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When Sophie Jameson first became a
domme at Club 1740, it was more out of financial necessity than it
was for personal pleasure and sexual exploration. But over the years
as she rocked her leather corsets and boots while wielding every crop
and flogger imaginable, she grew to love the thrill and adulation
that her clients brought her. But all along, her path in life and her
heart was with a different profession—one she was planning to
embark on at the summer’s end.
And then he changed everything. Tall,
dark, impossibly built—William was the complete opposite of
whatever image a male sub conjured up. After all the subs, Sophie
finally felt true lust and desire. Although he was the proud stallion
who needed breaking, he became the one to make her break all her
rules and let down all her walls.
But it was just supposed to be for that
one night, but an accidental encounter days later outside Club 1740’s
protected walls had the two seeing each other in a different light—as
simply Sophie and William, not Domme and sub. While they should have
parted ways, they couldn’t. While they should never have gone back
to her place, they did.
And that simple mistake has a serious
price for both of them.
In the distance, a figure crested the
hill on his way down from the mountain. Something about the man
appeared familiar. Over the years of running at the park, I was used
to seeing fellow running acquaintances. But as the incredibly built
man grew nearer, my stomach lurched. Oh no, this wasn’t possible. I
couldn’t literally be running into someone I’d been in a scene
with the night before. In the five years I’d worked at 1740, I had
never, ever run into a client.
We were within a few feet of each other
when he gave a complimentary nod of hello. Then he literally skidded
to a stop, sending bits of gravel flying around us. Just as I started
to pass him, acknowledgement of who I truly was flashed on his face.
FUUUUUCK I screamed in my head. With
everything I had in me, I raced ahead.
“Mistress Juliette?” he called.
Those two little words from his mouth
send me tripping over a limb. As I sprawled onto the ground, my knees
bumped along the uneven terrain. Once I came to a stop, pain raged
all through my body, although it was excruciatingly centralized in my
right ankle.
I rolled into a sitting position and
brought my hand to my tennis shoe. “Fuck,” I muttered. It was to
address both the pain and the fact that a shadow had crossed over me.
A bulky shadow belonging to the only sub I had ever let myself go
with.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,
Mistress.”
My gaze spun wildly around the
clearing. “Stop calling me that!” I hissed.
“I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
Damn, that voice of his. Momentarily
forgetting my ankle, I could feel myself growing wet just from the
deep timbre, not to mention how sexy his concern was.
“No, actually, I’m not.” I jerked
my gaze from my foot up to his handsome face. “My ankle is
throbbing like a mother fucker, not to mention I’m mortified as
hell I just busted my ass right in front of you.”
The corners of his lips fluttered, and
I could tell he was fighting the urge not to laugh at me. Without a
word, he knelt down beside me. “Let me take a look.”
I jerked my foot away from his
overeager hands, which caused me to wince from the pain. “I think
you’ve done enough already.”
Cocking his dark brows at me, he said,
“My mistress’s health and well-being is always my upmost
concern.”
I fought the urge to smack him and not
so he could get off on it. “Here’s a newsflash for you. We are
not in 1740 anymore, Toto, so this whole sub taking care of his
mistress bullshit isn’t going to fly.”
“I’m not in to dog play,” he
countered, with a wink.
“Yeah, well, last time I checked,
you’re not sporting my collar, so I’m not your mistress.”
“Ouch, you really bring out the claws
when you’re hurting, don’t you?” When I opened my mouth to lay
into him again, he brought a finger over my lips. “Quit your
bitching, and let me check out your ankle, okay?”
“Are you a doctor or paramedic in
real life?”
He smiled, causing those delicious
dimples of his to pop out. “No, not quite.”
“Then how do I know you’re actually
qualified to look at my ankle and not just wanting to cop a feel of
my foot?”
With a chuckle, he replied, “Don’t
have a foot fetish either.”
As he slid my tennis shoe off, I
hissed. “Answer the question.”
“Easy now,” he murmured.
“What qualifies you to look at my
ankle?” I demanded.
“I used to be a football coach.”
“Professional?”
He laughed. “No, high school.”
“Oh,” I murmured.
“Yeah, you bandage at least one
sprained ankle every game.” He glanced up at me. “Yours doesn’t
feel sprained, but it’s definitely swollen. I have a first aid kit
in my truck. I can bandage it for you.”
I eyed him suspiciously. As a
submissive, I knew he truly subscribed to the code of conduct that
his mistress always came first. But we weren’t in the club, and
although club management did background checks that rivaled the FBI,
he was still a stranger to me. Well, a stranger who I’d seen naked
and bent over a spanking horse.
Knowing that I didn’t really have a
choice, I huffed out a frustrated breath. “Okay, fine. I’ll let
you take care of my ankle.”
“Try not to sound so excited about
it, okay?” William said with a teasing expression.
Katie Ashley is a New York Times, USA
Today, and Amazon Best-Selling author. She lives outside of Atlanta,
Georgia with her daughter, Olivia, and her two very spoiled dogs. She
has a slight obsession with Pinterest, The Golden Girls, Harry
Potter, Shakespeare, Supernatural, Designing Women, and Scooby-Doo.
With a BA in English, a BS in Secondary
English Education, and a Masters in Adolescent English Education, she
spent 11 1/2 years educating the Youth of America aka teaching MS and
HS English until she left to write full time in December 2012.
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