The Dare Collection February 2020

But she already knew what would happen if she backed down. Dorian would be patronizing. He would call Conrad, who would be livid. And she would have wasted these months and accomplished nothing.

Erika couldn’t quite accept that she could have gone through what she’d already gone through and get nothing out of it.

“That all sounds great,” she said bravely. Mutinously. “I saw a pair of ponies on the way in. It looks…intriguing. Bridle and all.”

And then, for the first time in as long as she’d known him, she watched Dorian laugh. Not smirk. Not raise those brows of his. But actually laugh.

It was a rich, profoundly male sound. It slid over her like chocolate, thick and dark. And the strangest sensation washed over her, centering between her legs again, and she almost thought she might come again. Just from hearing him laugh.

“I believe you’d do it,” he said. And he shook his head. “That’s not a compliment. If you can’t articulate what you want and what you don’t want, you shouldn’t jump into it blindly. There are many places on this planet we can be coy about sex, but this isn’t one of them.”

“I’m not being coy.”

“No, you’re being thoughtless. Reckless. As immature as ever, and with far higher stakes than a backless gown at a charity ball we both know you wore to irritate your brother.”

That was exactly why she’d worn that dress, but that wasn’t the only reason she shuddered. “I’m glad you remember a dress I wore two years ago.”

“I remember the controversy.” The way his eyes gleamed made her stomach flip, in that peculiar mix of fear and hunger she was learning to associate with this man. “You enjoy controversy, do you not?”

“It’s Conrad who enjoys controversy, since he’s the one who causes it. I don’t know why you can’t see that, as his best friend. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

“If you were here for reasons that did not involve your brother, I would handle all this insolence, Erika,” he said, quietly. “But you are not, are you?”

And there was something about the very quietness that made her think of that whip again. Precise. Intense.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I’m allowing you to keep your eyes raised. I’m allowing you to talk back to me, glare and conduct yourself as if this isn’t a power exchange. These are gifts I could rescind at any moment.”

Could he see her heart slam against her ribs? “I thought I had safe words.”

“Do you feel that you need one? All we’re doing is discussing terms.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“You don’t need to agree to anything to employ simple courtesy, Erika.” And this time, his voice was a lash. A stark command. “When you’re on your knees or otherwise involved in a scene with me, you call me sir. Or Master Dorian. And I’ll expect you to address me that way every time you open your mouth.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

But she remembered where she was. They weren’t, in fact, standing on a ballroom floor in Greece in sight of her mother and disapproving brother. She had chosen to come here. She’d known what kind of club it was. That brow of his inched upward and she shook deep inside.

Even as her pussy flooded all over again.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said again. “Sir.”

Because over her dead body would she call him Master anything.

“Thank you,” he said, and she was certain that was an unholy amusement in his dark eyes. But his mouth remained stern, the way it always did. “It is not ridiculous. And no, I’m not on a power trip, which I’m sure is the next thing you plan to say. As insolently as possible.”

“Oh, come on. Surely your whole thing is a power trip.” His eyes flashed and she remembered herself. “Sir.”

“I’m interested in power, yes,” Dorian replied. “But it’s not a trip. There is no power without surrender of one sort or another. A fist is only as strong as the delicate fingers that make it up.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she said crossly. But she was thinking of a hard little stone cupped in a palm. Fingers wrapped around it, making that fist. “And I don’t think any man ties up a woman if he doesn’t want power over her.” She saw his expression. “Sir. I thought that’s what is hot about it.”

“I do not want power over a woman,” Dorian said, very distinctly. “I want her to surrender her power to me. It’s the difference between demanding that you kneel before me or waiting for you to choose to do it yourself. Do you understand?”

And she wanted to rage something back at him, but even as she opened her mouth to do it, there was that emotion welling up inside her again. Still. That bruise getting bigger, making it so much harder for her to breathe, making her eyes prickle.

She felt protected, yet she was terrified. Overwhelmed, yet so wildly turned-on it was like she didn’t know her own body. And it hadn’t escaped her notice that he hadn’t laid so much as a finger upon her.

And sobbing on this hallway floor, she knew, was no way to do what she came here to do.

“I didn’t know you were this…” she started to say without thinking.

An odd look moved over his face then, and she would have called it regret on someone else. But not Dorian.

“I am all this and a good deal more than you can comprehend,” he said.

He pushed off the wall and moved closer, and it was better and worse at the same time. Sharp, impossible, until she felt heavy with longing and whatever kind of fear this was that made her head spin and her pussy wet.

He reached down, and fit his palm to her cheek, and to her horror, she felt tears well up in her eyes.

“I know why you came here, Erika. I imagine you thought you would simply show up before me wearing as few pieces of clothing as possible, and I would fall like a stone. I imagine this is the effect you’re used to having on men.”

“I didn’t—”

“Quiet.”

And as if shushing her wasn’t enough, he slid his thumb over her lips, and kept it there. Shutting her up whether she liked it or not.

And like everything else, she couldn’t tell.

“My desires run a bit deeper than a hot body,” he said, low and dark. “My needs require very specific outlets. I can fuck like any selfish fraternity brother you might have encountered out there, and I’ll get off, but it won’t truly satisfy me. So this offering of yours, while sweet, is doomed to disappoint you. You can’t give me what I need, Erika.” He studied her. “And even if you could, I will not be used as a tool to slap at your brother.”

Erika wanted to bite him, but she couldn’t seem to muster up the will to do it. Much less slap his hand away. Or really anything at all but sit there, his hand hot and strong as it curved around her face, wondering what on earth was happening to her.

Or how he’d seen through her so easily.

“I never said I wanted to use you.”

“Time’s up, kitten,” he told her, and it wasn’t until she followed his gaze down to her hands on her lap that she saw she was digging her own nails into her fists. Ha ha, she thought, angrily. A kitten with claws. “You’re not here to play, which means you need to go.”

“But…”

She could see from the look on his face that there would not be a second chance. She would never get back in through the doors of this club, that was certain. And she doubted it would matter if she tried to find him anywhere else. His office. His home. Whether he had her turned away by others or turned her away himself, he was done. His expression reminded her a little too strongly of the one he’d used on her all her life. Dismissive. Patronizing. Not at all the heat she’d seen before.

This was her only chance. And she might have misjudged things here, but it was only a matter of degrees, surely. The reality was that she’d watched him bring a woman to climax, and had come herself already. That alone was worth experimenting with.

She could handle him. She was sure she could.

“What if I want to play?” she asked.

“Very well.”

He stepped back, taking his hand and his warmth with him, and she was afraid those tears really would spill over from behind her eyes. Would he do what he’d threatened to do? Or had that been a promise? Erika didn’t know which part of it shot off the most sparks inside her. A ponytail? Or that spanking that had been haunting her since he’d first mentioned it two years ago?

Dorian’s dark eyes blazed. “If you want to play, you must prove it.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

His mouth curved. “Don’t promise things you can’t deliver.”

He indicated the hallway behind him, and the club waiting for them, filled with people and music and all the kinky things Erika could imagine—plus a great many she couldn’t.

“Prove how much you want this,” Dorian ordered her. “Crawl, on your hands and knees, down this hallway and then out into the club proper. Keep going until I tell you to stop. You should be aware, of course, that the tiny little excuse for a skirt you’re wearing will almost certainly flip up on your back as you go. Does that thong cover you well, do you think? Or will everybody who looks at you be able to see exactly how wet and eager you are? With your ripe, juicy pussy right there for everyone to see and touch and comment upon—”

And it was too much. Pony play was outlandish but what he was talking about was a humiliation she could envision all too easily, all those eyes and him and the display that was all her and yet not at all in her control…

“Stop,” she managed to gasp out, while her heartbeat nearly bent her in half and that fever in her about took her head off. “Red light.”

“Yes,” Dorian said with far too much grim satisfaction. “Red light. Enough of this game, Erika. It’s time to take you home.”

CHAPTER FOUR

DORIAN MAINTAINED A penthouse in a quietly moneyed neighborhood that seemed far too settled for a man with his predilections. He was so kinky Erika had imagined he would live somewhere desperately cutting edge within walking distance of his club, but instead his penthouse reflected the old money he came from and the fortune or two he’d made himself. His place sprawled across the top of a luxury building that seemed a lot like a five-star hotel, which, once Erika thought about it—once she was capable of thought, that was—made sense for a man like him.

Edgy, yes, but also pedigreed.

He had taken her out of the club with a swiftness that left her off balance. But then, everything he’d done since she’d seen him on that dais left her reeling. He’d reached down and taken her hand in that hallway, pulling her to her feet as if she weighed less than a euro cent coin. And as far as she could tell, he’d been utterly unaware of the way the touch of his hand against hers…stormed through her.

His dark eyes had swept over her, through her, seeing everything with that same uncompromising gaze. Seeing things Erika couldn’t have articulated if her life depended on it. But oh, could she feel it.

He’d pulled her around until she was in front of him, then kept her there with a hand on the nape of her neck as he guided her back to the club proper. It was louder than before, or she was more sensitive to the sounds. The crack of leather against flesh. Moans and screams blending in with the pumping, seductive music.

Erika felt drunk. Wildly intoxicated, spinning and strange, when she was actually far more sober than she usually was in a club. Maybe that was why she did…nothing. She simply let him guide her, shivering a little because he was either really good at it or she was remarkably attuned to every little press of his strong fingers. Both, probably.

She was vaguely aware of him saying something to someone when they left that little hallway, but she didn’t think anything of it. She didn’t think, really. There was a riot inside her and his hand heavy on her neck, and she was still lit up from what had happened—and what hadn’t happened—between them. He led her through the crowds, past the bar and into a different foyer from the cavernous one she’d entered before. This one was all dark stone and dim lights, and all the things she’d surrendered earlier were waiting for her.

“Put on your shoes,” Dorian ordered her in an undertone, his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel the words.

It didn’t occur to her to disobey. Or even to discuss it with him.

Everything seemed dreamlike, or feverish. Or again, so deeply intoxicating that strands seemed to wrap around each other outside time. What she remembered was not how she bent and slipped her feet into her shoes, but instead that moment when she’d glanced up in the middle of it to find Dorian staring down at her. His face had been set in the same stern lines, but an odd gleam in his eyes made her wonder what tenderness looked like on a man like him.

And more, what she could do to earn it.

His hand settled on the nape of her neck again, and that was what she remembered most of all. The heat and the heaviness. The separation between his thumb and his fingers, and the way his middle finger rested on her pulse as if he was monitoring every last beat of her heart.

She had the strangest thought, as she simply allowed him to guide her out into the Berlin night, that she’d never felt quite so safe in all her life.

Though that thought didn’t make sense. Because whatever she was, it certainly wasn’t safe. Not with Dorian.

Surely she knew that now.

There was a car ride through the sprawling city outside her window, alive and kicking no matter the hour. The brash, almost punk-rock east gave way to the plump wealth of the west, the history of Berlin—torn apart and sewn back together—rolling out before her. It wasn’t until they arrived at his building, and he led her across a too-bright lobby into an elevator that required he release her to use his key, that she gathered her wits about her enough to remember that she had her own hotel room.

She realized that wasn’t accidental. He’d let go of her, ergo, she could suddenly think straight.

Erika stood across from him as the lift soared upward, knowing she needed to open her mouth. She needed to say something—anything—to break this spell.

But she didn’t.

She told herself it was natural. She was curious, that was all. She wanted to see how a man like Dorian lived. Was it whips and chains in a red room? Or a medieval dungeon in the lounge?

By that measure, the expansive apartment that appeared when the elevator doors lid soundlessly open was a disappointment. If a person wasn’t looking for iron spikes and spanking benches, it was exquisite.

Erika followed him into the great room, blinking as Dorian switched on lights. Then he moved farther into the apartment, seeming to pay her absolutely no mind as she looked around the loft-like space, with dark wood walls and concrete floors. She hugged herself as she stood there, taking in his aesthetic of clean, modern pieces mixed in with the odd, sumptuous rug that would not have been out of place in a sultan’s palace. There was astonishing, confronting art on an otherwise bare wall. Across the room, another wall was taken up with bookshelves that somehow managed to look clean and spare despite the tremendous number of books they held. So many books it seemed possible he actually read them, and wasn’t using them as a design element.

She didn’t know why it was so hard to imagine Dorian simply sitting down and reading in one of the deep, wide leather chairs or sofas that made up different sitting areas in the great room. He seemed too powerful to ever really be at rest. As if he had to be in constant motion, or standing over her the way he had in that hallway—or back in that ballroom in Athens, for that matter—or he would sputter out into darkness.

Erika didn’t realize she was staring intently at his books, looking for clues to mysteries she wasn’t sure she could name, until he walked back into the room.

And she didn’t hear him come back in. She knew he was there without having to hear his foot against the floor and without having to glance over her shoulder. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, like his hand had settled there again. She felt that now-familiar heat bloom in her all over again, coiling low in her belly and into her pussy. Only then did she look up.

Dorian stood in the opening where one room bled into the next, with massive windows all around so she could see the sparkle of Berlin out there in the dark.

“It’s late,” he said shortly. “I suggest you get some rest in one of the guest suites. They’re all located on this floor. I’ll call your brother in the morning.”

He might as well have slapped her back into awareness. Or doused her in ice-cold water.

Either way, Erika’s fingers curled into fists again and she suddenly felt much less fuzzy.

“Or, you know, you could also not call him.”

Dorian gave the impression of sighing and shaking his head without actually moving at all. Impressive for a man doing such a terrific impression of a stone wall. “That was a statement of fact, Erika. Not an invitation to negotiate.”

“All right, then.” She held his gaze, even though there was that part of her, quivering and soft inside, that wanted to lean further into all those things they’d only brushed against in the club. The part of her that wished she’d crawled before him the way he’d requested she do, exposed for all to see. She fought off a telling shiver. “You go right ahead and call Conrad. I’ll call your grandfather. He’s always had a soft spot for me.”

Dorian stared back at her. Erika felt the tension in the room surge toward an almost unbearable breaking point. But she refused to break. She refused.

Meanwhile, Dorian looked as arrogant as he did…astounded.

“You little shit,” he said in a kind of awe that she chose to interpret as affectionate. Or close enough. “Are you threatening to tattle on me?”

“I assumed that’s what we were doing here.” Erika was pleased she managed to sound, if not as calm as he did, far calmer than she felt. “If you’re going to tattle on me, why wouldn’t I return the favor?”

He tilted his head slightly to one side, his dark eyes focusing on her so intensely she thought she might bruise. But that wasn’t half as scary as the way he did nothing but…breathe. One breath, then another. She watched him visibly relax. Gaining his control, then slamming it back into place, she realized as she watched.

It was the hottest thing she thought she’d ever seen. No yelling. No insults. No other reactions—just Dorian handling himself.

She wondered what it would be like to be handled by him.

Her knees went rubbery. And far worse—or perhaps worse was not the right word here—it made her pussy clench, then ache.

“You are an inventive, insolent girl,” he said quietly enough after a moment.

It was not a compliment. And it took her a beat to understand what that note in his voice was, tangled up with the darkness in the disapproval.

She could swear that was disappointment.

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs at that, and there was something almost dizzying that tore her up, then settled in her stomach like regret.

Erika tried to ignore it. “So you keep telling me.”

“You are reckless. Immature and impetuous. And in so far over your head it’s a wonder you haven’t drowned yet.” He said those things calmly. As if he was making a grocery list, when she could see that particular intensity in his gaze that indicated otherwise. It was too controlled to be temper, but it lashed at her all the same. “You come into my club, you claim you’re there to play, but you can’t handle even the lightest conversation. That’s breathtakingly foolish.”

“I thought that was what exhibition nights are for.”

“What if it hadn’t been me?” he demanded. “What if it had been some other dominant who hasn’t known you all your life?”

“Then I imagine I’d be coming my brains out right now,” Erika shot back. “Instead of being lectured to death by my older brother’s irritating friend. You don’t know me at all, Dorian. You know Conrad. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m not the little girl he thinks I am.”

“Then I invite you to stop acting like one.”

His voice was rougher then. Much darker in a way that made her breasts feel full again, with that sharp pinch in each that meant her nipples were already hard.

Why did everything Dorian do get to her like this? When he clearly thought so little of her?

“I don’t know what makes you think you get to tell me what to do.” Erika eyed him, then dug into her story, because she had no intention whatsoever of telling him the truth. Not now. “Everyone knows that Walfreiheit is the best BDSM club in Berlin. Maybe in the world. How was I supposed to know that Conrad’s school friend would be there the night I got in, flinging a whip around, and then up for a spot of bullying?”

“Oh, little girl,” Dorian said with a dark amusement that licked over her, then knotted up inside her. “I haven’t begun to bully you.”

“You’re the one who keeps threatening me with my brother. Do you run back to him and tell him every last thing that you do? Or do you only feel you need to report on me? I’m all grown-up, Dorian, and Conrad lost his right to comment on what I do with my life when he kicked me out of my own family.”

This time he really did roll his eyes. “Your mother seems to have cushioned that blow nicely.”

“And look at that. One more thing that’s entirely my business and not yours. At all.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Dorian told her. In that calm way that made her want to scream, though she didn’t. “Do you? Standing in my home and hurling accusations at me at three in the morning is not a particularly smart way to convince me of your maturity, Erika.”

“I don’t have to convince you of anything, Dorian. You’re not my friend. You’re not my brother. And when I tried to do the BDSM thing like anyone else might have in that club—”

“You safe worded out.”

But his voice changed. It took on that ruthlessly uncompromising quality she remembered from the club. And more, it had an instant effect on her. Her breathing changed. Her chest felt tight.

Suddenly she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his.

“I was momentarily overwhelmed.” She said it distinctly. Almost loftily, trying to convince herself as well as him. “I didn’t realize that using a safe word meant being dragged out of the club into the street. You should have made that clear.”

“Careful,” he advised her. “Or you might get what you’re asking for. And then what?”

“Then let me be more explicit,” Erika threw at him. She stood straighter, ignoring that pulling sensation in her breasts, her pussy. Her whole body. “I went to that club for a BDSM experience. Not an older-brother’s-best-friend-acting-like-a-dick experience, because I’ve already had that, thanks. So if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to leave, go back and tell them I was spirited away against my will.”

“Really.” There was even more of that amusement then, so dark and dangerous she could feel the edge against her skin like a blade. “And what will you do when you’re there?”

“Whatever I feel like doing.” She smirked at him and knew the moment she did it that it was a mistake. But she committed to it anyway, because she was nothing if not brazen when it was only going to get her in trouble. “You don’t get to decide how I behave, Dorian. You don’t get to decide a damn thing I do.”

“Erika.”

His voice was a crack, like that whip of his. Erika felt her breath go out of her in a rush. All he’d said was her name, but it hit her like a command. Like his hand wrapped against the nape of her neck, guiding her where he wanted her to go.

All she could do was stare back at him, mutely, entirely too aware of her pulse going wild and her breath sawing in and out of her lungs.

“You don’t need to go back to the club to have a BDSM experience,” he told her. “Lucky for you, I’m a BDSM experience all by myself.”