. Of course she didn’t want a sadist top. Heavy impact play was one of her limits. He shoved aside the vague sense of disappointment.

  He bent and fiddled with the trunk latches. It opened, and as he’d expected, it was full. Also as expected, most of the contents were for post-play as this was one of the aftercare lounges.

  Robes, rolled blankets, lotion, aspirin, and bottles of water were all in there.

  Not everything was solely for post-scene care. There was also lube, gloves, alcohol wipes, black silk ties, and two crops, one long, one short. He pulled out the short crop, a pair of gloves, and alcohol wipes.

  He tore open an alcohol pad and wiped down the crop, stuffing the black plastic gloves into his pants pocket.

  When he turned back to Alena she looked uncertain, and had her arms crossed over her stomach.

  He raised the crop, swished it through the air. “The scene begins now.”

  Her eyes widened, and when he brought the tip whistling down to strike a nearby ottoman, she jumped.

  Alexander raised a brow. “A crop is not by default heavy impact.”

  “It can leave a welt.”

  “A long crop, yes.”

  “I’m sure you could use all those muscles to make it hit hard.” She gestured at his arm.

  She liked his muscles? There was no way she could see them through his tailored shirt. False compliments to manipulate him into being gentle?

  Plenty of women had complimented him in the past. As a matter of fact, people rarely did anything but compliment him, yet Alena’s words made him feel good. Maybe because she’d sounded disgruntled, and that added authenticity to her statement.

  Alexander stalked towards her, holding the crop slightly raised. Not a threat, but the hint of one.

  She dropped her hands to her sides, changed her mind and folded her arms, then pressed her lips together as if firming her resolve, and dropped her hands once more.

  Her uncertainty was delightful.

  Alexander placed the tip of the crop under her chin, nudging her face up until their gazes met.

  “Leave now,” he murmured.

  “Why would I do that, Sir? I want to be here.”

  “You’re ready to submit? To me?”

  In response, Alena closed her eyes, her shoulders relaxing, her lovely face still tilted up. He wanted to taste her lips, but he couldn’t. No fluids exchange was her other rule, and a common enough one it hadn’t been worth mentioning.

  No fluid exchange meant he couldn’t lick her pussy without a dental dam, or ask her to lick his bare cock.

  And it meant he couldn’t kiss her.

  Alexander leaned in, let his mouth hover over hers. He closed his eyes, imagined the kiss, and then pulled back. Now was not the time for tenderness, even if her rules had allowed it.

  “Once you kneel, you’re mine for the night.” It was a final warning, but not enough. He should have explained to her that he could be sadistic. It was, perhaps, his true nature.

  He should tell her exactly how deep into the darkness he could fall, how his refined exterior, crafted by his upbringing and position, were a veneer for a dangerous, feral creature inside.

  But he’d never warned a submissive about it before. He didn’t know why he felt like he should with her.

  “I’m not looking for an out, Sir.”

  He hoped she could handle him, because though he hadn’t started the night with a feeling of disquiet, ever since he’d pushed back her hood, his sexual appetite had skewed towards the darkness.

  “Kneel, Alena.”

  She obeyed.

  Chapter 2

  Alena focused on her breathing as she knelt before him. Inhale for a four count, exhale for eight.

  “Nervous?” Alexander asked softly as he circled her.

  “If I said I wasn’t, I’d be lying.”

  “No lies. Not in a scene.” As he looped around the front she couldn’t help but stare at the riding crop. It had been a long time since she’d been cropped.

  “I agree, Sir. This is no place for lies, but I’m not exactly nervous. I’m…trepidatious.”

  “Trepidation is appropriate, but not what you’ll be feeling soon.”

  “Oh?”

  Rather than reply, he made a noise halfway between a hum and a grunt. He’d stopped behind her, and Alena had to resist the urge to bunch her shoulders up around her ears as her hindbrain registered him as a threat.

  She might know how to submit, but it had been years. Her instincts were sounding the alarm, insisting she shouldn’t be passively kneeling when a predator was so near. The fact that she found him attractive was inconsequential according to her intuition.

  The tip of the crop brushed her hair, and she shivered.

  “Cold?”

  “No, Sir.”

  The crop trailed down her back, moving from bare skin at her upper back, to lace, to bare skin and more lace. She held her breath as the crop danced over her ass. He hadn’t been specific about how she should kneel, so she’d opted for the most comfortable position, which was kneeling and seated, her butt resting on her heels.

  “You should be barefoot or in high heels.” The crop tapped against the bottom of her ballet flats.

  “I can’t wear heels due to an injury, Sir.”

  Most clubs had guidelines that both protected participants and helped define and maintain the “otherness” of the club space. A common rule was that submissives either wore fuck-me heels or went barefoot.

  “You need the shoes?”

  “No, I can go barefoot.” The Orchid Club had far fewer rules than the small clubs she’d been to when first exploring the submissive aspect of her sexuality. Tonight, with no rule to force her into heels, she’d decided to wear flats rather than go barefoot. It was a small thing, a meager defiance.

  And Alexander had homed in on it. Interesting.

  “Then remove them. Now.”

  Alena’s breath caught at the darkness in his tone. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.

  Rising up on her knees, she reached back, pulling off first her right, and then left, shoe. She set them aside, where she could still see them, but out of his way.

  When she started to sink back onto her heels, he stopped her by pressing the crop against her ass. “Stay up.”

  “You’ll begin with a cropping?” Her voice wavered a little, and she hadn’t meant it to. She cleared her throat.

  “And if I did?”

  “That would…certainly be one way to start a scene. Sir.”

  He circled around to face her. Dropping into a squat—the crop dangling loosely from one hand—he stared at her with a heavy gaze.

  Alena took a few breaths, reminded herself that he knew her limits. Crops were designed for use on horses, a small movement of the handle able to create enough force that a horse would feel it. In that light, a crop was perhaps on par with a cane or single-tail whip, but the crop he held was short. Designed for BDSM play.

  “You disapprove.”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Do not lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  He examined her, regard almost clinical as he took in her face before moving his gaze lower. A small smile quirked his lips and she realized that her nippl
es were hard inside the lace cups of the soft corset.

  The crop came up and he rubbed the tip across her left nipple.

  Alena jerked, and shock at the unexpected, intimate touch quickly morphed to tingling excitement.

  “This is allowed by your limits,” Alexander said.

  “You just surprised me, Sir.”

  “You enjoyed it.”

  It wasn’t a question, but it seemed like he wanted a response. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m sorry, you want me to explain…why I found it pleasurable when you touched one of my erogenous zones?”

  Another quirk of his lips. “No.” He reached out, hooked a finger in the lace between her breasts, and yanked the corset down.

  Alena gasped and instinctively raised her hands to cover herself.

  Alexander moved, faster than she would have guessed a man whose job was being rich and powerful would.

  As her palms closed over her breasts he dropped to one knee, while simultaneously releasing the crop. He grabbed her wrists and yanked her hands away from her body, forcing her arms down.

  Shock, and a little ripple of fear, raced through her. Biting the tip of her tongue helped stave off the instinct to fight him. She raised her eyes to his face, only to find him staring back at her with cold, implacable resolve.

  They held one another’s gaze for a long moment before he deliberately looked down at her chest.

  Alena felt heat in her face as he stared at her bare, exposed breasts. Her arms tensed, and he tightened his hold fractionally.

  “You will not hide or cover your nakedness.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You…you took me by surprise, Sir.” This was harder than she’d thought it would be. Submission had never been part of her nature. She’d first turned to it at a time in her life when she’d craved rules, structure, and the safety those provided.

  He released her wrists, but his hands hovered near hers, ready to grab her if she tried to cover herself.

  Alena lowered her chin to signal her acceptance, her submission.

  “You expected me to leave your breasts covered?”