Masterpiece (The Masters of The Order Book 1) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jillian Verne
and crooked his finger in invitation. She answered his call immediately, shimmying quickly her seat. A glimmer of fear crossed her face before she jacked up her chin and walked toward him. As he eased out of the banquet to meet her, he glanced back at Jacques.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
*****
What do you wear to meet the person who’s going to teach you to dominate women?
For “Beginner’s Night” at the Dungeon, Jerard chose black. He figured black must be the neutral for the set he was about to meet. Even so, he changed clothes three times before settling on his ensemble of black jeans and a plain black T-shirt.
Everything about this experience seemed surreal. In the abstract, attending a beginner’s night at a BDSM club seemed like the right place to start for what he wanted to learn. He would have preferred a more private introduction to the lifestyle, but he didn’t know anyone personally who could teach him. At least, he didn’t think he did. The more public option wasn’t ideal, but it did offer what he needed. Still, his mind was riddled with doubt as he descended the narrow staircase.
How will this work? Will we just talk about stuff? Will there be models or will I be paired with some random woman who gets her ya-ya’s out by being tied up or worse?
Jerard didn’t want a strange woman. He wanted Julianne. And if he was honest, he didn’t want to cause her pain of any kind. All he wanted to do was become what she needed and to do that, he was about to do God-knows-what with a bunch of strangers.
Best not to speculate and just go with it.
He wiped his hands over his jeans. “Sweaty palms. Real dominant of you, Jerard,” he groaned to himself and rapped his silver ring on the door.
*****
Julianne tried to catch her breath and quash the butterflies in her belly as she descended the steps.
It had taken forever to find this place and the hills of Montmartre almost defeated her. The Dungeon sat at the end of a maze of alleys off one of the main avenues. No sign marked its entrance. If you didn’t know it was there, you never would.
Coming here was a risk. A colossal risk. But her chaste existence was a hell she had to escape. The Colonel’s draconian views on sex were tearing her to pieces. She’d always respected him, but she wasn’t a child anymore.
If he knew I was here…don’t think about that. You won’t touch, only look, and looking isn’t so bad.
Doubt mingled with excitement as she stood at the door. Part of her wanted to run, but she kept her babies planted, refusing to scurry off like a scared cat. Smoothing her skirt, she raised a determined hand and knocked.
The heavy wood creaked open to reveal a mountain of a man clad in black. After assessing her for an uncomfortably long time, he gestured for her to enter. Deafening music bombarded her as she inched ahead.
Through the darkness, Julianne could make out shadowy figures milling at the bar, gyrating on the dance floor and - C her Dieu, could that be real? - chained to the wall. She mustered what little courage she had left and headed for the bar on shaky legs.
“What’s your poison, hon?”
A bartender, wearing a leather bustier and not much else, eyed her impatiently. Julianne meekly ordered a club soda and moved to a stool, wondering what to do next.
“You here for the auction?”
She glanced around, but couldn’t see who spoke to her.
“Up here.”
When she looked up, she couldn’t suppress the gasp. A man was suspended in a cage above the bar to her left. Wearing nothing more than boy shorts and a studded collar, he lay on his back, his long hair hanging down between the bars on the bottom of his prison. His head was turned casually toward her. She could barely make out his eyes in the dark, but his voice sounded kind.
“Auction, um, no.” She sipped her drink and tried to look like she belonged.
“Didn’t think so. You don’t look the type.”
Already painfully aware that
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
*****
What do you wear to meet the person who’s going to teach you to dominate women?
For “Beginner’s Night” at the Dungeon, Jerard chose black. He figured black must be the neutral for the set he was about to meet. Even so, he changed clothes three times before settling on his ensemble of black jeans and a plain black T-shirt.
Everything about this experience seemed surreal. In the abstract, attending a beginner’s night at a BDSM club seemed like the right place to start for what he wanted to learn. He would have preferred a more private introduction to the lifestyle, but he didn’t know anyone personally who could teach him. At least, he didn’t think he did. The more public option wasn’t ideal, but it did offer what he needed. Still, his mind was riddled with doubt as he descended the narrow staircase.
How will this work? Will we just talk about stuff? Will there be models or will I be paired with some random woman who gets her ya-ya’s out by being tied up or worse?
Jerard didn’t want a strange woman. He wanted Julianne. And if he was honest, he didn’t want to cause her pain of any kind. All he wanted to do was become what she needed and to do that, he was about to do God-knows-what with a bunch of strangers.
Best not to speculate and just go with it.
He wiped his hands over his jeans. “Sweaty palms. Real dominant of you, Jerard,” he groaned to himself and rapped his silver ring on the door.
*****
Julianne tried to catch her breath and quash the butterflies in her belly as she descended the steps.
It had taken forever to find this place and the hills of Montmartre almost defeated her. The Dungeon sat at the end of a maze of alleys off one of the main avenues. No sign marked its entrance. If you didn’t know it was there, you never would.
Coming here was a risk. A colossal risk. But her chaste existence was a hell she had to escape. The Colonel’s draconian views on sex were tearing her to pieces. She’d always respected him, but she wasn’t a child anymore.
If he knew I was here…don’t think about that. You won’t touch, only look, and looking isn’t so bad.
Doubt mingled with excitement as she stood at the door. Part of her wanted to run, but she kept her babies planted, refusing to scurry off like a scared cat. Smoothing her skirt, she raised a determined hand and knocked.
The heavy wood creaked open to reveal a mountain of a man clad in black. After assessing her for an uncomfortably long time, he gestured for her to enter. Deafening music bombarded her as she inched ahead.
Through the darkness, Julianne could make out shadowy figures milling at the bar, gyrating on the dance floor and - C her Dieu, could that be real? - chained to the wall. She mustered what little courage she had left and headed for the bar on shaky legs.
“What’s your poison, hon?”
A bartender, wearing a leather bustier and not much else, eyed her impatiently. Julianne meekly ordered a club soda and moved to a stool, wondering what to do next.
“You here for the auction?”
She glanced around, but couldn’t see who spoke to her.
“Up here.”
When she looked up, she couldn’t suppress the gasp. A man was suspended in a cage above the bar to her left. Wearing nothing more than boy shorts and a studded collar, he lay on his back, his long hair hanging down between the bars on the bottom of his prison. His head was turned casually toward her. She could barely make out his eyes in the dark, but his voice sounded kind.
“Auction, um, no.” She sipped her drink and tried to look like she belonged.
“Didn’t think so. You don’t look the type.”
Already painfully aware that
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