“There he is.”

“Where?” Chelsea Barton craned her head to get a look at Master Alexander Monahan.

“Near the fireplace,” her friend Sara said.

Chelsea glanced in that direction. Dressed in blue jeans, a long-sleeved, western-style shirt, a black leather vest, a silver bolo tie, and a cowboy hat, he didn’t fit her image of a BDSM trainer. His height, though—over six feet tall—was definitely what she’d expected. The billionaire Dominant was as gorgeous as he was unapproachable.

“Quit staring!” Sara cautioned. “Good submissives don’t behave that way.”

That didn’t stop Chelsea. Rules were helpful for other people. As for her, she ruthlessly pursued what she wanted. And she’d decided that Master Alexander would help her become the perfect sub—or at least passable enough that no one noticed if she wasn’t really all that into it. That was step one in Project Snag Evan C.

Master Evan C was a rocker whose band was climbing the charts. With the right PR firm—hers—he could become a megastar. As a double bonus, her company would gain real credibility by signing the celebrity, which would in turn bring her the success she dreamed of…the success that proved she was worthwhile, despite what she’d been told her entire life.

So far, her efforts to ensnare his attention had been a dismal failure.

Six months ago, she’d met him at a party and had developed a certifiable fangirl crush on him. She fantasized about him tying her up and fucking her hard.

Chelsea wanted him. And not just as a client, but also as a Dominant and lover. What could be more fabulous than career success and having a sexy man to boot?

Sara, always the unwelcome pragmatist, had advised Chelsea to forget her ideas. Master Evan C liked well-trained submissives, women who subjugated their needs to suit his. Which, as Sara pointed out, really wasn’t Chelsea. Chelsea was headstrong and determined, a driven achiever who chewed antacid for breakfast, suffered from rampant insomnia, and hadn’t taken a vacation in over two years. That Master Evan C discarded women like the scarves he wore while performing made her even more resolved to succeed.

That was where Master Alexander came in.

According to Sara, he used to be a trainer, and he was still well respected in the community. He didn’t get emotionally involved with subs, and he was one of the best.

“He’s looking this way,” Sara whispered.

“And he’s alone, finally.” When Chelsea had learned that Sara and Lyle—her Dom—had been invited to Master Alexander’s birthday party at the Den, Master Damien’s luxury Colorado mountain retreat, Chelsea had begged, pleaded, and cajoled for an invitation.

At first, Sara had refused. She hadn’t wanted to be part of any more of Chelsea’s shenanigans. While Chelsea didn’t blame her friend—after all, their last escapade had earned Sara a punishment from Lyle—Chelsea refused to be deterred. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Remember, you don’t know me.”

She gave her friend a false smile. “Have we met?” After setting her shoulders, Chelsea headed straight for Master Alexander.

A couple stopped to talk to him. Foiled, she paused to grab a glass of sparkling water from a passing server. She was woman enough to appreciate the hottie. He wore a bow tie, but no shirt, and it looked as if he could have been poured into his dress slacks. The material revealed his muscular thighs as well as his hot rear. And she supposed it was possible he had oil rubbed on his bare chest.

With a nod, he said, “Enjoy your evening, ma’am.”

Maybe she’d hire this crew for her next event. It would certainly be a shocker, earn her some much-appreciated publicity.

Rather than taking a drink, she rolled the glass between her palms and waited for her chance to approach Master Alexander. Finally, the couple moved off.

After putting down her drink she walked toward him. Damn, his cowboy hat made him look like an outlaw.

He rested his forearm on the mantelpiece and studied her intently as she approached. Even from several feet away, he exuded power.

Calling on the bravado that she suddenly needed, she continued on.

When she stopped near him, he swept his gaze over her, from the toes of her pumps to the top of the shiny clips she’d placed in her short hair.

He didn’t greet her. Instead, he waited. That didn’t surprise her. She’d done plenty of research on him and learned he was inflexible, a formidable foe in the business arena despite his recent setbacks. “Mr. Monahan, I’m Chelsea Barton.” She extended her hand and gave him her most dazzling smile. The look was practiced. She could charm anyone with it. “I wanted to wish you a very happy birthday.”

“Did you?” Finally, he dropped his arm to accept her hand.

His grip was warm, firm, reassuring. Electricity shimmied up her spine. This close, he was even more gorgeous. Small lines were etched next to his captivating green eyes, and his lips were firm and full. The crazy notion of kissing him skipped through her mind before she ruthlessly shoved it away. She had a business proposition for him, nothing more.

When he released her, she was strangely bereft. “Who are you here with, Ms. Barton?”

“Uh…a friend,” she hedged.

“Are you always evasive?”

“Are you always so direct?”

He folded his arms across his magnificent chest. “Save us both some time and cut through the bullshit. It’s my birthday, my party, and I approved the guest list. I saw you speaking with Sara. As she is pretending not to look at us, I assume you wanted to meet me for a specific reason. Because I’m feeling generous, I’ll give you thirty seconds. Start talking.”

Suddenly she wished she’d taken a drink of that wine. “You’re right,” she confessed. Because he was direct, she responded in kind. “I came here specifically to meet you.” Quickly she added, “But not for the reason you might think.” She hoped that comment was intriguing enough to buy her an extra minute of his time. “I own a company named You’re The Star. We do PR.”

“Monahan Capital has a PR firm.”

“Who should have done a better job of spinning the Bartholomew deal initially, but they’ve been passable since then.” When all he did was arch an eyebrow, she pushed on. “However, if you did a couple of events in the community, such as a fundraiser, your positive press would shove the other headlines from the first page of the search engines. But that’s not my point.” Since he was still listening, she kept talking. “I sought you out because I want you to train me as a submissive, and I understand that you’re the best.”

“At one time that was true.”

From his mouth, his flat statement didn’t sound arrogant.

“But I’m quite sure you’ve heard I don’t train anymore.”

She pushed back the trepidation that had started doing the backstroke in her veins. The years had taught her a valuable lesson—when she wasn’t getting what she wanted, she needed to turn up the charm.

Gently, she placed her hand on his arm. When he didn’t react, she continued, “I’m sure a man as discerning as you has high expectations and demands excellence. I understand that it comes at a cost. Name your price, and I’ll write you a check.”

He didn’t respond to her tactics. In fact, his jawline could have been chiseled from granite. “I’m not for sale, Ms. Barton.”

She gave up on charm and dropped her hand.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Evan C and a woman were heading toward the stairs. Although she hadn’t seen it, she understood Master Damien had a dungeon with some private playrooms. Seeing Evan C with someone who should have been her only increased her resolve. “You’re a businessman. Better than anyone, you understand that everyone has a price.”

“What’s yours?” Master Alexander countered. “Selling your soul for success?”

“That’s harsh.” Chelsea blinked. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“On the contrary. I know you will use manipulation in order to get what you want.”

She pulled back.

“If you want this conversation to continue, be honest.” His tone was as icy as a cold front that raged down from the Arctic.

Chelsea had not expected this to be so difficult. She’d figured most Doms would love to have a sub begging for their attention. Her offer of money should have sealed the deal. “I want Evan C to hire my company and accept me as his submissive.”

“And you think some training will intrigue him?”

“It will.”

“You sound convinced.”

She recalled the party they’d been at. “He snubbed me once because I was too new.” Seeing him toss his scarf over his shoulder as he’d walked away had stung.

“What kind of experience do you have?” Master Alexander asked.

“Not much,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Be specific.”

“How much information do you want?”

He captured her chin, ignoring the way she’d tipped it stubbornly.

She was tall, especially in her spiked ‘fuck-me’ heels, but he still towered over her by several inches. Since she was accustomed to looking men in the eye as they spoke, having to look up was a little disconcerting. For one of the first times in her life, she felt small, overpowered.

His fingers were strong and firm, as unrelenting as the glint of steel in his eyes. “I’ll tell you when I’ve heard enough.”

She tried, and failed, to hide her shiver. For the first time in her life, she wondered if she’d set her sights too high. He’d seen her subterfuge and cut through it—despite the fact she’d become a master at it.

Once she exhaled, he released his grip.

When one of the servers came near, she signaled for a glass of wine, needing the fortification. She had no problem at all promoting others or her firm. But exposing her secrets? That required courage.

She took a long drink of her wine, then held on to the stem as if it were a lifeline. “I didn’t know I liked kink until one of my boyfriends blindfolded me.”

“What did you like about the experience?”

Several Doms and subs moved into the living room, and she looked around nervously.

“Eyes on me,” he instructed.

You’re relentless. She caught a glimpse of what he might be like as a trainer, and it terrified her as much as it intrigued her.

“Or excuse yourself now.”

She looked up from where she’d been staring into the depths of her wine.

He missed nothing.

“I liked that I had no idea what would happen next. My hearing seemed heightened. And when he touched me, the sensation was magnified.”

“Go on.”

“One guy would sometimes swat my bottom when I passed him.” She had no idea this would be so embarrassing. There was nothing sexual about the conversation, rather, the facts were somewhat clinical. But that didn’t stop her from blushing. “Last Halloween, I attended a BDSM party. Compared to this…” She swept her hand around. The gathering at Master Damien’s house was for people who lived the lifestyle. “It’s clear now that most of us were just dabbling. We wore outfits we bought at the costume store, but afterward my date tied me up for the first time. It was just to his bed, and he used a light whip on my ass. I liked it. Well, enough to explore more, but he said it really hadn’t worked for him all that well. He didn’t like hurting me. Even though I promised him he hadn’t.”

“You’re telling me most vanilla guys aren’t interested in spanking an ass like that?”

She blinked.

“I noticed you when you first came in, and you wore that skirt hoping I would.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I did.” It was one size smaller than she bought for business meetings, and she’d never wear it out in public. The material hugged her rear so tight she was nervous about sitting down.

“So show me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lift your skirt to your waist, turn around, spread your legs as far as you can, then bend over and grab your ankles.”

For a moment she could hardly breathe. He said nothing further and he looked unconcerned, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or another whether she did as he said. She recognized the order as his first test.

He extended his hand to take her glass. That was probably for the best—she was suddenly afraid of dropping it. He slid the stemware onto the mantel, then used his thumb to tip back his cowboy hat.

She pulled up her skirt and she was grateful she’d worn a thong. Exposing herself to a stranger was far different than playing with a man she’d been dating.

Master Alexander continued to say nothing. She realized then that he was a man of few words, and he didn’t repeat himself. There was no cajoling from him, no teasing, no ‘Oh, come on, Chelsea, have a little fun’. This man was a Dominant all the way to his core.

Mouth dry, she turned away from him and followed the rest of his instructions. For at least sixty interminable seconds, he said nothing. Her heart thundered. The tops of her shoes dug into her ankles, and blood rushed to her head.

“This is the ass you’ve had a difficult time convincing men to spank?”

“Yes,” she said. Then she wondered what the protocol was for addressing him. Sir? Mr. Monahan? Master? Alex? Alexander?

He caressed both her bare butt cheeks.

Slowly she began to relax.

Other people continued to move through the rooms, and a man stopped to talk to him. He removed one hand and continued to rub her with the other.

This was awful, humiliating. She wasn’t accustomed to being exposed, unseen, completely ignored.

Horrified, she started to stand, but, saying nothing, he pinched her upper thigh.

Though she yelped, she forced herself to stay in position, fighting off her instinct to stand, drop her skirt and get the hell away from him.

Instead, she drew on the determination that had seen her work two jobs through college. Now, like then, she kept her eyes on the goal.

Eventually, the man moved off. Although he kept one hand on her, Master Alexander still didn’t speak, leaving her with no idea what to do.

Right then, he slapped her left buttock, hard. She cried out, more from shock than because it had hurt.

“You did well for a beginner. Stand, pull your skirt down, then face me.”

As she followed his instructions, her legs quivered. In the last three minutes, she’d had a bigger taste of BDSM than she’d had in the last six months. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

“Tell me about your thoughts while you were bent over.”

“I felt nervous and exposed.”

“And how did you feel when I smacked you?”

“I was startled, I suppose. And I didn’t like how impersonal your touch was. I could have been anyone.”

“Was it difficult for you to remain in position?”

She reached for her glass of wine and took a deep drink. “Yes.”

“Why?”

The question vexed her, and she snapped her answer. “This isn’t supposed to be an exploration into my psyche.”

“Anyone who engages in BDSM with me opens every part of themselves. It’s your choice.” He shrugged. “Leave at any time.”

Chelsea had spent years shielding herself from criticism, so much so that she rarely shared her innermost thoughts with anyone, even close friends. But his man was demanding access to her emotions, requiring vulnerability that made her shake. Since she had no other option, she opened up a little. “I don’t like to be left out. When you ignored me like that? Frankly it pissed me off.”

“Yet you stayed in position. Why?”

“Because I want you to train me. And I wanted to show you I can do it.”

“Very good. By the way, you have a very spankable ass. It turned bright red with my handprint.”

No doubt the color matched her face.

“Being a submissive is very different from being tied up, wearing a blindfold, or even getting a spanking. What you just experienced is a sample of what my submissives endure.”

Wildly she wondered if she had any idea what she was asking for.

“Doms typically adore and cherish their subs. Some couples, as you may have ascertained, indulge like you and your previous boyfriends, just with a few more rules and a bit more regularity. They may even use the words Dominant and submissive. To me, submission comes with strict protocols, with service, along with refined body movements.”

“What you just showed me… I didn’t know it would be that hard core.”

“Go on.”

“The whole being submissive thing…” She worried her lower lip. Once she realized she was doing it, she stopped immediately. Her mother had spent years reinforcing what an awful habit that was. How would Chelsea ever capture a husband if she couldn’t be more elegant? “I guess I thought it was mostly about getting spankings and being tied up.”

“It’s more a state of mind,” he informed her. “What you’re talking about falls under the broad umbrella of bondage and discipline. And it could just be added kink in an otherwise vanilla relationship. But submission is about putting someone else’s needs before your own. And you do it from a genuine desire to serve, not because you see it as a means to an end. Most of all, it’s about mutual trust.”

His words landed like a chastisement.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he said. “I’m sure you will be able to find a man to spank you.”

Realizing he was dismissing her, she made a desperate offer. “Are you interested? I mean, it is your birthday, and someone should get a spanking, and I’m guessing you won’t be baring your butt.”

“Quite correct.”

She wished he’d tip his sexy cowboy hat back once more so she could read his expression better. “You could consider it a birthday present.”

“I’m not interested in giving you a spanking. And it has nothing to do with your delectable derrière. As I mentioned, my subs have a desire to serve. Which you do not.”

While she hadn’t liked being ignored, or the nasty little pinch, she had liked his firm command and the way he’d so masterfully swatted her. It had stung. But it had also warmed her skin, leaving her turned on. “Please, I implore you to reconsider.” After all, she could do anything she set her mind to. “You won’t be disappointed in me. I promise you that.”

Just then, Master Damien called for everyone’s attention.

Standing next to each other, she and Alexander turned.

Sara had told Chelsea that the Den’s owner could have been a movie star. He had long, dark hair that was secured at his nape. Leather pants highlighted his strong muscles, and a short-sleeved black T-shirt revealed a tattoo she couldn’t quite make out.

Some Doms and Dommes urged their subs to their knees for the announcement. Those instructed verbally or through hand commands knelt without complaint.

Now she understood Master Alexander’s point. No one else appeared to rebel against the indignity the way she instinctively had.

When the crowd fell silent, Master Damien went on. “We’re celebrating Master Alexander’s birthday tonight.” He beckoned to a woman who pushed a rolling cart into the living room. A half-sheet cake was ablaze with dozens of candles.

He began to sing the happy birthday song—too bad Master Evan C wasn’t in the room—and others joined in.

When the terrible rendition ended and the guests applauded, Master Alexander blew out the candles. And because she figured he wouldn’t make a wish, she made one of her own.

“Thank you all! Being back is the best gift of all.”

Once more, everyone cheered enthusiastically.

“Chelsea here will be helping to serve the cake,” Master Alexander announced.

What? Furiously, stomach plunging, she scowled at him.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Let’s see how much you really want to be a sub.”

No way could she do this. Cake cutting wasn’t one of her skills. She could never get the pieces to stand up, and she always ended up with frosting all over her hands.

“You’re going to help Brandy.”

Be a server, as if she were his submissive?

“Follow her instructions.” The command in his tone left no room for arguing. “And Chelsea? You’re going to do it with a smile.”

To get her going, he placed his fingers against the small of her back and gave her a gentle nudge.

Having no other choice other than to flat out refuse, Chelsea accepted the pearlescent handle from Brandy.

“You do that while I remove the candles,” Brandy suggested.

The same man who’d brought her wine earlier carried over a stack of plates.

After cutting a bunch of jagged lines, she picked up the cake spatula and transferred the corner piece onto a plate.

“Since it’s his birthday, go ahead and take the first slice to Master Alexander,” Brandy said kindly.

“Me?”

“I get the idea that would be his preference. I’ll take care of Master Damien, then the hired staff will help us with everyone else.”

Chelsea took the plate to him, hiding her internal snarl behind a smile.

“Not good enough. Try again,” he said.

Are you serious right now? “Excuse me?”

“Watch Brandy.”

As she moved toward Master Damien, she kept her head tipped. She extended the plate and, when he accepted, she offered the fork and napkin as one package.

Chelsea scowled. Considering the ridiculous number of etiquette classes her mother had made her take, she should have noticed. Of course, Mother anticipated Chelsea would go on to be an executive’s wife. As such, she’d need to be able to be his hostess. Never in a million years would Marjorie have expected her only daughter to bare her rear in front of a roomful of people.

“Watch what I do.” Brandy gave a brief, beautiful curtsy.

Chelsea’s mouth opened as she rounded on him. “You expect me to do that?”

“You would receive this kind of instruction as part of your training.” He studied her. “If you’d like to proceed, return to the cart and try again. This time with much more decorum.”

Cheeks burning with frustration, she carried the plate back.

A tall, good-looking man with the air of a pirate was standing near the tray, arms folded across his chest. His shoulders and chest were massive, and she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he played professional football. Or maybe he made a living as a bouncer.

“No one is looking at you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Almost everyone here is with a sub, or they’ve been around the lifestyle for years. All subs have their behavior corrected from time to time. It’s totally natural.” He smiled and set her at ease. “I’m Gregorio,” he explained. “I work with Master Damien here and I take care of the Den.”

“And that includes reassuring wannabe subs?”

His silver earring winked in the overhead light. “My jobs are many and varied.”

“I’m not even his sub. I just want him to train me.”

“So, he’s seeing if you’re worth the effort?”

“He turned me down.”

“Has he?” his voice was edged with skepticism. “I’d say he’s intrigued. You found a way to get an invite to a private party to meet him. So don’t give up yet, unless you’ve decided it’s not for you. In that case, move on and find someone who shares your kink.”

She nodded.

“Are you planning to take the cake back to him?”

After thinking about it for a few seconds, she softly sighed. “Yes.”

“Are you right-handed?”

“I am.”

“In that case, I recommend you carry the plate in your left hand. Wrap the napkin around the fork and carry those in your right hand. Keep your head down, gaze lowered. At this point, he won’t be expecting you to kneel. Concentrate on the pleasure he will receive from your actions. Offer the fork and napkin first, and then seamlessly transfer the plate to your right hand so you have no awkwardness. The most important thing with service is to think about things ahead of time, plan them out, but have the room to be flexible if your Dom desires it.”

No doubt Gregorio was correct. Master Alexander had already said that, service was part of submission. “What about that little curtsy thing?”

“You can manage something, I’m sure. Bonus points if you use the term Sir or Master Alexander when you address him.”

“Right now, I’m not sure I can remember my own name.”

“That’s why you need to concentrate on him, not yourself. Don’t overthink,” he added. “Try to be natural. You will screw up. Everyone does. Just accept the correction without taking it personally. As I’m sure Master Alexander has already advised, give yourself over to the experience of pleasing your Dom. Get out of your own way, allow someone else be the center of your universe. If you’re a submissive, you’ll be fulfilled from pleasing him. It’s not for everyone. In fact, it’s not for most people.”

Before she could thank him, he had moved off. Surreptitiously she watched another server. Cake was offered one way to Doms, and a little less formally to subs. Some Doms accepted a piece for themselves but refused one for their submissives. A male sub was hand-fed.

One server was directed to place a plate on the floor. The blonde didn’t hesitate before lowering herself to all fours and starting to eat. Her Domme placed the spiked heel of her boot on the girl’s shoulder while tasting her own dessert and conversing with another Domme.

As Gregorio had observed, no one seemed to notice.

But the more she saw, the more she questioned the path she’d set for herself.

At that moment Master Evan C entered the room, electrifying the atmosphere with his energy. The woman he’d been to the dungeon with looked beautiful with her smile and tracks from tears staining her cheeks. She walked over to the tray and carefully selected a plate for him, and she looked happy to do so. If others could find pleasure in this, so could Chelsea.

Doubly resolved, she straightened her spine, picked up Master Alexander’s plate, along with the utensils. As she moved toward him once more, she focused on the act of serving him, ignoring the little voice protesting what she was doing. “Happy birthday, Sir.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “But I’ve changed my mind about having cake.”

Aggravation flared. Just in time, she bit back her instinctive curse. “Of course, Sir.”

“I’ve decided I’d rather give you a birthday spanking after all.”