“How do you know if you’re a Sub?” Rayne asks.

“That’s something usually discovered through exploration and self-examination,” Kat says. “Have you ever played with a Dom?”

My cock starts the climb up Mount Vesuvius at Kat’s question. I have no idea why Kat keeps insisting I’m a Dom. I’m a Top, plain and simple. Rayne doesn’t know I’m a kinkster. I’ve made it clear to Kat that if the subject comes up, she’s to handle it with soft gloves. I don’t want Rayne scared off. I lean forward, eager to hear her response. It isn’t so much what she has to say that interests me, it’s how she says it. I know from what she’s told me that she’s never even caught a whiff of kink. Until now.

“No, I’ve never even met one,” Rayne says. “How would you meet one anyway?”

She’s not looking too bloody scared. She’s one curious little dragon, that’s for sure.

“Charmian, tell Drake how you met your Dom.”

Drake? Rayne doesn’t give her usual prepping-for-battle head roll at Kat’s commanding tone. Interesting. Is it the context or the gender that makes the difference? I refuse to acknowledge that I’ve decided to give Rayne her first kink experience. I let some vague notion about training her slip through my thoughts. I refocus on Rayne. She isn’t tense; in fact, she seems quite relaxed, in an energetic ion circulating before the maelstrom sort of way.

The Sub called Charmian launches into her tale. Something about meeting the Dom on the Internet and letting him take control of her life. Rayne cocks her head sideways, watching her with great fascination. She has the presence of mind to keep her mouth shut, but I can tell it’s a strain.

The air changes, as if a seismic shift happens.

“When do you start her training?” Connor’s deep voice reverberates quietly beside me.

“She’s not Sub material.”

“Were you the first to give her pleasure?”

Damn Connor. He isn’t one for small talk and goes right for the jugular. There’s no sense evading. He knows me too well.

“I think so, yes. Once.” I let a sliver of remorse slide through before I shut it down. Last night didn’t count. That was all about me. She’d been there for me.

“You’d better make it twice real quick. She’s primed, and someone’s going to snatch her up.”

“She’s too broken,” I say. Doesn’t he get it? I won’t make matters worse. No next time. “She’s not ready.”

“Kat thinks she is. She’ll be propositioned her first night out. Let’s pray she finds the right Dom.”

Not while I have breath. I’m careful not to react.

“Tell you what, I’ll set her up to view a beginner flogging session tonight at the club. Copter leaves at nine.” I turn to gape at him, but he’s already out the door, leaving a whirl of confusion in his wake.

Before I have time to react, my cell phone buzzes, and my heart leaps. The hospital.

“Jaden Stone.”

“Mr. Stone, this is the hospital calling. Dr. Gladstone asked me to call and—”

“How’s Sasha?”

The nurse pauses as if I’ve interrupted her tape recording and she has to reset. “Dr. Gladstone says Ms. Byrne is stable in ICU. They’ll keep her anesthetized for today and bring her around in the morning.”

“What time in the morning? Can I see her?”

“Dr. Gladstone—”

Would she quit with the fucking Dr. Gladstone bullshit? “What time?”

“That will depend. We’ll be monitoring her tonight and have a better idea in the morning.”

“I’ll be there.” I start to click off. The nurse’s desperate tone catches my attention.

“One more thing, Mr. Stone. Dr. Gladstone asks if you know someone by the name of Rayne.”

Rayne? “Yes, why?”

“Ms. Byrne asked for her in recovery.”

What the fuck? Sasha barely knows Rayne.

I turn my attention back to the classroom. There’s nothing I can do for Sasha right now. The three women each hold a riding crop.

“Crops are one of the most popular toys for impact play. Bend it. The shaft is flexible. Try slapping your hand,” Kat says.

The two Subs barely slap their palms. Rayne hauls off and gives her thigh a good whack. That has to hurt.

Kat frowns as she looks at the Subs. “Your Doms won’t be pleased with that slack-assed attempt. You can do better than that.” She turns the bright beam of a smile onto Rayne. “Good for you, Drake.”

I smile as I hear the nickname for the second time. It has to come from Dracaena. She heard me. I turn my attention back to the session. They’ve moved on to the floggers. Rayne seems inordinately fascinated by them. While the others go for the soft touch of the fur fall, Rayne samples the rubber and the rope falls, both of which can give a significant sting. Her eyes shine with excitement as she tests the heft and barrages Kat with questions.

I’m stone hard by the time Rayne plays with the martinet floggers. Yes, tonight will be very interesting, indeed. My head teems with possibilities; my heart says I’m walking blindly into a problem I don’t have the time for. What the hell has this woman done to me?

Rayne leans against the one-way glass separating the viewing room from the playroom. Her black mask covers most of the bruising, enhancing her regal features. She remains a mystery. Enticing but dangerous.

Rayne didn’t say a word as we took the helicopter from the beach house to Toronto, although the death grip she had on my arm gradually relaxed. Kat swooped her away as soon as the copter touched down atop their hotel. I’ve spent the last hour getting ready for this. Stilling my mind. Focusing on the play.

The viewing rooms at the Masquerade Club are as lavishly appointed as the playrooms. A large down-filled leather loveseat sits in the center of each room. Kat has them custom made to prevent shifting during even the most strenuous sex play. Recessed ceiling lights showcase black walls and draperies. The dim light doesn’t hide the tension shimmering off Rayne. She relaxes her stance slightly as I move beside her. That touch of trust gives me a little ping of pleasure.

“Hi,” Rayne whispers. She keeps her eyes trained on the scene in the playroom.

“Hi.” Brilliant, Jaden. “There’s no need to whisper. The room is soundproof. They can’t hear us.”

“Any news on Summer or Sasha?”

“Nothing on Summer. Sasha’s in ICU. She’s stable. They’re keeping her in an induced coma for the night. They’ll try bringing her around in the morning.”

“Oh, good. Is there anything I can do?”

I could kiss her for making this easier. “Actually, yes, there is. Sasha’s asked to see you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Not sure, but knowing Sasha, it’s because you won’t feel sorry for her.”

Rayne throws her first glance my way since I’ve entered the room. “Is she broken?”

“I don’t know.” As hard as it is to admit, I have no idea of Sasha’s frame of mind. I can’t relate to what happened to her. When I think about it, I feel sick. Then I get mad. Now is not the time for either of those feelings, and it’s a relief to talk to someone who gets it.

We watch the scene play out before us. The Dom’s prepping the Sub for a lesson in flogging. Unlike our viewing room, the playroom is sparse by Masquerade standards. The walls are a deep burgundy with black floor-to-ceiling drapes matching the ones in our viewing room. A display holding floggers, paddles, straps, canes and crops takes up the entire end wall. A polished mahogany St. Andrew’s Cross dwarfs the other end wall. A spanking horse and strapping chair are the only other pieces of furniture in the room.

“. . . what we most want to discover is your tolerance level. What is the safe word?” the Dom asks.

“Red, sir.” The Sub kneels at his feet, head bowed.

“And if you’ve reached your limit but want to continue the scene?”

“Yellow, sir. And green if I can take more.”

“That will be three additional strokes. Spread yourself on the bench, face down. Hold still and do not move.”

The Sub hustles to obey. The Dom fastens cuffs around the Sub’s wrists and ankles. He smooths back the hair from her face. “Where are we at?”

“Green, sir.”

I feel Rayne’s hot gaze raking my face, but the mask hides my expression. “Why the hell is he giving her three strokes for answering his question? And why does she keep calling him sir?”

“This Dom is very strict. He expects his instructions to be carried out to the letter and no more. She volunteered information he hadn’t asked for.”

“Well, I’d tell him to fuck right off.” Rayne sounds adamant, but the sweet scent of her excitement tells a different story. “Why would anyone want to be a Submissive anyway?” She gives me the definite impression she’s looking for permission to explore. Her curiosity belies indifference.

I move a little closer to her, so close I feel the heat radiating from her. She tenses but doesn’t move.

“Submission is all about receiving direction. Subs crave guidance and want to know the Dom’s expectations, especially during sex play.”

“Just in sex?”

“Depends on the Sub and Dom and whether it’s about psychological control or just play. There are Doms who want to take control of their Submissive’s life, but many prefer the lifestyle for sex play. If it’s purely for sex play, they’re usually Tops or Bottoms.”

We watch the scene for a few minutes. The Dom chooses a light, soft deerskin flogger from the rack. I move to the love seat. Rayne stays put, her attention solidly fixed on the action taking place before us. The Dom ensures the Sub’s restraints aren’t too tight and checks in with her. He tilts the bench so it’s at a seventy-five-degree angle.

“How many strokes?” the Dom asks.

The Sub mumbles something.

Rayne turns to look at me. “Why is he making her agree to be beaten?”

If she weren’t so appalled, I would have laughed. “He’s not making her do anything, Dracaena. He’s making sure she hasn’t changed her mind about what they agreed to.” I pat the cushion beside me. Rayne hesitates, then takes a seat keeping a careful distance between us.

The Sub’s firm, fleshy ass cheeks face us, her smooth Asian skin the perfect canvas for spanking. “What do we do first?” Dom runs his hand over each globe before positioning himself.

“Warm up, sir.” The Sub contracts her ass as if she’s been struck.

“And, why do we warm up?”

“To prolong the pleasure, sir.”

“Chatty, isn’t he?” Dislike threads through Rayne’s tone, making me smile. If she doesn’t like talking during a scene, chances are good she doesn’t suffer from verbal diarrhea herself. Nothing turns me off faster than a woman who decides she’s auditioning for a role in a porn movie while you fuck her. Rayne is not like other women.

I turn my head and laser my eyes on her. My gaze meets the solid wall of her profile. She keeps her eyes trained straight ahead, but her profile shimmers with disapproval.

“Not necessarily. Right now, he’s training a new Sub. Anyone who truly honors the lifestyle makes sure newbies are well informed about expectations and possibilities, especially during impact play. What we call training serves as a safe, sane and consensual way to build trust while showing the Sub the ropes. Why, do you have something against talking while fucking?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“You’re the one with the issue, and I’m curious.”

“Why, do you talk a lot during sex?”

“Now who’s answering a question with a question?” I let my finger run down the length of her back as I lean against the couch. One touch won’t hurt.

“That depends.”

Rayne shivers at my touch, but she doesn’t move. “On what?”

I slide a bit closer, gliding my hand up her back until it rests on her neck.

“Sometimes, talking serves to enhance.”

We sit in silence. The rigidity slowly seeps from Rayne, and she relaxes vertebra by vertebra until she leans against the couch. I rest my hand on her thigh, taking care not to spook her.

“Want to talk about last night?” Did I scare you? Did I hurt you? Why do I care?

Rayne’s head snaps up. “What about last night?” Her level of ferocity rivals my own. I see what Sasha means when she says my intensity exhausts her. Rayne certainly keeps me on the alert.

“Are you okay with what happened?”

She swivels around to face me, a slow smile bringing brightness to her eyes. Rayne’s smile transforms her, like the sun blasting through an opening in the clouds. She sits closer, but still not touching. Every new move convinces me she’s a Submissive at heart. For all her bravado and bluster, she seems inexperienced. Her blend of innocence and wickedness intoxicates me.

“It was consensual if that’s what you’re asking. Are you okay with what happened?”

Man, she is a challenge.

“Yes.” I’d had too much to drink. Not exactly my best moment, so that one-word answer seemed safe.

More minutes pass. The Dom picks up a thudstinger flogger. He pauses and rubs the Sub’s bright red upper back and buttocks while he assesses. The Sub gives the green light.

“That must hurt like hell. Why would anyone ask for pain?” Bewilderment rings through Rayne’s words.

“There can be great pleasure in pain.”

“How do you know? Have you tried it?” That’s the Rayne I’m getting to know.

“Would you like to?”

She’s quiet for so long, I fear I’ve lost her, then a quiet voice says, “Maybe . . .”