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  Her breath hitched. “I…. Umm…. My course work’s a bit overwhelming, and finals are coming up. I need to cut back—”

  He placed his index finger over her lip. “Don’t lie, Naomi. Did you quit because of what happened last Friday?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I had a lot of reasons.” Falling into bed with him might top the list, but she saw no benefit in elaborating. “I should get going. My flight is in a few hours.”

  His brows drew together. “Why are you running from this?” Though the volume remained consistent, his voice deepened. Shortened syllables gave his gruff question a menacing edge.

  Since her knees threatened to give, she leaned on the glass. “How about the classic reason? I’m not interested in you.”

  He trailed the pad of his thumb down the line of her neck, stopping at the zipper that held the sides of her hoodie together. “Your pupils are dilated. Your lips are swollen and red.” His hand shifted to rest on the side of her neck. “You’re warm. Your pulse is fast.” His fingers tightened. “I could yank off your panties and fuck you right now, and you wouldn’t do a thing to stop me. Should I teach you a lesson, little liar? Do you want me to punish you?”

  She pressed her palms into his chest and heaved. Her best effort failed to shift the wall of muscle by even an inch. “We’ve had this conversation. I’m not—”

  He closed his mouth over hers. The brutal kiss short-circuited her brain. Instead of continuing to push him away, she melted. With each lance of velvet heat, her mind retreated. She softened against his hold, her spine arching when his arms looped around her waist.

  He crushed her against his chest, his tight embrace pushing air out of her lungs. His tongue probed, tasted, and possessed. Her breasts ached, her nipples throbbing under the damp cotton. He grabbed her butt and lifted, wedging his erection between her thighs. With each hard grind, fire spread from the juncture of her legs, enveloping her in an inferno of hunger.

  She yearned to beg for more—to give him whatever he wanted. The powerlessness underlying the urge yanked her out of the daze. She refused to fall in love—with him or anyone else. A relationship was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

  Twisting her head to the side, she broke contact. Her vision blurred as she blurted the words certain to stop him cold. “This. You. Me. It ends today. I can’t be what you want. I’m not a submissive.”

  He let her go, and the abrupt rejection sent her staggering back. Tensed muscle sharpened his jawline a moment before his expression smoothed out, leaving a blank canvas. His lips curved, the empty smile chilling her more than any visible ire. “I sure know how to pick them, don’t I?” With a shrug, he pointed at the door. “At least I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t go through this song and dance twice, pet. You’re right. We shouldn’t see each other again.”

  A hot tear streaking down her cheek, she ran.

  ***

  Luka Petrovich scowled at the slamming door. What a mess. He’d sent Naomi racing out of his house, in tears, probably thinking him a total jerk. He’d come from a long line of men who couldn’t handle crying women. His aversion to playing the bad guy had contributed to his prolonged, ill-fated, cluster fuck of an engagement. And by the end, he hadn’t even liked his former fiancée.

  He liked Naomi. A lot. And he’d made her cry.

  Feeling as if he’d kicked a helpless puppy, he ambled to the backyard in search of comfort and forgiveness. Slumping on the grass next to Bear, he stared up at the blue-gray sky. As if the dog could sense his mood, he padded toward him and rested his huge head on his lap. He ran his palm along the abundant fur, using the tactile exchange to sooth his raw nerves.

  When Bear let out a soft whine, he sighed. “I miss her, too, big guy. But it didn’t work out. I don’t think she’s coming back.”

  Huge brown eyes stared up at him, the dog’s forlorn expression urging him to give Naomi a call. He could apologize. He could explain the reason why he’d snapped.

  What would be the point? Seeing Naomi might give him an instant hard-on. The best night of his life might have been the one she’d spent in his bed. But, he’d attempted to have a girlfriend who wasn’t a submissive before. Ignoring his gut had wreaked havoc on his life, come close to destroying his career, and contributed to the growing schism between him and his family.

  His gut told him Naomi was hiding something.

  Bear licked his fingers and barked. “Don’t look at me like that.” Luka heaved a frustrated breath. “I know they are two different women. But the problem’s the same. She’s not interested in BDSM.” And sexual dominance was a permanent component of his psyche. He couldn’t shut it off, even if he wanted to.

  The dog nudged the back of his hand.

  “I said I’m not mixing them up.” At least, not right this instant. In the kitchen, he’d admit to a momentary lapse. Confusing Naomi and Ivanna stood testament to his screwed-up brain. Two people couldn’t be more different.

  Ivanna had been the quintessential golden girl, with short-cropped blonde hair, bright-blue eyes, and skin the color of cream. Though she lacked even an ounce of extra body fat, she’d sported melon-sized breasts and an ass to match. Both assets could have resulted from enhancements, but they’d passed the squeeze test.

  For a while, his former fiancée’s attractiveness had compensated for her far-from-pleasant personality. Her need to correct perceived flaws, hers and his, had bordered on obsession. The constant touch-ups had prompted him to view her beauty as the mask. Hard and cold, she’d resembled a gorgeous sculpture and turned their shared bed into a suffocating tomb.

  Naomi might have more angles than curves, but he appreciated the resilience implied by her muscle tone. With a sturdy, athletic build, her agility and bubbling energy brought delight to every movement. Each time they’d crossed paths, he’d struggled to tear his eyes off her.

  Under the dawn’s light, skin the color of burnt caramel had invited his exploration. Just touching her sent electric jolts from his palms straight to his cock. Always tied back, her hair might be neither sleek nor smooth, but the escaping curls had tempted him to unravel her braid. When she’d straddled him last Friday, those ebony locks had formed a dark cloud behind her shoulders, the curving tendrils drawing his gaze to her dusky nipples. He hadn’t pushed her then, but he’d dreamt of fisting his hand behind her nape as she knelt at his feet, her clever mouth vulnerable to his every desire.

  Bear’s wet nose bumped his forearm, the contact shattering Luka’s daydream. The dog’s immaculate coat reminded him of the deeper differences between Naomi and his ex. Ivanna had petted Bear once or twice, but she’d never fed, played with, or helped groom the dog. She’d forbidden him from bringing his own pet inside the house and had dropped multiple hints about replacing the mutt with a pedigreed animal.

  He scratched Bear’s floppy ear. “I didn’t consider it for one second, I’ll have you know. Not even when she withheld sex.” The dog slurped at his palm, nuzzling closer as Luka’s brain insisted on a walk down memory lane.

  Lust could blind a man. So could the urge to start a family. He’d tired of returning to an empty house, of doing scenes with different lovers night after night. Watching his mother and father grow old together had filled him with a hunger for someone to call his own. He’d wanted a partner, a woman with whom he could share his home.

  Ivanna had seemed the perfect choice. They’d been about the same age. He worked as an architect and she an interior designer. Their families frequented the same country club, shared acquaintances, and attended similar charity events.

  She’d set her sights on him not long after they’d bumped into each other at his cousin’s wedding—a meeting he’d later discovered had been orchestrated by two sets of scheming parents. According to her friends, she’d boasted about him eating out of her palm. She hadn’t veered far off the mark.

  Over the course of several hours, he’d ogled her boobs, admired her butt, and yawned while she’d rattled off list
after list of possible mutual acquaintances. When she’d batted her eyelashes and invited him into an empty guest room, he hadn’t objected. After all, she’d seemed like the perfect woman, one who’d wanted nothing more than to quit her job, settle down, and raise beautiful children.

  He hadn’t pursued her after they’d parted ways, in large part because he’d detected no hint of submissiveness. They’d shared a robust, enjoyable, but far-from-fulfilling night together. But, two weeks after the fateful encounter, he’d bumped into her at a BDSM club he frequented. Dressed in a corset and thong, she’d fallen to her knees, plumped up her breasts, and told him she’d try anything.

  He should have trusted his instincts and turned her down, but his penis had called the shots. She kept on showing up on his regular nights, and, like an idiot, he’d topped her each time. After months went by without incident, asking her to marry him had seemed a no-brainer. He’d found a woman who shared his tastes in bed, one whose social standing and life goals complemented his.

  After he’d broken off the engagement, she’d sued him for emotional distress, prompting him to retain the best attorneys he could afford. Their private investigators discovered her so-called compatibility with him to be a sham. She’d shown no interest in the lifestyle prior to the day they’d met. Financial records indicated she’d hired someone to follow him, before and after the first night they’d fucked. She’d had her PI question the other women he’d slept with, providing her with a list of preferences and limits.

  Even though she’d researched him, stalked him, and played him like a fiddle, his lawyers had nonetheless advised him to settle the civil suit. He’d refused, and the nasty smear campaign that accompanied the trial had turned his ordered life upside down. Perhaps because of his parents’ wealth, his interest in BDSM had captured the attention of both the local press and tabloids. The stuffy architectural firm he’d worked for had responded by booting him out the door.

  Instead of wallowing in self-pity, he’d recruited the assistance of his best friend, a daring if somewhat unorthodox attorney, to sue his former employer for discrimination and his ex-fiancée for slander. Somehow, they’d managed to win both trials. He’d come out of the experience a richer man and had used the windfall to start a company of his own.

  Reaching sideways to rub Bear’s soft, white belly, he contemplated chasing after Naomi. But, conniving bitch or not, Ivanna had taught him a valuable lesson. Their relationship had crashed and burned in large part because of her unhinged mental state, but also because she wasn’t a submissive.

  His ex’s reticence to scene in public had increased the longer they’d stayed together. Soon after he’d proposed, she’d asked him to cancel his membership at the club. His perversions, as she’d liked to call them, risked damaging her image.

  When he’d refused her request, she’d thrown a hissy fit. After lobbing dishes and glassware, she’d crossed the line and kicked his dog. The brutal attack had resulted in a moment of complete clarity. Less than a minute later, he’d shoved the queen bitch out of his life.

  Shouts from their last fight echoed around him, the past leaking into the present in a paralyzing rush. “I’m not a submissive, you perverted bastard. If you want to fuck me again, you’ll screw your head on straight and become the man I want.”

  Chapter Two

  With a delighted squeal, Naomi spread her arms and vaulted face first onto the giant king-sized bed at the center of her room. Even this morning’s unpleasantness couldn’t dampen her glee. She’d arrived in Las Vegas. Despite the suite’s potent air conditioner, the desert sun warmed the backs of her calves. The wall-to-ceiling windows showcased a gorgeous view of the Strip, where giant signs added swatches of color to the forest of glistening skyscrapers. Compared to the dreary New England spring she’d left behind, this place was a dream come true.

  A weekend getaway at the Castillo Hotel and Resort had been a bribe from Marjorie and Sasha, her first clients in Boston. Even though she’d never planned to abandon the couple, they’d wanted to ensure their coterie of cats and dogs didn’t get trimmed off her list. As incentives went, this one couldn’t be beat.

  Twisting her shoulders from side to side, she tried to loosen up. The five-hour flight and preceding mad dash to the airport had knotted her muscles. She dug her fingers into her nape in an attempt to dissolve a crick. Giving up, she plopped her chin on the plush mattress. Perhaps she should put the spa tub in the bathroom to good use.

  Her gaze fell on an inviting array of snow-white pillows. Topping the pile was a pair of chocolate eggs and a bright-red envelope. Gripping the satin sheets, she pulled herself forward. More curious than hungry, she reached for the mysterious missive and nudged out a thick vellum card.

  Madame Eve cordially invites you to a one-night stand. Please meet your date at Carnivore Club Vegas* at 7:00 p.m. Fetish clothing is recommended. Underwear is discouraged.

  Shooting off the bed, she sprinted to her backpack and unearthed her laptop. After returning to her prone position on the bed, she flipped the screen up and connected to the complimentary Wi-Fi. A new email from Marjorie sat at the top of her inbox.

  Butterflies filled her stomach as she clicked.

  Have fun, fellow subbie! Maybe you’ll meet your one true Dom tonight. This service is how I hooked up with Sasha. It’s legit AND gets you into Vegas’s brand spanking new BDSM resort at a steep discount. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

  P.S. I’ve done it all.

  P.P.S. Go crazy, young grasshopper. You only live once.

  P.P.P.S. Sorry I couldn’t book you a room there. It was a bit over budget.

  P.P.P.P.S. I’ve already paid the fee for a night pass, so don’t you dare pull a no-show.

  Grinning wide enough her cheeks hurt, Naomi spun onto her back and scooted until her butt met the pillows. Propping the computer on her lap, she glanced at the footnote on the card.

  *To save time, please go to www.carnivoreclubvegas.com/private/register to fill out a mandatory questionnaire. When prompted for your secret access code, type in: TRuE_L0ve.

  The website loaded in a flash. Delight flooded her when she glanced at the contact page. The resort provided shuttles to and from the hotel for all guests free of charge. All she’d have to do was ride the elevator down, hop in a limo, and enjoy the complimentary champagne. The added convenience allowed much more leeway with her outfit and simplified her late-night return journey.

  Marjorie could count on Naomi showing up at the Carnivore Club with her A game. Some strings-free scenes with a nameless Dom seemed the perfect cure for her recent brush with insanity. She couldn’t risk starting a relationship—not now, and not any time in the near future.

  Sexual frustration had led to her night with Luka. She refused to accept any other explanation. Once she blew off some steam, she’d stop thinking about him every ten seconds.

  As she filled out her limit list and history, she erred on the side of adventurism. The key to a clean break was replacing memories with new experiences. At this point, she’d try anything once. Bondage, spanking, and flogging she’d done before, although it had happened so long ago the recollection proved vague. She went ahead and checked the “curious” boxes next to public sex, nipple, and anal play.

  When the options started to send chills down her spine, her resolve faltered. Perhaps she didn’t need to go nuts. She wanted a distraction, something to stop her from pining after Luka like a besotted puppy. Playing out a proper domination and submission scene should end her obsession, even without the aid of fire or blades.

  She hadn’t set foot in a BDSM club in years. Though good grades had snagged her a full ride for her BA, veterinary schools seldom doled out scholarships. Fearing her student loans would balloon to unmanageable proportions, she’d embraced part-time jobs and serious belt-tightening long before she’d graduated from college. Club cover charges had gone the way of the dodo, along with alcohol, shopping, and eating out.

  And even though she hadn’t
graced the hallowed halls of Starbucks in years, she remained one misstep away from total ruin. Assuming she managed to finish her DVM in a few months, she’d still start out two hundred thousand dollars in the hole, with a projected initial salary of thirty grand. She’d earn more if she’d gone straight from high school into the labor market.

  Sensing a wave of stress, she breathed in and out to force her nerves under control. Without this vacation, she might have snapped. Lacking a financial safety net, choosing to pursue this career had been a gamble born out of pipe dreams and sheer stubbornness. The stakes had risen with every passing semester.

  Why couldn’t taking care of animals satisfy her? She could have trained as a vet tech, become a groomer, or, hell, she could have volunteered at a shelter and embraced a different career. But, no. She’d latched onto the possibility of curing animals’ ills.

  Had she eschewed a professional degree, she wouldn’t be facing a mountain of debt and might have an actual love life. Instead, she lived vicariously through the few friendships she’d formed back when she’d had the time and money to socialize.

  With some difficulty, she shoved aside the burst of jealousy she harbored for Marjorie, the submissive to whom she owed this awesome weekend getaway. Their forked paths stood testament to the impact of choices. They’d met on Newbie Night at a local BDSM club seven years before, when Naomi had been an adventurous eighteen-year-old freshman. She’d watched the mischievous twenty-something office manager fall head over stilettos for Mistress Sasha, a gorgeous Domme who spent her daylight hours as a crusading attorney.

  While Naomi’s vagina had withered away from disuse, her former partner in crime had gotten collared, married, and was the proud owner of four cats and three dogs. Naomi had gleaned a single pearl of wisdom along her yawn-worthy path to the ancient mid-twenties.

  Professional degrees were meant for naive idiots with no life and something to prove. She was stupid enough to number among them.