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  “Of course. I date normally, and I have normal, vanilla sex with those women.”

  “And you…hire professional submissives when you want to do this?” Addie motioned around the faux bedroom.

  “If you mean hookers, then no. I meet women who are also into BDSM through clubs, chat rooms, forums. The relationships I have with them are sexual. I maybe take them out to dinner to get to know them, but I’m not dating them.”

  “There’s never any crossover?”

  Lane went to a bar cart, cracked open a bottle of fizzy water and poured two glasses “You mentioned a boyfriend tying you up. Did you think he was a Dom, part of the BDSM world?”

  “No, it was just a bedroom game.” She accepted the glass he handed her.

  “That’s what I do with the women I date, if they seem willing. I’ll take them into the shallow end of the pool, but I never seek out women to date with the intention of making them submissives.”

  “So you have women you date, and women you fuck. What are you going to do when you fall in love and can’t have both anymore?”

  “Love? That seems a little hearts and flowers for you, doesn’t it?”

  Strangely, that comment centered Addie. The oh so confident Lane didn’t know her as well as he thought he did. For Addie, love conquered all. Romance was the heart and soul of L.A.’s laid-back rockabilly scene—it was what had first drawn her to the subculture. Lane said he knew sex, but Addie knew love. “Maybe, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I’m only thirty-four, I have time to find the right one.”

  The right one for what?

  Addie took a sip, letting the bubbles fill her mouth. Lane had taken a seat on the couch. He wore dark-wash jeans and a white button-down, open at the throat. The leather jacket he’d been wearing when she first walked in was missing now, but the scent of leather lingered around him.

  “Stand up.”

  Lost in her perusal of him, it took Addie a minute to process what he’d said, to understand the shift in tension.

  “Are we starting?”

  “Yes. You’re free to speak whenever you want, but should be aware that most Doms have a strict speak-when-spoken-to policy. Stand.” This time the word was harder, harsher.

  Addie set her glass on the table at her elbow with trembling fingers and rose. She bit back every sassy comment that sprang to mind. Lane’s eyes were intense, dark. Taunting him seemed…unwise.

  “Unbutton your shirt.”

  Addie put her fingers to the first button, took a breath, and slid it free. Lane leaned forward, watching each movement with intense eyes. When she had the buttons undone to the high waist of her pencil skirt, she stopped.

  “Open your shirt, tuck it to the sides so I can see your breasts.”

  Addie folded the fabric to the sides. She’d worn one of her favorite lingerie sets. Made of leopard print and cinnamon lace, the bra, like so many of her clothes, was modeled after a 1940s style and covered more of her than most modern bathing suits. She’d thought it would help her feel less exposed when she reached this point, but standing there with her shirt open, breasts on display, she felt more naked, more vulnerable than she could ever remember feeling.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  “Sit.”

  What?

  “Sit, Addie.”

  Confused, Addie lowered herself into the chair. As she did so, the edges of her shirt slid back into place, covering her breasts.

  “Fix your shirt. If I give you a command or ask you to do something you must maintain that position or order until I change the command or tell you to stop.”

  Addie tucked the edges of her shirt against her sides. SJ caught her attention. The photographer was behind Lane, quietly taking photos, the lens focused on Addie’s chest.

  “You know the safe words. Now, some rules about your body.”

  “My body?” Exactly how much control was she supposed to give over?

  “A submissive should never cover herself. That doesn’t apply right now, as we’re still undressing you, but once you’re naked, you’ll need to sit with your legs spread, rather than crossed.”

  Addie looked down at her legs, which she’d crossed at the ankle and tucked under the chair—a proper lady’s pose. “That’s…obscene.”

  “No, it’s sexual.”

  “I assume men made up these rules. Sexy doesn’t have to be obvious.”

  “It’s not about sexy. It’s about the sub and Dom both knowing that the Dom can and will touch his sub’s pussy whenever and however he wants. Stand. Remove your skirt.”

  Addie did not want to take off her skirt. Not after what she’d just heard. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Lane to touch her—that she was looking forward to. She didn’t like the idea of sitting there with her legs spread like a bitch in heat or an ill-mannered tramp. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair, ready to stand…but couldn’t do it.

  “Addie, stand up.”

  She licked her lower lip, then shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “You mean you don’t want to.”

  She shook her head again. “But I do want to.”

  Lane rose from the couch. When he was standing before her, he took her right wrist in his hand and drew her up, holding her hand up by his shoulder. With his other hand, he searched her waist for the zipper of her skirt, found it at her back and slid it down. When the zipper cleared the swell of her ass, he released her and stepped back.

  “Take it off.”

  “Lane, please.”

  “Please what?”

  Addie looked down. He was wearing black shoes. Strange she hadn’t noticed that before. She always noticed shoes.

  “Adelita, what do you want?” He cracked the sentence like a whip.

  “I want you to do it,” she shouted back, head coming up, breathing fast.

  “But I won’t. Drop your skirt.”

  Addie shoved her hands into her waistband and let the skirt fall to the floor.

  “Now the shirt. Remove it.”

  Undoing the final buttons, she shrugged it off, letting it fall to pool around her feet, on top of her skirt. She was left in nothing but her leopard-and-cinnamon bra, panties and garter set. Her stockings and shoes were still on, for what little protection they offered. Addie looked at Lane, raising her chin. She wasn’t afraid of how she looked naked. She had nice breasts and an ass to balance them out.

  She was afraid, in that moment, of Lane. Not that he would hurt her—for all his intensity she didn’t think he would actually cause her pain, he was too nice of a guy—but she had this sinking feeling that her time with him might change how she felt about sex, about men, and that was frightening.

  “Pick up your clothes, fold them, and hand them to me. Good. Now sit down, and remember what I told you.”

  Addie lowered herself into the chair, sitting as far back as she could, and spread her knees until her thighs touched the arms of the chair.

  “Good girl.”

  Lane rose, setting her clothes to the side. He took his glass to the bar cart and added more ice. “How do you feel?”

  “Not as vulgar as I thought.”

  “Do you feel sexual?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you aroused?”

  Addie sucked in her lower lip, not wanting to admit that she was. He’d barely touched her, hadn’t even kissed her, and her sex was tingling with arousal.

  “Answer me or I’ll put my fingers in your pussy to check.”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “And what is it that’s arousing you?”

  “I don’t know. All of it. The commands, the power.”

  “Good. That means you will enjoy what’s to come.”

  Lane moved behind her chair, brushing her hair aside with his hand. He set his cold glass against her neck.

  Addie gasped, her whole body tensing at the sudden shock. Instinctively, she closed her legs.

  “Legs apart.” He tugged her hair lightly in repriman
d.

  She spread her legs. This time he fished an ice cube from his glass and balanced it in the hollow of her collarbone. When she sucked in a breath, it tumbled into her cleavage.

  “That’s cold.”

  “I imagine it is.” Plucking the ice from her cleavage, he slid it under the cup of her bra. Addie looked up, her shocked gaze meeting his own. There was a wicked smile on Lane’s face as he used his thumb to push the ice cube deep into the cup of her bra.

  Moving around in front of her, he used his fingers on the outside of her bra to work the ice cube into place directly over her nipple, dragging a cold, wet path along her breast. When the ice made contact with her already beaded nipple, Addie shrieked, her hands instinctively coming up to her breast.

  Lane set his glass down, grabbed her wrists and forced them to the arms of the chair. He wrapped her fingers around the wood. “Your hands stay here.”

  “Please, it’s too much. It hurts.”

  “Does it?” He grabbed the lump of the ice cube and lifted it, offering a moment of relief before circling it around the nipple.

  Addie whimpered and moaned.

  Lane carefully repositioned it. “Are you aroused?”

  “Yessss.” The intense sensation at the tip of her breast was fading as her skin numbed. Addie couldn’t deny the flood of wetness in her sex it had caused, but she was glad it was done.

  Lane took another ice cube from his glass.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He rubbed it against her lips. Water trickled into her mouth, down her chin.

  Lane pulled out the other bra cup and slid the ice cube in. She threw her head back, panting. Her fists clenched around the chair arms, trembling as she forced them to remain open.

  Lane stroked the inside of her thigh with one hand as the other manipulated the ice cube around her nipple. “Good girl.”

  Ripples of sensation tracked up and down her arms, legs and back. Addie tipped her head forward, meeting Lane’s gaze with her own. He was a port in her storm of feeling. His big body radiated calm even as his eyes burned with intensity.

  “Stand up,” he ordered, stepping back to give her space. “Now turn around and bend over. Put your hands on the seat, elbows straight.”

  Addie did as he ordered, her garters pressing into the backs of her thighs and her ass as she did. The new position caused her breasts to shift, the melting ice not pressing as intensely against her nipples.

  He slid his hand high between her thighs, pinched her. “Remember what I said about keeping your legs spread.”

  This time she didn’t hesitate as she took a side step, spreading her legs. There was the clink of ice against glass and then cold drops fell against her back.

  Lane traced the ice over the right cheek of her ass, over the fabric of her panties. “Have you been fucked anally?” The ice pressed the fabric of her panties between her ass cheeks.

  “Ah, um, no.” The ice bumped over the entrance to her ass, causing her to jump. It felt strangely good.

  “Have you had anything up your ass? Fingers, plug, vegetables?”

  “Vegetables? Oh my god, no.”

  “I like the idea of training you to take a nice thick cucumber up this pretty ass.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “I can, and will, do anything I want to you. You’re mine.”

  A shiver that had nothing to do with ice racked Addie.

  That’s not true. He can’t fuck you. He can’t kiss you. This is a job.

  But it didn’t feel like a job as he lifted her panties at the waist and slid the ice cube underneath. The cube settled into the crack of her ass, sliding down toward her pussy. His fingers never touched her. All she felt was the silky material of her panties as he manipulated the ice cube from the other side, as he’d done with her breasts. As it passed over her anus there was a sudden pressure and the ring of her ass gave slightly. For one terrifying, thrilling, moment, Addie thought he was going to force the ice cube into her ass.

  She cried out in fear, in excitement.

  Lane reached around her, holding her belly, the contact calming her. “Don’t worry, I’ll prep you more than that before I put anything up your sweet ass.”

  The ice moved south, between the lips of her pussy. Addie screamed between clenched teeth, coming up on her toes. She thought she heard SJ murmur “beautiful” but then she couldn’t think as the ice rubbed against her clit. It was so cold it burned. But the sensation against her aroused clit caused the muscles low in her belly to tighten, her body to rocket closer to orgasm.

  “I can’t, it’s too cold.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “Can’t come.”

  “Did I give you permission to come?”

  “Permission?” Addie panted. She twisted to look over her shoulder at Lane.

  “A sub must have permission to orgasm.”

  “That’s bullshit,” she spat.

  Lane grabbed her hair, forcing her to face forward. The tension on her hair pulled her head up.

  “A submissive doesn’t know the Dom’s plan for her.” As he spoke, the ice cube left her clit, moving toward the entrance to her body. “She must trust that her Dom will care for her, pleasure her, if that is his wish and if she deserves it. She must also accept that she might not always get orgasms exactly when she wants them. His plan may include bigger, better orgasms later.”

  Lane slid the half-melted ice cube into her sex.

  “Oh, oh, oh.” Addie panted and thrashed. She clenched, trying to push the ice cube out.

  “No, relax. Let it slide into you.”

  Lane hadn’t been kidding about knowing his sub’s body. Addie relaxed, whimpering as the ice made its way inside her, causing a deep shiver to pass over her.

  “Then again,” Lane went on, “there are times when a Dom just wants to see his sub come until she screams his name.”

  Lane slid his arms under her hips and carried her two steps to the couch, where he flipped her over onto her back.

  “Arms above your head, legs spread.”

  Addie obeyed, quickly throwing one leg over the back of the couch, the other on the floor. Lane loomed over her, one knee between her spread legs, his left arm braced on the edge of the couch, his right hovering over her sex.

  “Look at me. When you come, you thank me. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, who?”

  “Yes, Lane.”

  “Good.” Lane placed his index and middle finger on her clit, over her panties, and rubbed. Pleasure rolled through her and Addie’s eyes fluttered closed.

  “No, look at me.”

  Her eyes popped open. “How am I, ohh yes, supposed to follow all these rules, ahh, when you make me feel, mmmmmhmmm, like this?”

  Lane just smiled. “You don’t have permission to come.” His fingers continued their pattern of circles and vertical strokes.

  “Then you better stop that, because I’m close,” Addie said. The orgasm was there, coiled low in her belly, just waiting to be released.

  Lane stopped.

  Addie stared at him in shock. “I didn’t want you to actually stop!”

  “I don’t think you fully understand that you’re not in control. And you need to learn that.”

  “I do understand that! I did everything you said.” She searched his face, but there was no hint of teasing.

  Lane stood and stepped back.

  “Stand up. It’s time to get serious.”

  Lane would have bet ten large that if there’d been a gun handy he’d be full of holes. Addie looked ready to kill as she glared up at him. She was sex personified as she lay spread open, her wet lingerie clinging to her distended nipples, the lips of her sex. Her hair was mussed, her chest and cheeks flushed.

  “Serious? What the fuck was this?” She jumped to her feet, hands balled into fists.

  Sexual frustration was one of the worst sensations in the world. In his experience, new subs handled it in one of two ways—tea
rs or violence.

  “This was an introduction.”

  “To what an asshole you are?” Addie socked him in the shoulder and started cussing in Spanish.

  He’d pegged her for a violence kind of girl. Good to know he could still call ‘em.

  Lane planted his shoulder in her waist and stood, Addie dangling over his back. She punched his ass a few times and Lane was just glad she hadn’t gone for the kidneys.

  “Put me down.”

  “No.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Sadly, we can’t do that. But I’ll get as close as I can.”

  He dropped her on the foot of the bed and then hauled her to sit on the edge. He was vaguely aware of the click of the camera. Before she could figure out what he was doing, he fastened a buckle cuff—already attached to a rope and pulley system connected to the bedpost—around her left ankle.

  “What’s that?” she stopped cursing long enough to look over the side of the bed at her captured ankle. He took advantage of her distraction to cuff her right ankle. Then he stepped back. He’d given her enough the-big-bad-man-forced-me free passes, now he was going to make her do it the hard way.

  “Stand at the foot of the bed and spread your legs.”

  “Why should I?” she said, petulance dripping from every word. Her dark hair tumbled over one shoulder, her eyes narrowed.

  Lane wanted to grin and shout with joy. He loved women—everything about them. They were complicated, beautiful and mystical. He’d gotten into BDSM hoping to decode them—Doms always seemed to have all the answers. What he’d learned was the best anyone could do was react to them, possibly map patterns of known actions and satisfactory reactions. Learning to handle women sexually had morphed him into an acceptable dating companion too, giving him the best of both worlds, and ample opportunity to know what he liked in women. This woman was exactly what he liked—she was like the strong, confident, slightly edgy women he usually dated, and he was seeing hints of the naughty, playful, super-sexy women he liked to top.

  Lane hid his delight in her and crossed his arms. “Stand up, spread your legs.”

  “I would, if you weren’t such a cock tease.”

  Lane raised a brow. “With a mouth like that, I think I want you gagged.”

  “Fine.”

  Damn. He hadn’t actually wanted to gag her. It would have to be something harsh, so she’d do anything to avoid it in the future.