I is for…

By Lila Dubois

Who knew a little ice could burn so hot?

Master Raine needs control the way fish need water. His life outside LA’s most exclusive BDSM club is chaotic, and as a result he demands complete obedience from his submissives.

Chastity is delighted when she learns she’s been assigned the letter I as part of the club’s checklist game. After all, there’s nothing she loves more than a spanking or flogging, both forms of impact play. She’s in for a surprise, when she learns that “impact” isn’t even on the list.

Chastity is an excellent submissive, but hates rules. Master Raine is a careful Dom, but without structure he becomes ruthless. Their deceptively simple list of toys becomes something so much more when the truth about who they really are is revealed.

Books in the BDSM Checklist series:
1. A is for…
2. B is for…
3. C is for…
4. D is for…
5. E is for…
6. F is for…
7. G is for…
8. H is for…
9. I is for…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Boutiques
• Release date: Oct 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781941641347

Lila Dubois

Lila Dubois is a multi-published, bestselling author of erotic, paranormal and fantasy romance. Her books have been nominated for many awards including RT Book Reviews Erotic Novella for Undone Rebel and the Golden Flogger. Having spent extensive time in France, Egypt, Turkey, Ireland and England Lila speaks five languages, none of them (including English) fluently. Lila lives in Los Angeles and loves receiving email from readers, though she is slow to respond since she recently created a tiny human. Can books featuring secret baby plots be far behind?

Book preview

Chapter 1

He liked games. More specifically, Alexandre Raine liked to win.

He wasn’t sure what winning would look like with this game, but he intended to figure it out. The first step, as with any challenge, was to assess his opponent.

Though when the game was a BDSM challenge, maybe his assigned submissive was his fellow player or partner, not his opponent.

He wouldn’t know what kind of player she was until he learned what kind of submissive she was. The file he’d been given, including her picture and a copy of her BDSM Checklist—where she indicated her interest level in every kink, toy, and position—was on the small cocktail table he’d staked out. There were a few such tables gathered around the long bar in Las Palmas’s Library.

Five minutes ago, he’d summoned his assigned submissive, Chastity—and he had to laugh at the name. Alexandre shifted in his seat, hooking one arm over the back of the chair. It was, at most, a three-minute walk from the Subs’ Garden—the only place on the sprawling estate where Doms, Masters, and Owners weren’t allowed—to the Library.

He’d give her another minute, then he’d go looking for her.

Alexandre Raine was a patient, careful man when he needed to be. Waiting for a dawdling submissive was not one of the times he practiced patience.

The double doors of the Library opened, showing off the variegated sunset sky over Malibu’s hills. A woman stepped into the opening, and for a moment, before she passed into the light of the Library, she was a silhouette—medium height, with wide hips, thick thighs, and a narrow waist. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, held with a wide cuff that made it stick up from the top of her head.

With the next step, she passed into the light.

Chastity. He knew it was her from the picture that had been included along with a copy of her checklist.

She was hard to miss. Chastity was a study of dark and light.

Pale skin contrasted with a short, glossy black corset, knee-high PVC boots, and shiny black sleeves. The sleeves covered her from wrist to shoulder, the tops of the sleeves becoming a high-necked shirt that covered her neck and upper chest but left her breasts bare.

Tow-headed, her blond hair was slicked tight to her head, then caught up in the black PVC cuff. From there her hair fell in a long, straight, white ponytail that darkened to black at the end.

Her face, only slightly less pale than the tops of her breasts, held brown eyes so dark they were almost black, and eyebrows of a medium brown that, once again, contrasted with the rest of her.

Alexandre rose, making the motion slow and deliberate. He knew how to use his body to either draw, or avoid, attention.

Her eyes, scanning the room, stopped on him. He met her gaze and crooked his finger.

Chastity, his assigned submissive, raised her chin—Was she challenging him?—and headed his way.

Alexandre smiled.

She wasn’t going to be afraid of him.

She had nothing to fear.

Las Palmas was the most exclusive BDSM club in Los Angeles, and the vetting process for members was exhaustive. Everyone here was rich, powerful, dedicated to BDSM, or some combination of all three.

Everyone but her.

She kept her eyes up, looking at the man who’d beckoned her, even when it would have been easier to look down at where she was going. She recognized him, though she’d never been introduced to him. Master Raine. The name was memorable.

He was memorable.

He wasn’t particularly tall—maybe 5’11"—but he was imposing. He had short-cut dark hair and equally dark eyes. His brows were thick and straight, but not too hairy. He was muscled and had a heavy brow and square jaw. There was an intensity to him, almost as if something inside him was only barely restrained.

Really, she wasn’t afraid of him.

Chastity stopped beside the table and waited. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he told her to kneel. She wasn’t one of those subs who thought she had to obey every person with a penis who called himself Master or Dom, but Master Raine was giving off obey me or else vibes.

The question was, what did or else mean to a man like this?

Master Raine looked her over—a slow, deliberate study that wasn’t insulting, but rather considering. She had the strangest sense that he could probably correctly guess how tall she was and how much she weighed based on nothing more than his thorough study.

He stepped around the table and pulled out her chair. Please, join me, Chastity.

She sat, thigh muscles trembling a little from nerves. To hide it, she crossed her legs, then placed her forearms on the table, one atop the other, and leaned forward a bit, head tilted at just the right angle.

She’d practiced in the mirror at home.

Thank you, Master Raine.

He tipped his head to the side inquisitively as he took his seat. You know my name.

I do.

Have we played together before?

Chastity rolled her head to one side. Her ponytail slid over her shoulder, dropping into the space made by her arms, the cool strands laying over her corset-plumped breasts. If we had, you would remember.

He hesitated, as if absorbing what she’d said—or maybe he was taken aback by her self-assured attitude. She hoped it wasn’t the latter. One of the reasons she liked Las Palmas, and lived in fear of being kicked out, was that so many of the female submissives here were composed and confident. They knew who they were and what they wanted. Not all Doms liked that. Some wanted the ingenue or the wounded bird.

True, he said finally. Getting a woman like you to submit is not something a man forgets.

A woman like me?

A challenge.

I don’t know if I should be insulted.

I won’t tell you how to feel, he countered.

She liked that response. She considered him, then smiled. What kind of submissive do you normally take?

What are the kinds of submissive? His mouth didn’t move, but the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

I’m sure you’re more qualified to describe them than I am.

You’re the submissive.

And you’re the Dom. Do you know the types of Doms?

He grunted. No.

There you go. You didn’t answer the question.

He tapped the tips of his fingers on the table as he stared at her. You’re very straightforward.

Her stomach twisted into a knot, but she hid it by tipping her head the other way. His eyes followed the movement of her ponytail as it slid behind her back and then over the opposite shoulder. You don’t like that, she concluded. You prefer women who are instinctive submissives.

Instinctive submissives?

They kneel as soon as they see you. Keep their eyes down. End every sentence with ‘Sir’ or ‘Master.’ Don’t speak unless asked a question.

And that’s an instinctive submissive? I thought you said you didn’t know the types of submissives?

Chastity shrugged. Am I wrong?

I would say that I like…pleasure-oriented submissives. You say instinctive, I say well trained.

The knot in her stomach got tighter.

Master Raine leaned forward, placing his crossed arms on the small table, leaving only a few inches separating their forearms. He lowered his voice, as if he were telling her a secret.

When I top, my subs mind their manners. They do everything they can to show me how submissive, how obedient, they are.

Chastity bit the inside of her lip, both to hold back anxiety and to keep herself from saying anything.

They do it because they know that I can give them pleasure. Master Raine’s gaze moved with a sort of lazy assurance across her face before dropping to her breasts. Submitting to me comes with the possibility of ecstasy.

It took her a minute, but Chastity said, Just the possibility?

Master Raine grinned, as if pleased by her comeback. You want assurances?

I just think I understand why we were put together. After all, they said they were giving us partners who were going to challenge us.

And you’re going to challenge me?

Maybe. I don’t really go in for all that formality.

What formality?

What I said before—ending every sentence with ‘Sir’ while keeping my gaze down.

He sat back. You expect a man to earn your submission. I respect that.

I have no trouble being the bottom in a scene.

He grunted. Explain.

I’ll accept a flogging, or get tied up, no problem. Assuming I trust the Dom, of course.

He nodded. And after the scene, you get a hug and a robe and you smile, and then maybe you nap beside your top before you leave.

You say that like it’s a bad thing.

It’s not. Is it submission?

Of course.

He shook his head. What did you give up?

What do you mean?

I expect honesty from my submissive.

I’m not your submissive.

He once more tapped his fingers on the table, then he abruptly leaned over the table and grabbed her chin. For this game. For the letter ‘I,’ you are.

Chapter 2

Alexandre waited to see what she’d do. If this had been a public club, touching her like this wouldn’t have been acceptable. But this wasn’t a public club. Las Palmas was about pushing limits, about throwing off the shackles of society, and to some extent, reveling in dangerous play. This place wasn’t safe, sane, consensual—it was risk aware.

She didn’t pull back, but also didn’t soften and lower her gaze, which he’d half expected. He’d known subs that needed to be forced into their role of submissive, because they couldn’t get to that head space on their own. He’d thought Chastity might be one of those—those types as she’d insisted.

Her body language changed, but she didn’t soften. She uncrossed her legs, as if making sure she was ready to move, to react.

She was both his opponent and his partner.

He adjusted his grip, pressed down with his thumb, pulling her lower lip and opening her mouth. She didn’t move, but she took a deep breath. Good.

You’re mine, he repeated. For the duration of the game.

We have the letter ‘I’? she asked.

His thumb moved along with her jaw as she spoke. It was awkward, but he didn’t let go.

Yes.

Impact play, she said. I like impact play.

Because it keeps people at a distance.

She sat back, pulling away from him. No. I like it because it’s pure kink. Spankings, handcuffs, even vanilla people try that. A flogging or whipping, that’s different.

It is, but still, your top isn’t touching you. They’re holding the whip. The whip is touching you. You’re safe.

Tied immobile while being whipped isn’t safe. She gave him a look that