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  Wildly Inappropriate

  A Wild Irish Novella

  Lila DuBois

  Published by:

  Farm Boy Press,

  Sacramento, California, United States of America.

  First electronic edition: March, 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Lila Dubois, all rights reserved.

  Cover design by Lila Dubois

  Book formatted by Farm Boy Press

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s note:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About the Author

  Also by Lila DuBois

  Synopsis

  Wildly Inappropropiate

  A Wild Irish Novella

  Edward Donal goes to Pat’s Pub hoping to rent out the famous bar in order to host a BDSM mixer. Instead he finds Winter, a beautiful woman giving off distinctly submissive vibes. When he runs into Master Anderson, an acquaintance from the LA BDSM club he had to leave behind, he decides to see if Anderson’s correct when he says Winter needs the escape and loss of control that a powerful Dom can give her.

  What starts out as only sex becomes something more, when they realize they need and want each other even outside their roles as dominant and submissive. But Edward and Winter are very different people, from two very different series…uh, worlds. With the staff at Pat’s Pub meddling in their relationship, and some surprise visits from old friends, this relationship that began as something wildly inappropriate may turn out to be something simpler—true love.

  1

  The bar was a classic Irish pub. It smelled like hops and good food, and was surprisingly busy given that at nearly three pm it was well past the traditional lunch rush. Given how good it smelled, Edward Donal was not surprised that there were still people in the pub—it was the kind of place you came for the food and company, not because you needed a quick bite to eat on your lunch break.

  He wasn’t sure if that made his plan more or less likely to succeed. He’d identified Pat’s Pub as a potential site for his new venture because from the gossip around the office it was a local institution. He was hoping the safe, rather wholesome environment of a familiar location would make people more willing to step outside their comfort zone and attend the BDSM mixer he was planning.

  He walked up to the bar, stopping beside a lovely dark-haired woman who was eating her lunch with one hand and flipping through a thick stack of papers with the other. Edward felt her gaze slide over him as he rested one forearm on the bar. He leaned an inch closer to her, not in her personal space, but certainly brushing against the border. Her hands stopped moving, the fork hanging in the air, the papers no longer moving. Interesting.

  The bartender slid up—a handsome man with some sadness behind his eyes. “Welcome to Pat’s. What can I get you?”

  “It smells wonderful in here,” Edward said, “but I was actually hoping to speak with a manager.”

  The bartender leaned on the bar. “That’d be me. I’m Padraig. What can I do for you?”

  Donal put on his most nonthreatening smile. “I’m interested in renting out your establishment for an evening.”

  “Party?” Padraig grinned. “We can do that, but we don’t usually close the bar, just give you a reserved section.”

  What he wanted would need privacy. “For this I would need to insist that the bar be closed to the public. Also, I’ll need to move some of the furnishings.”

  Padraig raised his eyebrows. “What kind of party is this?”

  “A munch.” Edward didn’t whisper, didn’t hide what he wanted. He didn’t believe in hiding his desires. Honesty was the core of good BDSM, and one of the things that drew him to the lifestyle.

  Padraig sucked in air in surprise and then started to cough—he knew what that word meant.

  The bartender wasn’t the only one to react. The woman beside him jumped as if she’d been electrocuted and knocked all her papers onto the floor. She knew what a munch—the BDSM community’s term for a mixer—was. Very interesting.

  Edward crouched and started picking up her fallen papers, doing his best to keep them in order. She slid off her stool, long skirt pooling on the floor. Her hair was in a loose braid, pulled over her shoulder, and he had a brief, vivid image of a thin rope woven through that braid.

  “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was low and soft, practically oozing gentleness.

  One of the papers Edward had just picked up from the floor slipped from his grip. That voice…it did something to him. He wanted to grab her, protect her, yet he also wanted to pull her over his knee and see how long it would take for that soft, gentle voice to become screams of pleasure.

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured. He stood when the last paper was picked up. He handed them to her.

  When she grabbed them her fingers brushed his. That barely-there touch hit him like a full caress. He stared at her, wanting her to look up, so he could read the expression on her face. The woman slid onto the stool, eyes focused on her papers. She never met his gaze.

  Like a submissive.

  Don’t overreact. She’s just shy, not trying to signal to you that she’s a sub.

  Edward stayed there, uncharacteristically unsure what to do or say next, when someone called his name.

  “Donal.”

  Edward turned. There were three people seated in a booth near the bar. He recognized one of them immediately. Anderson.

  The last thing he’d expected to see in an Irish Pub in Baltimore was a fellow member of Los Angeles’s most exclusive BDSM club. Anderson was an easy man to recognize with his dark hair and intense eyes. The subs at the L.A. club walked on eggshells around him, not because he was cruel, though he certainly could be, especially with his sub Darling, but because he was intense.

  The woman with the braid was resorting her papers. Edward considered her for a moment then walked over to Anderson’s booth.

  “Good to see you, Donal.” Anderson nodded to the empty space his male companion.

  Edward sat. “Thank you.”


  The woman seated beside Anderson was a lovely, wholesome-looking red-head with freckles. Anderson held her with a casual, effortless possession—his hand under her hair, fingertips lightly pressed into the sides of her neck.

  The man beside Edward was handsome and looked vaguely familiar. He had a medium-tone skin color and features that made Edward think he was bi-racial. The fact that he looked familiar probably meant he was in the scene, though he was staring down Anderson with a decidedly un-submissive expression.

  “Tess, Isaiah, this is Master Donal,” Anderson said.

  Anderson introduced him as Master, which meant the man and woman in the booth with him were in the lifestyle. Not surprising. He couldn’t imagine anyone like Anderson associating with vanillas.

  “Master?” The woman asked in surprise.

  “Mind your manners,” Anderson said in a hard voice. “You too, Isaiah. Eyes down.”

  Neither one of the subs obeyed. Edward was first shocked, then amused. The look of consternation on Anderson’s face was worth the price of admission. Still, it was odd that Anderson was here with these two. “Where’s Darling?”

  Anderson’s dark gaze shifted to him. “Darling left the scene.”

  “Darling did? That’s hard to imagine. She was the perfect submissive.” Beautiful, elegant in her submission, perfectly behaved, the envy of many Doms. Personally, Edward had never feel attracted to her, rather he admired her submission. He’d never felt that sort of gut-based desire, like what he’d felt for the woman at the bar. He stopped himself from turning to look at her.

  “She was,” Anderson agreed.

  “Are you two…?” Edward asked, curious despite himself.

  “I no longer have a relationship with her.”

  “I’m sorry. You were great together.” Darling and Anderson, both with dark hair and serious, intense expressions, were like a matched set of kinky, dangerous leopards. “These are your new subs or are you just training them?”

  “They’re mine. Novices to the scene.”

  “Novices? Anderson, man, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you shouldn’t be initiating novices. You’ll scare them away.”

  There was no one way to practice BDSM, but there were general groups of like-minded people. Edward subscribed to the school of BDSM providing a structure and safety net for exploration and kink. He wasn’t a lifestyle player like Anderson, and he believed scenes should end with gentle aftercare for the sub.

  “You mean you won’t be inviting me to your munch?” Anderson raised one dark brow.

  So Anderson had heard that. That raised the interesting question of what the other man was doing in Baltimore. “No, I won’t. My firm relocated me here, and there isn’t much of a scene, at least not like what we have at Las Palmas, so I’m trying to get something started. Pat’s Pub is an institution, so I thought people might be more comfortable coming to a munch if it was here. You’d scare them.” Edward smiled. “You’re not invited.”

  “I’m just passing though,” Anderson assured him. Then he shifted slightly, his gaze sliding over his companions. “My new pets aren’t aware of my…reputation. Perhaps you’d care to enlighten them?”

  Anderson’s female companion, Tess, looked at Isaiah, the man beside Edward. There was fear in her eyes. Edward reacted to that, reaching across the table, instinct driving him to comfort the woman.

  “Do not touch my sub,” Anderson snarled.

  Edward froze, and then his body went cold in response to the challenge. He faced Anderson. There was something he’d never seen before in the other man’s eyes—fear, or pain. That was not good. Doms who used their subs to work out their own issues could do a lot of damage.

  Edward thought of the woman at the bar. He wanted to ignore whatever fuckery was happening in this booth and go back to her, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t ignore what he considered a dangerous situation. He turned to face the man seated beside him. Isaiah. Huh, the guy kind of looked like Isaiah Jefferson, the famous author. Probably a coincidence. “If you’d like a gentler introduction to the lifestyle, I’d be happy to show you. Both of you.”

  Isaiah looked surprised. Edward decided to go for brutal honesty. It was clear that these two were novices, and someone needed to help them understand. “Anderson is not a good first Dom. When a sub is misbehaving, you threaten to give him or her to Anderson for a night. Watching him and Darling could make even the most jaded of us nervous.”

  Tess’s lower lip trembled, but strangely, Isaiah seemed calmer after what Edward told him.

  “We’re happy with him. You don’t need to warn us.”

  Edward stared at Isaiah, who was not giving off any sub vibes, and finally shook his head. “I still don’t think this is a good idea, but I also won’t stand in the way of two consenting adults. I mean, three consenting adults.”

  Odd, he’d never known Anderson to be into trinities. Trinities? That was an odd way to phrase it. He meant menages.

  The tension that had gripped the table moments ago faded. It didn’t take a great intuitive to tell that Anderson’s tension had dissipated after Isaiah declared he was happy.

  “I haven’t shown them my party trick,” Anderson said in a conversational tone.

  Anderson the sub whisperer. He had an almost supernatural ability to read people, particularly female submissives. That was his party trick. Donal figured he was probably a psychiatrist in real life. Or a CIA interrogator. Or maybe a member of a secret, Nazi-sympathizer sect within America’s oldest and most powerful secret society.

  Nah.

  Anderson’s gaze slid past Edward to the bar behind him.

  Edward forced himself to smile. “Ah, the woman with the braid?” He didn’t like Anderson even looking at her, though that was stupid. The woman with the braid wasn’t his. She’d touched his hand, and they’d exchanged exactly four words.

  He had no right to feel possessive.

  Or protective.

  “What are you talking about?” Tess asked.

  “Sir,” Anderson corrected her.

  “What?”

  “You address me as Sir or Master. Repeat your question and mind your manners.”

  Edward imagined what it would sound like to hear the woman at the bar call him Master in that soft, delicious voice. He had to swallow and fight against the sudden, hard urge to stand and go to her. He’d slide his hand into her hair and kiss her, just to see if she’d do what he wanted, what he hoped—part her lips and let him kiss her with the raw, brutal desire she inexplicably inspired.

  Anderson grabbed his sub’s chin, forcing her to turn and look at him. She made a worried little noise and Isaiah reached across the table to grab Anderson.

  The fantasy about the woman at the bar had Edward’s Dom close to the surface. He reacted as if they were in a club, grabbing Isaiah’s arm before he could interfere. “He’s within his rights to correct her for failing to address him properly. If you want to be with Anderson, you need to accept this.”

  “No. I don’t.” Isaiah jerked his arm from Edward’s grip.

  “Excuse me?” Edward might not consider himself a protocol-obsessed Dom, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t turn a sub over his knee.

  But Isaiah wasn’t his sub. The man wasn’t even giving off any sub vibes—what was Anderson thinking?

  “Look at me,” Anderson said to Tess. “And address me properly.”

  Her voice was low and trembled. “Sir. What are you talking about, Sir?”

  Edward’s protective instinct reared up. “Are you comfortable with what just happened?” he asked her.

  Tess nodded. She was lying.

  “I have a gift,” Anderson told his companions. “I can tell what a sub needs, what will help tear down her—or his—defenses so they can truly submit. It’s human nature to hide what we want most, what scares us, and what we desire, if that desire isn’t socially acceptable.”

  “And you have some magical ability to figure out what people are hiding?” Isaiah�
�s voice was hard with either disdain or anger.

  “I do.” Anderson spoke as if he were simply relating a fact. “The woman sitting at the bar, the one with her hair in a braid, is a submissive.”

  Edward’s hands curled into fists. The woman at the bar was his.

  “You can’t tell that just by looking at someone,” Isaiah insisted.

  “Normally I would agree,” Edward said, “but in Anderson’s case, I’ve seen it happen one too many times. Plus, she knew what a munch was.” The last was said more to himself than to anyone at the table.

  Anderson shook his head. “She’s heard the term, nothing more. She’s a…virgin.”

  Edward gave up any pretense of disinterest and turned in his seat to watch the woman. She wore a long, soft dress with a sweater over it. She wouldn’t have looked out of place walking in an orchard, picking apples, as part of some wholesome butter or cotton commercial. “What does she need?” Edward asked Anderson.

  “Peace. She’s being crushed by the weight of her life. Take away her control and her responsibility. Keep her on the edge of orgasm until she can no longer remember her name, then fuck her until she’s sobbing in relief.”

  Edward exhaled as desire made the muscles of his abdomen tight. Peace. He could give her peace. And pleasure. So much pleasure.

  “Exactly what I thought,” Edward murmured, no longer really paying attention to Anderson. “Maybe I don’t need to organize a munch.”

  “No, perhaps not.”

  “In that case I’ll leave you to your meal.” Edward started to rise, but his sense of responsibility made him look at Tess as he reached into his pocket. “Please remember what I said. If you would like to be introduced to the lifestyle in a gentler manner, call me.” He laid a business card on the table, rose, and walked back to the bar.