by Rynne Raines
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Pure Sin
by
Rynne Raines
Whips. Blindfolds. Restraints. And a man rumored to be the most skilled Dom in the city...
As the BDSM instructor at the hottest fetish club in Los Angeles, Bianca Alexander prides herself on being open, honest, and informative with her clientele when it comes to kink. The fact that she hasn’t knelt before a master of her own in four long years doesn’t affect her ability to teach, though a part of her longs to be back in her Dom's arms. But when her boss hires Cade Sinclair--her primary rival from a competing club--to assist teaching her classes, Bianca’s comfortable solo act becomes a sinful duet drenched in Pure Sin.
Chapter One
Horns blared, cabbies cursed and pedestrians kept to the sidewalk. The evening sun sat low on the horizon, pouring long shadows over one-hundred-and-two degree asphalt while the remainder of rush hour traffic cluttered Sunset Strip. Los Angeles could get a bit dicey at six p.m. on a Friday night.
For the majority, the weekend instilled a giddy sense of freedom, the promise of rest, perhaps the opportunity to cater a backyard barbeque and tip back a few cold ones. But not everyone fell under the nine-to-five, white-collar routine. Not everyone was suited for working in fancy high-rises, telling jokes around the water cooler, or car-pooling with Alice the receptionist and Richard from accounting. Especially not Bianca Alexander.
However, she thought as she braced her back against the BDSM training room wall and appreciated the sight of the half-naked man kneeling in the center of the floor, she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Ah, yes, nothing like a hard day’s work.
Beautiful bronzed skin stretched over John Valher’s long body of taut, corded muscle while Vanessa Doyle, his mistress-in-training, flicked her wrist and sent the laces of a light-weight flogger across his bare back. Bianca arched a fine eyebrow and stifled a sigh that rose from her throat. The scent of leather and the slap of strings on flesh had her lashes fluttering.
Memories of the last time she’d kneeled before a master of her own drifted into her mind. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but her recollection was fresh and, realistically, only four years had passed. Four long years. Much too long ago.
At least she had her job. As a BDSM instructor at Eden—the hottest fetish club in Los Angeles—observing, listening, answering questions, and lending support was all part of the job…as was becoming accustomed to naked bodies sprawled along the studio floor, along with the panting, moaning—
“Ouch! Damn it, Vanessa, you deaf? I said ‘Speed Racer!’”
And with new clients, plenty of cursing.
“Sorry, Johnny.” The small, busty twenty-two-year-old chomped her bubblegum like a grazing cow, ran her fingers through her lengthy mocha curls, then stroked the whip cradled in her left hand. “When you said ‘Speed Racer,’ I thought you meant faster.”
Bianca rolled her eyes, shoved off the wall, and joined the squabbling duo in the center of the studio.
“Okay, listen,” she started, and stepped between them when John lunged for the flog. “This is exactly why it’s imperative to choose a safe word you can both agree on and remember.”
“Remember? All last night I tried to drill it into her head. What more can I do?”
“Hey,” Vanessa whined. “If you must know, I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She surveyed her freshly manicured nails, and tapped one red stiletto against the glossy, black-tiled floor while her bottom lip drooped into a pout.
Disagreements and lack of communication came standard with newcomers. As with everything in Bianca’s life, she would take it in stride, and summon patience. By the time John and Vanessa were through with their six weeks of classes, it would satisfy her to have helped them understand the relationship between Domme and submissive.
“Don’t get discouraged. This is only your second class. It takes time to learn your partner. Just remember—communication, honesty, and trust. Those are the keys to this lifestyle and…” Bianca trailed off as the studio door swung open.
In the archway stood another beautiful male specimen. Her boss, Evan Chambers.
The man was the epitome of sensuality. Since their introduction nearly three years ago, the chemistry between them had been purely platonic. Now, she couldn’t imagine it any other way, especially given three months ago he had tied the knot with a lovely psychiatrist, whom he often referred to as his “kindred spirit.” Even so, she’d have to be dead or blind not to appreciate those brooding midnight eyes and linebacker shoulders. She indulged in a long survey before flashing a smile.
Evan didn’t return the smile. He crooked his finger at her, then gestured to his office down the hall. The door of the training room closed with the click of authority and she creased her brow.
“Excuse me a minute.” Distracted, she started for the door, then glanced over her shoulder. “While I’m gone, try deciding on a new safe word—one, Vanessa, that you’ll remember.”
She slipped out of the studio, long strides carrying her down the dark corridor. Walls of smoked glass flanked her. Behind the transparent walls were the club’s notorious fantasy rooms—esteemed among Eden’s voyeur clientele, tourists and locals seeking excitement.
Halfway down the hall, she briefly wondered if leaving a quarrelling couple in a room full of whips, paddles, and restraints was one of her better judgment calls. Certainly it wasn’t. But in the two years she’d worked for Eden, Evan had never stepped in on one of her classes before and that made her uneasy.
A few feet from the office, she pulled up short as her heart rate jumped an extra ten beats per minute. She leaned a shoulder against the wall and gnawed a fingernail. Maybe being half an hour late for her shift everyday was finally catching up with her.
“You gonna stand in the hall all day, or are you coming in?”
She poked her head in the doorway and frowned. “How do you always know I’m there?”
Arms cradled behind his head, he leaned back in his chair, then wiggled one finger at her legs. “Blame the boots. They give you away every time.”
She stemmed the urge to cross the room and wipe that cheeky grin off his face but instead smoothed a hand lovingly over the thigh-high, shiny, three-inch latex boots hugging her calves.
She adored these boots.
“I’d much rather blame the marble tile you had installed.”
“Fair enough.” His wide grin vanished too quickly for her liking and her stomach clenched again. “Have a seat. There’s something we need to discuss.”
Oh, Lord, she was getting the heave-ho.
“Is everything all right?” As composed as possible—a large feat for someone constantly teased about wearing her emotions on her sleeve—she settled in the chair across from him.
“I hate to say it, but over the last few months I’ve noticed the enrollment list for your classes getting shorter.” He reached inside one of the drawers, retrieved a tan-colored file folder, and opened it on the desk. “Have any idea why?”
Uncomfortable with the question, she crossed her legs, the tight latex sheathing her thighs squeaked as her muscles tensed. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “The couple classes have gone down, but my general class numbers have held. Maybe the couples of Los Angeles have decided they know all there is to know about kink.”
“You’re exactly right.” Evan’s blue eyes lifted from the file and locked on her. “It’s the couple classes we need improvement on.”
Improvement on!
Don’t make a scene, Bianca. Won’t do any good.
She put her heart and soul into these classes, not to mention she formed an emotional attachment to each individual couple in the process. In a world filled with stereotypes and rigid opinions concerning the lifestyle, i
t was hard enough for beginners to accept themselves entirely. She’d been there once before, terrified and uncertain, and the only thing that had gotten her through it was a Dom who took her under his wing and showed her the ropes.
If anything, the reason she’d taken this job was to give back to their community in the only way she knew how.
“I’m not sure what I can do to improve my classes, Evan.”
“Whoa, maybe improvement was the wrong word. You’re irreplaceable to me, B. But I’ve heard through the grapevine that some of the female clientele don’t exactly feel comfortable with their partners ogling you for the hour-long session they’re paying for.”
So now she was being crucified for the way she looked. Bianca winced. Perhaps it’d be better if she had remained lanky-limbed and still sported a set of lips that she hadn’t fully grown into until the age of twenty-three. Regardless, it wasn’t her fault she had gone from ugly duckling to relatively decent swan…excluding the long legs she realized she would never grow into.
“What would you have me do, wear a muumuu and stick a paper bag on my head?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Evan flashed his perfect white teeth and let out a chuckle. “A muumuu would never go with those boots.”
She narrowed her eyes and tried not to laugh. “Then what?”
“Bianca,” he braced his forearms against the desk, “you need a man.”
Her mouth draped open. “I don’t see how that’s—”
“Oh, I wholeheartedly agree!”
Cringing at the interruption, Bianca craned her neck. Caitlyn Ward Chambers lingered in the archway, wearing a gray blazer accompanied by a matching knee-length business skirt that hugged her womanly shape to perfection.
“I’ve got a long list of gentlemen who’ve asked for your phone number, several times, actually—wait, I think the list’s in my purse.” A devilish grin touched Caitlyn’s lips.
“Hello, Wife.” Evan’s tone dropped an octave, underlined with a tenderness that only a deaf person wouldn’t detect.
“Hello, Husband.”
Caitlyn crossed the room, circled the desk, planted a long, lingering kiss to her husband’s lips, and envy tugged at Bianca’s heartstrings.
The Chambers were the couple everyone wanted to be—beautiful, successful and in love. At least to any observer, that’s how it would come across. But being part of the tight-knit community they lived in, Bianca saw far more. The bond they shared was one between a Dom and a submissive—unbreakable. A bond she wondered if she’d ever come close to experiencing again in her lifetime.
As the two shared their moment, she’d have liked nothing more than to roll up the magazine sitting on the table beside her and conk them both on the head for it. Not too hard, just enough so they would stop and she wouldn’t feel this emptiness gnawing at her gut.
“Sorry for the interruption.” Caitlyn smiled when she finally came up for air. “Evan is supposed to escort me to a conference tonight but I’m beginning to think staying here would be much more interesting. Now, what’s this about you needing a man?”
Bianca stifled a groan, sank further against the padded leather chair, and tried to wish herself out of the room. It was bad enough she’d had a total of seven unsuccessful dates in the last four years. Worse, it seemed to be public knowledge. “As much as I appreciate both of you being concerned about my non-existent love life, I can find my own men, thank you very much. Furthermore—”
“I was referring to a second instructor,” Evan interrupted. “A male to cater to the female clientele.”
Worse than the two of them playing matchmaker, he wanted to hire someone to help run her classes. Perhaps pride shouldn’t have been an issue but it was.
“From the horrified look on her face, I’m thinking she doesn’t much like the idea,” Caitlyn whispered.
“I—I’m just a bit surprised, that’s all.”
“I understand you like to fly solo. This has nothing to do with your abilities to instruct, but I honestly believe Cade and you would achieve remarkable things together.”
Oh, he did not just say Cade!
Not only was Cade Sinclair rumored to be the most deadly attractive Dom on the face of the planet, but he’d also become her primary rival over the last six months. Though she’d never met the man, she knew he was the sole instructor at Halo—another fetish club in Los Angeles that began offering a similar program when the owner realized the increased clientele it was bringing in for Eden.
Pride aside, she’d heard he was a superb teacher. And didn’t she want what was best for people interested in learning more about this community? But still, why did it have to be Cade?
“Is this really necessary? I could try some new programs, do a little more advertising.”
“You’re misunderstanding. It’s not for lack of effort.” Evan’s head tilted in a sympathetic gesture. “Certainly you can understand how some women might feel intimidated by your…assets.”
Bianca glanced over her sleek corset and snug skirt, frowning. To her, the notion actually sounded absurd. She had shortcomings and flaws just like anyone else, things she would change about herself if she could, and she sure as hell wouldn’t put herself in the same solar system as the word intimidating.
“I’m sorry, but I have to agree.” Caitlyn nibbled her lower lip. “The first time we met, I nearly choked on my tongue, thinking about Evan working so closely with such a beautiful woman.”
Bianca forced a smile. She appreciated the compliment coming from a beauty like Caitlyn, but it wasn’t helping her cause.
“Isn’t Cade busy with his own classes?”
“Ah, you’d be surprised how persuasive I can be. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Evan arched a dark eyebrow and Caitlyn’s cheeks immediately flushed. His influence over her was so obvious—he ruled her body, commanded it with the most simple of gestures. Before Bianca could stop it, the green monster inside her reared its ugly head again.
“So,” Evan tapped the file folder on his desk, “if everything goes as planned, he’ll be giving Halo his notice this week.”
“What do you mean, if everything goes as planned?”
“He wanted me to arrange a meeting with you, make sure you’re both on the same page before anything’s set in stone. The idea didn’t sound unreasonable.”
With two sets of curious eyes pinned on her, Bianca plastered on the most charming smile she could manage even though she felt as if her class was being ripped away from her and handed off to someone else. “Whatever you think will improve the classes.”
“Good.” Evan rose from his chair and snaked an arm around Caitlyn’s slender waist. “He’s expecting you at his studio in half an hour.”
“Half an hour?”
“Problem?”
“No. No, of course not. It just doesn’t leave me time to run home and change.”
“I hardly see Cade Sinclair disapproving of your outfit.” He grinned. “Keep me posted.”
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