Red (The Safeword Series: Book One) Read online

  “This is Desmond.”

  “Hey Des, it’s Mary.” I knew it was her the moment the first syllable came out. Her rich, jazz singer deep voice was so distinctly her. “I saw you gawking at our girl downstairs, so I’ll get right to it.” Anyone else would have tempered their volume, navigated around the minefield, but Mary didn’t temper or mince anything. “I like her, but there’s something...off.”

  I kept my voice measured, unaffected even though I cared too much that this woman had raised a flag. "Off?"

  I was met with silence, and I knew that I had just unintentionally raised a flag of my own. "That's right. Something is off about this chick. I know that she's sexy. I'm straight as an arrow and I got a little wet when I saw what she did to Colin-"

  "It's not like that," I said quickly. Too quickly, which was was why Mary let out a grunt of disbelief. "I'll come up to the office now."

  "Nah, the interview is done," Mary explained. "That ain't why I'm calling."

  I frowned. "Why are you calling?"

  "I have an idea." I could see the sparkle in her eye, hear the excitement in her voice. "Her name is Sophia. She wants to go by Sin while she’s working. I want you to take her to one of the control rooms. Let her see what goes on here. That's how we'll know if she's full of shit or not."

  Usually, I'd mirror Mary's excitement blow for blow. We'd put a few of our hostesses through the ringer a handful of times in the past. Liza was one of them, and I could still remember the look of sheer awe on her face while we watched a flogging—and when the Dom either failed to hear the submissive croak 'red' or chose to ignore it, she practically barreled through the screen to stop the scene.

  But I knew it could go either way. She could be a fraud or worst. She could see a D/s encounter and realize that it was something she had absolutely no interest in. The exchange we had, eyes locking and everyone else, everything else fading to black could be it. The fact that I cared at all, that I cared too much, was a thought that I refused to acknowledge as the elevator shot me to the second floor. I even convinced myself that the butterflies was bourbon on a fairly empty stomach. But this pretending thing was much harder than slipping on a mask and remembering that all of this was sex and kink. No more, no less.

  I had to rein in the urge to grin like an idiot when I saw the pink haired sub, Sin, snap to attention when I turned around the corner, approaching her with my heart in my throat. For a man with a docket filled with shows where we manufactured and twisted the truth, I found myself hoping that she was the real deal.

  My quick once over before hadn’t done her justice. Words like ‘beautiful’, ‘sexy’, and ‘edgy’ were suddenly not even close to describing how alluring she was. I didn't roam over her body, because I knew I'd learn every square inch of flesh, every freckle, every place that made her croon with pleasure. I took in her sharp, angular features, reminding me of my childhood. Girls who held their own and shied away from dolls, getting down and dirty with the boys in the neighborhood. Sophia was a woman that you couldn't help but notice because every feature from the cut of her chin, to the slope of her nose, and her marble cheekbones confirmed the obvious. She was beautiful. In makeup, without a swipe of it, she glowed with a confidence that made me want to come closer and bask in her.

  Just as I was about to tell her that she was hired, she jerked out her hand to shake mine.

  "Hi! I'm Sin, but you can call me whatever you want," she purred in some practiced tone. "I can't wait to get a tour of the facilities!"

  I stared at her hand, my excitement draining from me like air from a ballon. I now had physical proof that she either wasn't a submissive, or she was nothing like any submissive I'd encountered.

  Chapter Five: Sophia

  When Mary first marched me into a room filled with more masks than Party City, the absurdity of all this slammed into me like a freight train. Me, pretending that I belonged in this world of fantasy and sex. Me, smiling as she latched a collar on my neck while inside, I was screaming, what the hell have you gotten yourself into? Me, bullshitting my way through an interview, committing everything to memory for my story. Me, realizing that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to do the whole submissive thing if I could be his submissive.

  The man in the black mask.

  Not the idiot who was wearing the bedazzled black mask. He was the epitome of the kind of man I expected to run into when I began research on BDSM clubs. Presumptuous men. Men who turned to this kink because they got off on treating women like possessions. Trophies to be collected and notches on the bedpost instead of living, breathing people.

  The minute I stepped into the main room, telling a teeny lie to Mary about having to go to the bathroom, I memorized every fixture, every square inch. It was like a Wonderland of sex, the variety of women ranging from waif like models to women with curves for days. The men ran the same gamut from the ridiculously buff and intimidating to lean and lanky.

  I was standing as inconspicuously as I could in my own get up, stunned at all of the nudity and intrigued by all the potential for my article, when the gross dude in the silly black mask with jewels and feathers walked up and looped an arm around my waist. Apparently with all the money he was flashing, the suit, the Rolex, he also thought I was for sale too. I would have settled for extricating myself and politely declining—until his hand dropped to my ass. The fact that I was somewhere I wasn't technically supposed to be, and that I should be making nice with everyone so I could gain these people's trust (loose lips sink ships and all of that) kinda evaporated. I warned him, he came at me, and one of the many maneuvers my dad had taught me came rushing to the surface. Still high off adrenaline and disgust, I’d cast my eyes over the crowd that gathered around us when I saw him.

  This guy didn't look totally ridiculous in his black mask, screaming for attention and being the utter opposite of sexy. This guy stood out in the crowd because he seemed so casual, so James Bond smooth in his sleek two piece suit that made me completely forget that Bond wasn't my type at all.

  His mask covered his eyes and his nose but it was like he wasn't wearing one at all. He pulled me in with eyes that glimmered like some far off place filled with wonder and sex and restraints.

  I'd questioned if I could actually submit, and one look at him and I knew that the answer was yes.

  I could submit.

  I could submit to him.

  God, I needed to submit to him.

  And now he was standing in front of me, glaring at me like I was offering him a dead fish instead of my hand.

  "Um..." I'd already told him my name. Well, my 'club name' anyway. Mary had grinned from ear to ear as she typed it into the computer, but maybe he was unimpressed. Maybe he thought it was silly. All of this is silly. You're both wearing masks for crissakes.

  With that, I dropped my hand and played off the slight. I even repeated the name. I didn't care if it was silly or not. "I'm Sin. And you are?"

  The smile he'd flashed me on the dance floor was long gone. "I'm here to give you a brief tour of the facilities." He said no more, walking right past me. I took a few moments to watch him, my lips twisting into a frown that relaxed almost immediately. I drank in his tall, muscular body. The way his shoulders rippled, the way the pants gripped his behind when he moved. I should have been more annoyed by how flat out rude he was being, but I was too busy wondering if it would be way unsub-like to tell him that I was hoping he was taking me into one of the rooms I'd passed so he could conduct a second, R-rated interview.

  I scrambled to keep up and decided to hold onto my naughty thoughts. "I'm thrilled about this opportunity." I channeled 'Sin', trying to sell my alter ego to this man that I was sure was super intense, inside and outside of Hush. "I'm so used to hotels and sketchfest clubs where I wasn't sure I'd make it out alive." I laughed at the last bit and he slowed ever so slightly, like I'd finally said something interesting. "This place is like, the Taj Mahal of BDSM clubs." That last bit was the honest truth. Or as close to the truth as any
thing I'd shared over the past hour. While I didn't have a bunch of BDSM experience, I'd done the club thing back in college. Except for the freedom of dancing and drinking with my friends, I kinda wanted to Purell my whole body after leaving those places. Yet, even though very dirty things happened behind those doors, were currently happening, there was no undercurrent of raunchiness. No need to clutch the pepper spray waiting in my purse. No desire to bolt for fear of catching something by just breathing the air. Everything gleamed, everything looked top of the line and oozed luxury and comfort.

  "Do you know the owner?" I piped as we kept moving to some unknown destination. "Not that I can afford it, but the style is just so lush and gorgeous. Like Game of Thrones, if it was set in 2015."

  That didn't get a grin, but it didn't get a scowl either. I'd take it...because as tight lipped as this guy was, I'd have to celebrate every small victory like it was an Olympic win.

  We turned down a corridor with charcoal gray walls and four black doors. On the wall beside the doors were numbers and a single light attached to the wall. All the lights were lit up except for the door at the end.

  He reached for a keypad, not even bothering to fire me a scathing glare because his fingers flew through the code before I could spy a single digit. The indicator light flashed green and like I'd been transported into some movie scene full of wonder and marvel (complete with a hallelujah chorus ringing) I got to see what was behind door number five.

  The far wall of the room was lined with monitors, a control system filled with all the bells and whistles of the NASA control center. Before I could get a single word out, he started giving me a long list of 'thou shall not's'.

  "Being discreet and respectful of our client's privacy is of the utmost importance. You are to bring no cell phone or other electronic device into this room." He wheeled to face me. His eyes gleamed, flashing like a knife's edge. Sharp as the powerful angle of his jaw. I never knew that jaws could be so sexy. I wasn't prepared for the need that flickered to life between my thighs as he settled his angular good looks on me. His businesslike tone just made the fact that I was pretty sure there were moans coming from the speakers affixed to the wall ten times hotter.

  His eyes drifted down, touching my breasts, or maybe it was wishful thinking because they dropped even lower...resting on my clutch. Any arousal that was brewing inside me stalled somewhere behind the accusatory set of his frown when he snatched my clutch from my hand. I wasn't a complete idiot, I'd powered my phone down before I entered the building, just in case. What he didn't know was a single twist of my lipstick would confirm that it wasn't a lipstick at all, but a recording device I'd asked for as a present when I graduated from college.

  “A normal young woman would ask for an outfit for interviews or money for some last hoorah trip before she enters the real world.” Mom shook her head like she wanted to have a heart to heart with God and find out why she was saddled with a defective daughter.

  Dad stepped up with the tiny box and a gentle, frustrating smile that said to ignore her. After twenty one years of trying that, I was kind of tired of that strategy, but I yanked the sides of my mouth upward and accepted the symbol of my future. Of putting aside the dreams they had for me, and finally chasing my own.

  Still, my heart galloped in my chest as he opened it and wielded my phone like he was the warden and I'd just been caught with contraband.

  "I've heard Mary's spiel, so I know that she mentioned we don't allow cell phones-"

  "It's powered down and Mary told me as long as it stays that way, it's okay for tonight. Sir," I added quickly, heat flooding my cheeks.

  His dark eyes rose with interest and at first, I regretted saying Mary's name because she was so sweet and funny and it didn't feel like an interview, but grabbing coffee with an old friend. This guy was clearly a step above her, maybe even the highest point on the totem pole. And I had a feeling he was a stickler for the rules, and the punishment for breaking those rules was swift and-

  No.

  It wasn't the fact that I still had my phone on me and Mary allowed it that snared his attention. It was my last word. 'Sir'.

  My body tingled as I realized the heat in his eyes wasn't anger. He was intrigued.

  The absurd part of me that gorged on everything related to D/s and BDSM since I first had the idea for this story wanted him to drop my purse and pick me up instead, take me to one of those rooms and make me make the sounds that filled the room now.

  We stared at each other in silence. His tongue glided across his bottom lip. It was the slightest movement that I would have missed if I blinked my eyes, but I saw it. Like he was tasting the air that grazed his lips, hot with possibilities.

  When I started chewing my bottom lip, holding back because I knew that just jumping into his arms, uninvited, was the last thing a real submissive would do, the moment was broken and he turned back to the monitors, tossing my purse on the desk.

  "As a hostess at Hush, you're responsible for more than presentation, providing refreshments, and smiling." There were two high back, plush executive chairs. He sat in one. "Come join me. I won't bite."

  "Darn," I whispered, smiling to myself as I pulled out the second chair, watching him pointedly not acknowledge my knee grazing his knee before I collapsed onto the soft leather cushion. Or maybe he just wasn't as interested as he seemed back in the main room. He was the kind of man that could have any woman he wanted, after all, and he knew it. Why would he pick me?

  I gripped the armrests, steering my attention and purpose back on course. You're here for a story, not to get in his pants. My eyes stole away to my right, and I almost gasped when I saw the outline of his cock, pressed against his thigh.

  "Focus on monitor three," he instructed. The wall had three rows of five monitors, gold embossed numbers stamped below. I found the third monitor, swallowing when I realized I had to slide my chair a little closer to his chair. The outfit, the makeup, the environment made it easy to forget that under normal circumstances, embarrassment and self consciousness would be my approach to being so close to a man that I liked.

  Liked? Wrong l word. Lust.

  This other side of me would get me in trouble. Feeling like he was out of my league helped me do as he said and stare at-

  Oh my god.

  I knew this was a sex club. And that people were naked. I'd lost count of how many breasts and other things I'd seen out and about when I stepped through the doors of Hush. This was different. I finally got a look at the inside of one of the playrooms, but the fact that it was like a high end hotel room that was outfitted with inquisition style devices and four poster beds with chains and ropes hanging from it was barely a bleep on my radar.

  There were two people in the room and they were about to get down. Again, sex club, so...sex happens, but it was different. They were both naked, the man built like a guy who was definitely juicing (except in the penis department because he was painfully large), and the woman was a quarter of his size, petite and waiting beside a huge X in the center of the room. A St. Andrew's Cross. I didn't stop breathing because I was about to watch some random, masked couple have sex. I was riveted because the man was fisting this whip that had ribbons of leather hanging from it. The cameras weren't close enough that I could make out facial expressions, but I knew if he was approaching me with that thing that reminded me of every historic film where some slave was whipped to an inch of their life, my face would be scrunched in terror.

  Instead, she let out a moan of want, of need, as he drew closer.

  I jumped slightly when the man's deep, baritone punched through the speakers. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

  She murmured something that was barely a whisper on our end and it must not have been loud enough for him either because he adjusted the whip and used the handle to lift her chin.

  "Louder," he commanded.

  Her voice rang out loud and clear, like she was in the room with us. "You're going to strap me to the cross and punish me
."

  And that's what he did, shackling her to the wooden X and turning back to a table filled with devices that I was kind of glad were slightly obscured. But not the whip. The clarity of the black strands were fearsome and...I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk.

  I glanced over at the man beside me, the man in the black mask, and he was just watching me. Studying me like I was the one on display, not them.

  The suspense was killing me, it was...turning me on. My whole body was clenched like a fist, a part of me feeling like I was some twisted voyeur, not only for watching, but because my nipples were so hard, so aching that the thin fabric that covered them was uncomfortable. I was squeezing my knees together so tightly that the fact that I was wet was just intensified.

  I didn't want to watch. I almost covered my eyes, just to peek between the cracks. I didn't want to watch because it confirmed my worst fears. This was more than just a curiosity. More than a story that would kickstart my career.

  I wanted to be spanked.

  When the first blow landed on the woman and she let out a screech of pain-laced ecstasy, I covered my mouth to muffle a moan of my own.

  "You're not a submissive." The man in the black mask pulled me from the screen, from the fantasy. "You're full of shit."

  I gaped at him, still high off of what we were watching, knowing that I was having some sort of sexual moment or evolution. Something in his voice, in his snarl, shattered that.

  And there was something else. His voice sounded familiar. He wasn't from California. There was a roughness, an edge that reminded me of New York. A place where people didn't mince words, didn't put up with crap, and shot first and asked questions later.

  He pushed away from the desk, standing in a single, swift, angry move. I knew three things, without a shadow of a doubt.

  One: I wanted him, more than I'd wanted any other man in the history of men.

  Two: He was a Dominant. Which meant that he was as aroused by the things we'd just seen too.