Prologue
Skye
The leather feels alien in my hands. Not the familiar sweat-stiffened feel of hockey gloves, but something colder and heavy with intent.
I stand in the middle of the room, my eyes flicking toward the nightstand that holds cuffs, floggers, and blindfolds.
My heart isn’t pounding; it feels like a trapped bird caged by my ribs.
Breathe. Center yourself.
But my center is gone.
The ice I know is a flat, predictable plane with rules. This room is all shadows, and the most terrifying thing kneels three feet away from me.
Alisha.
She’s a vision of perfect, pale submission on the dark rug with her blonde hair spilling over her bare back. The black straps of her lingerie are a scream of trust in this room. Her skin is so fair it almost seems luminous, a blank canvas waiting for a mark. My mark.
This is new to both of us, and I am taking all the right steps to familiarize myself with the title I’ve wanted for so long.
Domme.
My palms are damp, but I curl them into fists. I need to get a grip and wear this title. That’s why I’m dressed in a black, tailored suit. Sharp and unforgiving against the muscles of my legs. Riding just above my waistline is a sleeveless vest the color of a dark bruise. A deep plum so dark it’s almost black, clinging to my defined shoulders and chest. The contrast against my dark, espresso skin is boldand intentional. The dark fabric doesn’t blend; it frames, making the tone of my arms and the column of my throat seem to glow.
My hair, normally a heavy fall of black waves, is pulled back in a knot at the nape of my neck, a few strands escaping to brush my jawline. Every part of this ensemble has a purpose, and I plan to put it all to good use.
If I can just stop stumbling over my own fucking thoughts.
Alisha shifts her weight onto her heels, the sound deafening in the silence. Then, she gets to her feet and walks toward me, her submissive character only lasting a few minutes.
“When you enter my condo, you will remain silent. You will bring your signed contract with the terms you agree to and give yourself over to me. Do you understand?”
“Kinky, babe.”
The whole conversation replays in my mind. Two simple lines of understanding between us. But it still doesn’t feel complete.
I’m still shocked that she signed off on everything. There wasn’t a single thing she didn’t agree to, even the things I wouldn’t do.
“Are you sure about this? You literally checked everything on the contract,” I tell her, feeling her grinding on the leg of my black suit before I even begin to explore her body.
“It’s signed and on the table,” she whispers as her eyes linger on my lips.
“But did you actually look at what you’re agreeing to?” I take a deliberate step back, but she closes the distance between us again.
“It’s on the table,” she repeats in a purred tone, running her tongue up my neck.
I place a firm hand on her chest and take a step back. “I need your verbal consent when agreeing to my terms.” My voice is calm but demanding. “What happens in this room isn’t exactly your standard missionary style, Alisha.”
She takes a step toward me again. “I agree.” Her chin dips toward her exposed chest, but her eyes lock with mine, and I can’t wait to dig into her. She’s curvy in all the right places. Perfection in the black lace thong and garter stockings she chose for tonight.
Alisha and I have been together for a little over a year. She has been with me since shortly after my Aunt Keisha’s health began going downhill, and she was by my side when I was named captain of the hockey team here in Boston.
She is the first person I feel I could truly enjoy a BDSM lifestyle with. If this goes well, there are so many new things I want to do. So many desires I’ve fantasized about behind closed doors that I’ve never been able to bring forward and put into action.
Dominating a female body and using it for pleasure. Hearing her scream my name as the pain pushes her through an orgasm. Watching my hands dance over the marks on her skin to remind her I was there.
I’ve never been open about the things I want in the bedroom for fear of scaring women away. But with Alisha, she always gets a little wild when her inhibitions are down, like when she is drinking, and I think maybe there’s something inside her that would enjoy a mix of pain and pleasure.
