Tricked

Callie frowned at the text, her stomach sinking. Diana’s not being there would change the whole dynamic of the dinner. It would totally feel like a blind date. Yuck. She felt peevish irritation at Diana for being so last-minute about all this. It was on the tip of her tongue to say they should just reschedule.

But she could see the restaurant in view at the end of the block. And this Damon guy was already there waiting. It would be kind of cold to just bail. Not to mention, she was starving, and the idea of returning home to ramen noodles didn’t thrill her.

She shot back a text. “Total bummer, but I understand. How will I know which one he is?”

“You’re awesome! Thanks for understanding. Here’s a pic so you can recognize him. He’s at a table in the back.”

This was followed by a photo of an incredibly handsome man standing on a beach in nothing but a pair of cutoff jeans shorts, a big surfboard under one arm. Deeply tanned, he had a smooth chest, six-pack abs, dark blue eyes and a wide, easy smile. His hair looked wet but from what she could tell was light brown. The guy was absolutely gorgeous.

“Jesus,” Callie breathed aloud. Was this guy for real? He probably wouldn’t look twice at her. She was nowhere near his league.

Stop it, she ordered herself as she walked toward the restaurant. This isn’t a date, remember? Just a friendly meeting made a little awkward by Diana’s bailing at the last minute. No big deal. And if he’s a dud, you just make your excuses and a quick exit.

~*~

Damon slipped the burner phone back into his pocket.

Using his own phone, he went to Callie’s profile again on the DomZone website and clicked on her picture. Though she’d only included a headshot, it was a very pretty face—with large deep brown eyes, beautiful cheekbones and a sensual mouth, the corners slightly upturned in a shy smile. She presented the very picture of virginal innocence. He could already imagine her nipples—dark pink gumdrops he would tease and torture until she begged for mercy. What would that face look like when it was twisted in a howl of pain as he whipped every inch of that smooth, creamy skin?

He’d been fantasizing about this forever. Would he really go through with it this time?

“I like the idea of a strong, dominant man having his way with me. Keeping me captive in an opulent dungeon filled with silk pillows and sexy chains…”

“How would you like for your fantasy to come true, SubAngel Callie?” he said aloud. “Because I’m just the man to give it to you, with a vengeance.”

He put his phone away. Shifting in his chair, he fixed his gaze on the entrance of the restaurant to watch for Callie’s arrival.

Girls could never resist the picture he’d just texted to her. His over-achieving older brothers might have all the brains, but he’d definitely gotten the looks. Tonight, he’d dressed casually in a white Gucci cotton polo over charcoal gray Peter Millar slacks. His sports jacket was neatly draped over the back of his chair.

He’d recently returned from a week at a luxury resort on the beach in Costa Rica. While there, he’d visited a Dark Club. He’d been a member of the private international BDSM group for a few years now. When he traveled, he always tried to stay in locations where there was a Dark Club. Unlike most BDSM clubs, these clubs were the real deal. It was at a Dark Club in Berlin that he’d first started thinking seriously about getting his own personal sex slave.

There had been a guy there who had a naked chick on a leash. She’d been covered in welts and bruises from head to toe, and no one had batted an eye. Intrigued, he’d managed to talk to the guy about his arrangement. “Is she really into it?” he’d asked the man, who called himself Master Wolf. “How do you keep her in line?”

Master Wolf had smiled, shaking his head. “You kidding?” he’d replied in a thick German accent. “She’s the real boss in our relationship. She’s a total pain slut. No matter how much I give her, she wants more, more, more. Isn’t that right, meine Liebe?” He’d pulled the girl close, kissing the top of her head.

“Ja, Meister,” she’d replied, flashing a bright smile. “Danke, mein Herr.”

The Costa Rica Dark Club was just as intense, with very few restrictions on play. Yet even that sophisticated group had annoying constraints in place, like a club safeword.

Where was the fun in that?

Damon had come to understand he needed more than just BDSM “play.” For it to matter, it had to be real. No negotiations, no pretend contracts. In fact, a large part of the thrill was in taking what was forbidden, and throwing out all the usual constraints of civilized society.