DangerousLust Page 2

  “Get dressed and sit down.”

  My gaze snapped to him. I opened my mouth to protest, but the look on his face warned me not to.

  I zipped my skirt and put my top back on. Only when I was sitting did I realize that I hadn’t cared where we were, who might have seen. Nothing had mattered but that pleasure he’d let me taste.

  Clay handed me my glass. My fingers were shaking so much that I spilled a little. He steadied my hand, guiding the glass to my mouth. I looked at him over the rim.

  “Leona, you said you don’t have class on Tuesday and Thursday?”

  “Just my internship, from eleven to five.”

  “I would like you to join me at my home on Wednesday night.”

  “To…talk?”

  “No. To play. Though I should warn you that I do not consider BDSM a game. I consider a well-crafted session to be akin to art.” He took folded papers from inside his jacket. “Fill this out and bring it with you. It’s a checklist. Since you are a novice it will not carry the same weight with me that it would if you were an experienced submissive. But be sure to read and sign the last page.”

  I took the papers and pressed them against my lap. “Don’t you fill one out too?”

  He finished his drink. “If we were negotiating a scene, then I would. This is not a negotiation, it is an invitation. Do you understand the idea of risk-aware play?”

  “No.”

  “Some people advocate for a warning system known as ‘safe, sane and consensual’. I consider that naïve. There is risk in BDSM play, both physical and emotional. If you’re my submissive you must accept that risk.”

  The arousal that hummed through me demanded that I just agree to whatever he said, whatever he wanted. The cautious part of me, the part of me that had left a letter in my desk so that the police would know what happened if I disappeared, wouldn’t let me.

  “How can I accept a risk that I don’t really understand?”

  Clay laughed. “You’re very smart. I will promise you this—I will go more slowly with you than I would with another woman. It is both an honor and a privilege to be the first to taste a woman’s submission. I do not take that lightly, but I am also a hard man. I will demand things from you that you might find frightening.”

  “I’ll have a safeword?”

  “More than that, we’ll use the stoplight system. Do you know it?”

  “I read about it. Yellow if it’s starting to hurt or if you’re panicking. Red to make it stop.”

  “Yes. For me red means I will stop what I’m doing. It doesn’t mean I won’t start again or will end the scene entirely. I don’t believe in topping from the bottom.

  “I also don’t believe in creating impossible rules as an excuse for fake punishment. If I want to spank you I will.”

  I licked my lips and gulped some martini. The idea of being bent over Clay’s lap was… I shuddered.

  “If you do something truly in need of punishment then there will be no pleasure, and you will not forget it.”

  I nodded, sure I could follow his rules.

  “You’re certain you’re still interested?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it again, and this time address me properly.”

  “Yes…Master Clay.”

  He nodded. “Lovely. Outside my home you will call me simply Clay, but I wanted to hear the word ‘Master’ from your lips.”

  “Are there rules I should learn before I get to your house?”

  “No, I will teach you everything you need to know. A good Master doesn’t let his sub suffer or question.”

  He rose. “Shall we?”

  I tucked the list into my purse and stood. I was both relieved and disappointed. I didn’t want this to end. Didn’t want to wait to get to the good stuff, but another part of me was anxious to get away and analyze everything he’d said and done.

  I watched him drop a fifty onto the table and my eyes widened. He held the curtain aside so I could exit. I brushed by him, his body firm and warm.

  He offered me his arm. No one had ever done that for me. I wasn’t sure where to hold. Seeming to understand he took my hand, tucking it around his forearm.

  “How did you get here?”

  “The bus.”

  Clay frowned. “I don’t want you taking the bus, but it would be a mistake for me to drive you.”

  “I’m okay taking the bus.”

  Clay took his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times. He led us out of the hotel. A sleek black car was parked in the spot of honor in the driveway. I wasn’t good with cars, but even I could tell it was rare and expensive.

  The valet jumped when he saw Clay, who said, “Bring it up, but I’ll wait for my companion’s ride.”

  The valet moved the sleek black car until it was parked directly in front of the doors.

  “Do you live on campus?” Clay asked as we stood waiting.

  “Yes, it’s easier with my scholarship.”

  “And your major?”

  “Math and art history.”

  “An interesting combination. And what do you hope to do with it?”

  “Graduate school for applied mathematics. I’m going to take the GRE in January.”

  “Wonderful.”

  A black Town Car, the bumper tagged with white lettering that marked it as a chauffeur car, pulled up. The driver got out and held up a small sign that said “Leona.”

  “Your ride is here.” Clay led me to the car. When I hesitated he said, “All I did was call a Town Car service. I assure you they are in no way affiliated with me. Give the driver your address. I will take care of the tip.”

  “Thank you. I’ve never been in a Town Car.” I was feeling very elegant and sophisticated as I clung to Clay’s arm.

  “Then I will send a car to pick you up also.”

  The driver opened the rear door. Clay tucked a finger under my chin. I held my breath, sure he would kiss me but he didn’t.

  “Until next time, Leona.”

  “Thank you for the drink, and the ride, Clay.”

  He held my elbow as I got into the car. The driver closed the door. I watched Clay tip the man. I continued to watch clay as the Town Car pulled away.

  When he was out of sight I lay my head back and smiled.

  Chapter Two

  I rose from my cramped desk in the basement of LACMA—the Los Angeles County Museum of Art—when my boss knocked on the open door. I and two other interns were stuffed together in a small room in LACMA’s basement I was fairly sure was meant to be a closet.

  Salli Capara was a thin, blonde woman with black eyebrows. She motioned for me to step out into the hall where there was more space. I stretched slightly as I did—there were boxes stored under my desk, and my legs started to cramp from the weird position I sat in.

  “Leona, my darling Leona,” Salli sang. She was intense and interesting—and working for her made me sure that I didn’t want to spend long working in the art world.

  A cute surfer-type guy wearing hipster glasses with thick black frames was waiting in the hall. He had curly blond hair, a go bag with a Poké Ball patch on it and a tablet tucked under his arm.

  “Leona, this is Brad Marshall. He’s going to develop the app and QR scanning part of the exhibit. Brad, this is Leona Thies. She’s a senior at UCLA and a double major in math and art history. Perfect, perfect for this project! Leona is working on content development of the math teaching piece of the new exhibit. There are two other interns on the project also, but she’s our lead. They’re useless, Leona’s wonderful.”

  I took Brad’s hand, hiding my smile at Salli’s words. I had a feeling she probably called me useless when I wasn’t here, but I was working hard for her.

  Brad’s hand was big and warm and he smiled in a way that was both sexy and adorable. A warm flush spread over me and I tipped my head down so my hair would hide the blush. It must be leftover feelings from my meeting with Clay last night. I wish I’d masturbated more—maybe that
would have stopped me from having a totally crazy reaction to Brad.

  “Nice to meet you, Leona.”

  “You too, Brad.” I managed to sound almost normal, though Brad’s smile was seriously distracting.

  “Leona, can you show him the mock-ups and what we have so far? I want you to move into the conference room so you have some space. This place is not creative. You will be creative. You will marry art to science.”

  “Okay, Salli. Give me a second to get my bag.” I duck into the closet office and threw my laptop into my bag along with my headphones and phone. Slinging it over my shoulder, I joined Salli and Brad in the hall. Together we headed for the elevator. Salli got off on the first floor and I motioned for Brad to stay on.

  “We’re going up to the fourth floor.”

  When the doors opened I got off. This level was the curators’ offices and meeting rooms. One of the smaller conference rooms had been turned over for the upcoming exhibit I was working on.

  Brad looked around with interest at the stark white corridor decorated with pieces of beautiful modern art.

  “Leona. Am I saying that right?” His attention shifted back to me.

  “That’s me. This is the conference room we’re using to develop the exhibit.” I used my badge to open the door, then flipped on the lights.

  Brad reached over my head and held the door open. He was tall, probably over six feet, and broad. I set my bag down as Brad looked around. The little room was crammed with high-quality prints of a few of the pieces that would be included in the new exhibit. They were taped to the walls and propped up on easels.

  There were computer renderings of what the exhibit would look like spread out in the center of the table and held down with cubist glass paperweights from the gift store.

  “I’m not gonna lie.” Brad set down his bag and pulled out a big laptop. “I don’t really get what I was hired for.”

  “What do you do again?”

  “App development. Most of my clients have been restaurants or real estate people. One of them is a board member and recommended me for the job.”

  Salli had talked about bringing in someone to do the app, but I didn’t realize it would happen so soon. “That’s cool. I know nothing about apps or how we were going to do some of the things they want for this project.”

  Brad dropped into a chair. “Okay, brown eyes, take me through it.”

  “Brown eyes? We just met. It’s a bit soon for a nickname.”

  “It’s never too soon for a nickname.”

  I meant to roll my eyes but giggled instead. “You’re weird, Brad.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I hope you really need those glasses and aren’t making some hipster fashion statement.”

  “I spend all day staring at a computer. I need them. But I’m not a hipster. At least not on purpose. My ex picked them out. She said they made me look like a member of Mumford and Sons instead of a stoner.”

  I slid onto the table and crossed my legs, looking him up and down again. “You need a scarf for full-on English hipster. Mostly you have a surfer look, or maybe it’s a stoner look.”

  “Hey now, I resent that. I don’t surf.”

  “But you do enjoy Mary Jane?”

  He grinned. “Of course not. I’m a responsible small business owner who works hard for his clients.”

  “Small business owner? How old are you?”

  “Technically I am a one-man small business. And I’m twenty-six. What about you? No, wait. I’m going to guess. You look like you could be twenty-four, twenty-five, but I be you’re twenty-one.”

  “That wasn’t impressive. Salli told you I was in college. I’ll be twenty-one in three months.”

  “The countdown has started.”

  I thought about the martini from yesterday and couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

  “If you’re in college how are you in charge of so much of this big exhibit? I thought it was supposed to be some national thing?”

  I blinked and focused on his question. Brad was one of those easy-to-get-along-with people. It was going to be fun working with him.

  “The exhibit is called Behind the Image Lies the Truth. The idea is to take paintings and sculptures with heavy geometric elements and then break down the shapes mathematically. By looking at the proportions and ratios of what’s represented it’s supposed to explain why some pieces are more appealing. We’ll compare the breakdown to similar representations in nature.”

  “And you’re going to do the math part, the breakdowns?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you like a math genius?”

  “No. But I am studying it. Planning to do a PhD in applied mathematics.”

  “Gorgeous and smart? Brown eyes, I better watch out for you.”

  “Yes, beware. The man-eating co-ed might get you.”

  “I think I saw that movie.”

  “Spike TV? Skinamax?”

  “Spike. How did you know?”

  “I actually starred in it. Overworked intern is my cover identity.”

  Brad laughed, his whole face lighting up. I slid off the table and took a seat next to him. Moving my laptop so he could see it, I pulled up some of the content I’d developed. After I’d showed him a few of the geometry-based explanations that went with the example paintings on the wall, he sat back.

  “This actually sounds really cool. What kind of user interaction are you looking for?”

  “Well, we were hoping to develop something people could download on their smartphones so that they could scan each painting and then see an overlay of the analysis and breakdown.”

  Brad hunched over his laptop and started typing. For the next hour we talked through the possibilities. When he had what he needed to develop a few options I escorted him out, using my keycard to get us out of the building, which was locked up since it was after hours.

  “Are you coming back?” I asked as I pulled on my black jacket. I only had four or five pieces of nice business attire, one of which was this tailored jacket I wore practically every time I came.

  “I’d like to. Dr. Capara, Salli, suggested I coordinate that with you, since her schedule is busy.”

  “Okay, that sounds good. I’m here Tuesday and Thursday from eleven to five and all day Friday.”

  “Cool. Then I’ll see you on Thursday?”

  “Yeah. This is my stop.” I pointed at the bus sign.

  “You’re taking a bus home?”

  “Back to campus, yeah. It’s easy.”

  “I could give you a ride.” Brad adjusted the strap of his bag. “I live in Santa Monica, so you’re on my way.”

  It was funny the way life worked. If this had happened last week I might have jumped on the chance to get a ride from him. It wasn’t just a ride, I could see that in the way he was looking at me. Brad was cute and fun—easy to talk to. He looked like a good kisser. But I was done with that. I had Master Clay.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”

  He paused, then nodded. “It was nice to meet you, Leona. I’ll see you Thursday.”

  Brad headed for the parking lot. As the bus pulled up to the curb I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder at him. I took a seat in the back of the bus and put my bag on my lap.

  What was I doing? All Brad offered was a ride. He hadn’t asked me out. Was I really so conceited that I just assumed Brad wanted to sleep with me, and therefore I needed to turn him down because I was going to see Master Clay? Embarrassment curled in my belly, making me feel slightly sick. Had Brad been able to tell that I assumed the offer of the ride meant he was interested?

  And what if my first instinct was right and Brad was interested? Did being in a D/s relationship with Master Clay mean I couldn’t date? Would I be able to date someone normal after Master Clay?

  The bus jerked along Santa Monica Boulevard, leaving me too much time to think. I’d been very careful all day not to let myself freak out over what I’d done last night
. Master Clay was everything I could have hoped for. I knew he would give me what I wanted. I’d finally have a relationship that meant something. A relationship I could understand.

  * * * * *

  My heart rose in my throat as the car climbed into the hills. Luckily the driver hadn’t asked me where we were going when he picked me up half an hour ago.

  Master Clay lived in the hills part of Beverly Hills. It wasn’t far from campus, but we’d gotten stuck in traffic. I didn’t know what time Master Clay wanted me there, so all I could do was hope that we weren’t late. The car had picked me up at four thirty. I’d had two hours to prepare after my last class.

  Not wanting my suitemates to know where I was going, I’d showered and done my makeup and gotten dressed in the bathroom, putting on a sweatshirt over the low-cut silky tank top I’d decided to wear. I wore a stretchy cotton skirt and I’d left my suite in comfy boots, changing into silver flats once I was out. My sweatshirt and boots were tucked into my bike locker. The cotton skirt wasn’t fancy, but I couldn’t keep wearing my internship clothes—I needed them for work and couldn’t afford to do more dry cleaning. I looked cute but not sexy.

  I hoped Master Clay didn’t see me and change his mind.

  We pulled up outside a big white house. It was three stories, with a round driveway that swooped around to the door. There were at least fifteen large windows in the front of the house. The yard was all white roses and ivy, with a large, geometric marble fountain, probably a piece of art in its own right, in the center.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. I hoped we had the wrong address. It was one thing to meet a man who was sophisticated and successful. It was something else to get involved with someone like this—so far outside my income bracket and comfort zone that it wasn’t even funny.

  The driver got out and came around to my door. When he opened it I hesitated. It wasn’t the sex or power games that had me worried—it was the fact that Clay was rich and I was a poor girl from Texas.

  “Miss?” The driver leaned down to peer at me. His face was totally blank—his expression so carefully controlled that I knew he was wondering who I was and why he’d brought me here.