His Domain Read online

  Walker peered through the blinds again, hating the way his heart thumped. Hating even more the way it damn near skipped when he saw her.

  Christ. There she was.

  Sasha had climbed out of her car and stood against the open door, her gaze fixed ahead. She had her hair up, and he knew immediately that would be the first thing to go. She had gorgeous hair—long, wavy and a deep brown—that she rarely let down anymore. Though the lower half of her body was shielded from view, he could see she had indeed opted for a tank top. He knew that tank. It molded to her body without looking like it had been painted on, sensible and sexy all in one. While it would have to go as well, he’d enjoy watching it come off.

  Sasha carried herself with such confidence most of the time, but, even from here, he could see her hesitation. And he appreciated just how hard this was for her. There was a world of difference in the steps between exploring this lifestyle academically and exploring it practically.

  But he knew she wouldn’t walk away. The way she’d looked yesterday, the way her eyes had shimmered and her skin had flushed, the way she’d spoken—she was serious. And in his experience, the people who were serious about this lifestyle didn’t shy away before first taking a good, full taste.

  Which she was about to do now.

  With him.

  Walker hissed a long sigh as Sasha began to move. That was his cue.

  He found Sasha standing in the entryway, laughing with his guestbook attendant. Her eyes were warm and bright as ever, her expression open and friendly. As though she were here for any reason at all. And François, the attendant, was all smiles, as most everyone was when they were in Sasha’s company. It helped, granted, that Sasha was a regular fixture of Escapade, even if she wasn’t a client. She frequently dropped by to deposit contracts, digital reports or new creative ideas on Walker’s desk.

  The entryway had purposefully been designed dark. Black carpet, black walls and a black theatre curtain separating newcomers from the club’s main area. It was flanked by two office spaces—one used for interviewing new applicants, and the other his own. Sasha, dressed in her simple black tank top and her hip-hugging yoga pants, looked for all the world like she belonged here.

  That thought was dangerous, but it didn’t stop Walker’s chest from tightening.

  “Okay, maybe three,” Sasha was saying, her gaze glued to the six-inch stilettos François had announced he was breaking in. “Just because you’re a determined ass.” She paused, tilting her head. “And they do wonders for said ass.”

  François grinned. “That’s what the missus says.”

  “Plus you suck?” Sasha replied. “’Cause there’s no way my legs would look that good in shoes like that. It’s not right.”

  Walker slid his hands into his pockets, grinning in spite of himself. For as much as he’d always worried about Sasha in this world—her reactions to things outside the conservative bubble in which she’d grown up—she had never seemed even slightly out of her element. Either she had developed a strong poker face or…

  Walker wouldn’t think that. Not now.

  The first indicator had been how well she got along with François. Often when Sasha alerted Walker that she planned to drop by during business hours, he found her here, chatting about what had hit the box office, showing off recent purchases or exchanging homemade popcorn recipes.

  François said something else, and Sasha laughed again, her eyes sparkling, her creamy cheeks tinged with pink. She was the only woman Walker knew who could actually fulfill a cliché by lighting up a room.

  Knowing what she was here for made it all the more dangerous.

  Sasha dragged her thumb under her eye, then turned her smile on him in such a way that he knew she’d been aware of his presence. “Are you in on this bet?” she asked, waving at François’ feet. “How long he’ll last?”

  “I only take bets I know I’ll win,” Walker replied. “I’ve learned not to bet against François.”

  François smirked at Sasha, then pinched the hem of his short black skirt, revealing a couple more inches of fishnetted thigh, and performed a curtsy with a flourish.

  “So not fair,” Sasha murmured.

  “Well, that’s life for you,” François replied, straightening. “You guys have a dinner date?”

  At that, the light on Sasha’s face dimmed a bit, her eyes going wide. “Oh, umm. Well—”

  “Yes,” Walker said quickly, then cursed himself for providing her with an easy out. For helping her hide, or hiding on her behalf.

  Old habits.

  Sasha stiffened a bit. “Actually,” she said, meeting Walker’s gaze and holding it, “he’s taking me to the Underground.”

  Walker blinked.

  Well, damn.

  François was stunned quiet for a moment, then released a long wolf whistle. “Well, how ’bout that? Took you guys long enough.”

  Sasha just arched an eyebrow at Walker as though daring him to contradict it.

  And he knew then just how much trouble he was in.

  Walker turned to François. “I’ll be away from my desk the rest of the evening. Let Karen know if there are any issues.”

  François shrugged. “We’re a well-oiled machine. Go. You two have fun.”

  Walker didn’t reply, rather looked back to Sasha and held out his hand. She stepped forward and placed hers in his, the warmth of her skin igniting the small flame in his chest that had never stopped burning, no matter how many times he had tried to extinguish it.

  A man’s first love was a hard thing to get over, particularly when she remained such a fixture in his life, and especially when she had no idea that she had broken his heart.

  But he’d been a kid then. Scared—terrified—of himself, of his cravings, of what that made him. And Sasha…

  That was long behind him, and should not influence the now. The now in which his friend, his oldest and closest friend, had asked him for help.

  And help he would provide.

  As usual, Sasha found herself putting all her energy into not fidgeting.

  The journey from the entryway to Walker’s office had been the easy part, but now they were entering uncharted territory. Or she was.

  His strong fingers clasped around hers, Walker had led her directly to a door that sat left of his desk, one that had materialized there a few weeks ago between visits. She remembered asking him what it was at the time, but couldn’t recall if he’d ever answered.

  Well, now she knew. It was an elevator.

  “You weren’t kidding, were you?” Sasha asked, then winced. The cha-cha, as performed by her insides, had extended to her vocal chords.

  If he noticed how nervous she was, he didn’t acknowledge it. “One hundred feet below ground.”

  “And it’s not open yet? I mean, for the public?”

  He shook his head, pressed some combination of buttons on the control panel, and the elevator began to descend. “If I make it available, I’ll have to add an additional access point. This elevator is for my use only.”

  “Which is why it’s in your office.” Sasha winced. “Obviously.”

  Walker turned his head just slightly in her direction. He looked amused.

  “Obviously,” he agreed.

  “I’m being weird, aren’t I?”

  “You’re being fine.”

  “It’s not like it’s without reason. This is a weird situation for us. Or me. Not you. You’re all…used to this. And stuff.”

  Walker arched an eyebrow.

  “Except the me part,” Sasha amended, unable now to keep herself from wiggling. “I’m the weird one.” She paused. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”

  “You’re undoubtedly the weird one.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He didn’t respond, she didn’t follow up, and the air became thick as the elevator continued its downward trek at a snail’s pace. One hundred feet was hard to visualize, but every ticking second made her all the more aware of just how isolated
they were. And her mind went a little nuts trying to imagine how he’d paid for all of this—the club itself was, according to Walker, on the higher end of elite. Though it had struggled the first couple of years, effective marketing and Walker’s unmoving dedication had paid off. The club’s success had bought it several expansions and at least two monstrous renovations, and it kept paying for itself. Undoubtedly, it had made Walker a wealthy man.

  But there was wealthy, and there was rich.

  Rich like underground-playroom-accessible-via-private-elevator rich.

  She hadn’t known he was that rich.

  Sasha licked her lips, then a terrifying thought occurred. “What happens if the elevator gets stuck?”

  “We’d have a few hours to kill.”

  “Seriously?”

  Walker motioned to the control panel. “There’s an intercom that goes to security, and a phone if that fails. We haven’t run any drills yet, which is another reason I haven’t opened the Underground for guests, but we’d be rescued before we starved to death.”

  She shivered. “What happens if the elevator refuses to work once we’re down here?”

  “Then we take the stairs.”

  “Stairs?”

  Walker nodded, and the elevator began to slow. Finally.

  “Where do the stairs come out?”

  “The hallway behind the ballroom.” Walked paused. “There’s still time to change your mind, Sash. We don’t have to do anything.”

  Ah, there it was. She’d almost lost a bet with herself. “I haven’t said my safe word, have I?”

  Walker met her gaze and held it. “We haven’t started.”

  A shiver ran down Sasha’s spine, and the hairs on her arms stood at attention. Her heart, which had already been pumping double time, started to thunder.

  She realized something then that should have been obvious. This was going to change everything. Everything that had been between them before would go away, and this would take its place. Forever. No going back.

  Sasha swallowed. There was the smart thing to do, and the thing she wanted.

  The elevator gave a small jerk as it stopped—or perhaps that was in her head—and the doors slid open. Sasha forced herself to drag her gaze from Walker’s, and ordered her feet to go forward.

  No. No turning back. She needed to know, and it had to be him.

  Sasha inhaled, shifting her focus to the space ahead of her, and felt a small thrill chase back the claws of uncertainty.

  The room wasn’t what she’d expected, but then, she hadn’t known what to expect. Her mind was a minefield of what she’d discovered through research and what she’d seen in the movies.

  The walls were a warm, light brown, for one thing, and the entire stretch of wall on her right was dominated by masculine, mahogany built-in cabinets containing doors and drawers of all sizes. It split in the middle, providing a small vanity, mirror included.

  The room’s carpet was a lush chocolate color, fluffy and welcoming. Along the left wall were wall mounts, each holding items she would expect in a BDSM dungeon. Whips, ropes, gags, handcuffs and several instruments she’d seen but couldn’t identify. From the ceiling hung an elaborate swing with holsters on one end and cuffs on the other.

  Sasha’s palms began to sweat, her nipples hardening.

  Oh, god.

  But there was more. In the center of the room was a St. Andrew’s cross, also complete with wrist and ankle cuffs. Near the cabinets was a spanking bench.

  A part of her had expected to balk, truthfully. To get this far, see this, have it be real and realize it wasn’t for her.

  Instead her mind and her body had joined forces—slamming her with adrenaline and images of her restrained, of Walker naked. Of his hands on her. Touching her. Tormenting her. Her thighs clenched, her clit tingling.

  God damn.

  Focus.

  “What’s back there?” Sasha pointed to the other side of the room, hoping he didn’t pick up on how breathless she was. Three doors lined the wall at the back, all closed.

  “Turn around.”

  His voice had changed. Harder. Sasha’s heart skipped, her head feeling light.

  “That was an order, sub. I said turn around.”

  She commanded her feet to obey. When she stood facing him, though, she found she couldn’t meet his eyes. Her every molecule was on alert, blazing with awareness and, for the first time, supplying her with a healthy dose of embarrassment. At what he must think of her. Think of this. Of the fact that she’d asked, that she had shown up.

  “Look at me.”

  Sasha’s chin jerked lower in response, but she forced her eyes up.

  Walker’s face was unreadable, which was just damn unfair, but his body looked just as tense as hers felt.

  “Tell me this is what you want,” he said, unblinking.

  “It is.”

  “If I hurt you, use your safe word. If you change your mind, use your safe word. If you’re uncomfortable at any moment—”

  “Use my safe word. Got it.”

  Walker’s eyes darkened. “Do not interrupt me,” he said, his voice soft. “Do not make a sound unless I ask.”

  Sasha’s mouth went dry.

  “Or you can use your safe word.”

  Heart thumping, she shook her head.

  “Okay.” Walker took a step forward, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then remove your shirt.”

  Chapter Three

  Her eyes flared, brimming, as he’d known they would, with the defiance that made Sasha the woman she was. She who saw opportunity in the word no and had fought tooth and nail to receive even the mediocre respect she currently commanded at the office. But that defiance met something else—something Walker had long ago accepted he would never see when he looked at her.

  His throat tightened, followed by his chest. It was there, shining bright—something he’d seen on many faces, in many eyes of the many people who had helped pave his education. Those years in the lifestyle and those taking the first steps—they all had something to teach. Something to show him.

  They had all looked, at one time or another, the way Sasha did now. Excited. Scared. And overcome with a burning need not many people understood.

  It hit him, then, as he hadn’t allowed it to hit him before.

  This was real for her.

  Sasha curled her fingers around the hem of her tank, then dragged the fabric up the length of her torso, revealing the creamy plains of her abdomen. She’d chosen a black wireless bra, one that looked as though it were made more for comfort than for show, and the sight of her rounded breasts pressing against the fabric had Walker’s dick stirring.

  Sasha balled the tank into a wad of cotton, opened her mouth, then seemed to think the better of it. She held the top up and arched an eyebrow.

  Walker stepped forward and plucked it from her grasp. “Thank you,” he said, then tossed the garment into a corner behind him, keeping his gaze on hers. “Now the bra.”

  Again, her eyes flashed. Again, she didn’t object. Sasha reached behind her, and in the next moment, her breasts were free.

  It took more control than Walker wanted to admit to not immediately look his fill. The last time he’d seen Sasha in any state of undress had been right before his adolescent mind would have truly appreciated it. Curse of growing up next to a girl—one didn’t appreciate the opposite sex until it was no longer appropriate to openly do so.

  But now…

  Sasha pressed the bra into his hands, the soft cotton warm against his skin. He tossed it aside.

  Then his eyes teamed up with his cock and declared a mutiny on his head. He couldn’t help himself anymore. Walked swallowed, and looked.

  Her nipples were hard. Rosy and pert and straining toward him. Her breasts were full, a nice compromise between too large and too small. He had often admired them, of course, through stolen glances. Wondering how her flesh would feel against his palm. Between his fingers, lips and teeth. Imagining the sounds she woul
d make after he’d removed clamps and soothed her aching flesh with his tongue. Debating whether she was a sigher or a moaner. If she bit her lip or let her lover hear how he was affecting her. If he could get her to scream if she was the type to keep quiet, and, if she wasn’t, could he get her to scream herself hoarse.

  His cock stiffened. Walker cleared his throat—as if that would help.

  “Shoes,” he said, flicking his gaze up.

  Sasha kicked her left leg out, followed by her right, sending her slip-on sandals to opposite sides of the room. Then she hooked her thumbs into the waistline of her yoga pants, paused, and looked at him.

  Walker nodded.

  A small smile flirted with her lips, and she dragged the pants down.

  Only that wasn’t all she dragged down. Apparently she had skipped ahead and decided to get rid of her underwear as well. Presumptuous, though he hadn’t given an order to the contrary. This he’d let slip, if only because it was convenient.

  This time, Walker didn’t bother fighting himself. His gaze centered on her pussy, and he forced back a growl.

  She was completely bare.

  Fuck.

  Walker swallowed. In the soft light, he could make out the slick flesh between the lips of her cunt. She was wet. Right now. For him. Not as wet as he could make her—not as wet as he planned to make her—but enough, just from standing here, to make a man entertain dangerous thoughts.

  He turned away abruptly and strode to the cabinetry that comprised the right wall. Most of the space was empty, as he hadn’t had a chance to really stock up down here, but what he had were his personal favorite toys. Sometimes simplicity was best.

  He returned to her a moment later and held up a black thong. “Put this on.”

  Sasha frowned, her eyes narrowing. “I thought—”

  “I do not recall asking you to speak.”

  Her mouth snapped shut and her expression darkened. Without another word, she snatched the thong from him and started to wiggle it into place. It wasn’t until the lacy crotch was resting against her pussy that she paused.

  Sasha looked up.

  Walker reached into his pocket and triggered the remote. And, as the whir of the clitoral vibrator filled the room, watched as Sasha whimpered and began to dissolve.