Six Signs of Submission (Desire Island 6)

Cooper didn’t reply right away. It was an interesting offer. He didn’t need the money, but the idea was intriguing. He’d often thought about “giving back” to the BDSM community. It would be good to bring along the next generation of Doms, especially those raised on internet porn, who didn’t really understand the nuance and power of an actual D/s power exchange.

On the other hand, he’d been working eighty-hour weeks nonstop for the past six years and a job—even one as laid back and inviting as becoming a professional Dom—wasn’t really his focus right now. “Sure,” he agreed noncommittally. “I’ll think about it.”

Caelan smiled. “Great. No pressure. Just something to consider. You can start tomorrow,” he added with a laugh.

Cooper laughed too. “So much for no pressure.”

Caelan swiveled on his stool to regard Cooper with a wry smile. “Now. Spill it. What’s got you so hot and bothered? Is it a woman?”

Cooper smiled sheepishly. “You always could read me like a book, even before you got your psychiatric degree.”

Caelan’s smile widened. “Don’t give me too much credit. I’ve found, nine times out of ten on this hedonistic island, the lure of sexual attraction is stronger than the tide of the ocean. Who is it? A guest? One of the staff?”

“Staff,” Cooper admitted. “Lainey Miller, the fitness instructor. Is she a Domme or a sub or none of the above?”

Caelan furrowed his brow in apparent thought. “I’m not sure what her BDSM orientation is. She’s only been here about a month. I’ve seen her at the dungeon parties from time to time, but I never saw her engaged in a scene.”

“Tell me everything you know,” Cooper urged, startled by how much he cared.

Caelan tilted his head, regarding Cooper with a thoughtful expression. “I thought you were adamant about not hooking up with anyone on this trip. You just wanted to relax on the beach, take a few instructional classes, check out the dungeon…”

“Right, right,” Cooper agreed with a laugh. “That’s still the case. I need to decompress after the past six years of insanity. But who’s talking about hooking up? I’m just…curious, is all. Something about her caught my eye.”

“Okay. I’ll take you at face value—for now.” Caelan took a drink from his mug of beer and stared out at the ocean. The sun was just setting, giving the air around them a golden glow. “I’ll tell you what little I know. We’ve been wanting to expand our spa and gym services for a while. Once the new extension to the main resort building was completed, we brought on another fitness expert to work with Abbie, our yoga and slave positions trainer.”

“So, she’s a day worker? Comes in on the ferry?”

“Yep.” Caelan nodded. “She’s connected enough in the scene to have come across our want ad for the position. We only advertise on BDSM and BDSM-friendly sites. I didn’t personally interview her, but the owners were satisfied she’s comfortable with nudity and BDSM or she wouldn’t have been hired. Abbie’s still teaching the more BDSM-specific classes, like bondage yoga, positions training and submissive meditation, and Lainey’s been spearheading the vanilla classes.”

“Married, single, straight, gay?” Cooper pushed, aware he was acting like a teenager, but unable to help himself.

Caelan gave him another knowing smile. “Single, I’m pretty sure. As to her sexual orientation, I’m afraid I don’t have a clue.” As Cooper’s face fell, Caelan laughed indulgently, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry. You’re just asking the wrong person. According to my wife, we trainers never know anything that’s going on in terms of romantic intrigue and island gossip. It’s the staff slaves who have their finger on the pulse of this place. I’ll check with Skylar. She’ll know the scoop.”

“Thanks, man,” Cooper said sincerely. “I appreciate it.”

~*~

“So, is tonight the night? You finally going to participate in a scene?” Abbie asked. Abbie was cute, with red hair and fair skin, a dusting of freckles over her nose. She and her cousin, Kendra, whom Lainey also really liked, were both dressed in sexy fetish wear. Abbie wore an emerald green satin bustier with matching thong panties, her ever-present jewel-clasped slave collar around her neck.

Kendra, a chef at the resort, was in a sleeveless black leather minidress with a plunging neckline. Her feet were shod in Doc Martens, her short auburn hair brushed back, tattoos inked on both shoulders.

The three of them stood just inside the large double doors of the main dungeon. The Friday night party was already in full swing. Guests of the island were decked out in leather and chains, if they wore anything at all. People were bound to St. Andrew’s crosses, bent over spanking benches and restrained on racks. Others wielded whips and heavy floggers. Still more were clustered in small groups, watching the action with rapt attention. The air crackled with sexual tension and edgy energy.