Cherise Sinclair - My Liege of Dark Haven

His sensual lips touched hers, but she’d stepped outside her body and was watching from a distance. Evaluating how he held her, how his voice sounded.

“I’m sorry too.” Ice formed on her skin, encasing her, buffering her from the pain.

The second night at Dark Haven went much smoother. Abby enjoyed her time behind the desk, checking membership card photos, answering questions, handing out applications. Who knew a kinky place would be so popular?

Whenever she had a few quiet minutes, she filled out the limit list Xavier had given her. Anal sex…hard beatings, soft beatings. Asphyxiation —was that for real? Face slapping…injections…piercings…mummification . Each item had one check box beside it for no , indicating she absolutely wouldn’t permit it.

Why didn’t he have a list like the ones she’d seen online that offered a box for maybe? Or in her case, an option saying, I might be willing after a lot of discussion and time and several margaritas . She frowned at the paper. If she marked no to everything that made her uneasy, Xavier might kick her out of the club for being a fake.

Eventually she checked only the items that would make her run screaming for the police. Asphyxiation . No way in the world. And surely a smart woman would mark no to something called orgasm denial . What a horrible concept.

After the traumatic questionnaire, she found it a relief to file membership applications and straighten the desk. She labeled a paper tray with MY LIEGE for a place to put Xavier’s messages. How did he get such a strange title? Although it did fit him well. His self-confidence seemed so integral to his nature he could well have been born a ruler.

As people came and went, she jotted down research observations in her own version of a code—shorthand Latin. She’d planned to compare the social network to a tribe or a family, but more complicated relationships kept appearing. Like the bisexual guy who told her he was submissive to a male Dom, but topped women when he visited the club. And smiled at her.

What was the proper response to that kind of flirtation?

A flurry of activity at the door grabbed her attention, and she checked in a lesbian couple, then a man with a human puppy on a leash. A minute later a blonde woman around forty walked in, followed by Simon.

Simon smiled. “Abby. You came back for another night. Excellent.”

Did the man have to be so gorgeous? Maybe he had some silver in his hair, but like Xavier, he was even hotter than a younger guy.

He put his arm around the blonde. “This is my wife. Rona, this is Abby, Xavier’s new receptionist, who will hopefully survive longer than the last one.”

Rona held her hand out to shake. “Hi, Abby. Has Xavier terrified you yet?”

“Not…completely.” Kind of . Unable to help herself, Abby gave a quick glance toward the club room door. Just to make sure he hadn’t entered.

“But some, eh?” Simon’s grin transformed his face to devastating. “Your receptionist time is over in a few minutes. Will Nathan show you around?”

“No. He’s teaching in Maine for the summer.” Thank heavens.

“Ah. Then join us when you’re off, and I’ll help you find someone nice to play with.”

Play with? Her breath caught as if snagged on one of her ribs. By the time she finished coughing, the couple had already entered the main room.

Abby managed to smile at the next three men waiting at the desk. Hunky, but from the spiked collars around two necks with leashes to the third guy, she knew none of them played on her side of the street. Sometimes sexual orientation wasn’t obvious—although it certainly had been with Xavier. Simply from the way he’d touched her, she knew he really, really liked playing with breasts. The thought sent a flash of heat to her lower half.

The guys ran their membership cards through the reader and held them up for her to check the photos. “Thank you. Have a wonderful night.” As they disappeared into the club, she jotted down some notes.

“Hi.” The leather-clad Dom wasn’t far past twenty-one—at least five years younger than she was. After swiping his ID card, he leaned an arm on her desk.

“Can I help you?” Abby asked.

The young man grinned. “Give me an hour and I’ll show you.” Then he noted her collar, and his smile turned rueful. “If the Master of the house permits.”

She laughed as he sauntered into the club. Not that she wanted him, but he was cute, and the well holding her ego had needed filling. After all, she sure wasn’t a beauty like some of the women here. Not even close.

The angel who assigned bodies had obviously been in a bad mood when Abby was born. Her stepsister had received long, thick brown hair to match her dark eyes and golden skin. Abby got blonde hair that she wore short because the strands were so fine that her ponytail was no thicker than a cotton swab. Dark eyes? Nope. She had weird gray ones, not even bright enough to be called blue.

Tall and slender like Janae? Nope. Abby was a pear—a nice, healthy shape as long as you liked a fat butt. She had nightmares of someone tagging her ass with a WIDE LOAD sign. Shudder.

The angel hadn’t been completely evil, though. I got breasts . And tonight they were showcased in a black corset. Her black leather skirt showed off her shapely legs but was long enough to cover her bumpy upper thighs.

Last month she’d read that a man’s connective tissue aligned horizontally with the skin, whereas a female’s went perpendicular—which was why women got lumpy cellulite and men didn’t. And doesn’t that totally prove that God is male?

She frowned upward to where God dwelled with his parsimonious angel. “You should be ashamed. Both of you.”

“Excuse me?”

At the sound of the deep, deep voice, she started, and her pen made a suicide dive to the floor. She bent, wrapped her fingers around it, and gulped as two oversize black boots moved into her view. After straightening up, she plastered on a smile. “Good evening, my liege.”

“Abby.” He studied her for a minute. “You’re wearing glasses.”

She’d forgotten how he affected her. Her heart was pounding like a five-year-old with a new drum set. “I’m not used to being up late, and my eyes had a tantrum when I tried to put in my contacts.”

“I see. The glasses are quite beguiling.”

“Oh please . I look like a nerd.” Or so Nathan had always said.

“I like the combination of fetish and studious.” His gaze lingered on her cleavage. “You look like a librarian who wants to go back in the stacks and fuck.”

As her mouth dropped open, he picked up her limits list from the desk and glanced over it.

Warmth flowed into her face as she remembered the disconcerting list of erotic choices. Maybe she should have checked no to them all.

He set it down without speaking. When he grasped her wrist, the zing was so loud that her ears rang, like hearing door chimes on amphetamines.

Apparently he didn’t hear them. He turned her forearm over to check the line of black dots. “Good. No reaction to anything.”

“Nope.” As his thumb made circles on her wrist, shivers climbed her arm. Heavens, how could being touched do this to her?

His dark eyes crinkled before he released her and gestured with his fingers. Stand up.

“Uh. Yes, sir.” She stood.

As he looked at her, his black brows pulled together into a frown that chilled her. Compared to him, the most intimidating professor at the university seemed like a lamb.

“Sir?”

“Did I mention less clothes?”