Chapter One
LEONARDO SINCLAIR STEPPED into the cool darkness and swept his gaze over the soaring, vaulted ceiling of the converted church. Colorful frescoes decorated the walls and thick marble columns lined the open area. Massive stained-glass windows offered protection from the curious gazes and judgments of the outside world. A smile touched his lips as he took a deep breath. Damn, it’d been a long time since he indulged in his favorite vices.
Good thing he’d come to Blasphemy for play rather than forgiveness for his many sins. The popular Baltimore BDSM club was everything he’d hoped it would be, and he intended to enjoy every moment before it was time to head to Vegas.
Adjusting the plain black mask he wore, he moved forward, appreciating the large circular bar made of gleaming marble and the intimate set up of leather couches, chairs, and private nooks where couples gathered to chat and play. The sexy timbers of hip-hop ground out from the speakers and urged crowds onto the dance floor. He savored the scents of musk, sweat, and sex drifting in the air, heading toward the bar. He usually hated themed parties such as a masquerade ball, but when one of his brothers from his Navy days asked him to do something, he did it. So, when Jonathan and Cruz had invited him to the party before he put the East Coast behind him, he’d agreed.
Now, he was glad. The muscles in his neck and shoulders softened from the long car drive. He’d grab a drink, try to find his buddies, and play with a sweet subbie tonight. Someone easy and experienced. Someone he’d enjoy for a few hours in mutual satisfaction and never look back on. Someone—
“About time you got here,” the familiar voice called out.
He turned around with a grin, shaking his head at the wolf mask covering the top half of Jonathan’s face. “Got stuck in traffic. Please don’t tell me I’m supposed to be channeling some sort of animal here?”
“Like an ass? Nah, you’re good. Let’s just say I’m in the mood to hunt tonight.”
Leo laughed and they embraced. Jonathan’s quick wit and humor made for an easy friendship, but it was his fierce loyalty and work ethic that earned Leo’s respect. With his staggering height and long blonde hair, he had a quiet presence that screamed authority. “Is there a particular target you have in mind?” Leo asked. “Or is it an open field?”
Jonathan’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “Oh, there’s a target. Her name is Hartley. Tonight’s her first time at Blasphemy.”
“Sounds promising. Cruz on board?”
“You better believe it,” another voice said from his left. Leo turned, recognizing Cruz’s short, dark hair and tattoos over warm brown skin even beneath the smooth, famously carved white mask. Shorter than Jonathan, Cruz had bulging muscles that either had a woman running in fear or begging for more. They clapped shoulders, and a fierce wave of emotion clipped through him. He’d forgotten how much he missed his friends. It had been too long.
Leo raised his brow. “Are you supposed to be the lamb to his wolf?”
Cruz winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Besides, gotta keep her guessing. Much more fun that way, as you’ve told us many times.”
They all laughed. Leo waved his hand in the air. “This is amazing. I can’t believe you’re both part owners of this place.”
“We’ll introduce you to the other Masters later,” Cruz said. “Now that we have the boat building and restoration business under control, we’re able to enjoy ourselves a bit more. The people at Blasphemy have become a second family to us.”
“I’m glad, you deserve it.” After the Navy, they’d all struggled with finding the right fit and place to settle down. The military seemed the only thing that could temporarily satisfy his innate restlessness—always pushing him toward the next adventure. It was good Jonathan and Cruz seemed to find their fit here in Baltimore. Maybe he’d finally find his same place in Vegas. God knows, his cousins had been on his ass for years to go out and join them.
Cruz motioned him over. “Come on, I’ll get you a whisky and we’ll show you around.”
“Sounds good.”
They moved past the dance floor and deeper into the club, unveiling specialized theme rooms that catered to every dark, delicious whim, and a beautiful high platformed stage for various demonstrations. Leo crossed his arms and watched a willowy blonde floating above her Dom, her naked body bound with intricate rope work that offered her up like an artistic sacrifice. Low moans broke from her lips, and her body shook and shivered under her Dom’s flick of the whip.
The crowd surrounding them was respectfully silent, yet caught up in the sensual tension ready to explode before them. Leo enjoyed the tight feel of skin over his bones, and the low punch of heat in his gut that preceded the anticipation of mastering an open, willing female. He’d always known he needed more in his sexual relationships, even young. The deep satisfaction of pleasuring another, of stripping away the walls and bullshit to get to the core—to become truly free with another—that’s what kept him coming back to BDSM.
“Your wristband marks you as an experienced Dominant,” Jonathan said, walking back toward the bar section. “All the subs have color coded bands that mark their limits and experience level. You’re free to roam and pick from the crowd and all rooms are available for your use—we’ve approved you for full access. We’re using the masquerade theme to build membership, encourage more of the newbies to participate, and hopefully push some soft limits. Masks must stay on at all times. It’s up to the individuals at the end of the session if they want to exchange true identities.”
“Thanks. Honestly? This is one of the nicest clubs I’ve seen. You two have done good.”
Jonathan nodded, pride shining in his eyes through the mask. “You still have to head out tomorrow?” he asked. “We were hoping you could stay with us for a few days.”
“Appreciate it, but the new job starts and I want to get settled in.”
“No better place than Vegas to bust some criminals. Who would’ve thought a math nerd could be so in demand for gambling?” Cruz smirked.
Leo laughed. “It was either DC or Sin City. Guess which one is a better fit?” His math talent had started young, and he’d learned early he could make buckets of money by gambling. Until he got busted by the casino’s highly-paid security boss. Instead of a hospital visit or getting black balled, they offered him a job in Atlantic City. It fit his needs for a while until the restlessness hit again, and he enlisted in the Navy. His cousins were all poker dealers settled in Vegas, and had already set him up with a job. The idea of being around family called to him. He’d been alone for too many years, relying on his service buddies, but he missed his cousins and felt ready to stay in one place for a while.
Jonathan gave a mock shudder. “It may be good for sin, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in the desert. No water, no beach, and no boats. Sounds like the devil’s terrain to me.”
Cruz rolled his eyes. “You can take the surfer dude out of California, but you can’t take California out of the man.”
Leo chuckled. “I get it. But the pay is good, the air conditioning is cold, and the women are hot. Plus, I need a new challenge. The casino has been getting jacked lately and they think I can make the bust. Could be fun.”
“No doubt you’ll do it. And if you get bored, you always have a place here,” Jonathan said, slapping him on the back.
He nodded. “That means a lot.”
“Any idea what type of submissive you’re looking for tonight?” Cruz asked.
“Been a while since I’ve indulged,” he admitted. “I’m open to all possibilities, as long as the woman understands it’s one night with no strings.”
“Good, cause we’d like to introduce you to someone. Someone we think you’d enjoy,” Cruz said. The man’s dark eyes practically glinted with conspiracy and the zeal of a set-up. Cruz had always had a hidden soft side underneath that hard-assed demeanor.
“Trying to play matchmaker?” He cocked his head and studied his friends. “Or keeping me away from your sweet thing so she doesn’t fall for me and dump you two?”
Cruz snorted. “Dream on.”
Jonathan grinned. “She’s a friend of Hartley’s. I’d like to hook her up with someone I can trust. She’s newer to the lifestyle. Only been a member for the past few months and hasn’t played often. I think you’d get along.”
Leo considered, then shrugged. His friends knew his tastes well, and though he usually preferred experienced subs, introducing a newbie into his world was always a fun challenge. “Sure.”
Cruz and Jonathan exchanged a satisfied look. Interesting. His friends weren’t the matchmaking types.
He wondered if this Hartley was the cause, and hoped it was. They both deserved happiness. They’d gone to the Naval Academy together, were partners in the boat building business, and liked to share women. It was hard to settle down with a woman who’d be a good match for both of them, and open to a ménage situation.
God knows, he couldn’t find that type of connection, and he was only one Dom, not two.
Jonathan’s gaze sharpened past his right shoulder and a slow smile tugged his lips. “Speak of the devil,” he murmured. “Here she comes.”
Leo turned. Then froze.
Holy shit.
He’d been an experienced Dom for almost a decade, and not once had he felt the earth beneath his feet shift. He was known for his control and tight rein on his emotions. He didn’t believe in star-struck first love, gazes meeting across a crowded room, or anything that stunk of sugar spun romance that held no depth.
Until now.
His damn tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Were his eyes bugging out like a horn dog pre-teen? If his reaction hadn’t been so surprising, he’d be humiliated. First impressions were critical during an initial Dom and Sub meet, and he’d just committed a newbie mistake. Staring at her like a love-struck school boy gave her the upper hand. Fuck—he’d never live this down.
“Leo, this is Hartley Farren, and her friend Scarlett Rose. Ladies, you may address Leo as Sir since he is not a Blasphemy Master.”
They gave him a respectful nod, Hartley in an intricately patterned soft black mask that covered her eyes and nose and extended down unevenly over her cheeks. It almost appeared more tattoo than lace. And Scarlett in a more traditional sparkling black-and-red cut-out mask that made her eyes appear huge.
Still unable to communicate, he concentrated on Hartley and tried to get his shit together. Hartley smiled sweetly, a nice blush of color on her cheeks as she greeted him. Her sideswipe look at Jonathan and Cruz told him everything he needed to know. The little subbie was just as intoxicated with his friends as they were for her. He managed to murmur a greeting and say a quick prayer of thanks Hartley wasn’t the one who had him tongue-tied. No, it was the woman standing quietly at her side who stole his full attention.
Everything about her seemed like a contradiction. Though she stood completely still, an intense energy pulsed from her aura, reminding him of a downed live wire, crackling in sharp, intermittent bursts. Coal black hair fell almost to her waist in wild waves, untamed and made for his fingers to fist and pull. Inky dark eyes met his gaze directly, without a shred of shyness or hesitation. Framed by lush lashes, they tilted slightly outwards like a cat, emphasizing the angled cut of the simple black mask that hid half of her face. Her lips were full, and painted in the color of her name—a bold slash of blood-red.
His gaze probed; studied; analyzed. Her outfit was pure temptation. A skimpy red slip in shiny satin. Dipping low in the front, her cleavage teased him, and the fabric clearly showed her hard nipples. Her skin was pale, smooth, and looked soft to the touch. She was all ripe curves—ass and breasts and hips, and his fingers itched to touch and hurt and soothe. It looked as if she’d been about to get dressed, then decided to go out as is. The kicker was something so simple, probably not many Doms would notice.
Her bare feet.
Most women enjoyed wearing fuck-me shoes at a club. Besides feeling sexy, it gave them a sense of power and height. He’d always been more turned on by the vulnerability and bravery of no shoes. If she was indeed new to BDSM, her choice indicated an almost rebellious courage that stiffened his cock and sped up his heart rate.
How long had it been since a woman struck him speechless?
Never.
His continued silence must have urged her to speak. “It’s nice to meet you, Sir,” she said. Her words were slow and deliberate, with a husky smokiness that curled at the edges. Damned if he couldn’t wait to hear her beg him in that delicious voice.
Finally, words sprung free from his throat. “The pleasure’s mine. I hear we’re both new to Blasphemy.”
“Yes, Sir. I joined two months ago,” Scarlett said, her eyes still on him. Right where he wanted them.
“And what about you, Hartley?” he asked with a smile.
“Scarlett spoke so highly of the club, she helped convince me to give it a try,” Hartley said, chewing her bottom lip. “Now I’m just hoping I don’t mess anything up.”
Jonathan took her hand. “You’re not doubting that we’ll guide you every step of the way, are you?”
“Oh, no. I mean, no, Sir,” she said.
“Maybe we need to show her exactly what that means,” Cruz said, his voice full of dark, sensual promise.
Jonathan nodded and tugged Hartley between them. “Mmm, maybe we do.”
Leo studied Scarlett. She seemed amused by the interaction, not fretful, which told him she was comfortable enough to know Cruz and Jonathan would never hurt Hartley.
“Come with us, little one,” Cruz commanded. “It’s time for your first lesson.”
“Lesson?” Hartley asked, dark eyes going wide.
Jonathan flanked her other side, guiding them away. “No speaking unless asked a direct question. Leo, Scarlett, I’ll check in with you later. Have fun.”
His friends left them alone amidst the squeak of leather and hiss of whip; the grinding music and clink of glasses; the smell of sex and sweat hanging thickly in the air.
Leo waited. He figured she’d either chatter, step back nervously, or dive right in with questions. And once again, she surprised him.
She said nothing.
Those Gypsy eyes stared back, not with challenge, but with patience. Waiting for him to lead. Waiting for him to speak first. She may be a newbie, but Scarlett had already pleased him faster than some of the more experienced women he’d played with in the past.
Oh, he was going to enjoy the evening very much.
“I’d like us to get to know one another before we discuss play. Would you like to go talk?” He offered his hand with an invitation she was completely free to decline.
Her gaze assessed him. He watched the thoughts flicker across her face, noting she had a mind that preferred logic to emotion. Fact and figures trumped impulse. He’d spent years in the lifestyle studying women and their thought patterns, finding how each unique personality needed a particular type of play for maximum effect. He’d begun to wonder if the scientific game of figuring them out had become more important than the physical aspect. Damn depressing, but this woman had already pushed his buttons without saying anything. Perhaps, there was something more here.
She reached out and took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the private area away from the main activity of the club. He chose a room that reminded him of a library, comfortable with the dark leather chairs, thick burgundy carpeting, and bookshelves filling up the far wall. An antique light burned low on the desk, wrapping them in dark intimacy. The room was perfect for playing naughty secretary, and the quick image of her sprawled on the desk, her bare bottom lifted for the slap of his hand, burned his vision.
She lowered herself onto the sofa, the short hem of her slip hiking up past her thighs. Her skin was pale and smooth. He couldn’t wait to see the contrast of his darker skin against hers, sliding in between those gorgeous plump thighs to pleasure her.
As if she caught his thought, her breath hitched, so low he barely heard. Her fingers tugged the hem down in a display of nerves, before settling back into her quiet intensity.
Yes. This woman would be fun to watch shatter. Now he needed to find out how deep her control really went.
“I’d like to begin with some questions. I ask them so I can get all the important information to decide what you’re looking for and what you need tonight.”
“Don’t you believe I already know what I need?”
Her voice reminded him of classic Lauren Bacall—growly, sexy, and deep. Already, her intellectual challenge told him her brain was usually in control of her body. His favorite type of woman to play with. “No. Many times a sub thinks she knows, but her Dom sees something more. How much do you know about BDSM?”
“I started with research from books and the Internet. Then I took the orientation at Blasphemy. I’ve been a member for a few months.”
Good, at least she had some hands-on experience. He’d met way too many women turned on by erotic romance and diving into the club scene without realizing what was fact and what was fiction. Safety was always priority number one.
“Have you scened often?”
She stiffened. “No. Just twice.”
His brow quirked. “Why?”
She considered him before giving an answer. Beneath her inexperience lay a touch of a brat—one of his favorite types. She seemed to naturally want to challenge a Dom. He’d need to use a firm hand. “I didn’t really connect with the Doms.”
Interest piqued. “Did they push too hard? Force you to say your safe word?”
She shook her head. “No, the opposite. I was frustrated after the session. During my orientation, I dealt with the Masters which I found more satisfying.”
Hmm, she probably played with newer dominants and couldn’t forge a connection. “Did you try to communicate your frustration to them? Tell them what you wanted from the experience?”
“It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t get me off.”
Interesting. Her tone held a touch of hostility, contradicting her words. There was something deeper going on and he intended to figure it out. “Some matches don’t work out, just like in the vanilla world. Your Dom is responsible for giving you pleasure, and it’s not your fault if you weren’t satisfied. Unless, of course, you kept something important from him. Was that the case?”
She shook her head.
“Then we’ll need to remedy that experience.”
She nodded, but he glimpsed the flare of doubt in her dark eyes. He lowered his voice in warning. “Since you are aware of the club rules, I’ll expect to hear ‘Yes or No Sir’ or we’ll need to begin our session with punishment.”
Those red lips opened in a tiny O, then snapped close. “Yes, Sir.”
“What do you do, Scarlett?”
“I’m a statistician. I’ve worked for the government the past five years but I’m moving to the private sector.”
His interest peaked. A math nerd and a submissive. A heady combination. He, too, loved the calming effect of numbers and solving the puzzles they offered to understand the world. It was hard finding people who became passionate about the beauty of mixing simplicity with complexity through math. He bet she had issues shutting off that powerful mind and concentrating on her body. He made a mental note.
“I notice you haven’t checked off many hard limits for a beginner.” Her bracelets clearly showed she was open to pretty much anything, including sex. “You’re open to pain. Flogger, spanking, cane, whip? Preferences?”
“I was told while I experimented with my threshold I could always use the club’s safe word—red—or yellow, to slow down.”
He nodded, pleased. “Correct. Since we’re only playing tonight, I’ll concentrate on core basics rather than testing limits. That’s for your future Dom to decide during your training. Do you agree?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And sex is on the table?”
Not even a slight blush marred her pale cheek. “Yes, Sir.”
His cock twitched. He tamped down on his arousal and concentrated on the conversation. Plenty of time for his little head later. “Tell me about your background. I’d like to make sure you have no triggers.”
“I don’t.” He arched his brow in warning. “I mean, I don’t, Sir.”
“It wasn’t a question, Scarlett. I never go into a play session without feeling comfortable about my sub. This is for safety—for both of us.”
Her chin tilted up slightly. Definitely defensive. Definitely a secret there he was dying to probe. “I’m divorced. It became a bit rocky at the end, but it’s been a year now so I’ve worked through it. I went to therapy, so you won’t have any surprises.”
Admiration cut through him. He always believed everyone should get counseling just to get through life’s pitfalls but it took guts to ask for help. “I’m sorry. Did you engage in BDSM play with your husband?”
“No, Sir.”
She didn’t seem to want to expand, so he pushed further. “Light bondage? Blindfold? Role play? Anything?”
“No, Sir.”
Her stark admission told him more than he needed. Though he wanted more, he was pretty damn sure her ex hadn’t been into bedroom kink and it had eventually become a problem. He studied her stiff body and distant eyes. No, this wasn’t the way to go into their first session. She needed to be open to the experience or he’d be fighting ghosts he wasn’t sure of. Going with his gut, he dove for the jugular.
“Little one, I understand it’s hard to spill your innermost stuff to someone who’s a stranger, but in under an hour, you’re going to be naked, wet, and coming on my tongue. We could do this the hard way, or the easy way. The more I know about what you want and are looking for tonight, the better it will be. Use the mask as a tool to allow yourself to take the leap. But also know, I will strip away not only your clothes, but all those walls you’ve built to protect yourself. Now, make your decision.”
Shock flared in her dark eyes, before quickly becoming masked. But she didn’t duck her chin or try to hide. He watched her mentally step back and recalculate. Leo didn’t know if she was ready to dive deep yet, but he sensed if he didn’t push, they both may regret it later. Sex wasn’t just an orgasm or feeling good for a few minutes. It was the biggest mind fuck of all—because it started with the brain, and who a person was at the very core. The right type of sex took all that mess, twisted it up, and released it hard and fast, like the crack of a champagne cork. Afterward, both body and mind were cleaner. Quieter. Saner.
And that type of sex could never be boring.
Especially with this woman.
But he’d pushed harder than with others, and could have blown the whole damn thing. If she was an intellectual, she may not be able to let herself take the leap and tell him. Maybe he’d—
“I was married for three years to a man who slowly eroded everything I originally liked about myself.”
Leo stilled. She spoke with a steady calm, but he caught the slight tremor in her body. Moving on pure instinct, he tangled his fingers with hers, offering her warmth, squeezing slightly in comfort. Damned if she wasn’t tearing down every preconceived notion about what she’d be able to handle. This type of raw truth was rare this early on, and he’d make damn sure she felt supported. “Tell me about it, little one.”
Her fingers squeezed back, accepting his offering. “I didn’t think it was wrong to want more out of sex. Oh, sure, we started with vanilla, which was fine, but after the first year, I realized I craved other things. Dirty things. When I brought it up, he was shocked. Began telling me I was messed up to ask him to spank me, or tie me up. I tried to let it go, but my need kept getting worse. I tried talking to him. Asked him to experiment.”
“He didn’t want to?”
She shook her head. “Over time, I had to fake my arousal, but he could tell. I think it made him feel like less of a man, and he started taking it out on me. First, it was my weight. I was too big, not sexy enough for him to want me. Called me fat and useless. Then it poured out in all aspects of our life together. From how I did my job, to how I cleaned the house, and everything in between. I was a failure of a wife. I was a failure at turning him on. It went on and on. And finally, one day I realized I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I looked in the mirror and saw nothing. Or at least, nothing I liked.”
Anger thrummed in his veins, heating his blood. Oh, if he could bash her ex’s face in, he’d be over the fucking moon. Typical shit. His ego got threatened so he took it out on his wife. “Sounds like you were strong enough to realize he has a serious condition.”
She cocked her head. Coal-black waves spilled over her right cheek and tumbled over her shoulder. The scent of citrus drifted to his nostrils. Clean. Tangy. Sharp. Like her. “Condition?” she asked.
“Yeah, your ex is a true asshole.” He relished her smile, then leaned into her space. The air between them crackled to life, twisting tight with a delicious sexual tension that couldn’t be forced. Oh, his hands itched to get all over those gorgeous curves and show her how sexy they were. “Damned if you haven’t impressed the hell out of me, Scarlett Rose. First, you were strong enough not to let him win. To claim who you were and walk away. Second, you were brave enough to tell me the truth. That’s a woman I want to be with. A woman I want to give excruciating pleasure to with my mouth and tongue and teeth. Tie her up with her thighs spread wide and fuck her till she begs for mercy. Spank her ass till she’s dripping wet and hot.” Her pupils dilated at his words. “Would you like that?”
“Yes, Sir.” This time, her words came out ragged. He raked his glance over her tight nipples, and noted her rapidly racing pulse. Citrus mingled with the musky smell of arousal. She liked the dirty talk. Good, cause so did he.
“Then our play will begin. Call me Sir at all times. Use the word yellow to slow things down. Red if you want things to stop completely.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Don’t be afraid to use it. Gaze lowered as I lead you to our room. No speaking unless spoken to.” He studied her lush body, allowing a slight smile to rest on his lips. He hadn’t looked this forward to a session in too long.
“Shall we begin?”