EXCERPT FROM ‘LITTLE RED RIDING CROP’
The heels of her boots echoed hollowly off the wet concrete and the sound followed her to the green door at the entrance to Black Forest.
A rare case of nerves overtook Mistress Nora. She’d beaten the shit out of some of the biggest, toughest men in the world if they paid her enough for the privilege. But they’d wanted her to, invited her to. Here at Black Forest, she came unwanted, uninvited—on a clandestine mission for her boss, Kingsley Edge.
Not only that, but Black Forest had the biggest damn Dom in all of Manhattan. To comfort herself, she took her red riding crop out of her toy bag and held it by the handle. One never knew...
Nora tried the doorknob and found it locked. No worries there. She started to open her toy bag to dig out her lock-pick set when the door flew open so suddenly she gasped.
The man said nothing, asked no questions, and made no introductions. Of course, he didn’t need to say anything or make any introductions. Nora knew Brad, had seen him before, had met him before...but no matter how many times she’d seen him she could never wrap her mind around the sheer size of the man. At six foot four he stood no taller than her tallest ex-lover. But where most tall men tended toward the lean side, Brad was muscle from shoulder to shoulder, neck to ankle, and so wickedly handsome with his lupine smile and his salt and pepper hair that Nora could never look at him without wanting to get hip to hip.
Enemy, she reminded herself sternly. No fraternizing with the enemy.
“Shouldn’t you be at the gym?” Nora said, recovering her composure quickly. “I can see you shrinking by the second.”
“Well...” he said looking Nora up and down. He seemed to take particular note of what she held in her hand and her red cloak. “If it isn’t Little Red Riding Crop.”
Nora gave him her brightest, broadest, most obnoxious smile. “If it isn’t the Big Brad Wolfe. We meet again.”
“And me not even properly dressed.” Brad wore nothing but a pair of loose-fitting black pants and a black shirt...unbuttoned.
“I have that same shirt.” Nora tapped her chin. “Well, actually it’s a bed sheet. Same size. Very comfy.”
“I’ve heard tales of your bed, Mistress. Urban legends.”
“I live in Connecticut. They’d have to be suburban legends. I’ve heard tell of your bed too. Trees for bedposts, right?”
“You’re getting me confused with Odysseus.”
Nora raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. “Brawn and brains—I would never have guessed. But then again, I don’t know anything about you.”
“Born in Albany. Played football at Rutgers. Rhodes scholar. Love kink. Hate normal jobs. Divorced. No kids. There. That’s the beginning and end of my life story.”
“Divorced, huh? Vanilla ex-wife?”
“How’d you guess?”
“I’m smart too. Used to a fuck a Rhodes scholar. By the way...are you going to invite me in?”
“Should I?”
Nora thought about that question and decided honesty would win her more points than charm.
“Nope.”
Brad raised a dark eyebrow at her and said nothing. Maybe she should have gone with charm.
While waiting for Brad to make up his mind, Nora started to twirl her riding crop in her hand like a baton. She did that often when burning off nervous energy.
Brad merely watched her. How many staring contests with gorgeous men was she going to get into today?
“If I let you in, will you promise not to break anything...or anyone?” Nora spun the crop one more time.
“Nope.”
“The Dame will have my hide if I let you in and you know it.”
“Then let’s hope you’re into that sort of thing.”
Nora smiled again at him, the smile she reserved for midnight conversations whispered across black sheets. It seemed to work. Brad took a step back and let her pass.
Finally inside Black Forest, Nora took a moment to simply look around. Kingsley’s Underground Empire included half a dozen clubs all over Manhattan. But he only had one club that existed solely for their kind. The 8th Circle, as it was known to insiders, had been carved from the ruins of an old condemned hotel. Kingsley hadn’t done much to spruce up the joint. The seediness of the club suited the clientele. But where The 8th Circle quietly catered to money, Black Forest reeked of it. Black chandeliers with black light bulbs swung low from the black and gold ceiling. Leather chairs and sofas littered the floor. A dozen doors lined the first and second levels—doors that led to private rooms for secret activities.
“You don’t like it, do you?” Brad came to stand behind her so close she could feel the heat of his skin radiating from his bare chest.
“Bit middle-class, isn’t it? Got a Rotary Club feel to it.”
“It’s a helluva lot nicer than that shit-hole you work in.”
“Exactly. We don’t have to look pretty to get our millionaires through the door. They get that at home.”
“Black Forest is doing extremely well.”
“Must not be doing that well if you have to keep poaching Kingsley’s people.” Nora spun around and attempted to stare Brad down. It would have worked but she had to look too far up to stare him down.
“Kingsley works his people into the ground. No days off. No breaks. No vacations.”
“He’s a sadist.”
“He’s a bad boss.”
“And The Dame is so much better?”
“She is actually.”
“Then I should meet her,” Nora said, heading toward the stairs. “We can talk 401Ks and dental insurance. You get dental, right?”
For a man built like a linebacker, Brad could move with shocking speed. He interposed himself between Nora and the staircase and stared down at her.
“That’s not fair.” Nora flashed him a frown. “If I can’t stare you down you can’t stare me down.”
“You’re on The Dame’s territory. She makes the rules. I enforce them.”
“Great plan. I’d like to talk to her about it.” Nora tried to push her way past Brad and got nothing for her trouble but a few delicious seconds with her hand on his chest.
“No one talks to The Dame.”
“Then I’ll just listen.”
“No one listens to The Dame either.”
“Fantastic boss you have there then. Come on, Brad. Five minutes. All I need is five minutes with her.”
“For what? Are you really thinking of leaving Kingsley for this middle-class Rotary club, as you called it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Let me talk to The Dame. If she makes me an offer I can’t refuse...well, then I won’t refuse it.”
“I do the recruiting for the club.”
“Well then...” Nora took a step back and tapped her chin with the tip of her riding crop. She saw something heated and mischievous gleaming in Brad’s dark eyes. “Maybe you should try to recruit me.”
“I have Mistress Irena now along with four other Dominatrixes plus three male Dominants, including me. We’re not hiring any more Doms.”
“Pity. I have an impressive resume. And a huge client list. Everyone’s on it.”
“Everyone?”
“Your dad’s on it.”
Brad burst out laughing, and Nora only waited, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.
“You should be punished for bringing my father into this discussion,” Brad said, raising a hand to her face. Nora didn’t pull away. He might slap her. He might pinch her nose. He might even kiss her. She wouldn’t have objected to any or all of those possibilities.
But instead of a slap or a pinch or a kiss, he simply caressed her cheek with his thumb. She started at the gentleness, the intimacy of the touch, and took a step back.
“What was that for?” she demanded, raising a hand to her face. The caress burned more than a slap would have.
“You’re beautiful.”
“And you’re huge and handsome. You don’t see me going around getting all personal with your face.”
“Would you like to get personal with my face?”
“I...” Nora stopped and swallowed. She needed to get back into control of this situation. She could handle Brad. She could handle any man. Well, except for one... “You’re trying to top me, aren’t you?”
“I told you. We’re all stocked up on Dominatrixes. What we really need are a few good subs.”
Nora’s spine stiffened. “I don’t sub.”
“Not anymore, right?”
Nora glared at him.
“Come on, Nora. Everyone knows who you used to belong to. It’s not a secret.”
“Not a secret, no. But not anything I want to talk about.”
“Was it all that bad, being a sub for him?”
Nora let her most dangerous smile spread across her face. “No. It was that good.”
“Then you should enjoy doing it again.”
“You’re a big man, Brad, but not even you could fill his shoes.”
“Worth a shot, isn’t it? You want to meet The Dame, then you have to get through me.”
“Through you? Or under you?”
“Both.”
* * *