by Lila Dubois
Alexander hooked his fingers under the straps of her dress and yanked them off her shoulders.
Alena gasped, instinctively raising her hands to press the bodice to her chest, halting its descent.
“Drop your arms.” It wasn’t a request, but a command.
Again she shivered, even as she dropped her arms to her sides.
The satin slithered down her body, the friction hardening her nipples. As she stood trapped between his legs, naked except for a red-satin g-string, she had a sudden foreboding that what happened tonight would change her.
Alexander relaxed even more, as if the sight of her submissively naked calmed him.
“Your safeword.”
“Sherman.”
He looked around the dungeon, caught Lillian’s attention, and nodded to her. She inclined her head and hustled out.
“We’re playing now?” Alena asked softly.
“Not officially. Not until I have your list.”
“Then I’m going to keep talking to you. Keep asking you what’s wrong. Why you think I should be scared and run away.”
He stroked her stomach with the back of his fingers. “If you ran, I would chase you.” It sound like a threat.
“I chased you,” she reminded him.
“True. But if you ran from me, when I caught you I would punish you.”
The mention of punishment made her breath catch.
“You should be afraid, because every time I find myself distracted by thoughts of you, my plans become harsher.”
Alena felt a stirring of true fear, the words more impactful while she was mostly naked and trapped by his legs. He was larger than her, stronger than her. In a pure physical contest, she would lose.
“Scared?”
“Should I be?” she countered.
Alexander reached out and cupped her neck, running his thumb up and down her throat, from the notch where collarbones met sternum, to the underside of her jaw.
“If you knew the things I’d imagined, you would be.”
“Tell me what you imagined.”
His thumb shifted, pressing against the pulse point on the right side of her neck.
“If I do, you’ll run.”
“I won’t. And even if I did, you’d chase me.”
“Don’t run, then. Use your safeword. Walk away.”
“Who are you trying to scare, Alexander? Me? Or yourself?”
“Scare myself?”
“Do you scare yourself?”
He frowned, his thumb once more idly running up and down the front of her neck. “Perhaps I do. No man wants to admit they’re the beast rather than the knight.”
The mention of “knight” made her wince internally, since she’d dubbed him the black knight in the game she was currently playing.
She met men who reveled in being “the beast.” She’d suffered at their hands.
Alexander wasn’t like them. “You are most definitely a knight.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. Your armor is tarnished, and you might ignore the rules of courtly love…” Alena put her palms on his chest, the first time she’d dared to touch him like this, though she’d been snuggled against him last night in aftercare.
Alexander stared at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. It was both remote and hopeful. As if he were simultaneously distancing himself from what she was saying, while also hanging on each word.
“And when you rescue the virgin princess…” Alena smiled “You drop her off at the nearest castle.”
Alexander’s expression relaxed into a grin. “I have no use for virgins.”
His hand slid from her neck, down her chest, palm rubbing over her right nipple. She arched into the touch, offering herself.
He palmed her breast, kneading her flesh. “And who are you in this story?” There was no hesitation in his touch.
“Maybe I’m the local bawdy tavern wench?”
“No. You are too elegant.”
“Maybe I’m—” She choked to a stop as he gently pinched her nipple, rolling it ever so slightly.
“Master Alexander.” Lillian placed a small sheaf of papers on the table beside their glasses.
“Thank you, Lillian.” Alexander turned to look at the other woman while continuing to roll and tug Alena’s nipple.
“Alena.” Lillian inclined her head Alena’s direction.
“Lill—” Alena broke off with a yelp as Alexander pinched hard and pulled.
Her nipple slipped from between the vise of his fingers and Alena’s yelp turned to a moan.
Alexander picked up her new papers and started to read. Alena’s fingers trembled as she reached for her champagne glass, finishing it off as he reviewed the updates she’d made.
“You’ve allowed penetration with both toys and my fingers, but no sex. With sex being defined as my cock penetrating either your ass or pussy.” Alexander set down the papers and looked at her.
“I thought about removing all the restrictions,” she said softly. “But I…”
I can’t, because no matter how much I tell myself that our scening together, my submitting to you, is entirely separate from my using you for the job, even my powers of compartmentalization aren’t that strong.
Fucking him would cross a line, even for her. But she wanted his hand on her, in her. Wanted him to fuck her with his fingers and a dildo, wanted him to plug her ass and put a gag in her mouth.
“Sex, at least by your current definition, does not include my cock in your mouth.”
She smiled. “No, it doesn’t.”
She expected him to grin, but he remained serious. “Last chance.”
Alena reached out to cup his face. She didn’t think about it, just did it. “I’m not running, Alexander. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
His eyes widened, then closed. He turned his head into her, his breath hot against the inside of her wrist.
Alena’s heart clenched. What was she doing? She’d never given up on a job before. She’d lost a game or two in the past, but not because she forfeited.
“Alexander, I...”
One night with this man, a hint of vulnerability mixed with the aggressive dominance and a soupçon of danger, shouldn’t be enough to make her abandon a plan months in the making.
But when he leaned into her touch, she knew she couldn’t go forward. Couldn’t lie to him, use him. She’d have to back out, to find another way.
She took a breath, feeling sick at what she was about to do. “Alexander, there’s—”
“That’s the third time you’ve used my name.” Alexander’s eyes opened, and there was nothing soft or vulnerable in his gaze. The predator was awake, looking out at her through Alexander’s green and gold eyes.
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. “We’ll start with a punishment.”
“We haven’t started,” Alena stammered out, her planned confession short-circuited by the possibility of punishment.
“I said not until I got your papers.” Alexander’s face was a stern mask, but there was a hint of sadistic pleasure in the way the corners of his eyes crinkled. “When Lillian set them down, we began.”
“Well, that’s just not fair,” Alena murmured. “Semantics.”
“I warned you to run.” Alexander stood, not letting go of her wrist. “Now it’s too late.”
It’s not too late. You have your safeword, and you’re not going to have sex with him, at least not in the most heterosexual traditional sense. It’s not too late.
But when Alexander pulled her away from the table, her dress forgotten on the floor, Alena knew that wasn’t true.
It was too late.
But too late for what?
Chapter 6
Alexander guided her to a spot in the dungeon equidistant between a kneeler and a large, rustic platform with a tall post jutting up from the center.
Alena was breathing fast with apprehension, and her sex was wet with anticipation.
/> Alexander stopped and turned to her, ran the back of one finger from her bellybutton up between her breasts then higher, tracing her neck up to her chin and finally tipping her face up.
She stared into his eyes, waiting for his command, needing the scene to start so she could fall into that place of mental peace he’d brought her to last night.
Alexander smiled, and it was a wicked expression.
Alena’s blood heated, her body relaxing, accepting. Use me. Hurt me the way I need.
Alexander dropped his hand, then turned and walked away.
“Oh, that’s just mean,” Alena called out.
Alexander looked at her over his shoulder, one brow raised. The look said “wait or else”. Then he was gone, out the doors of the ballroom.
Leaving her naked except for some very tiny underwear, standing in the middle of a BDSM dungeon feeling a confusing mix of apprehension and arousal.
Trying to distract herself, Alena examined the various scene spaces. Though the dungeon theme was a bit on the nose, the equipment was high quality. The wood structures, from the St. Andrew’s crosses to the sawhorse benches, angled kneelers, and bondage chairs, were made of solid planks of wood and padded with real leather. Everything smelled slightly of disinfectant, indicating that the staff had disinfected all equipment before the final night of the event began.
Alena ran her fingers along the angled top of the kneeler beside her. Her nipples tightened as she pictured herself there, knees on padded lower rungs, torso draped over the angled top, her ass upthrust and vulnerable.
Both the kneeler and platform and whipping post were good options for punishment.
Alena exhaled slowly, and inched away so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch the kneeler again, turning her attention to the whipping post and platform. Several sets of circular metal tie-off rings were bolted to the wood at various heights. The platform base was made of heavy dark wood planks. It could easily serve as a town square whipping post or the mast of a pirate ship.
Did Alexander ever indulge in role-play? While he didn’t seem like the type, he’d surprised her several times.
But looking at the platform raised a more mundane issue.
Tonight she’d gone barefoot, even though standing for her punishment last night meant she’d woken up with her knee aching and stiff. If Alexander wanted her standing for the whole night she might have to wear her insole-equipped flats.
She hadn’t lied about an injury making heels for any length of time impossible, but hadn’t mentioned that going barefoot was difficult. Admitting that might lead to questions she didn’t want to answer. If she had to, she’d tell him she had a knee replacement, and neglect to include information on exactly how she’d been injured.
The horrible parts of her childhood weren’t something she discussed.
Though if she did tell Alexander, she was somehow sure he’d understand. He’d be quiet but attentive and let her get it all out. Maybe he’d take her in his arms like he had last night. Wrap her up and hold her.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t register the man’s approach until he spoke.
“Guten Abend gnädige Frau.” The stranger extended his hand, offering her a fresh glass of champagne.
Alena jerked her attention into the present, and away from a ridiculous fantasy in which she spilled her deepest secrets to Alexander.
The stranger was a good looking man with dark blond hair and bright blue eyes. His coloring, plus a height that put him a full head taller than her, made it a good bet he was Scandinavian, and the slight accent when he spoke confirmed it.
One of the club wait staff—an Asian man with incredible upper body physique, shown off by his attire of only brown leather pants—stood off to the side, holding a tray with a tumbler of what looked like whiskey.
“Good evening,” she replied in German, but didn’t take the proffered glass.
“American?” His lips curved up into a devastating smile.
“Yes,” she replied in English. “And my German is only passable at best.”
“As is mine.” He replied in English while turning to place the champagne back on the tray. That done, he offered her his hand, palm up, not side-on as if for a handshake.
She considered her options and grabbed his hand firmly. She turned what would have been a courtly bow and hand kiss into a business-like shake.
His grin widened. “I’m Rolf.”
“Alena.”
He released her hand a little more slowly than would have been acceptable if this were a business setting, and didn’t seem irritated at having been thwarted.
She started to cross her arms, then stopped, not wanting to telegraph discomfort or embarrassment. She wasn’t ashamed of her body, and enjoyed nude beaches whenever her travels took her to the Caribbean or Jamaica.
But being one naked woman amid of throng of nudists was very different than being ordered to wait naked in the middle of a ballroom. Especially when, this early in the night, most people had something on.
Why the hell was Alexander taking so long?
“It is unfortunate that we meet now, on the last night.” Rolf’s smiled had just a hint of wickedness to it. That smile might have lulled her into thinking he was harmless, if not for the cunning she saw lurking in his sky-blue eyes.
“I agree, and am flattered, but I’m waiting for someone.” She gestured to her own nearly naked body as if to point out that she wasn’t wandering around in the nude of her own volition.
“I saw, but thought perhaps you two had parted ways.” His gaze dipped briefly to her bare throat, and there was the hint of a question in his words.
She wasn’t wearing a collar and was alone, so his inquiries were valid.
“I’m waiting for him to return.” She smiled politely and wondered if Alexander had sent Rolf over as some sort of test. It didn’t seem like something Alexander would do.
How would you know? You know his net worth, what kind of wine he likes, and which bank he prefers to use for hiding large chunks of his wealth from various governments. Last night proved that what you know about Alexander the CEO, doesn’t mean you know Alexander the Dom.
“Ah, then there’s still a chance for me,” Rolf said. “Next month.”
By the time next month’s Orchid Club event took place, Alena Moore would have quietly relinquished her membership. The Moore name was one she used often, more of an alternate identity than a false one, but she would avoid it for a while, depending on how the rest of the job went.
And doing that meant she’d never see Alexander again.
Damn it, and damn him for walking away, giving her time to think.
“It would certainly be a privilege.” Alena smiled and gave Rolf a little wink, though inside she was tying herself in knots.
She’d hoped to be done with this internal war. Hoped that once the scene started, there wouldn’t be time or space for her to worry about anything except submitting to him.
Rolf plucked his beverage from the tray.
“Skoal,” Rolf said, raising his glass.
Alena glanced at the champagne she’d refused. She wanted to take the glass and swallow those sweet bubbles.
No, what she wanted was a shot of something stronger, something that would give her a buzz, making it easier to ignore the things she didn’t want to think about.
Rolf caught her looking and grabbed the glass, extending it to her once again.
She accepted the flute, murmuring “Skoal” and nodding to Rolf before taking a sip.
She only barely managed not to shotgun the two hundred dollar a glass beverage like a heathen.
To distract herself, she looked around again, searching for Alexander. How long had Alexander been gone? It felt like an hour. It had probably been no more than fifteen minutes, but going to get his kit—which was what she assumed he’d left for—wouldn’t take more than ten minutes.
No sign of Alexander.
There were more people here now—the club had starte
d to fill up. She glanced at Rolf, who was still standing near her, though he wasn’t being threatening. He seemed almost…protective?
Rolf’s attention was on a set of two couples gathered around a cocktail table. He raised his glass and nodded to someone in the group of four. “Solomon.”
A dark-haired man whose most noticeable feature was a scar on one cheek, raised his glass. The lovely woman at his side turned too, nodding at Rolf. She wore an intricate, inlaid metal collar.
The other couple also glanced over. The woman had Latin coloring and features, and wore a multi-strand collar, while the man at her side, who had equally dark hair and looked Middle Eastern, projected an easy air of command that indicated status and wealth.
They exchanged nods with Rolf, and Alena suddenly felt awkward and out of her depth.
Looking at the other women, both clearly submissives given their collars, made her feel less-than. Less worthy, less beautiful. They wore lingerie—a classic corset and bandage skirt for Solomon-with-a-scar’s companion.
The body con little-black-dress the other woman wore was unremarkable at first glance. With the second look, the details were apparent—the dress was made entirely of leather and elastic straps carefully laid and woven together. Gold ring accents and matching leather cuffs completed the look. Alena would have bet money that dress was a Bordelle, which meant it had cost well over a thousand dollars.
Alena’s discarded silver gown, which she’d tailored herself—“bespoke” a far more elegant while also technically accurate term than “homemade”—now seemed cheap.
Alena’s stomach clenched. She hated feeling poor. Hated feeling like an imposter even more.
She was better than that. Had made herself better than that. If she wanted thousand-dollar lingerie she could purchase it. The only reason she’d opted to make her own was because she’d know there was a strong possibility that she would end up losing it, and brand names and other information on clothing tags could be tracked.
“You are new to the club, I believe?” Rolf’s words knocked her out of the downward mental spiral. “Let me introduce you to a few people.” Rolf gestured with his glass.