Master of the Dark Side: A Novella Read online

  Master of the Dark Side

  Mountain Masters 2.5

  Ms. Sinclair delivers a deliciously sensual and dark drama that throws the reader into a whirlwind of domination, tenderness and desire that is truly delightful. The author’s outstanding talents lie not just in the plotting and pace of the story but in creating the strong, passionate and charismatic characters that run as deep as their sense of honor… Another one for the keeper shelf!

  ~ The Romance Studio

  Real Doms terrify her, so Summer plays with lightweights only. And only in the safety of her club, Dark Haven. But on Western Night, the tough cop who wins her in a sub-roping game is as powerful as they come.

  Virgil’s first taste of BDSM was disturbingly enticing. Hoping to burn out his interest, he visits an infamous San Francisco club, where he wins himself the prettiest little submissive he’s ever seen. He’s in a quandary. A man shouldn’t render a woman helpless, let alone spank her ass. But the nervous little submissive clearly loves being in his ropes. Her need to be controlled is as powerful as his need to control. So he indulges himself, and her.

  That one night could be the beginning, but instead it’s the end. She won’t play outside the club and he lives too far to visit often. He’ll just have to find a way to forget her…or get her in his ropes to stay.

  This story wrung me out, pulling me ‘every which way’ through the full gamut of emotions. I was however, left sated and limp as a cooked wet noodle on the floor… Wow, such a terrific story!

  ~ Whipped Cream Reviews

  Want to be notified of the next release?

  Sent only on release day, Cherise’s newsletters contain freebies, excerpts, and articles.

  Sign up at:

  www.CheriseSinclair.com/NewsletterForm

  Master of the Dark Side

  Mountain Masters: 2.5

  Cherise Sinclair

  VanScoy Publishing Group

  Copyright 2012 Cherise Sinclair

  Master of the Dark Side

  Copyright © 2012 by Cherise Sinclair

  Kindle Edition

  ISBN 978-0-9861195-1-4

  Published by VanScoy Publishing Group

  Cover Artist: Hot Damn Designs

  ~ Reprint ~

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, business establishments, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this eBook only. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.

  Disclaimer: Please do not try any new sexual practice, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither the publisher nor the author will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in this book.

  Author’s Note

  To my readers,

  The books I write are fiction, not reality, and as in most romantic fiction, the romance is compressed into a very, very short time period.

  You, my darlings, live in the real world, and I want you to take a little more time in your relationships. Good Doms don’t grow on trees, and there are some strange people out there. So while you’re looking for that special Dom, please, be careful.

  When you find him, realize he can’t read your mind. Yes, frightening as it might be, you’re going to have to open up and talk to him. And you listen to him, in return. Share your hopes and fears, what you want from him, what scares you spitless. Okay, he may try to push your boundaries a little—he’s a Dom, after all—but you will have your safe word. You will have a safe word, am I clear? Use protection. Have a back-up person. Communicate.

  Remember: safe, sane, and consensual.

  Know that I’m hoping you find that special, loving person who will understand your needs and hold you close.

  And while you’re looking or even if you have already found your dearheart, come and hang out with the Mountain Masters.

  Love,

  Cherise

  Chapter One

  ‡

  Well, if he turned out to be a pervert, Dark Haven was sure the right place to come. Virgil Masterson tucked his thumbs under his belt and stared around the huge room. It was Western Night at San Francisco’s notorious BDSM club, and the combination of fetishwear and cowboy clothing was mindboggling.

  When a tiny brunette submissive walked by wearing nipple clamps, a purple thong, and cowboy boots, he could only shake his head and laugh. Amazing. At least with all the jeans and cowboy shirts, he didn’t stand out like a redneck from a small mountain town.

  As he listened to the country-western music, he tried to decide on a plan of action. By the end of the night, he intended to know if he was just a normal guy turned on by weird sexual shenanigans or something…worse. He’d always liked being in control in the bedroom—didn’t most men?—but then his in-laws had introduced him to a whole new level of control. To BDSM. Stunned the hell out of him.

  Under the Hunts’ direction, he’d dominated a submissive. Tied her up. She’d melted under his hands, his commands, and climaxed from a hard pinch on her nipples. Damn him for ever getting sucked into this, because now…now when he had sex, he knew exactly what was lacking. He wanted—needed—the extra punch of a woman’s willing submission.

  As he looked around, he spotted the crowd parting to let a man pass. The dom, dressed in a gambler’s rig of striped silk shirt, ornate burgundy vest, and arm garters, walked up and extended his hand. “Virgil Masterson, I believe?”

  “That’s right.” Virgil gave him a cop’s assessing once-over: six-two, muscular, around two hundred pounds, black hair in a long braid, black eyes, reddish brown coloring. He took the man’s hand, noting the powerful grip. The guy did more with his time than sit around the bar.

  “The Hunt brothers asked me to watch for you. I am Xavier, the owner.”

  Virgil gave an amused snort. As the eldest of three sons, he’d never been subjected to a babysitter…until he stepped into the BDSM scene. “Quite a place.”

  Xavier acknowledged the compliment with a tilt of his head. “The street level is for dancing, drinking, and watching the shows.” He gestured to platforms on either side of the long room, one empty, the other with a domme whipping a slender male sub. “They said you’re new to the scene?”

  “Yes.” Virgil studied the stage performance. He’d used a whip on livestock, never on a human, and the thought didn’t appeal to him at all. “I’ve played at a couple parties and gone on their BDSM camp trip. I’m still…” Frowning, he pushed up the brim of his hat. “I have a problem with the idea of bondage, let alone hurting anyone. I was raised to protect women. Hell, it’s my job.”

  Xavier said mildly, “But if bondage and pain is what the submissive wants? Needs?”

  Then he was in trouble. “Guess I’ll figure out where I draw the line.” That’s what he’d come here to do, after all. To observe and investigate in a place well away from Bear Flat. To figure out if I really am a pervert.

  “If the Hunts worked with you, I assume you know the usual courtesies of observing quietly, not touching another dom’s sub or equipment, and the basics of safe, sane, a
nd consensual play.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Then enjoy your evening. The dungeon is downstairs. If you’d care for an introduction to a submissive, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Xavier glanced at Virgil’s well-worn boots and smiled. “Calf roping starts in a bit—sub roping, in this case. You might find it a good way to meet someone.”

  Sub roping? He hadn’t planned to participate—well, maybe he’d considered it—but damn. “Sounds like fun.”

  After Xavier left, Virgil checked out the upstairs. A bar was located in one corner, surrounded by tables. The giggling submissive riding a mechanical bull held his attention for a while. Line dancing. A poker game tempted him briefly, but a pretty brunette sub kneeling at one man’s feet kept giving her dom concerned glances. Too tense for his mood tonight. You’re not here to play cards, Masterson.

  He took the stairs down to the dungeon. And stopped. At the Serenity Lodge parties, only a handful of scenes occurred at any one time. Dark Haven had…more. His gaze drifted down the long room: several St. Andrew’s crosses, stocks, and a whipping post. Sets of chains dangled from a low rafter. Cages, spanking benches, sawhorses, bondage tables. Scene after scene. Throaty moans, high screams, whining, whimpering, and groaning. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. All his cop instincts shouted for him to get his cuffs out and start arresting people.

  Yet the dominant in him noted that the scenes were hot as hell. Like the redhead getting wax poured on her nipples. Glazed eyes. Moaning. Her dom had spread her legs to let everyone view her soaked pussy.

  At the next scene, a dark-haired domme ran a device like a pizza cutter with tiny metal spikes around a man’s nipples. Poor guy had a woody so hard a cat couldn’t scratch it.

  Unlike the scent of beer, cologne, and perfume upstairs, the dungeon smelled of sweat and leather and so much sex that he could feel testosterone flooding his veins. He stopped at one area to watch a dom with a single-tail delicately lashing a dress from his sub. Fucking fine technique.

  Feeling a presence beside him, he looked down to see a pretty little submissive.

  “Excuse me,” she said, her melodic voice like a meadowlark in a valley of pain.

  He stepped back to let her edge past and gave her a slow once-over. Very nice.

  A leather skirt barely covered her grabbable, round ass. Heeled cowboy boots showcased bare legs, and her full breasts pushed a laced-up leather vest open so far her nipples almost showed. Golden blonde hair, straight and silky, hung to her midback. When she looked back to whisper a thank-you, her eyes were as clear and blue as the sky over the Sierras in June.

  Down, boy.

  He sighed as the little sub knelt beside the dom. Apparently she wasn’t available. Then again, she sure didn’t focus on her dom’s every movement as if she wanted to serve him with all her being. With the Hunts and some others he’d seen, their dominance over their subs showed up like heat waves in July. And didn’t that sound a tad too woo-woo for a cop?

  With a snort, and one last regretful look at the sub, Virgil wandered on.

  *

  Refusing to listen to Mark whine, Summer Aragon dragged him away from the whipping scene to the upstairs stage. The calf roping had started.

  Bouncing on her toes, she watched a dom chase after a collared older submissive on the raised platform. Almost to the end, he managed to grab her and toss her down on the well-padded platform. As he tried to bind her ankles and wrists, the crowd roared advice, cheering in yeehaws and whoops and whistles. God, didn’t that look like fun?

  “And another sub bites the dust.” Mark slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his lanky frame. “I’m heading home. You gonna come over?”

  “Leave now?” After she’d spent all yesterday shopping for just the right leather skirt and vest? She gave him an exasperated stare. When he’d shown up in a T-shirt and jeans instead of western wear, she should have known he’d bow out early. “We haven’t been here even an hour.”

  “Don’t care. I had a rough day.”

  A rough day of programming? Please. She thought of her own day as charge nurse for the surgical floor: filling in for the med nurse, transferring a patient to the ICU, wading through reams of doctors’ orders, managing a code right at the end of her shift—successful, but God, the paperwork—fixing the diet orders the kitchen had screwed up…and on and on. “Don’t you want to join the calf roping?”

  “Nah. Jason lent me a new apocalypse movie, and I want to see it.”

  She considered briefly: a cozy winter evening watching TV or finding someone to play with here. Play, play, play. “I’m going to stay a little longer. I’ve got an urge to be a calf.”

  “Go for it.” He frowned. “I don’t think Rick or Mike are here though.”

  Summer bit her lip. No buddies? That wasn’t good.

  She only scened with a few doms, ones who were just friends outside the club. Lightweight scenes, lightweight doms. She didn’t want more. That would mean dealing with a real dominant—like the darkly tanned man watching the whipping downstairs whose slow scrutiny had heated her from the toes up and set her insides to quivering. Not for me, thank you.

  But if her buddies weren’t here, who would she play with? She glanced up, realized Mark was considering staying…just for her. She smiled at him. “Go home, Mr. Couch Potato.”

  “That’s me.” He gave her a relieved look and added, “Sis is having everyone over for Sunday brunch. She said to invite you so you can get your kid fix in.”

  “I’d love it.” She kissed him lightly before he headed for the exit.

  A whooping scream pulled her attention to the far corner where a submissive had been thrown off the mechanical bull. Laughing like a loon, the brunette forfeited her bustier and climbed back on. The bull started to buck and twist. Summer winced as the submissive’s breasts bounced in conflicting directions.

  In another corner, people line danced to Tim McGraw’s “I Like It, I Love It.” One row held only unattached submissives, both male and female, wearing very few clothes. Tempted to join, she observed for a second. More bouncing breasts—and balls and cocks and butts.

  Summer folded her arms over her full chest. Just watching was painful. No, she wanted to be a calf, she really did. But without her safe buddies?

  Hmm. Recently she’d thought about testing her nerve by playing with other doms…easy ones, of course. Was this a hint from the gods?

  I can do this. Determinedly, she joined the submissive queue, trying to figure out the rules. To her dismay, Xavier and Simon sat at a table by the stage, matching up each dom and calf. They’d make the choice for her? Her stomach clenched. What if she got a sadist?

  But Simon was supervising. He’d been all protective since his party last year where Dirk had hurt her so badly, and he’d surely not choose someone cruel. Besides, if the dom caught her, she could still negotiate what the session afterward would involve. And they’d play here in a public place.

  Despite her self-assurances, her heart rate increased as she neared the front.

  The audience groaned as a sub managed to evade the chasing dom. The blonde, giggling in a high voice, jumped off the stage. Adjusting her skintight latex dress, she trotted back to the end of the line.

  Xavier glanced at the sub in front of Summer and announced, “Jen is next. Gentlemen?”

  The contenders raised their hands, and after a moment, Simon pointed to a tall, lanky man. “Aaron. Good luck. She’s a fast little critter.”

  Jen and Aaron took their places.

  My turn. Summer stepped up to the desk and waited for the two doms to notice her.

  With dark hair and dark eyes, Simon and Xavier appeared like a matched set although Xavier looked flashier in his gambler’s clothing. In his forties, Simon was older and attired as an 1860’s banker. Rich, classy, powerful doms—so not her kind.

  “Summer, it’s good to see you.” Simon motioned her forward and asked quietly, “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine
. Thank you, Sir.”

  “Are you being careful?”

  After she’d healed, he’d given her a lecture on safety measures, and she’d listened carefully. One set of scars from a misjudgment was enough. “Yes, Sir. I never play anywhere but here.”

  He straightened, a crease forming between his brows. “That’s taking prudence a little too far, pet. How can you form a relationship if you won’t leave here?”

  At the thought of being tied up and alone with a dom—a real dom—she felt as if someone had run a cold hand up her spine. “I’m happy being a sub here.”

  Xavier frowned also. “A sub? You’re not submitting; you only go through the motions. Playacting.”

  Just team up on me, why don’t you? And you’re wrong. Her chin went up. “I believe that’s up to me.” When Xavier’s eyes turned to black ice, she gulped out a hasty, “My Liege.”

  His forefinger tapped the desk for one beat.

  She had a vision of being caged and hung from the ceiling like the last sub who’d displeased him.

  Another tap.

  Or up on the stage being used for flogging practice.

  He finally nodded. “That is your choice.”

  She took a relieved breath. Thank you, God.

  Xavier turned to the crowd. “Gentlemen, this is Summer. Who would like to win her submission?”

  Oh great. Make a big deal of the submission part. Thanks, Xavier. She turned to see an ego-stroking number of hands had gone up. A couple of sadists, some younger doms, and—her gaze was trapped by intent hazel eyes shaded by a black cowboy hat. The rest of the crowd blurred and faded away, leaving only the darkly tanned dominant she’d seen earlier.

  He studied her; then his lips curved in a faint smile. He raised his hand to compete.

  Her heart gave a nasty thud. Oh God.

  “Virgil, I believe this little calf is a good one for you. She’ll need a steady hand,” Xavier said.