Rough Ride (Let it Ride Book 1) Page 3

  Hmph.

  I was a hypocrite, encouraging Poppy and Darcy to get it on with inappropriate men when I was too chicken-shit to get down and dirty with Malcolm.

  As I was walking along 114th Street, the front door to an old warehouse opened, and an older gentleman in a three-piece suit tottered out. He was moving gingerly, as though his muscles were sore.

  How…odd.

  A lot of buildings had been repurposed into new spaces—apartments, restaurants, and the like. I wouldn’t be surprised if one had been turned into a gym. Although it was a bit late for someone to work out at this hour, particularly a man in his sixties.

  The old man stepped into a limo waiting on the other side of the street and took off. As I turned to glance back at the structure, another man stumbled out onto the street and headed off in the opposite direction. He too was moving slowly, and since he looked to be in his forties, I bet it wasn’t due to age or illness.

  Curious, I walked into the lobby, but there was no sign by the elevator labeling a business. The elevator dinged and opened to reveal yet another man. This one was even younger, maybe in his early thirties, dressed in jeans, a ball cap, and a leather coat. He wore a dopey, satisfied smile on his face, and when he saw me standing there staring at him like a tourist, he winked.

  “I’m Nelson. Are you one of the new ladies?”

  “Er, yeah.”

  Freshmen year, I’d taken an extemporaneous acting class for one of my electives. Columbia prided itself on a “well-rounded” curriculum, and my adviser insisted it would help me get in touch with my creative energy and open my mind. Since I wanted to work on ad campaigns one day, a dose of imagination was a good thing.

  The professor had trained us to always say “yes” in a scene and go wherever it might take us. I’d applied the lesson to the rest of my life. Sometimes, it saved my ass— other times, it got me into deeper trouble. I hadn’t decided which this particular situation would end up being yet.

  “And you’re Mistress…?”

  Mistress?

  “Mistress Anne.” It was my middle name—my subconscious had supplied the answer easily.

  “Pleasure to meet you. Maybe I’ll book you next time.” He tipped his hat and walked off.

  Book me for what? Was there some kind of escort service upstairs? Or a sex club?

  Curiosity piqued, I got in the elevator and hit the button. Like I said, I’m an instigator and couldn’t resist a good mystery.

  After the elevator rumbled to a stop and the doors opened, I was disappointed to see the lobby of what appeared to be a law firm or a doctor’s office—bland and boring. A large oak reception desk dominated the room. On either side of the wooden floor were waiting room chairs and small tables filled with magazines. Although I didn’t notice any telltale branding—no lobby signs or logos, which was odd for a small business.

  However, there was a small buffet table against the far wall loaded down with silver bowls of smoked almonds, cheese trays, and a vegetable platter. There were also hotel mini-bar bottles of wine on ice.

  Scratch one possibility off the list—definitely not a doctor’s office. I popped a piece of brie into my mouth and tucked a tiny Sauvignon Blanc in my purse for later.

  As I was pondering whether or not I might have a brand new drinking problem, a brunette in a red leather catsuit sauntered into the room on spiked high heels.

  She had a long leather whip in her grip.

  My jaw dropped.

  The woman reminded me of a model on a catwalk—the haughty stare, the easy way her hips rolled. Unlike a waifish model, though, she was voluptuous—large breasts, generous hips, and a tiny waist.

  “Welcome to Ravage, Manhattan’s premiere dungeon, where the client’s pain is our pleasure. You must be here about the job.”

  Holy crap—this was a dungeon—an honest to God bondage club. I’d heard rumors about these places, but I’d never come across one in the city.

  Wine, cheese, and whips—how very civilized.

  Then I realized she was staring at me expectantly.

  “I’m sorry. Did you say there was a job opening?”

  “Yes, we’re looking for a new mistress. We’re in a hiring phase right now.”

  She came around the desk, presumably to get a better look at me. The leather creaked as she moved, and I wondered how she breathed in it.

  I returned her cool stare, meeting her eyes.

  “I’m Mistress Veronica.” She nodded in greeting.

  “Kate Vincent.”

  “Please understand this position is about domination and submission only. No sex occurs on the premises, and engaging in intercourse with a client would be grounds for dismissal.”

  Just short of prostitution—good to know.

  “Are all the clients submissive?”

  “Most, but not all.”

  So the majority of these men were paying for the privilege of being smacked? Odd. And I’d think without a “happy ending” it

  would be frustrating—but, hey, maybe submissive guys like that sort of thing. Who was I to judge?

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  “Like I said, I’m Kate. I’m graduating from Columbia with a degree in marketing. I’m outgoing, a strong leader, and I never back down from a challenge.” I offered her my hand, and she shook it. “Pleasure to meet you.” I’d perfected my introduction when I’d interviewed for internship positions. I never dreamed I’d be using it at a bondage club.

  “Columbia. You aren’t the first Ivy League mistress we’ve had.”

  Seriously?

  She must’ve read my face because she answered my silent question.

  “Tuition isn’t cheap.” Her lips curved into a slow smile. “You’ve got the right look and attitude, but can you dominate wealthy, worldly men?”

  I lifted my chin. “Absolutely.”

  She nodded, something like approval shining in her eyes.

  “Tell me more about your clientele.” It pays to know the consumer when offering them a valuable service.

  “A politician or two, lawyers, but mostly Wall Street men who spend their days being alphas and long to submit to a beautiful woman at night. Another important note—given the high profile nature of our customers, we guard their privacy zealously. We expect discretion from our Dominants.”

  Which is why there hadn’t been any branding. People could walk right past Ravage and never be the wiser. I kinda loved it—then again I’d always been a sucker for dirty little secrets.

  “How much does the position pay?”

  “This is a very exclusive establishment, so some of our employees clear $6,000 a week working full-time. The pay varies wildly depending on looks, skill sets, and any hard limits you might have. If you’ve got a few minutes, come to my office, and we’ll do a quick first round interview.”

  Pffft. The pay wasn’t bad. I’d never had to worry about bills, but the prospect of earning money of my very own appealed to me. Internship aside, I’d never held a job, and I hadn’t made a dime from my position at York & Associates.

  “Lead the way.”

  I followed Mistress Veronica down a dark hallway, and the sounds of men’s groans behind closed doors echoed in my ears.

  I’d stumbled in here by accident, but I’d just found my last wild and reckless act. Getting paid to thrash some sense into bankers sounded delicious.

  Yeah, I know.

  Poppy isn’t the only one with daddy issues.

  Chapter Five

  Kate

  “Are you strictly a Dominant or are you willing to switch as well?”

  After my first interview the night before, I’d gone on a wild Google chase through the world of Domination and submission, and I’d found out all kinds of things. Some I wished I hadn’t learned, but most of it had been intriguing—sexy, even.

  Since Malcolm was in meetings all day long, he’d given me a list of errands to run, and I’d researched on my phone while I ran around town on errand girl du
ty.

  I suddenly remembered Mistress Veronica and her question.

  “I’m willing to try being a switch.”

  From my research, I knew a switch alternated between submissive and Dominant roles. Given my personality, I doubt a man could put me in my place. I didn’t have a submissive bone in my entire body, thank you very much.

  “Excellent. You’ll make more money if you’re flexible.”

  It was a bit after six in the evening. I’d met with Veronica and another mistress, Catherine. They’d taken me through a handful of scenarios. What would you do if a client offered you money for sex? The correct answer was to refuse and report him.

  What if a Dominant client got too rough? Use the safe word and report him. It alleviated some of my concerns knowing Veronica kept tabs on her clientele and booted the ones who didn’t play by the house rules.

  We were seated in her office. Like the outside exterior, it was all business—gunmetal filing cabinets, a scuffed desk, mountains of paperwork. She was the only thing out of place—Veronica wore another outlandish corset, a leather skirt, and spiked heels.

  “I got a call from Master Y, and I’ll book you as his submissive to start. Think of it as an audition.”

  So her question hadn’t been casual. A thrum of excitement rushed through me. This was actually happening.

  “Okay.”

  “He’s one of my best customers, and he’ll show you the ropes, so to speak.” She snickered, pleased with her own joke. “It’ll give you a chance to see what happens in a session before you’re put in charge of one. After you’re finished with him, we’ll talk about what happened and see where you are.”

  “Do some girls bolt after their first time?”

  She nodded. “It’s one thing to learn about BDSM intellectually. It’s another to put it into practice.”

  I was nervous but eager too—anticipation mixed with adrenaline. Like waiting in line to ride a new roller coaster or watching a scary movie for the first time. I loved being pushed out of my comfort zone—and this was way out of it. It was just the sort of adventure I needed to cure my birthday funk. And let’s face it, there was something dark, sexy, and forbidden about BDSM. I couldn’t wait to try it.

  “Good. I’ll have you shadow one of the other girls for the rest of the night. Then I’ll work out a schedule—you’ll follow other mistresses some of the time, working in tandem, because some of our more affluent clients like two Dommes at a time. When I feel your training is complete, you’ll fly solo.”

  It sounded like a reasonable training agenda. Veronica seemed to be excellent at her job, even if it was unconventional.

  “Tell me more about Master Y.”

  Her smile was carnal, and I bet she’d had first-hand experience with him.

  “He’s different—dominant but kind, handsome. Y will break you in the right way and leave you wanting more.”

  Break me in? Like a horse.

  Oh, hell no.

  Master Y had another thing coming if he thought I was going to knuckle under so easily.

  “Don’t worry. It’s okay to be uneasy, but you’re a natural. I’ve got a great feeling about you. A couple of weeks from now, you’ll be running the show. Trust me.” She waved a hand. “Excuse me, but I’ve got to get these books under control.” She opened a spreadsheet on her computer screen.

  “Need a hand?” I was a whiz with tax deductions.

  Or maybe I was stalling.

  “Nah, I got this. Go to the dressing room and find something submissive to put on. We’ve got a lot of communal lingerie—and before you ask, we wash underthings after someone borrows a piece. But if you prefer, you can build your own wardrobe—it’s a tax write-off.”

  She waved me out of the room, and I hunted down an outfit to wear.

  Twenty minutes later, I lay on a rug in front of the crackling fireplace in the library. All of the rooms had a theme—a doctor’s office for medical fetishes, a bedroom, a dungeon, a stable for…well, that’s another story.

  The library was dark, with only a couple of lamps in the corners of the dim room. This place was probably used for scornful librarian scenes—bookish women who punished men for not returning borrowed books.

  I’d chosen a black lacy chemise because I couldn’t bring myself to wear used bras or panties, so I was bare beneath it. If I continued with this position, I’d purchase some work clothes of my own.

  I never passed up an opportunity to buy new lingerie—it was a weakness of mine. Victoria’s Secret was one of my favorite stores, although I bet I’d have to shop somewhere more exotic to keep up with other mistresses.

  Veronica mentioned Master Y had a thing for mystery and control. So I’d chosen a black leather cat mask with blinders. The mask stopped right above my lips. Mistress Catherine fastened a silk blindfold around the mask, as well as a ball-gag—a rubbery red ball in my mouth. The downside to the gag was a steady drip of saliva from my lips. A bit of it trickled down my chin, but Catherine assured me Master Y would find it sexy.

  Around my neck, she’d placed a spiked black collar which read Kitty. Master Y enjoyed pussy, I guess. The snarky thought calmed my fears.

  The heat from the fire licked at my bare skin, and I heard the crackling and popping of the burning wood. I guess what they say is true—when one sense was taken from a person, the others become acute. Or maybe I was nervous and hyper-alert.

  Lying on the floor, unable to see or speak, I felt more helpless than ever before and I was overflowing with forbidden excitement. There was something undeniably erotic about being a powerful man’s plaything.

  But I was starting to get antsy, despite my earlier confident demeanor. I was going to let a strange man dominate me for money. This was the first time I’d ever been offered up as someone’s for the taking. It was unexpectedly electrifying—he could do almost anything he wanted with me.

  Was I ready for this? Had I finally gone too far this time?

  Without a doubt, this was the most outrageous stunt I’d ever pulled. Along with the unease came a familiar bad girl rush I got when I did something wrong.

  I tried to picture what my father would say if he found out. I imagined he’d be livid. Hell, he might even pay attention to me for ten minutes.

  And I wondered what the girls would say. I couldn’t wait to crow about my latest adventure. Maybe this exploit would give them a good kick in the rear, encourage them to act on their own desires.

  The sexual tension between Poppy and Sebastian was unbearable. And Darcy had to lose the good girl routine sooner or later—she might as well seduce Dr. Sterling. And I hoped Iris made Will pay.

  At any rate, I wasn’t worried about the future yawning before me right now. For the first time in weeks, I felt more like myself—ready and waiting for another escapade.

  This had been a terrific idea—if only we could get started.

  Then I heard thick-soled boots on the creaky wooden floor.

  I tensed. Showtime.

  “Aren’t you the prettiest pussy?” The words were hot in a rough way—dirty talk was a turn-on.

  The question was rhetorical since I couldn’t speak.

  I could sense the man standing above me. Was it my imagination or was his voice familiar? Or I could be delusional—searching for any security in a disorienting situation.

  “I’m Master Y, and you must be Anne.”

  Veronica had told me to go by a stage name, rather than my real one.

  I nodded.

  Master Y unfastened the gag, and it fell from my mouth.

  I sucked in a breath and stretched my jaw.

  “Yes, sir.” House rules dictated a Dominant must be called “sir” or “mistress.” When I dominated men, I’d make them call me by my new title.

  “Get on your knees. Did they explain consent?”

  “Yes.” I knelt, keeping my head down in a submissive position.

  “Repeat the rules.”

  “We use the traffic light system at Rav
age—red means stop, yellow means slow down, and green means go ahead.” Veronica had made me repeat it until the phrase was rote. Evidently, Master Y wanted to make certain I knew the rules.

  “Good. If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, give me a light. For now, we’re green?”

  “We are.” His pledge not push me into anything reassured me.

  “I’m going to tie your wrists now.”

  I held out my arms.

  “Good girl.”

  Something satin was draped around them, a ribbon maybe. It was a symbolic gesture—I could easily get out of it because it was wrapped loosely.

  “I’m not allowed to penetrate you with my cock, but I’ve brought other things that’ll do the job.” His tone was teasing. “Unless you object?”

  I released a long, low breath. He was easing me into this, going slow, talking to me. Veronica had been right about him. Maybe obeying this man wouldn’t be so bad.

  “I don’t, sir.”

  “Thrilled to hear it.”

  And yet I wondered why Master Y would do this if he couldn’t, er… finish. Maybe he was married, and this was some sort of foreplay before he went home to his wife? I wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem polite.

  Ironic, given our current situation. A question felt intimate, yet he’d be using me for his own pleasure.

  Master Y ran his hands over me, cupping my cheek, sliding down the length of my neck, grasping a breast beneath the chemise. He tweaked the nipple, pinching it.

  I bit my lower lip.

  “Fair warning, I’m a fan of gray areas. While I don’t break the house rules, I do bend them a bit.” Then I felt the pad of his finger—no, his thumb—brushing against my lips. “Open for me.” I did, and he plunged the digit fully inside. “Suck.”

  I did.

  His other hand settled on the back of my head, holding me in place as I gave him a simulated blow job. There was no other way to interpret it. I swirled my tongue around the digit—lapping, slurping.

  It was far from my first. I’d always found sex fun, if a bit dull. I’d only orgasmed a handful of times, but I was addicted to the thrill of making a guy want me, chase me.