D is for...

By L. Dubois

There’s a new game at LA’s most exclusive BDSM club and everyone has to play

Cleo knew the overseers of Las Palmas, L.A.’s most exclusive BDSM club, would use their new checklist game to pair her with one of the more serious Doms. She never dreamed she’d end up with the Dom who has the power to destroy her soul—her first Master, and ex-husband, Hadrian.

Hadrian hasn’t been to the club in years. After the fiery dissolution of his marriage, he threw himself into work, doing his best to forget his beloved submissive, who also happens to be his ex-wife.

When Cleo and Hadrian are forced together once again, they’ll have to decide if they’ll play the game and explore the letter D...or if it would be easier to walk away from BDSM altogether.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. Dubois
• Release date: Apr 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781941641163

L. Dubois

Lila Dubois is a tech writer by day and a romance writer by night. She's living her own version of a romance novel with her Irish Farm Boy, whom she imported to Los Angeles. Having spent extensive time in France, Egypt, Turkey, Ireland and England, Lila speaks five languages, none of them---including English---fluently,

Book preview

Chapter One

It was an invitation, a reminder, and a threat, all bundled into one short message.

Master Hadrian,

We were distressed you were unable to join us for the mandatory meeting of all Las Palmas Oscuras members. Your presence was missed. If you’re interested in continuing your membership, please call—at your earliest convenience—to discuss the activity that was announced at the gathering.

The Overseers

Hadrian quickly copied the number at the bottom of the message, knowing that any second now it would disappear from his inbox. Self-destructing email, cryptic messages, and vague threats—he’d learned to expect nothing less from a secret sex club.

He rolled his exercise ball into position and took a seat at the quartz-topped desk, stretching out his left leg. His knee protested and he winced. Turning forty had apparently been a signal to his body to begin malfunctioning.

He had a vague memory of another email about an all-club meeting. He hadn’t been to Las Palmas—L.A.’s most exclusive BDSM club—in years, so he hadn’t paid much attention to the original message. He wasn’t exactly avoiding the club, but driving down to the gorgeous Malibu estate wasn’t as straightforward as it used to be.

Plus, his new assistant ruled his schedule with an iron fist, and he wasn’t about to ask the enthusiastic and ruthless—possibly even ruthlessly enthusiastic—twenty-two-year-old to coordinate his weekends at a sex club.

He checked his calendar. Nothing for an hour. Well, technically his schedule said brainstorm new technology. Samuel must have added that. Hadrian had never scheduled time to brainstorm. All his good ideas came to him while he was doing something else. Like a program running in the background.

Slipping a beta version of a hands-free device the size of a raisin into his ear, Hadrian checked on the progress of the code checker program he was running, then rose from the ball-turned-desk-chair, stretched, and went to the wall of windows. His office had one of the best views in the house.

The Pacific Ocean raged against the cliffs below, water pounding against dark rock, the elements both diametrically opposed to one another yet forever linked at the shoreline.

Phone in hand, Hadrian typed in the number, even as he turned to look at the massive picture hanging on the wall behind his desk.

In it, a young, fit man lay on the beach, his legs in the air. An equally young, fit woman was balanced above him, her hips braced on his upraised feet. Their hands were clasped, the man’s elbows locked, his lack of shirt displaying well-defined triceps, bulging pecs, and rippling abdominal muscles. The woman’s upper body was bowed in a cobra pose, all while suspended above the man. Her slimly muscled arms were a match for his, and her legs, stretched out behind her, were also corded with muscle. The pose looked effortless, yet it was a display of strength, her core muscles drawn tight to keep her legs extended, her arms flexed to hold her upper body in the elegant backward arch.

The man was smiling up at the woman, whose face turned away from the camera as she looked out at the water. Her dark hair lay across her bare shoulders, and the bikini-style workout wear, similar to a beach volleyball uniform, showed miles of tanned, toned skin.

Hello, Hadrian. He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the ringing had stopped.

Master Mikel. Hadrian jerked his gaze back to the ocean. I got your message.

Good. Good. I was sorry we didn’t see you.

Should I make an excuse or just admit I didn’t pay attention to the first message?

Mikel laughed, as Hadrian had hoped. Truth, Hadrian. Always truth.

Of course. It was one of the sacred rules of BDSM play: truth—and its partner, trust—were necessary, not optional.

Truth is actually why we called the meeting.

Oh?

We’ve been lying to ourselves, all of us.

That certainly wasn’t what Hadrian had expected to hear. What do you mean?

Every member of Las Palmas has become complacent, hiding from our real needs, our real desires. We no longer tell ourselves the truth.

Right. Hadrian had no idea where this was going, but his spidey senses were tingling.

Master Leo, Mistress Faith, and I came up with a game.

That sounds…alarming.

Mikel laughed again. Oh yes, oh yes. His chuckle faded, and Hadrian waited for him to offer some reassurance, but he didn’t. You remember the checklist, of course.

Not at all, Hadrian said frankly.

Mikel sighed. The list of things you could do to, with, and for a sub?

Hadrian didn’t bother to search his memory. He didn’t want to think back to when he’d joined. Go on.

Each member completed a checklist, and we kept a copy. Over the past year we’ve noticed that everyone has become…uninspired.

Content? Hadrian’s tone was dry.

Yes, that. And boring.

Boring?

Sadly, it is true. Mikel breathed out a long-suffering sigh. Las Palmas is not a country club, not a weekend resort. It’s a place where our darkness can, and must, run free.

There’s plenty of dark stuff that happens, at least there was…the last time I was there. Hadrian had seen some crazy things at the club, especially in the Iron Court.

It’s not enough. Mikel’s tone made it clear it was not up for discussion. We have the game. The checklist game.

You still haven’t given me any specifics.

Each member has been assigned a letter of the alphabet.

And what do they do with that letter? Hadrian tried to ignore the picture his brain had thrown up of a 3D puppet-style letter K in rope bondage. X-rated Sesame Street.

You will take your checklist, and that of the submissive we assign you, and explore every kink, toy, and fetish listed for your letter.

If Hadrian had been a computer, his screen would have frozen. Uh.

Mikel laughed. I knew you’d enjoy it.

"Wait, did you say you assigned the submissives?"

Yes. Everyone has been assigned a partner, or partners. Unless they’re bonded.

Hadrian dropped onto a low white couch facing the windows, ignoring the protest in his knee. You’ve assigned everyone a partner, and they have to work through one letter of the alphabet with that partner.

Yes.

And everyone agreed to this? The members of Las Palmas were all wealthy and successful. They were hardly the type of people to meekly toe the line when someone told them what to do.

If they wish to remain members, yes.

That explained the threat in the email. I see.

There was a beat of silence before Mikel spoke. Do not use this as an excuse to leave.

Maybe it’s time. Hadrian had been a member for ten years, but they’d been a long, difficult ten years. The Hadrian who’d joined Las Palmas was very different from the man staring out at the ocean.

Or maybe it’s time for you to give in to the beast. Stop playing, ah, Clark Kens.

Kent. Clark Kent.

Yes, Clark Kent. It’s time to be Superman.

Rope-carrying, crop-wielding Superman?

Mikel laughed.

Hadrian stuck out his left leg, rubbed his knee. The most exciting thing that had happened to him recently was hiring Samuel and the subsequent takeover of his schedule. Maybe it was time to remember that he hadn’t always been a tech geek—or at least he hadn’t always been just a tech geek. What’s my letter?

Ahh. Mikel’s voice was thick with pleasure. I’m so glad you’re going to play. The letter D needs you.

Chapter Two

Saffron lounged on a brocade chaise in one of Las Palmas’s smaller playrooms. The double doors were open, inviting passersby to stop in. The sleeveless white robe she wore was belted around the waist, but the top was pulled open, revealing her naked breasts.

Reclining on her side, head propped on her elbow, she slid one leg forward, causing the robe to slither along her skin. The delicate gold chain wrapped around her ankle clinked softly. A matching chain connected her thin gold—real gold, thank you very much—wrist cuffs to a chunky gold necklace, slightly larger than a choker. If not for the chain looped through it, the necklace might have been an expensive piece of statement jewelry. Saffron’s rain-straight black hair hugged her head in a chic bob, complete with her signature bangs.

Saffron was bait, placed in full view of the door to lure people into the room. Master Benson had claimed her for the weekend. The club was packed. Almost every member was here, at the request of the overseers. The announcement of the checklist game had riled the hornets’ nest. Some assigned pairings had already peeled off to tackle their letter, and the Subs’ Garden—the rooms and spaces where the submissives waited or relaxed—was full of anxious women (and a few men).

Saffron had hung around for a few hours, intrigued by the game and wondering who her partner was. When Master Benson called for her, she’d been delighted. He looked like a biker but topped like a billionaire. However, Master Benson had freely admitted that he wasn’t her partner for the checklist game. He frowned slightly as he said it, and the set of his shoulders made her think he wasn’t happy either with his partner or letter. He’d