Dangerous Lust

Carr

Excerpt

I was Cinderella dancing with the prince. The three glasses of Champagne I’d had were making me fanciful. As I swayed on the dance floor, my body pressed against Brad’s, I felt happier than I had in a long time. I was in a borrowed dress and shoes—the ones my roommate had worn to her formal—but I still felt beautiful. The dress was a long black sheath, the heels glittery Jimmy Choos.

Brad looked like a sexy geek in his tuxedo, and despite the heels he was still a smudge taller than me, and our cheeks were pressed together as we danced. The low-cut back of my dress meant that his palm was pressed against my bare skin and my whole body was alive with desire.

The song ended and I turned away from Brad to applaud. The quartet announced a break and the dance floor started to clear.

Brad’s fingers laced with mine. Want another drink?

I probably shouldn’t.

He grinned. Two more glasses of Champagne coming up. Want to go outside?

I’ll meet you out there.

As Brad queued up I made my way to the doors, stepping out into the courtyard. There were a variety of other well-dressed people milling around. The shoes, as gorgeous as they were, weren’t the most comfortable things, so I started walking in search of someplace to sit.

A dark-haired man in a black tuxedo turned and I froze. It was Master Clay. He started walking toward me, an elegant blonde on his arm and a bespectacled older gentleman walking beside him.

I smoothed my dress down, the champagne making me brave. What would he think when he saw me looking so elegant and expensive?

As he passed I said, Hello, Clay.

His head whipped to the side and his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of me. I expected his lips to curve in that little half smile of his but they didn’t. The blonde woman with him raised one brow.

He turned away without acknowledging me and my stomach dropped.

Here you go. Brad’s voice was like a warm salve on my bruised feelings. When I turned he examined me as if he were looking for something. I forced a smile and accepted the glass he held out.

Thank you.

You okay?

Yeah, my feet hurt. I pulled up my dress to show him my sparkly shoes.

Here. He offered me his arm and guided me to a concrete bench. When I sat he dropped to one knee and grabbed my ankle.

Brad, you don’t have to—

He unbuckled my shoe and rubbed the ball of my foot. I moaned. He did the same to the other foot.

Now I really feel like Cinderella.

Does that make me a handsome prince?

Prince Charming. Cinderella’s guy is the technical Prince Charming.

Well then, Princess. He slid my shoes back onto my feet. Can I interest you in a dance? He rose and bowed.

I stood and curtsied as best I could in the narrow skirt. I would be honored, my prince.

Brad led me back to the dancing and I put Master Clay and his cold greeting out of my mind.

Dangerous Lust

Lila Dubois

Published 2017 by Book Boutiques.

ISBN: 978-1-946363-49-7

Copyright © 2017, Lila Dubois.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.

Manufactured in the USA.

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Blurb

Leona is playing a dangerous game. To outsiders it might seem as though she’s a normal college senior with good grades, an internship and a post-graduation plan. But all the studying and partying in the world isn’t satisfying her. Not even her best friends know about her secret desire—to be a sexual submissive.

One night, lonely and frustrated, she arranges to meet with a Dom she’s been chatting with online. Master Clay is everything she imagined, but the experience is more intense and frightening than she’d anticipated. Bit by bit she slips into the world of sexual submission, addicted to the intensity of each experience.

Leona’s secret sex life leaves no room for anyone else in her life, even Brad, the geeky-sexy young computer programmer she meets at her internship. Until a chance run-in with Master Clay in the outside world leaves her reeling, and she turns to Brad for comfort and in lust.

Previously Published

(2014) Ellora's Cave

Acknowledgements

Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs, Tibbs Design

Chapter 1

Knowing something was a bad idea wasn’t going to be enough to stop me from doing it.

The small of my back was sweaty, my skirt was wrinkled from sitting on the bus and my hands were sweating. I brushed out the wrinkles and looked around the bar in the Hotel Normandie. There weren’t many people sitting at the low tables, and the Moroccan lanterns with their pierced metal and colored glass bathed everything in jewel tones. Little seating areas cloaked in tent-like hangings offered privacy. That plus the hotel’s proximity to campus had made me suggest this place for our first meeting.

The lack of bouncers also made it one of the few bars I knew I could get into since I couldn’t afford the $120 fake IDs many of my friends had. I’d be twenty-one in three months, and was young for a senior, but until then I was stuck staying home when everyone else I knew was out at a club or bar. I didn’t really mind. I couldn’t afford to party like that anyway.

I could taste my heartbeat on my tongue and I was slightly unsteady on my black high heels. I was glad that my roommates had already left by the time I got dressed. I didn’t want to explain to them where I was going in a black skirt, sheer black blouse that I’d borrowed from one of their closets, and heels. Not that I would have explained, even if they asked. I didn’t want to be told this was dangerous, didn’t want someone freaking out at me and screaming that this was a bad idea. I knew both those things already—and I didn’t care.

I scanned the room again, looking for anyone who could be Master Clay.

Master.

Even thinking the word was enough to have my skin prickling with arousal. A detached part of me had trouble believing that I was here to meet a Dom, a man who I only knew through Tumblr. A man who I hoped and prayed would do things to me and with me that most people would find depraved.

I’d left a note hidden in my desk, explaining where I’d gone. If I disappeared tonight eventually they’d find the note. The fact that I’d needed to leave that note should have been enough to stop me from doing this. To stop me from making what was, on the surface, a terrible decision.

I didn’t see any men sitting alone. I walked through the bar, discreetly checking the tables hidden inside the little tents. All I knew was that Master Clay would be waiting for me. We hadn’t exchanged pictures, which I was glad of. Not that he hadn’t seen pictures of me, at least parts of me. My knees we shaking as I walked.

These were my first steps into a world that I’d been fantasizing about for nearly a year.

Last year I’d picked up a cheesy book my junior year roommate Adriana had. She was a joint bio and anthropology major, with a pre-med emphasis. She was gorgeous and wicked smart, but she’d had terrible taste in books—at least that’s what I’d thought when I’d seen the covers.

I loved to tease her by doing dramatic readings of the blurbs. Adri never minded, and sometimes she’d insist that I’d like them, but I didn’t believe her. One weekend when she was out of town I’d picked up her ereader out of boredom.

It had opened my eyes to a world I’d known existed but hadn’t understood—BDSM and fetish.

Reading about a girl who was seduced and mastered, who was in a defined relationship with a man who was both sexually competent and depraved, had made me hotter than actual sex ever had.

I read everything on Adri’s Kindle, even bought a few books of my own, eating into my limited entertainment budget. When words weren’t enough I’d turned to Tumblr, starting a secret account and collecting images, stories and GIFs that I liked. Six months ago I’d started taking pictures and videos of myself and posting them. I made sure my face was never in them, but still knew it was risky. Within a month I had thousands of followers—men and women asking me about myself, asking if I wanted to be in a real D/s relationship.

When the first person asked, I’d been so scared I’d almost deleted the account. But the university hadn’t come knocking on my door demanding that I leave or threatening to take away my scholarship. After a few weeks of panic I’d started to enjoy myself, flirting with everyone who contacted me but always saying no to their invitations.

Over the summer, when I was at home in Texas, I hadn’t posted anything—my grandparents didn’t have internet and there wasn’t good cell phone service in Northwest Texas. Since coming back to school, I had plenty of time to spend looking at pretty pictures of girls tied up and on their knees, waiting to be used. My class load was light, and even with my internship I had more free time than I was used to. Hours spent immersed in this secret world had broken me down, made it harder to say no when people asked if I was interested in something real.

I made a complete circuit of the bar, returning to the main door. There were no lone people—no sexy man in a suit looking at me with commanding eyes. I twisted the chain strap of my purse in my fingers, fighting back disappointment and tears. Master Clay, a Dom whose posts about what D/s meant had always made my pulse speed up and body heat, had been the only one of the people who contacted me that I’d ever considered responding to. His profile said he was in LA. When I’d decided to try and make my fantasies a reality, Master Clay was the obvious choice.

And it seemed that Master Clay wasn’t here.

Maybe he wasn’t real, or wasn’t who he pretended to be online. He might be a twelve-year-old boy, might be an eighty-year-old man in Missouri. Or maybe he was what he said—a successful, strict Dom in Los Angeles—who didn’t want anything to do with a novice college student.

Stopping by the door, I scanned the room again. It was now ten minutes past the time we were supposed to meet. I doubted he’d be late—he’d made a point of telling me that he expected me to be on time.

Shifting in my uncomfortable strappy heels—borrowed from another roommate, since the only black heels I had were ugly pumps I wore to my internship—I debated what to do. I could wait, since I didn’t know where he lived and he might have gotten stuck in traffic.

Or I could accept that he wasn’t coming, accept that this stupid idea wasn’t going to work out, and go home and lick my wounds.

Leona.

I heard my name a second before a hand slid around the back of my neck, thumb and fingers pressing lightly.

I gasped, freezing in place even as my heart started beating so loudly that I was sure he could hear it.

His thumb stroked up and down the side of my neck and goose bumps broke out along my chest.

He made a noise low in his throat, then murmured, Lovely.

Fingers slid away from my body and the man who’d touched me came around to face me. For the second time I gasped.

A handsome, trim man in a black suit stood in front of me. He was a few inches taller than my five-foot-five, but I was wearing heels, making him easily five foot ten. He was middle-aged, at least forty-five, with brown hair worn a little long. There was a five-o’clock shadow along his jaw and his heavy brows didn’t detract from his piercing blue eyes.

All the things I’d planned to say were forgotten. He was exactly what I’d imagined he’d be—and having him standing in front of me was terrifying.

His lips twitched and he held out his hand. Leona Thies? You can call me Clay for now.

I stuck my hand out. The instant my fingers touched him my nerve endings sparked to life. I stared at the lamp over his shoulder. It’s nice to meet you, Clay.

Shall we have a seat?

I followed him to one of the tables hidden in a tent. He motioned for me to precede him, then held up his hand. As I sat on the U-shaped bench and tucked my purse among the brightly colored pillows, a waitress appeared.

A Kettle One martini, very cold, slightly wet, and a Glenlivet 25.

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with hard eyes and her blonde hair in a bun, looked at me. I tensed, sure she was about to ask me for my ID. Clay touched her arm and said, Thank you.

The waitress’s gaze snapped to him. She nodded and disappeared.

Clay ducked into the tent and took a seat opposite me. A low round table separated us, but its lack of height meant there was nothing for me to hide behind. I pressed my palms flat on my bare knees. Clay crossed his legs and stretched one arm along the back of the seat. He studied me—I could feel him looking at me.

You surprise me, Leona.

I licked my lips. Surprise?

How old are you?

I bit down on the urge to lie. I’m twenty.

And are you really a college student?

Yes.

At UCLA?

I nodded. I’d told him I was in school, but not where. Considering the part of town we were in it was the most logical option.

Clay let out a small laugh.

My stomach clenched and I felt sick. He was laughing at me. Grabbing the strap of my purse, I started to slide out of the booth.

Stop.

The word vibrated the air, making my skin prick the same way his touch had.

I closed my eyes and took a breath, gathering myself. Meeting him had thrown me off, but I wasn’t going to sit here while he laughed at me.

I plastered a smile on my face and turned to him. It was nice to meet you. I’m sorry, I can’t stay.

Clay leaned over and grabbed my elbow. He wasn’t hurting me, but I knew that if I wanted to get away I’d have to fight his grip.

Leona, return to your seat. We’ll talk and then you can leave.

I met his gaze, saw the surprise on his face when I did so.

I will not be laughed at.

He nodded once but didn’t let go. Of course. Let me explain my amusement. I assure you, I wasn’t laughing at you.

I stayed on the edge of bench, close to the exit, but relaxed. Clay let go of me and sat back.

There was a pause when the waitress brought our drinks. I looked at the martini. I’d never had one before. Clay picked up his glass of what looked like whiskey and raised it in a toast. I did the same, carefully lifting the triangular glass.

To pleasure. Clay tapped his glass to mine and took a sip.

I did the same, glad I’d taken only a small sip when the vodka hit my tongue.

It is very rare that a woman who claims to be a lovely young college student truly is. I came here expecting something, someone else. The fact that you are truly who you said you were surprised me. My laugh was one of delight, not derision.

I bit my lip and slid back to where I’d been sitting. Picking up my glass, I took another sip.

He smiled. I’m guessing a martini isn’t your normal drink.

No. This is the first time I’ve had one.

The first time you’ve had a drink?

No. A martini. I drink. Vodka and Diet Coke, mostly. Looking at my fancy glass, I closed my mouth. I didn’t want to appear unsophisticated, and I bet Clay didn’t drink vodka diets.

Clay nodded. His gaze roamed over me. You really are lovely.

Smoothing my hands on my thighs, I hoped I wasn’t blushing. I wasn’t pretty in a conventional way. I had thick, dark-brown hair and brown eyes—an inheritance from my mother, a Mexican migrant worker who’d come to work on my grandparents’ farm. My skin was pale, more like my blond father’s. My hair was so thick that it was hard to deal with, so I kept it shoulder-length in an A-line bob, longer in the front than the back, with long bangs.

Thank you, I whispered. Taking a drink, I started to relax. You weren’t what I expected either.