Chapter One
Don't be afraid. It's nothing more than research. It's not like anything is going to happen. Yeah, that's what you said when you signed on to the chat room. That nothing would happen. That you wouldn't get personally involved. That you'd be able to get enough research done that way. Yet, here you are about to make a colossal mistake.
Dani stood outside what looked like a normal bar and hesitated. The place wasn't open and wouldn't be for another four hours. That's why she was here now. For her private tour. Right. And hopefully that's all it would be, and not her very private execution.
Danielle Summers was as vanilla as a milkshake. She should have at least had the good sense to try and dress the part. But no, here she stood in her little floral cotton blouse and white pencil skirt. She looked down at her new white pumps. At least they were heels. She smoothed her shoulder length, caramel-colored hair and took a deep breath. Now or never. She raised her hand and held it there for a few seconds before knocking tentatively on the door.
It opened and the man opening it turned away and went to answer the sharply trilling phone. “Bar None,” he said. “That's right, nothing's barred here. We indulge in all sorts of BDSM play."
She'd wondered where the name had come from. Now it made sense. This was the type of club where anything would go. The man on the phone had his back to her, and a big bad back it was. He had to be at least six foot two and had the shoulders of a linebacker. Tanned, muscular arms extended from his black leather vest which hung open. Jeans clung to his firm ass and long legs.
Fuck. No wonder some women were into the submission thing. Who wouldn't want to submit to that?
Then he turned and she wished to God she hadn't worn her granny panties. Six million thongs and today had to be the day to run out and be forced to wear underwear normally saved for heavy period days. She didn't want him to see the plain white cotton bloomers covering her ass. She'd die of shame.
Wait. What was she thinking? She wasn't here to disrobe. She was here to ask questions only. To see the place. Get it in her mind's eye so she could write about it later.
But the face of an angel, or more likely a devil enticed her panties to a puddle. This man was eight kinds of sin rolled in to one. Hair dark as pitch curled haphazardly along the nape of his neck in that in-between stage where you wondered if he'd merely missed his last haircut. Almond shaped eyes, green as a cat's and just as predatory, blinked at her. He hung up the phone and eyed her up and down. The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin. “You must be Danielle Summers."
He walked over to her and held out his hand. “I'm John Broughan."
He could be anyone he fucking wanted to be. She didn't care as long as she could look at him some more. His grin became toothy and she realized she was just standing there like an idiot.
"Pleasure,” she said as she put her hand in his.
He cocked one eyebrow. “That is the specialty of this place and if you're looking, I aim to please.” His voice was rich and smooth like rich chocolate. Dani involuntarily licked her lips.
John laughed. “Now here I was under the impression that you were here to do research for a book. What exactly are your publishing credits? We never did get into that."
Shit. She was hoping the subject wouldn't come up. She didn't want him to know she wasn't a published author yet. Then she felt the squeeze of his thumb on her hand. She'd been holding on to his hand and hadn't let go. Dani dropped it like a hot coal and took a deep breath. “I'm working on my MFA and I'm hoping this project will get published when I'm finished."
"An MFA?"
"Yes. A Masters of Fine Art. A lot of people pursue publishing this way."
He grinned at her more. “So what do you want first?"
Such a simple sentence, and yet her nipples tightened on impact. Oh yeah, that's what she'd like first. His mouth on
Don't be afraid. It's nothing more than research. It's not like anything is going to happen. Yeah, that's what you said when you signed on to the chat room. That nothing would happen. That you wouldn't get personally involved. That you'd be able to get enough research done that way. Yet, here you are about to make a colossal mistake.
Dani stood outside what looked like a normal bar and hesitated. The place wasn't open and wouldn't be for another four hours. That's why she was here now. For her private tour. Right. And hopefully that's all it would be, and not her very private execution.
Danielle Summers was as vanilla as a milkshake. She should have at least had the good sense to try and dress the part. But no, here she stood in her little floral cotton blouse and white pencil skirt. She looked down at her new white pumps. At least they were heels. She smoothed her shoulder length, caramel-colored hair and took a deep breath. Now or never. She raised her hand and held it there for a few seconds before knocking tentatively on the door.
It opened and the man opening it turned away and went to answer the sharply trilling phone. “Bar None,” he said. “That's right, nothing's barred here. We indulge in all sorts of BDSM play."
She'd wondered where the name had come from. Now it made sense. This was the type of club where anything would go. The man on the phone had his back to her, and a big bad back it was. He had to be at least six foot two and had the shoulders of a linebacker. Tanned, muscular arms extended from his black leather vest which hung open. Jeans clung to his firm ass and long legs.
Fuck. No wonder some women were into the submission thing. Who wouldn't want to submit to that?
Then he turned and she wished to God she hadn't worn her granny panties. Six million thongs and today had to be the day to run out and be forced to wear underwear normally saved for heavy period days. She didn't want him to see the plain white cotton bloomers covering her ass. She'd die of shame.
Wait. What was she thinking? She wasn't here to disrobe. She was here to ask questions only. To see the place. Get it in her mind's eye so she could write about it later.
But the face of an angel, or more likely a devil enticed her panties to a puddle. This man was eight kinds of sin rolled in to one. Hair dark as pitch curled haphazardly along the nape of his neck in that in-between stage where you wondered if he'd merely missed his last haircut. Almond shaped eyes, green as a cat's and just as predatory, blinked at her. He hung up the phone and eyed her up and down. The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin. “You must be Danielle Summers."
He walked over to her and held out his hand. “I'm John Broughan."
He could be anyone he fucking wanted to be. She didn't care as long as she could look at him some more. His grin became toothy and she realized she was just standing there like an idiot.
"Pleasure,” she said as she put her hand in his.
He cocked one eyebrow. “That is the specialty of this place and if you're looking, I aim to please.” His voice was rich and smooth like rich chocolate. Dani involuntarily licked her lips.
John laughed. “Now here I was under the impression that you were here to do research for a book. What exactly are your publishing credits? We never did get into that."
Shit. She was hoping the subject wouldn't come up. She didn't want him to know she wasn't a published author yet. Then she felt the squeeze of his thumb on her hand. She'd been holding on to his hand and hadn't let go. Dani dropped it like a hot coal and took a deep breath. “I'm working on my MFA and I'm hoping this project will get published when I'm finished."
"An MFA?"
"Yes. A Masters of Fine Art. A lot of people pursue publishing this way."
He grinned at her more. “So what do you want first?"
Such a simple sentence, and yet her nipples tightened on impact. Oh yeah, that's what she'd like first. His mouth on
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