BDSM Mega Boxed Set

by Anita Lawless, C. J. Sneere, Roxxy Meyer

  “I could help you out with that.” He gets even closer, if that’s possible. “Hiding, I mean.” His thumb brushes over the back of my hand and I try to ignore my reaction.

  “Oh, that’ okay.” I hate that I sound like Minnie Mouse when I talk to this guy. “I’m fine here.”

  He chuckles, and of course his laugh is deep and throaty, his voice like melted chocolate. Get me out of here!

  “I’m not hitting on you, sweetie.” I’m almost disappointed by his admission. “Not that it isn’t tempting. But you seem like you really want to get out of this place. I saw what you did to the stripper over there.”

  I gulp more appletini. So this one’s playing the nice guy bad boy routine. Okay, I’ll play along for now, but I know there are fifty shades of bad boy and you can’t trust any of them.

  “If you know a way I can get out of here without having my best friend find out.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder to indicate Felicia, who’s now gyrating with both strippers. “I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  He takes my hand, slowly lifts it from the bar, and kisses it. I try to ignore the stupid butterflies betraying me in my stomach. “Be careful. I might hold you to that. Come around the side and I can let you out the back way.” He points to the far end of the counter where a swinging half door leads behind the bar.

  I make a beeline for it, trying to keep low so Felicia and Jeanie won’t spot me. The bartender takes my hand and leads me behind the swinging gate. He asks another equally handsome helper to take over for him while we head away from the crowd of shrieking women.

  I stare at the shining, brown-gold curls that frame his face and brush the top of his black, tight t-shirt. He looks my way and catches me staring, so I quickly pretend to inspect a cuticle. What a lame move, I tell myself, but I notice that his eyes are the same shade of blue as the stripper I fled from. His jaw is peppered with stubble, and the closer I am to him the more I know I need to get the hell out of this den of sex before I do something I’ll regret.

  He stops at the back door, takes my hand, wishes me good luck. But before I get a chance to slip out in the alley, he speaks.

  “Can I ask one small favor before you walk out of my life?” He leans against the wall casually, arms crossed over his chest, which accentuates his terrific body.

  My blood pounds harder in my ears. “What’s that?”

  “One little kiss to say thank you?” He holds up a finger and looks hopeful. “Not much to ask, is it?”

  Why? Why must bad boys torment me so? I sigh and turn this over in my mind, biting my lip as I weigh my options.

  It won’t be so bad, I reason. He didn’t say what kind of a kiss. I can just give him a peck on the cheek and be out of here. But the shimmer in his eyes tells me he wants more than a friendly peck. “What kind of a kiss?”

  He pretends to consider this, but I’m sure the cad already has it plotted out in his mind. “Open mouthed, a little bit of tongue?” He raises his eyebrow at me and the look on his face is an obvious dare.

  “Technically, this is coercion, you know.” I shake a finger at him. “All right, one short kiss and then I’m out of here.”

  I let his arms slide around my waist and up my back, trying to ignore the instant heat that floods my body. My breathing remains even, though I struggle to keep it that way as his scent fills my nostrils. Something spicy that reminds me of the sea and makes my body betray me further. Closing my eyes, I steel my will as his soft lips skim over mine.

  He’s even gentlemanly, slow and seductive, with his kiss. Damn him! He doesn’t crush his lips against mine and grab my ass, pulling me closer as I try to gulp in air. Oh no, this one is smart. First he teases with little flicks of tongue over my lips until I forget I’ve promised a quick kiss. He waits until I press my lips closer, until I forget my promise to myself and let my tongue slide over his, before he slips his hands up my back and caresses me through my clingy summer dress.

  Dear lord, I have to get away now before we make love on the floor.

  “There you are!” Felicia’s voice brings me back to my senses and we break the kiss just as she appears in the hallway. “Oh—ha—I see you’ve broken your rule.” She stands with hands on hips, hair all messed up from her own frolic with the strippers. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone, but you better be back out front in fifteen minutes for the tequila shooters!”

  She disappears again and I breathe a sigh of relief, until I look up at ol’ blue eyes looking down at me. He’s far too handsome for my own good, and I’m acutely aware of how his strong arms brush over mine, raising the tiny hairs on my skin.

  My throat has gone impossibly dry and it feels like I’m swallowing over razor blades. I disentangle from his arms. “Well, I better get out of here before she gets back. I’ll never survive through those shooters.”

  He laughs that all too sexy laugh and moves out of my way. He even opens the door for me, damn him.

  “Maybe we’ll see each other around,” he says as I take off my stilettos and creep barefoot out into the alley.

  I look back and smile, hating the way my stomach tightens when I glance at him. “Maybe.”

  Then I’m off before I get myself deeper into trouble, fleeing down the alley to the parking lot where my impossibly old VW Rabbit waits.

  ***

  “I can’t believe you ditched my bachelorette!” Felicia shrieks in my ear. I hold my cell phone a good distance from my face as I head into the back room at job number one.

  “I didn’t do it alone,” I protest. “I had help from that bartender.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “He ratted me out!” Jonas, my co-worker, squints at me through his hipster glasses as my voice raises two octaves.

  I work two jobs to pay for college and my apartment, but I’m still barely squeaking by. One of these jobs is as a barista at Your Daily Cup. Right now I’m five minutes late for my shift, Jonas is giving me the stink eye, and I need to get off the phone with my irate friend before my co-worker bitches me out for making him late for his own classes.

  “He didn’t rat you out,” Felicia says, then with a wicked giggle, she adds, “I interrogated him.”

  “I just bet you did.” I manage to put on my apron while juggling my cell. “Look, I have to go. Jonas is pissed and I’m already late. Talk to you later.”

  “You bet you will!”

  I hit END and hope she and the other girls don’t give me the fifth degree later for jumping the bachelorette ship. But I know they will.

  Most of the morning passes uneventfully. My regulars file in for mocha lattes and triple shot expressos. I chat with some while I wipe down the counter or refill the thermoses of coffee we keep near the front.

  Around lunchtime, the little bell above the door rings and I look up with a smile that quickly becomes a gaping O. I shut my trap and try to feign cool composure as he draws closer to the cash register.

  It’s the bartender from last night, wearing tight jeans, a soft flannel shirt rolled up to show his tats, and oozing far too much sex appeal for my liking. He sits down at one of the stools close to the counter and I squeak out a “Hi,” hating that my voice has once again risen to that Minnie Mouse octave.

  “Told you we might meet again,” he says as he takes off his silver tinted sunglasses, revealing those impossibly blue eyes I wish I could avoid.

  Felicia probably sent him, I decide, and then I promptly begin plotting how I could strangle the woman in her sleep and get away with it.

  “You did.” I tap my pen against my pad of paper, but then stop, realizing I’m giving away just how nervous I am with the action. “What can I get you?”

  He smiles a wicked smile, and I almost expect him to say, “You,” but instead he orders a large cup of dark roast and I hand him a mug for the thermoses, where we keep the regular brews on tap.

  “So what brings you to my little corner of java heaven?” I try to sound witty, but that damn squeak in my voice keeps betraying me.

/>   “Felicia told me where I could find you.” His eyes never leave me as he sips at his steaming coffee.

  I knew it! I think, grabbing my cleaning rag and squeezing it while I pretend it’s the head of a certain perky blonde I know. But then, as if he can see the annoyance written all over my face, he adds:

  “I asked her where you hung out. She said this was the best place to track you down.”

  I gulp in a large breath of air and nearly choke on it. Yeesh, I’m acting like a ninny. Grow up, little school girl!

  “And why would you want to track me down?” The moment the question leaves my lips I regret it.

  His face takes on a wolfish look. “Because I have a proposition for you?”

  “Proposition?” My rag goes still, but at least I keep my voice within normal range this time.

  He nods. “Felicia tells me you’re a struggling student. Working two jobs just to get by.”

  And living with Jeanie, I almost tell him, who never cleans her side of the apartment, but I love the woman anyway. Because she always does dishes, and I hate dishes.

  I just nod, not wanting to give him more information than I am comfortable with.

  “What if I said I had a job to offer you?” He reaches out and his big, callused finger traces circles over the back of my hand. I shiver as electricity seems to spark through my every nerve, but I don’t pull away from his touch.

  “What kind of a job?” I have to clear my throat and ask twice before the words come out right.

  He stares straight into my eyes as his fingers encircle my wrist. Heat from his touch seers my skin. “How much do you know about BDSM?”

  I pull back as if he has scalded me. “That’s an awfully forward question.”

  He shrugs. “I think it’s an honest one.”

  “I don’t even know your name!”

  He grins, holds the hand not wrapped around my wrist up for me to shake. “Rider Sykes. And you are?”

  Tentatively I take it, trying to ignore the intense energy that seems to pass from his palm to mine when we touch. My mouth goes dry, and I have to lick my lips before I reply, “Christy Tyler.”

  “Well, Christy, I’ll ask you again. How much do you know about BDSM?”

  I fiddle with my cleaning rag, adjust some dishes, blow a strand of straight, black hair from my face, anything to avoid his eyes and question. Until he clears his throat and stops my hand with his massive palm.

  Thinking about the fuzzy handcuffs Ethan bought me for last Christmas, I tell him, “I’ve read Fifty Shades and some other books.” I shrug self consciously. “I know there’s spanking, handcuffs, that sort of thing. That’s about it.”

  His hand stays on top of mine as he pins me again with those piercing eyes. I want to pull away yet I don’t want to.

  “I see.” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses one, two, of my fingertips. His tongue flicks out ever so quickly over the top of my thumb. “How’d you like a paid education in the topic? A new job that’ll let you quit the two you have now?”

  My throat closes off and I choke. An elderly lady at the counter growls, “Can I get some service here?” And a teenager snickers as he sidles up behind her at the counter.

  “Excuse me a minute,” I mutter before I pull myself away from Rider, which isn’t easy despite my embarrassment.

  After I serve these two and make sure the place is relatively empty, I return to him. “You’re offering me a job? You barely know me.”

  He shrugs again, and his soft flannel shirt pulls tight over those sculpted shoulders. “I know enough to see you’d be the perfect practice submissive.” He then pulls some neatly folded papers from a pocket in his jeans and hands them to me. “Here’s the contract. Everything that would be expected of you is outlined in here. If you’re interested, give me a call by tomorrow afternoon. My cell number is at the top.”

  He gets off the stool and moves toward the door. I admit, I watch his ass move in his snug jeans as he goes, but I blurt words that stop him before he walks out.

  “If I do say yes—and I’m not saying I will—I have one rule. No sex.”

  He turns back, gives me a smile that almost makes my heart jump into my throat. “Your wish is my command.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be the submissive?” I quip.

  “Ah, you really do need to learn a thing or two about BDSM, I see,” he drawls as he opens the door. “Submissives, sweetie, have all the control.”

  And with that he’s gone. I slip around the counter to peer out the front of the coffee shop after him. Wouldn’t you know it? He’s riding a Harley.

  ***

  “What’s to consider, hon?” Jeanie pulls off her baseball cap, throws it on the table, and finger-combs her frizzy black hair. “If it were me, I’d have already signed the contract.”

  Felicia’s bright blue-eyed gaze darts between us. “What did it say? What’re his terms?” She pauses only long enough to take a drink of her beer. “What kind of cash is he offering?”

  I groan and grab a pillow from our couch then bury my face in it.

  “You should see the amount!” Jeanie says. “She can quit both jobs and have money left over.”

  “Woman, why haven’t you called him to tell him yes?” Felicia shoves my shoulder.

  The contract is fair, if kinky. But sex was even an option before I gave him the “no hanky panky” stipulation. There was a box marking whether the practice submissive would engage in sexual intercourse or not. I checked “no,” which also baffles my two best friends. Thankfully I could use beer and nachos to divert their attention from the subject.

  Apparently, Rider is a friend of Ron’s, I learn from Felicia. He works at the club where she had her bachelorette. I guess Rider’s friend owns the place, and he’s the newly hired dominant, but there’s been some complaints about his style and technique. Not that he’s too harsh or rough with the ladies, but that he isn’t dominant enough. Rider wants to practice his domination skills on someone who isn’t a client so he can improve. For whatever reason, he’s decided I’m the perfect test dummy.

  But the contract and me taking the job? Oh, no way Felicia and Jeanie are letting this go. They’re like a pair of tenacious Chihuahuas with a meaty bone.

  “Call him tomorrow and say yes!” Jeanie shakes a cheese smothered chip at me for emphasis.

  “You’re both way too eager to see me spanked for a living.”

  This earns me a giggle and a high pitched cackle. “He wants to do a lot more than spank you.” Jeanie eyes the contract again and Felicia demands she hand it over for her perusal.

  “Christy, this guarantees you can pay off your student loans early,” Felicia says around a mouthful of chip. “You can’t afford to turn him down.”

  Sighing, I think about Harleys, tight jeans, and whips. Bad boys will haunt me until the day I die, I decide. “I might as well accept. I’m doomed anyway.”

  My friends cast each other smug smiles, and I think about spiking their desserts with laxatives when they do.

  ***

  My hands are slick with sweat as I punch in the number Rider included on the contract. It rings once, twice, and my heart pounds a bit harder with each mechanical whirr. Finally he answers on the fourth ring, just as I’m about to hang up.

  “Rider here.”

  “Hello.” I have to clear the damnable squeak from my voice. “Hi, it’s Christy.”

  “Oh, I know who it is.” I can almost see the wolf grin I’m sure he wears. “So what’s your answer?”

  I chew my bottom lip, inhale deeply. “Yes, I’ll be your practice submissive, but I’m not bending on the no sex rule.”

  “I’m disappointed, of course.” His voice takes on a low, husky tone that makes my belly tighten. “But it is optional, like you saw in the contract. I respect your wishes.”

  “Great.” Jeanie pokes her head in my open bedroom door and I try to wave her away. “So when do I start?”

  “Meet me at the club tomorrow
.” He rattles off a time too, which I write down along with the exact address. Then I hang up and look at a wide-eyed Jeanie.

  “I want full details when you get home tomorrow,” she says before she disappears from my room.

  My cheeks burn hot with the thought of what tomorrow will bring.

  ***

  I arrive at the club just as the sky opens up and rain pours down in sheets. My faded grey t-shirt is clinging to me when I walk in the door, and I’m thankful no fancy leather costume was required for this practice session since it would be ruined by the storm. My jeans and scuffed sneakers are equally soaked.

  Rider asks if I’d like a robe and to throw my clothes in the dryer, but I opt for a couple towels and to stay in my sodden clothes.

  “You’re going to get sick if you stay in those,” he says, holding out a fluffy, white robe and towel. “Come on, I’m not the big bad wolf. I won’t ravish you the second you’re in nothing but a robe.”

  “All right,” I relent, “but the robe stays on through the practice!”

  “I’ll do you one better. We’ll wait until your clothes are dry before we start.”

  Another gentlemanly move. My mouth snaps shut and I silently hate him for being so nice.

  Once my clothes are back on, nice and warm from the dryer, he leads me from the plain office we’ve been waiting in and takes me on a small tour of the club.

  The main area he shows me has a huge dance floor with a raised platform running down its center, dividing it into two. There are huge wine glasses on each table, and these are filled with condoms. The tables have drawers in them that hide an assortment of disposable sex toys. A disco ball and glittery steel cages hang from the ceiling. But he takes me into one of the private playrooms to practice.

  “So your friend owns this place?” My eyes grow wide as I follow him and take everything in.

  “Yup. It’s a part of the Surrender Inc. franchise. Ever heard of it?” He opens a door made of dark walnut and stands aside so I can enter.

  “No.” I take a cautious step over the threshold. “What’s Surrender Inc.?”

  My arms brushes over his chest as I walk by and I feel the fine dusting of hair on his chiseled pecs tickle my skin. My face heats and my body feels electric, but I hope I don’t show the effect he has on me. He’s shirtless today, clad in only a pair of tight fitted leather pants. I try not to stare at his chest too much either.