First Taste: A Collection of Hot Alpha Doms

by Sidney Bristol

  “Undress,” he commanded softly. “Slowly. And look at me.”

  Claire raised her head and looked directly at him. In the shadow-filled dungeon, her masked lover looked very much like the dark, tortured hero of a gothic romance. She couldn’t wait to see him naked, to feel his flesh slid against hers. Her breath hitched as she thought about the way his cock would feel during that first, sweet thrust. Her pussy clenched and the moisture of her desire rolled down her thighs.

  Since she was only wearing the dress, taking it off would pretty much end the striptease. She had no music, only the tumultuous beat of her heart and the rasp of her rapid breathing. She languidly turned so that her back faced him. Her fingers drifted down her hips and eased the dress up so that the curve of her ass showed.

  She waited a beat then dropped the cloth. It fell softly against her calves. She heard the sharp intake of his breath and smiled.

  “Will you unzip me, Master?” she asked.

  He yanked up her dress and smacked her buttock. The blow stung, but she managed to keep from crying out. He caressed the abused flesh with his fingertips.

  “I didn’t think I needed to teach you manners.”

  Claire’s heart beat frantically. Her ass throbbed, but her body went hot. God, she wanted him. More than any man she’d ever known. Even though her stomach roiled at the mere thought of taunting him, she whispered, “Maybe you do.”

  He drew flush against her, his arms draping her waist. His lips pressed against her ear. “Are you deliberately disobeying me, ma Belle?”

  She said nothing. He nibbled her earlobe then he chuckled. His hot breath cascaded down her neck. “You are, aren’t you? Hmm. You’re being a naughty girl. Do you know what I do to naughty girls?”

  Sweat dotted her forehead. Her body trembled so badly, she thought her knees might give way. She figured his question was rhetorical, so she didn’t answer.

  She closed her eyes and licked her lips, praying he wouldn’t stop holding her. She might slide to the floor if he removed his support. She felt utterly boneless; her body was liquid fire, reacting to his words, his touch.

  He drew her arms behind her back. Cuffing her wrists with one hand he pulled her backward. “Don’t stumble, Belle. Not once. Or I’ll extend your punishment.”

  He tugged her backward and she managed to keep up with him. Her high heels protested the awkward movements, but didn’t betray her feet, thank God. She was reminded of that oft-quoted phrase about that famous dancing duo: Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in high heels.

  The next thing she knew, she was standing in a darker part of the room. Her Master let go of her hands. She heard a rattle of chains above her head, but she didn’t look. Whatever she was in for, she’d didn’t want to add to it by trying to see what he was doing.

  He lifted one arm and clasped her wrist inside a fur-lined manacle then did the same to her other arm. The pose wasn’t uncomfortable, but it did feel strange. She wondered how long she could stand like this … wondered how long he planned to keep her imprisoned.

  “I want you to understand why you’re getting punished,” he said. His breath was ragged. Oh, God. He was going to enjoy whatever lovely torture he administered.

  So was she.

  He walked into another corner of the room. She could barely make out his shape as he bent down and rummaged in what she thought might be a trunk.

  “First, you asked me for a favor and you didn’t say please.”

  She heard him rattle objects. Was he doing that for her benefit? If he was hoping to add to her tension, he was doing a damned fine job. He must’ve thought she’d moved beyond hand spankings.

  Her mouth went dry and her throat knotted. Oh, hell. What have I done?

  “Second, you told me I needed to teach you manners—and that is my decision, Belle, not yours. Then you failed to call me Master.”

  He stood up, his back to her, and then he circled the room—probably so that she couldn’t see which implements he’d chosen. Her heart hammered now and she was sweating everywhere; beads of moisture rolled between her breasts.

  Her swollen pussy ached for relief. She didn’t think it possible to get any wetter. Her nipples were pebbled against the soft fabric of her dress. With only his voice and his dark promises he had managed to get her into a glorious state of titillation. She licked her dry lips as expectancy settled low and hot in her stomach.

  “You didn’t answer direct questions,” he continued. “That’s four infractions so far.”

  So far? Oh! He was right behind her. She heard the soft scrape of his shirt being removed. Then his shoes thunked to the floor. When he came around to face her, she saw that he wore only his black pants and mask.

  He was magnificent. He was muscled—oh heavens, was he! His washboard stomach begged for her fingers, for her mouth. A light sprinkling of dark hair covered his pectorals, arrowing down his six-pack abs to his pants.

  “Finally, you deprived me of your striptease. I very much wanted to see you slid out of that dress. I wanted to see you reveal yourself to me inch by inch.” He looked at her. “I’m disappointed, Belle.”

  Damn. She didn’t want to disappoint him. She just wanted to up the ante. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  His smile was whip-thin. “I accept your apology, Belle. But I expect you to take all of your punishment.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Do you remember what I told you about the safe words?”

  “Yes, Master. I must say yellow if I feel things are getting too intense. I must say red if I feel I’m in danger.”

  “Very good,” he said. He smiled approvingly. “You turn me on, ma fleur. I like it when you’re good. And I love it when you’re bad.”

  She resisted the urge to grin. Instead, she tried to look penitent, but she suspected he saw the humor flash in her eyes.

  He stepped closer and raised his hand. She saw something sharp and silver flash in his grip. Oh, my God!

  “Yellow!” she cried.

  Stunned, he looked at her; the scissors hovered above the vee of her dress. He immediately stepped away and dropped his arms.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “N-no blades,” she said. “Please.”

  “I don’t use knives and I don’t do blood play. It’s dangerous and quite frankly, I abhor the idea of cutting my subs.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. Shit. She didn’t want to end the game, but he had reminded her of her last night with Phillip. That rat bastard had told her then she wasn’t what he needed, that she was too afraid to make a good submissive. That she was worthless.

  And she had told him to fuck off.

  But deep inside, she had believed his words. She knew how to be a good employee. She knew how to be a decent human being. But when it came to expressing her own sexuality—to getting what she needed from a lover—she believed he’d been right. Phillip’s ugly words echoed in her mind: Maybe you’re frigid, Claire. Did you ever think of that? God, you’re pathetic.

  “Our game is suspended. I’ll take you down.”

  “No,” she said. “Please.”

  He studied her for a moment, probably trying to determine her mental and emotional capacity. That he even took a moment to consider her needs made him a hundred times better than Phillip. Her Master deserved more from her than this display of cowardice.

  He showed her the scissors. “I planned to cut off your dress. I only wanted access to your luscious body.” He tossed the scissors away; they landed with a clunk somewhere on the floor behind him.

  “Thank you, Master,” she managed.

  To her disappointment, he reached up and released her from the cuffs. He rubbed her tingling wrists then he massaged her arms. “Relax, ma fleur.”

  He rubbed her shoulders, easing the tension knotted on either side of her neck. His gentleness was nearly her undoing.

  Was their evening over? Had her fears driven him away? She looked at him. The mask barre
d his expression, but she was close enough to see the wariness in his gaze.

  “Master, are you … done with me?”

  Chapter 7

  “NOT BY A long shot,” he reassured Claire.

  Her heart turned over in her chest as relief flooded her.

  She watched him step back. “Turn around,” he commanded.

  She did. He unzipped her dress and pushed the material off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. He kneeled behind her and helped her disentangle her heels from the cloth.

  “Walk to the table where the candles are lit.”

  It was on the opposite side of the dungeon. She walked to the table and stood next to it, her gaze on the floor as she waited for him to join her.

  To her shock, he kneeled at her feet, his fingers stroking her belly and ribs. She realized then he was touching her scars. Three lines on her belly, each one about two inches long.

  “Who did this?”

  He sounded furious, but she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her. She had told no one of her true relationship with Phillip. She had broken up with him three months before she’d gotten the promotion to executive assistant. Her thoughts drifted to Lucius. He was kind and laughed easily, but underneath that slick playboy exterior was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. She had liked him because he knew when to ask her … and when to command her.

  She gasped. For the last two years, she had been in a Dominant/submissive relationship and hadn’t even realized it. That’s why she responded to Lucius the way she did; that’s why she thought she was in love with him. She really was a damned coward. Instead of facing Lucius and telling him the truth about her feelings, she had run away.

  A sob caught in her throat. God! What the hell was wrong with her? Phillip had taken what she’d fantasized about since she was a teenager and turned it into something dirty and wrong. Then she’d followed Lucius around like an obedient puppy, never admitting to herself, much less to him, that she wanted him more than her next breath. And now, here she was, giving in to her sexual wants, facing her fears, with the wrong man.

  “Red.”

  Her Master rose swiftly. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “Are you leaving because I asked about the scars? Or because you don’t want to be punished?”

  “I can take the punishment,” she said softly. “But I’m in love with someone else. It’s wrong to be here with you, without at least telling him how I feel.”

  She leaned forward and kissed his jaw. “Thank you.”

  Claire turned away, but he enchained her wrist. “Wait a minute.”

  She was feeling more and more foolish by the second. She was standing naked in high heels with a shirtless masked man. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. But at least she still knew who she wanted.

  Lucius.

  “I have a confession,” he said. “But before I tell you my secret, will you please tell me about your scars? Who hurt you, ma Belle?”

  What was the harm in telling him about Phillip? And she was curious about his confession. What could he possibly tell her that would merit the worry in his voice?

  “Three years ago, I graduated college with my journalism degree and managed to nab a low-level position with Bad Boy Magazine. That same year, I met Phillip Rose at the coffee shop in the building where I worked. He was an advertising exec for another magazine.

  “Anyway, after Phillip and I had gone out for a while, I told him about some of my … fantasies. He said that he was a Dom and he had only been waiting for me to realize I was a submissive. But everything we did felt wrong. I kept trying because I wanted it to match how I felt when I fantasized about domination.”

  Claire shook her head and sighed. “One night, Phillip took me to a public dungeon. He collared me and dragged me around on a leash. Then he hooked up with another Dom and took me into a private room. Things didn’t feel right to me, but I trusted Phillip. I thought I was being a good submissive. After tying me up, the other Dom held a knife over a candle flame then applied it to my stomach.

  “I screamed bloody murder and scared Phillip so badly, he made the guy stop. I told him I had to go the ladies room so he untied me. Instead, I went home and packed all the stuff he kept at my apartment.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Phillip showed up a couple hours later. He was furious to find his things outside the door and that I had already changed the locks. He said a lot of shitty things, calling me a frigid bitch among other insults. But I’d had enough. I figured I wasn’t a submissive. That I just liked thinking about it and not doing it.”

  “You are what you want to be,” he said. “A good Dom always puts the needs of his sub above his own needs. A Dom and a sub are two halves that fit together. His pleasure is always derived from his sub’s pleasure. It can be a wonderful journey to take with the right person.”

  “I know that now,” admitted Claire.

  “I’m glad.” He looked at her. “I promised to tell you my secret if you would share your past with me.”

  Claire looked at him, her heart thumping. His hand went to the mask and suddenly, she didn’t want to know who wore it.

  Then it was too late.

  The cloth lifted away and she was looking into the eyes of Lucius Devereaux.

  Claire stared at him, caught between the urge to throw herself into his arms and to punch him in the jaw.

  “I should’ve known,” she whispered. “It’s always been this way with you. With us. God, I’m a fool.”

  She hurried out of his reach and found her dress. She’d barely picked it up when Lucius plucked it out of her hand.

  “Tell me who you’re in love with.”

  Anger churned her guts. “The game is over.” She grabbed for the dress, but he snatched it out of her reach. “Goddamn it!”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll tell you who I’m in love with.”

  Claire snorted. “Yourself. Give me that dress!”

  “I’m in love with you.”

  She quit trying to grab her clothes. Lucius must really want her if he was willing to say what he had never said to another woman. The “L” word dangled just out of reach of every female he’d ever dated. He never lied to them, but they often lied to themselves. She’d seen the starry-eyed beauties who couldn’t accept his good-bye. They were devastated. She didn’t want to end up like one his cast-offs.

  “Nobody can have you,” she said, shucking off her shoes. She’d walk to her room buck-ass naked. In this hotel, nobody would bat an eyelash. “You don’t love, Lucius. You possess. No … you rent. You don’t want me—at least not forever.”

  “Don’t tell me what I want.” He used his Dom voice and she stopped in her tracks. “I love you, Claire. Why would I say that just so I could have sex with you? This isn’t about sex!”

  Claire looked at him. He was fucking serious. He loved her? She wouldn’t have believed it possible. “Why did you buy me?”

  “To save you.” He tossed the dress to the furthest corner of the room. “Why did you allow yourself to be bought?”

  She couldn’t justify why she’d stayed on that stage. She could’ve left at any point—not even Lady Pink’s vicious whip could’ve stopped her exit. Nobody had forced her to participate in the slave auction. Phillip might have been her first and admittedly worst foray into the BDSM world, but he hadn’t driven away her urges—just like he hadn’t satisfied them.

  “I wanted someone to think I was worthwhile. I wanted to serve someone who would cherish me and honor me and give me what I crave.” She looked at him, tears filling her eyes again. “I never thought it would be you. You. The one I’ve wanted the most.”

  “Claire, I love you.” He stepped close to her and tilted her chin. “Tell me who you’re in love with.”

  “You,” she said, crying harder. “I’m in love with you.”

  “Good. Th
en you won’t be opposed to marrying me.”

  She blinked up at him. “What?”

  “Marriage,” he said. “It involves rings and vows and people eating cake afterward.”

  “Okay,” she said, stunned. Happiness chased away her anger, her confusion, and her doubts. “But I’m still quitting my job.”

  “You can do anything you want,” he said. “What we do in the privacy of our home is our business and ours alone. You are mine, and I am yours.”

  Lucius embraced her, holding her tightly as she wept. After a while, her tears dried, but he held her close, stroking her back and whispering sweet nothings.

  “C’mon,” he said. “I want to draw a bath for you. I’ll wash your hair, too.”

  “What about my punishments?”

  “We’re starting over,” he said. “Clean slate. No more secrets, Claire. And no more lies.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  LUCIOUS WOKE UP, feeling discombobulated. Next to him on the nightstand, the digital clock blinked a few minutes after three a.m. The king-sized bed with its oversized pillows and soft sheets felt empty.

  Claire.

  Panic shot through him as he rolled onto his side and checked the other half of the bed. She was gone. Had she changed her mind? No. He was confident that she wasn’t going to leave him. And she certainly wouldn’t sneak away in the middle of the night.

  Even so, he shoved off the covers and sat up. That’s when he saw the note next to the clock. Written on hotel stationary, the neatly printed word brought him instant arousal: Dungeon.

  He smiled. Reassured by Claire’s note, he took his time getting out of bed. How long had she’d been waiting for him? Was she checking out the floggers or caressing that spanking table?

  It excited him to think she was already splayed on that table, her firm, round ass ready for the whip. He wanted to run from the first-story bedroom to the spiral staircase, but he paced himself. Waiting would titillate her … and him.

  Earlier, after he washed every inch of Claire’s gorgeous body and shampooed her lovely hair, he had dried her thoroughly with a big, fluffy towel. Then he’d carried her to the bed and tucked her in, ordering room service and feeding her every bite of her fruit snack.