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  The couple hesitated for a moment and then wandered off. It was hard to believe this kind-looking older man was the head honcho at a club where people whipped other people. “Hi. I’m Kyra.” So much for thinking of a scene name. “I’m new.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He looked at her hand, where she was clutching her ticket. “Sub, huh?”

  Kyra opened her mouth to protest, but bit it down. She could play the role, if it would get her the information she wanted. Ken would hardly make a very good model for the villain in her book, so she wasn’t going to quiz him. Kindly grandfather serial killers were too much of a stretch for her, even if it did seem the neighbors of real-life killers were always quick with an explanation of how nice the person had been. “Yes.” She handed him the ticket. “Rose said to say she sent me.”

  The side of Ken’s mouth turned up. “She did, did she? And what was she sending you to me for, exactly?”

  Kyra looked around. No one was listening to them. “To help me find a Dom?” She hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question.

  Ken looked at her for a long moment. She felt as if he was trying to see right through her. He opened his mouth as if to say something and then shut it again. “No. Sorry, can’t help you. Feel free to look around. Maybe one will find you. There’s a lot of subs here tonight, though.”

  She followed his gaze around the room. There were a lot of people in the room, but she didn’t know which ones were submissives and which ones were Dominants. And didn’t some people switch? Maybe she would have been safer trying to get an education in an internet chat room, although she suspected that many of the people in those didn’t have much more of a clue about BDSM than she did. Pretending online took all the danger out of it, all the sinister aspects she needed for her villain.

  Some people were obvious, though. The forty-year-old woman in the schoolgirl outfit, probably a sub. Some of the guys were obvious too, half naked and wearing big leather collars. And definitely the slender blonde kneeling at the edge of the room, her back to a wall, dressed only in a black lacy bra and panties. I can’t compete with that. And even if I could, I won’t. My clothes are staying on.

  Chapter Two

  “Heya, Ken, what’s up?” Andrew Ryan reached out to clasp hands.

  “Drew!” The handshake Ken gave him back was warm. “Good to see ya.”

  “Rose said you wanted to see me.” As soon as he came in, the pretty redhead had given him the message.

  “Yeah. We’ve got a new girl here.”

  “Staff?” Drew didn’t figure anything else would be worth mentioning. New people came all the time. Some people were curious, some had decided to make the jump from online to reality, and others were coming to grips with their own desires.

  “Hardly. See the brunette over there?”

  He looked where Ken nodded. There were several dark-haired women in that direction, but after a few seconds he figured out who he must mean. One was watching a whipping scene intently. He recognized the participants, Clyde and his girl Dora. The woman Ken was talking about kept flinching back from Clyde’s backswing, even though she wasn’t particularly close. She was wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged a nicely rounded figure. Her curly brown hair looked as if it would be heaven to run his fingers through. A would-be Domme? Pretty clueless if she was, but subs didn’t usually dress like that at Carpe Noctem. Years ago he had been that clueless, meeting a woman he’d known online at another club. She’d never shown up, but what he saw had changed sex for him forever.

  “Yeah, she’s new all right. She asked me to find her a Dom.”

  “Really?” Not all submissives looked and acted the part. That was fine as far as Drew was concerned. The chase was part of the fun, and a clothed submissive was like a present with wrapping paper. He was intrigued.

  “Yeah, really. And she has chased off the half dozen or so guys who’ve offered to worship her. No Dom has made a run, though.”

  He knew what Ken was up to. He was trying to make the girl sound like a challenge because he figured Drew couldn’t resist. Drew smiled. “I’m just here to socialize tonight, Ken, not looking for someone to play with.”

  “I don’t see Jane here today.”

  Jane was his last submissive. He’d been upfront with Jane, like he always was. Catch and release, that was what he did. A few playdates, hopefully more than a few orgasms for his partner, and he let them go. He’d worked hard since his first experience to acquire the skills to please a kinky woman. He hoped Jane wasn’t sulking. She was a good woman, and it wasn’t either of their faults that what she really wanted was a Dominance and submission lifestyle, not a few nights of fun. That wasn’t him, never was and never would be. “If Jane doesn’t want to show up to party on any given week, that’s her call.”

  “I don’t think she’s really a sub. But I also think it’s not that simple.”

  “Jane?” The problem with Jane wasn’t that she wasn’t submissive enough, it was that she was too submissive. She wanted a life, he wanted some fun. Simple. She’d make some man a great slave, or pet. And probably a good wife to boot. “She’s really a sub, Ken.”

  “No. The brunette. Her name is Kyra. Don’t tell me you’re smitten with Jane.”

  Drew laughed. “Of course not. That doesn’t mean I’m going to chase every tail you throw in front of me.”

  Ken grinned. “It’s good-looking tail.”

  “It is.” Ken was only tossing his own word back at him, but it annoyed him. “She is. What’s your angle? I get the feeling this is about more than making sure one new customer gets hooked up with someone.”

  “Well, here’s the thing.” Ken smiled with the look of a fisherman who has gotten a bite. No doubt Ken thought he was going to reel him in, but Drew knew better. Still, let him try. “Before she asked me to find her a Dom, Rose asked her if she was a sub and she said no, like she was insulted or something.”

  Drew shrugged. “So she’s a tourist and doesn’t want us to know it.” A few months back, after the club had gotten a bit of publicity in the local indie rag, Carpe Noctem had been full of tourists. Ken was raking it in for a while, but it drove away most of his regulars, and after that the tourists didn’t have much of a show to watch. “Or she’s a reporter.”

  “That thought had occurred to me.”

  “And what did that thought have to do with me?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Forget I mentioned it.” Ken walked off, leaving Drew staring. But not at Ken, at the new girl, Kyra. She was biting her lip, still watching Clyde and Dora. Clyde had switched to a nasty little flogger with knots in it, and each one raised a mark on Dora’s back. The girl looked as if she were watching a train wreck—horrified, but unable to turn away. Dora’s loud moans carried all the way across the room. If he didn’t know what a pain slut Dora was, he’d probably have reached the conclusion that she was having a bad time of it. But he’d gone out with Dora, years ago. He was her second Dom, and the first one who was competent. She’d been about to give up on the scene after the first. They’d played together a month and he’d discovered that Dora’s pain threshold was higher than he cared to give. She knew it too. Catch and release. She’d found a good match in Clyde.

  Clyde was taking her down now, undoing the cuffs on her wrists and ankles. Good. Dora could probably take more but he wasn’t sure that Kyra could. He saw Kyra relax. He meant what he said about socializing, and he had no wish to get mixed up with a reporter, whatever Ken thought.

  Then he saw Kyra’s eyes go wide. Clyde wasn’t done with Dora, he was turning her around to work on her front. Dora’s eyes were brimming with tears, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want more. The little undulations of her hips spoke volumes. Dora wanted more and Clyde would see that she got it. Kyra looked as if she was trying to decide whether to run, throw up or faint.

  His protective instinct aroused, Drew was halfway across the room before he knew his feet were moving. He reached her as Clyde switched floggers, to on
e with narrow tails that would leave lines of red all over Dora. At least it didn’t have the knots. In fact, it didn’t look nasty at all, but narrow tails had less air resistance than broad ones, and concentrated their increased speed on a much smaller patch of skin. He stepped in between Kyra and the scene. “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Drew.”

  She was nearly a foot shorter than him, and he watched her as she slowly raised her gaze to his eyes. “Hi. Kyra.”

  “This doesn’t look like it’s your kind of scene.”

  Kyra stepped to the side and looked past him. “You’re wrong.” She winced. He heard the flogger hiss and could imagine what it was doing to Dora. The fact that Dora was probably loving it didn’t stop him from wincing on the inside too.

  He didn’t try to obstruct her view again. “That’s why you’re grimacing every time she gets struck.” He turned around to face Clyde and Dora and, sure enough, there were red lines across her breasts. Dora’s nipples were two hard buds, supersensitive by now, he was sure. He noticed a cane sticking out of a big black bag on the floor. Clyde’s. He didn’t doubt they’d be using that too.

  “Maybe I like feeling her pain.” She didn’t sound convinced, or convincing. But he was sure she’d ruled out running. Throwing up might still be an option, especially if Clyde brought out the cane. So she was sensitive.

  “You’re a sadist, then?”

  “No.” She said it with vehemence. And, he thought, disgust.

  He hadn’t intended to try to get her to play with him when he came over. But it was only a question of time before Clyde scared her away. And the challenge of a race against time appealed to him. She was a mystery, and that appealed to him too. He dropped his voice low. “You’ve never seen anything like this, have you, Kyra?”

  “No.” She took a deep breath.

  “And I don’t think you came here to experience it, either. Close, maybe. But not that.”

  “Well, you don’t know maybe.” She shivered and didn’t turn to meet his gaze.

  “And maybe I do.”

  She set her jaw, and as she did, it was as if a mask fell from her face, as if he were seeing the real her for the first time. “He’s brutalizing her.”

  “She likes it.”

  “She’s got a self-image problem and he’s taking advantage of it.”

  “And you’re a very judgmental person. She’s wired differently. Different from you, different from me, different from how I like my women. But just different. Not wrong.”

  She turned to him, eyes blazing. “And what the hell do you know about anything, anyway?”

  He chuckled. “You’re a little spitfire, aren’t you? I know this.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. Whether she was a reporter or a tourist or whatever, his words should still work. “You’re looking for something here, for some experience.”

  “And you think you can give it to me.” Her chin jutted out.

  He grinned. “I know I can. Only under one condition.”

  “And what’s that? That I do everything you say?”

  He shook his head. “That might be part of it, but even that only within limits. No, that’s not the condition. There’s only one way I can make sure that you have the experience you came for, and that’s for you to tell me what it is.”

  “You’re a sub?” That was said with nearly as much disgust as sadist, but she also didn’t sound as if she believed it.

  He laughed. “Not hardly. But I’m not psychic.”

  She looked him over again. “You’re a Dom.”

  “Yep.”

  “All right. I’ll do what you’ve asked. I’ll tell you what I came for. And you’ll give it to me?”

  He smiled. “We’ll see, hmm?” There was a couch free, miraculously, at the edge of his vision. It wasn’t as popular as a few of the other couches because its back wasn’t against a wall and people walked behind it a lot, but it would do fine for a conversation. “Let’s talk.” He walked away, toward the couch, gambling that she would follow. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t. He didn’t mind strong-willed women—in fact he loved the challenge—but he wasn’t entirely sure she’d do anything without challenging it. That would get tiresome fast. So if she doesn’t follow, fine.

  Except for some reason his chest felt tight, as if that wouldn’t be fine at all.

  Kyra stared after Drew’s broad back. He was halfway across the room before she made her legs move. She spent a moment watching the way his butt curved in his tight black jeans, another at his muscled shoulders. Yep, he was yummy all right. Seemed a waste that he was a perv.

  He was expecting something erotic, kinky, and she could already imagine the look on his face when she told him she just wanted to pump him for information. Maybe I should let him have some of what he wants first.

  The idea sent her pulse racing and she felt her nerves awaken. Her body liked the idea, and that frightened her. Her body didn’t get to be in charge. She started walking, trying to make it quiet down.

  He stopped at a black leather sofa, sat and turned to face her. Heat rose in her face as she strode toward him. She didn’t want to look too eager, didn’t want her face to promise what she wasn’t prepared to give. She sat on the end of the couch, almost on the maple arm, as far away from him as possible. He swiveled slightly so he was facing her, not trying to close the distance.

  “So what do you want, Kyra?”

  “Information. I’m writing a novel, I’m looking for background.”

  She expected Drew to back away or at least show disappointment, but he chuckled. “Poor old Ken was afraid you were a reporter. Novelist, eh? What kind of novels would make you come to a place like this for research?”

  “Mystery novel. The villain’s a sadist, like you, so—I just want to ask you a few questions.” There. Nice and direct. Best to make clear their real relationship straight up.

  His eyes narrowed at her words before they assumed a bland expression that could mean anything. “Fire away. But I might ask a few of my own.”

  Now that the moment was here, she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what question to ask. The silence lengthened, uncomfortably for her, although Drew seemed perfectly relaxed. “What is it you get out of beating up women?” she blurted.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Absolutely nothing. I’ve never beaten up a woman in my life, and I never will. Why do you assume I’m a sadist?”

  “You said you were.”

  “I said I was a Dominant, and there’s a difference. A sadist likes to inflict pain. The flip side of that is a masochist, who likes to receive pain. A Dominant simply enjoys taking the leading role in a relationship.”

  Maybe I should be talking to someone else. “So you don’t do any of that whipping stuff?”

  “You’re pretty quick with the assumptions, aren’t you? No, don’t answer, that was rhetorical. You’re making two assumptions here—one, that all whippings are painful. The other is that pain has to be a goal. Sometimes it’s merely a path to more pleasure. And pleasure is what most Dominants want to give those who submit to them. It’s like cooking food together—some people like it spicy, some people don’t. Each couple has to figure out a way to modify the recipe and make it work for them.”

  Her mind raced. She’d forgotten the number one rule for her villains, which is that most of them feel perfectly justified in their own minds. It’s not really painful. The pain is pleasure. She wanted it. He had it coming to him. Right.

  He leaned forward. “Why do you enjoy judging people so much?”

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s written on your face. What’s so fun about it? Is it a power kick? Does it make you feel better than other people?”

  Heat rose in her face and she’d started to get up when he put a hand on her shoulder. She sat back down and was immediately annoyed at herself for it. He hadn’t held her down, but she’d responded to his gesture as if he was in control. “I don’t have to answer that.”
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br />   He smiled as if her angry words pleased him. “No, you don’t. You’re not even meant to. I doubt very much that you enjoy anything of the sort. But you’re doing it, just the same. There’s only one way to really know something, Kyra. You can ask all the questions you want, and no matter what answers you hear they’ll be slotted in to fit with your own preconceptions. You won’t really understand without experience.”

  No way. “If you think I’m going to let you whip me, you’re crazy.”

  He nodded. “You decided we were all crazy before you ever stepped through the door, didn’t you? But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll let you do the whipping. I don’t think you’ll learn as much that way, but maybe it will give you the courage to try it the other way around.”

  “You like that sort of thing?”

  He shook his head. “A lot of people like being on either side equally well. And I’d say more masochists are capable of being sadists than Dominants. It helps to understand what the other person is feeling. But I’m afraid I’m hopelessly fixed on the Dominant side.”

  Kyra shook her head, the anger forgotten. “So why would you let me whip you?”

  “Well, technically, flog. A whip is a nasty little thing, capable of doing some serious damage—floggers, one of the many-tailed things you’ll mostly find here, can vary a lot depending on what they’re made of, the thickness of the tails, even the shape the ends of the tails are cut in. Like I said, it helps to understand what the other person is feeling. A refresher course won’t hurt me. It might teach you something, and I like to teach. But the real reason?” He paused and grinned. “I’ve decided to seduce you. And I’ll stop at nothing.”

  You can’t seduce me unless I let you. But she’d never had a better-looking man show an interest in her, and he was charming. She knew she was in trouble.

  * * * * *

  Kyra looked at the object Drew had placed in her right hand. It fit perfectly in her hand, the soft leather of the handle helping her get a firm grip. It looked nasty, its long black tails hanging ominously, a chrome ring at the other end making her think of it hanging on the wall of a dark dungeon. She ran her left hand through the tails and they felt soft and sensuous, as if she were running her fingers through the tresses of long hair. But if they were hair, they seemed to her something like the medusa’s—wide, dangerous snakes rather than thousands of slender threads.