Page 1 of Reveal Me
Chapter One
SEAN
I prefer to assert my power in an impeccably tailored suit with one commanding word than in leather, brandishing a whip—although, over the years, I have been known to do both.
I shrug off my suit jacket, remove my platinum cufflinks, and roll up the sleeves of my crisp ebony shirt. My current submissive, Samantha, kneels silently beside me, her porcelain skin a stark contrast against the black velvet cushion she’s balanced on. She’s naked, wet, and willing—exactly the way I commanded, but her eyes keep straying to mine—a privilege which I didn’t permit.
‘Eyes down,’ I growl.
‘Yes, sir.’ Her head dips obediently, and I know she’s waiting for me to tell her she’s a good girl, but tonight, I can’t.
There’s a hint of something in her eyes that’s making me uneasy. It might be time to rotate before she forms an attachment. God forbid she gets the notion that this thing between us is anything more than an arrangement.
I glance around Reveal, the bespoke BDSM club I created with pride. Twelve meticulously designed erotic chambersbranch from this central lounge, each a unique expression of dominance and submission. Tonight, we’ll be using the Discipline Suite. I had one hell of a day in the office, and I need an outlet. Samantha is only too willing to oblige. Being a Monday, the club isn’t open to its one hundred and fifty members. We have the entire place to ourselves, bar the skeletal staff who’ve signed so many non-disclosure agreements, they may never open their mouths to anyone about anything again.
‘Rise.’ I beckon her up with a single index finger. Naturally, she obeys. Thankfully, her gaze remains fixed on my feet.
My eyes roam over her body. She’s naked, save for the black bespoke leather collar I gifted her at the start of our agreement, and a black lace crotchless thong. Inch after inch of smooth skin gleams beneath the low lighting, ripe for taking—and tonight I’m going to shackle her to the Saint Andrew’s cross and take it.
If my brothers had even an inclination of my preferences, they’d choke on their whiskeys. Well, my older brothers James, Caelon, and Killian might. My youngest brother, Rian—he’d probably come in his pants at the mere mention of a place like this.
‘Follow me.’ My shoes make a soft thwacking sound as I march across the marble. I don’t need to look around to see that Samantha is hot on my heels. Even if she weren’t so keen, the sound of her ragged breathing echoes off the black lacquered walls.
I step inside the Discipline Suite, eyeing the opulence with approval. When I initially dreamed up the idea of a BDSM club, I was adamant it wouldn’t be another dingy, dark hole. Oh, it’s dark, but its decadence is undeniable. The equipment is the most expensive and exclusive money canbuy. Which is why the annual membership fee is a million euros.
Samantha hovers behind me, awaiting instruction. ‘The cross.’ I nod towards the centre of the room. The custom-designed Saint Andrew’s cross dominates the space like a religious monument. Its polished ebony frame rises seven and a half feet high, arms stretching five feet wide. Chrome D-rings await their purpose at precise intervals along the frame: wrists, biceps, thighs, ankles, gleaming like surgical instruments under the lighting.
Samantha strides towards it. I watch as her ass sways seductively. I hope I’m wrong and she’s not catching feelings, because I like our arrangement, but it will never be more than that. I’m incapable of more. She reaches the cross, turns slowly, lifting her wrists ready to be bound, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. She loves being restrained and fucked. The rougher the better.
I’m at her side in seconds. She spreads herself wide and leans back against the cross. ‘Not that way.’ I make a swivelling motion with my fingers. I can’t chance her staring at me with those doe eyes again.
She turns her back, spreads her legs, then lifts her arms. I fasten her into position using thick leather cuffs. Taking a step back, I survey her spread eagle on the cross. A ripple of satisfaction washes over me.
I need control like a fire needs oxygen. But being the fourth youngest brother born into Dublin’s wealthiest family, my life was planned out for me from the day I was born. Which school I’d attend, which sports I’d play, which college I’d go to, what I’d major in. Manners and social etiquette were pressed upon me from the second I could speak. I’m privileged, ridiculously so, but also unfulfilled—unless I’m here.
My family would be horrified if they had any idea I’dcarved out my own lucrative business away from the Beckett enterprise, but the real wealth this provides me with is satisfaction, and the freedom to act out my darkest fantasies without the risk of being revealed.
Samantha whimpers and wriggles on the cross in front of me.
‘Patience,’ I warn her.
‘Yes, sir.’
My eyes roam from her blonde hair, securely fastened with a hair tie, over her taut back, the smooth curve of her ass cheeks separated with that tiny sliver of lace, then finally to her spread thighs. I step closer, contemplating what to do with her.
I unbutton my suit trousers but I don’t undress. I rarely do. I reach for Samantha’s hips, gripping them firmly. She moans, tilts her chin up and angles her head round until her eyes lock with mine.
Oh fuck—she has goddamn fucking hearts in her eyes.
I glide my hands up over her body to cradle her head and reposition it so she’s not resting on my body, but it’s too late.
The damage is done.
I can’t do it.
I don’t do intimacy.
Not sinceher.
