Cherise Sinclair - My Liege of Dark Haven

Faint music and the hum of conversation came through the inner door as Abby stared at him in dismay. “Exclusive? But…” I don’t have time for this . The club opened only on weekends, and her research had to start right now or she wouldn’t get it done, peer-reviewed, and published in time to save her job. “Can I fill out an application?”

“I used the last one.” He scowled at the computer. “I could print one. Maybe. There’s a form somewhere.”

She craned her neck and pointed to an icon on the desktop screen. “Try the APPLIC.”

He clicked and an application appeared. “ Score . Do you know how to send it to the printer? Last time I tried, I got awarded the blue screen of death.”

After she guided him through the steps, the printer hummed to life. She grinned. Even after four years of being a professor, she still got a zing from teaching, no matter the subject.

“Here you go.” He proudly handed her the form with several more from a folder. “You might as well fill out the waivers and consents too.”

Off to one side, she started on the paperwork, sighing at the legalese. The usual disclaimers. The place wasn’t responsible for any disaster that might befall her. How reassuring . She needed a physical and blood work? Jaw tight, she doggedly continued.

When the room had emptied of incoming people again, she handed the pile back to him. “How soon can you process this?”

“Hell, without Destiny here, probably forever,” he said, turning glum. “Longer than that if my liege asks me to do the paperwork. I’m a lover, not a typist. But I can’t afford the membership fees if I don’t volunteer. Look at what it costs.” He shoved a paper across the desk.

She scanned the monthly fees and winced. Joining would put more than a dent in her savings. Then again, getting laid off would hurt worse. “You lost your receptionist? Clarissa?”

“Man, talk about a diva. She hung on for a couple of weeks. One lady lasted almost a month. Destiny held the place together for years, but Xavier hasn’t found a good replacement.” He stared at the scattered papers.

Her fingers itched to clean up the mess. “It’s not busy now. You could file a little at a time and then—”

He stared at her in horror. “Or not.”

“Are you interested in volunteering?” a dark voice asked from behind her.

She jumped and turned to see the man who’d followed Clarissa out. “Volunteer?” Her hopes lifted. Would that let her skip the application delay? “Looks like you need someone.” He really did seem familiar. She tilted her head. “Have we met?”

“A few months ago at the Harrises’ wedding reception.” He picked up the application she’d filled out, flipped through it, and gave her a keen look. “I believe you’re Nathan’s lady?”

“Well. No. We’re only friends now.” Since we broke up yesterday . She pushed the unhappiness away and held out her hand. “Abby Bern.”

“Simon Demakis.” His gaze focused on her paperwork again. “You’re a professor?”

“Correct.” She gave him a slight smile. “And those dues would force me to eat macaroni and cheese for the first time since I graduated. What does the receptionist do?” Would she get adequate time inside the club for her observations?

“Very simple. You man the desk from nine to midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. When Lindsey takes over, you’re free to enjoy the club until closing at three.” He grinned. “There’s no point in joining if you never get to play.”

Play? Do the BDSM stuff with strangers? She hadn’t managed that even with someone she knew. “Of course.” Her face heated. Obviously, because of Nathan’s membership, Simon assumed she was familiar with BDSM. That was good, wasn’t it?

If so, then why were clammy fingers sliding up her spine like they had before her chemistry final? The one exam she’d completely failed.

Xavier Leduc stood in the downstairs dungeon, watching a younger Dom release his sobbing submissive. Rainier’s session had gone badly. The younger Dom had asked for instructions on how to use nipple clamps correctly after the sub was settled.

A demonstration would be more effective than lecturing. Xavier looked around, half expecting his previous receptionist to hurry over with his toy bag and whatever else he might need. But no, Destiny had quit. He missed her efficiency.

Dixon, one of the Dark Haven staff submissives, stood nearby, obviously hoping to be used.

Xavier decided against using the young man for two reasons. Male subs often tried to disguise their pain, which would defeat the purpose of the lesson. And a woman’s larger nipples made it easier to demonstrate clamps.

Besides, he enjoyed handling a woman’s breasts.

“Dixon, run upstairs and get my toy bag from the bar.” Which submissive to use? Hadn’t the new staff member, Clarissa, been pushing for attention? “And bring the receptionist.”

“Yes, my liege.” Disappointment plain in his face, Dixon trotted away.

Rainier sat with his submissive on the couch, stroking her hair as she cried. Vivid red and purple bruising marked her right nipple. Nothing excessive, but this young woman wasn’t into pain, and her Dom hadn’t learned the difference between an erotic pinch and damage.

Turning away, Xavier surveyed the rest of his large dungeon. At almost midnight all the equipment was in use, from the Saint Andrew’s crosses near the stairs to the spanking benches in the center. Lusty screams of at least two women came from the harem room. One of the evening dungeon monitors, deVries, in his usual ripped-up leathers, looked in the theme room’s small window. Along with checking the participants’ safety, the blond sadist was undoubtedly enjoying the show.

“Here’s your bag, my liege.” Followed by a young woman, Dixon handed over the leather bag.

“Quickly done. Thank you.” Xavier glanced at the woman behind Dixon. Mid-to-late twenties. Medium height with pleasingly full curves, pale skin, and ear-length platinum hair. Dressed head to toe in black like a Domme, she stared around the room. His presence hadn’t even registered.

Odd how refreshing that felt. But she wasn’t the receptionist he’d requested. “You’re not Clarissa.”

She started, then smiled at him. “That’s quite observant of you.”

Dixon stared at her in alarm. “I… Um, my liege, she’s—”

“Dixon.” Xavier’s warning tone silenced the young man. “Could I presume upon you to inform me who you are?” he asked the blonde politely. “And where Clarissa is?”

“Clarissa quit”—her man’s digital watch was far too big for her delicate wrist—“about two hours ago. I’m filling in tonight.” She held her hand out. “Abby.”

His faucet of amusement cranked open. Straight-faced, he took her hand. “Xavier.”

“Good to meet you.” She gave a brief, no-nonsense shake and disengaged. “Now, can I help you with something? I’m new, but I’ll do my best to figure out how to get you what you need.”

Dixon looked terrified, clearly expecting Xavier to come down all Dom on Abby’s head.

Had he been that bad tempered recently? Xavier smiled. “That’s good to hear, Abby, since I need your breasts for a few minutes.”

“Of course. I—” She took a hasty step back. “ What ?”

“Your breasts. I’m going to instruct Master Rainier on how to apply nipple clamps.”

She retreated another foot before her chin rose. “I’m the receptionist, not a teaching assistant.”

Teaching assistant? Interesting term. “The receptionist assists in demonstrations when needed.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and he almost grinned. She didn’t realize how the posture pressed her pretty breasts upward. With her flawless pale skin, if he sandwiched her breast between his darkly tanned hands, the effect would be that of an Oreo cookie. The white center was his favorite part.