Red (The Safeword Series: Book One) Read online

  Three: He was furious.

  Chapter Six: Desmond

  She wasn't playing fair.

  It was more than the fact that she was looking up at me with those blue eyes. Wide, innocent, and utterly guilty. It was the flush in her cheeks that gave her away, the sheer horror that consumed her as she gripped the table like she was on some ride she didn't sign up for.

  "I-I-" She tried to turn her chair in my direction but miscalculated the force needed and vaulted herself from her seat—and right into my arms.

  Fuck, she felt good in my embrace. Warm, curvy, and...

  Don't say it.

  Submissive.

  She cowered in my arms, nestling against my chest like she was sure she was in big trouble, but she had to push the limits. My own limits were being tested. I wanted my hands on her, all of her, learning every inch of her body. I wanted to trace my fingertips up and down her spine, feel every quiver that rippled through her. I wanted to pick her up, sit her on the edge of the desk, and bury my mouth in her warmth.

  And then I wanted to tie her to a St. Andrew's Cross, in a similar room like Dungeon #3. I wanted to watch her eyes bulge like she was about to witness a murder, then show her the meaning, the power of surrendering to me.

  When she let out a sound that sounded suspiciously close to a sniffle, I did something that shouldn't have been so difficult. I pulled her away from me, holding her at arm's length.

  Yep, it was a sniffle. Her cheeks were that angry red before the sobs came. Those wide blue eyes were filled to the brim and she was trembling like the wrong word, the wrong look from me would break her into a million pieces.

  In my professional life, I was a self appointed brute who got in people's faces, threw pans if the occasion called for it, and didn't waste time with niceties, feelings, or holding hands. I wore that title with pride...it meant no one, ever, told me like it was, or had the balls to try and take advantage. When I looked down at her, my scowl softened and I knew that I wouldn't, couldn't be that man with her. I wanted to hold her. Protect her.

  When I felt her fingers wrap around my cock, I had a different, darker want.

  I wanted to spank her.

  Even through the fabric of my slacks I could feel the softness of her touch. She stroked it gently, like she was trying to tame some feral beast.

  If she was trying to prove to me that she was a submissive, hell, that she was even capable of submitting, she was failing miserably. If she was trying to force my hand and make me forget that I was here as the owner of Hush, not a Dom eager to discipline his submissive, she was passing with flying colors.

  One moment. No more than one moment.

  She slid closer, those eyes shining like some cloudless sky, surrounded by the lace and intrigue of her mask. Her lips were thick and beckoning, the red curving deliciously as she tightened her hold on my solid length. She let out a purr that shook me from my weakness. My indulgence.

  I gripped her wrist, the part of me that craved, needed control roaring to the forefront. "Did I ask you to stroke me?"

  She licked her lips coyly and shook her head. "No Sir."

  The reasons why we were there became static. I powered off every single reason this was a bad idea: she was a potential employee. She was potentially full of shit and could be the gust of wind to bring this whole house of cards tumbling down.

  And then there was something even more troubling. A realization that I'd felt when our eyes met in the main room. There was something different about her, different about the way she made me feel. The Dom in me wanted to spank her until her ass was as red as her lips. There was also this part of me that wished I'd been in the office during her interview, finding out more about her story, her journey as a submissive if she was the kind of sub who thought it was okay to just take what she wanted, instead of asking for permission and accepting that I'd grant it or deny it as I saw fit.

  Her grin turned downright sinister as she thrust her chest against mine, those pale mounds like something succulent that I couldn't refuse, and I thought, Screw it.

  I roped an arm around her waist, smirking at her squeal of shock and delight. With no warning, I threw her over my shoulder.

  "I, uh, what-"

  I smacked her ass, pulling my punch slightly, but delivering enough power that she gasped and my palm tingled. "You don't get to talk. You don't get to do anything except what I say." I was ready to get her in a room, get her naked and panting, but I waited at the door, clearing my throat. A little test, so I'm not completely disregarding my responsibilities.

  "Yes sir," she whispered.

  I smiled, thrill racing through me like a bullet as I drew down the hall, kicking open the first room we came to. If I was a good boss, a good manager, she'd be getting her view of this room on her own two feet, not dangling over my shoulder. I'd tell her about all of the unique statement pieces, from the working iron chandelier in the room, to the vintage tapestry that hung on the wall. I was far more interested in the St. Andrew's Cross that was propped against the ruby red fabric. A steel armed four poster bed was just off center of the room. Personally, I wanted to make the cross the centerpiece of the room, but Mary reminded me that our members had varied interests.

  If I was on the clock, I'd show her the equipment rack, filled with everything from Wartenberg wheels to the cat o’ nine tails whips. We'd pause as she marveled at all the devices that lined the wall: spanking benches, a sawhorse, and stools that definitely weren't for sitting. But my desire, her boldness, made me forget all of that. Here, in this moment, I wanted nothing short of her.

  All of her.

  I released her, gently lowering her feet to the ground, fighting the urge to skim my fingertips up her body. I stood back, expecting to see some pout that would make reining in my desire to bend her over and take her even harder. Instead, she was scrambling to fix her mask.

  I could have bent her over for that infraction, since the only thing she was allowed to do without my say was breathe, but I had a few secrets of my own. I wouldn't punish her for hers.

  When she raised her eyes back to mine, I knew the answer to the question. I asked it anyway.

  "Do you surrender?"

  Her beautiful mouth twitched to one side. "What?"

  I peeled off my jacket, nice and slow. It was almost ceremonial, switching from Desmond O'Connell to this man. This creature with desires that would send many running for the hills.

  "Do you surrender?" I repeated, dropping my cuff links in the jewelry tray near the door. "Will you trust me with your body? With your submission?"

  I'd posed that question to more women than seemed right when I looked at the way her face brightened. Like it meant something.

  "Yes Sir," she answered serenely, crossing her hands in front like some gothic angel beaming up at me.

  I was glad she was so busy glowing, staring at me like Christmas had come early because she missed the tremor of nervousness that rattled through my fingers as I started rolling up my sleeves. This was ridiculous. This wasn't my first time in a playroom. I was far from a newbie. But it was her; her rawness, her roughness around the edges slamming into her delicate beauty that was just...well...it was turning my world upside down because she was off to the races, skipping over to the St. Andrew's Cross like some pigtailed girl skipping to the carousel at the county fair. And I wasn't angry. I was enthralled.

  "So where do you want me?" She slid her hand up and down the cherry wood of the cross. "It's so beautiful." Before I could remind her that I hadn't given her permission to move an inch, she shot like a rocket to the wall lined with BDSM equipment, touching everything like she was at some interactive museum.

  She wielded the Wartenberg wheel, pressing the sharp edge against her pointer and hissing when it was sharper than she'd expected. She straddled one of the spanking benches, throwing one of her arms up in the air like she was at the rodeo, hanging on for dear life until the bull inevitably knocked her to the ground.

  "Sin."
>
  She was off the spanking bench, playing with the lever on the rack.

  "Sin." Louder. The crack a whip made when it collided with flesh.

  She froze like she’d hit some invisible land mine and any further movements would be her last.

  "I'm sorry," she said, her cheeks darkening as she flew back over to me, almost literally, like she expected me to take her in my arms. She stopped a few feet from me and retreated slightly, lowering her head to her chest.

  With her brazen behavior, she certainly deserved no reward, no mercy, but I clutched her chin between my pointer and thumb and lifted her gaze from the floor. Questions like, ‘Where did you come from? What spell have you cast on me?’ flitted through my head, but none were as important as the one I uttered.

  "How many lashes should I give you?"

  Her lips rounded and her eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings. Like she wanted to take flight because being in awe of all of this, of the lifestyle, was one thing, but actually receiving punishment? That was too much.

  "L-lashes?" She stumbled backward, her head whipping to and fro like she expected someone to pounce on her. Some minion of mine that would strap her to the rack and laugh at her screams. We'd barely spent an hour together alone and already I was discovering all these sides to her. The badass, who took Colin down without blinking an eye. The huntress who grabbed my cock in the monitor room. The wonder-filled explorer who had to touch and stroke all things BDSM. The terrified submissive who either wasn't a submissive at all or had been so scarred by bad experiences that she didn't know how to respond to me, or a structured environment.

  If I was a lesser Dom, I'd just bend her over and make her take the punishment I thought she deserved. I'd felt the warmth of her skin and I knew there was another part of her that would clutch me, setting me on fire with lust and hunger.

  I was damned. I'd come here to sate the beast in me that needed control, and instead, there was a voice in my head that told me this was the beginning. To take my time.

  Don't screw this up.

  "Do you trust me?" I asked.

  That smile of hers, a smile I knew had to have broken a string of hearts, flashed across her lips. "I guess? I mean I don't even know your name and you don't know mine but I feel this closeness, this-"

  I took her mouth, doing something I'd never done.

  I kissed a submissive.

  And I knew when our lips met that she was so much more than that. The fire in the pit of my belly turned rules and structure to ash and I pulled her closer, needing to memorize every curve of her lips. Needing to taste the sweet cinnamon of her tongue. Taking her face in my hands and holding her tenderly. Being romantic with a stranger who didn't feel like a stranger at all.

  Her eyes were still closed, her lips still puckered. There was a glow of sheer bliss on her face. I didn't even care that my mouth was probably smeared with her lipstick because her mouth was a mess of red and smiles.

  "Do you trust me?" I asked a second time.

  Her eyes opened and the blue scoured the green in mine to the point that I almost took a step back. I didn't want her to see too much. To see the man that everyone else saw. A man to fear. A man who had no heart, could have no heart to crush the dreams of good people because they didn't make good TV. In her gaze I felt like I didn't have a mask on at all, and I wanted to hide all the broken pieces so she only saw the part of me that wanted her.

  She brought a hand to her mouth and she went from mid twenties to nubile, all but twirling one of her pink strands around her finger coyly.

  "Yes. It doesn't make a lick of sense, but I trust you."

  Inside, I sighed with relief, but my exterior was more disciplined than that. I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my mouth. "Lie on the bed, face down."

  I purposely left out detailed instructions, testing her. I gave her a command, and I wanted her to do just that. Not ask me if I wanted her to take off her shoes or her dress or anything other than what I told her to do.

  She surprised me, not saying a word, not hesitating, just turning on her heels and walking over to the four poster bed. She mounted it and my cock ached when I realized that she wasn't wearing underwear. The tease was only a flash before she collapsed onto the mattress. Waiting.

  There was a sea of ways I could discipline her. The equipment rack was lined with whips and floggers and paddles, but it all seemed too impersonal. I strode over to the bed, excitement flexing inside me as I traced my fingers along her calves, feeling her skin react to my touch. When I reached the hem of her skirt, I wrenched the fabric upward, exposing the round curve of her ass. The gentle folds of her pussy were already glistening and I hadn't even gotten started.

  I caressed one cheek, then smoothed over the other one. "How many lashes do you deserve?"

  "Five," she murmured into the mattress.

  Succumbing.

  Submitting.

  Five it is.

  My hand crashed against her flesh and I retracted it, watching the blood rush to the surface. The imprint of my hand was rosy red. She made the tiniest grunt, clenching her muscles before she relaxed.

  "If you feel uncomfortable or unsafe or you just can't take anymore, you say red. Yellow can be used if you're getting close to red, but don't want to stop. Green means more." I stroked my fingertips over the area I spanked. "What's your color, Sin?"

  "Green," she answered breathlessly.

  If I got any harder I'd burst through the seams of my pants, but damn if I didn't want more too. I doled out the second, third, fourth and she was no longer grunting. She was moaning, crying out, grinding her wetness against the mattress.

  I was breathless now, my palm on fire, need like some raging inferno that would devour us both. I felt so out of control, so ready to dive inside of her, that I knew it wasn't safe for me to go any further.

  So I reined myself back in, the safeword ringing in my head.

  Red. Red before you completely lose yourself.

  I pushed off the bed, rearranging my uncomfortable erection. I went to the bookshelf near the coat rack, lined with oils and lubricants and healing lotions. I plucked my favorite, a cooling lotion that I used after vigorous spankings.

  She almost turned around, her pretty face scrunched in confusion. "But...that was only four?"

  "Congratulations, you can count." Cruel. There was the Desmond the world loved to hate. The Desmond who didn't lose control. Who refused to. "Lie back down."

  She obeyed.

  I pretended I didn't care that she moaned with pleasure as I smoothed the satiny lotion over her reddened bottom. When I was done attending to her I tossed the bottle on the bed beside her like I was flinging some used condom. "Feel free to take care of any places I missed."

  I strode to the door, wanting to get out of there, needing to get out of there before I made this anymore complicated than it needed to be.

  I grabbed my coat and my cuff links, ignoring her movements, not looking at a face that I knew would be filled with questions and disappointment.

  "I don't understand-"

  "Tell Mary that you passed the test," I said, clearing my voice of all else but business. "Welcome to Hush."

  Chapter Seven: Sophia

  I should have been celebrating. Slipping a bit of Kahlua in my morning coffee and cheers-ing myself. I got everything I wanted. I charmed my way into Mary's good graces. I remembered enough details from the house that I'd created an untitled Pinterst filled with iron chandeliers, fleur de lis, and floggers. My mind was filled with plays on the club's name and ways to rope in the reader immediately with the title alone: ‘Hush—it's a Secret...Until Now’ (still a work in progress).

  I was pretty much on my way, with my first shift kicking off tonight at 8pm. But instead of day drinking and shopping for sexy dresses and lingerie that I could wear at Hush, I was hunched over my keyboard, chin propped on my palm, a longing eating at me that had nothing to do with my covert story.

  I wanted to know more
about the man in the black mask.

  Of course he was gorgeous. Too freaking perfect with his square jaw that reminded me of every leading man I lusted for from the safety of the movie theater. Eyes that were so intense that they could melt any woman's clothes off. Hair that I wanted to run my fingers through as I yanked his stern mouth to mine and tasted forbidden fruits. He'd be mine, until he wasn't. That was my curse; falling for a man that was too good to be true, too guarded to not break my heart.

  And his voice...there was something in the way it rose and fell. In the way it demanded to be heard. To be obeyed. Like you had any choice, with him looming over you like some action figure come to life, all muscle-y and suave to the max in his suit and a mask that would have looked plain on the shelf but on him, it was magic.

  He was someone important. Instead of being a good reporter and scouring every male celebrity that mattered until I found some clue that connected them to the man that I met, I was sitting here, ready to pull up my breakup playlist, filled with anthems about how I was better off, his loss, and I would not only survive, but find something better.

  I dropped my forehead on my palm, shaking my head. We hadn't even dated and I was ready to cry like I'd lost the love of my life.

  It was crazy, it was classic Sophia, the Sophia I thought I’d put in a box and buried six feet under. I had this really bad habit of mixing up the L words. Like, lust, loathe...none of those should be put in the love box.

  I'd only spent a couple of hours with the brooding man, but I'd gotten a smile or two from him. They weren't all on his mouth, mind you, but I knew how to read people. He liked me, even if it was only a tiny bit. He wanted me. I felt it in the main room, the electricity in the air was so palpable that I could taste it—and then I felt it for myself in the monitoring room.

  I winced. I still couldn't believe I'd done that. The ballsy, wanton part of me usually only came out with the aid of liquor and ear screeching music. I was essentially 'on the job' so I didn't have a drop of anything last night. Not that it would have mattered because I was drunk off the potential of my story, tipsy because I was surrounded by people who were so afraid of their desires being known that they wore masks, and buzzing because I'd found the one thing I was sure I'd never find at a sex club: a man I actually wanted to know in the morning. But then there was the other L word, loathe. And that's what made my heart twist in my chest. I knew I was screwing up when I was admiring every inch of the playroom, forgetting that we had come there for a very specific purpose. If he was a jerk, like the man who just helped himself to grabbing my butt without asking permission, he would have either stormed out of there like a child or just taken what he wanted. He clearly wasn't used to a sub like me, a woman like me, and yet he was still patient. But when he left, I saw the regret etched on his face, a regret that even a mask couldn't hide.