Decadent… Sensual… Forbidden…
12 Masters. 12 Desires. 12 Fantasies Come to Life. Meet the Masters of Blasphemy…
About MASTERING HER SENSES (Blasphemy #2, 2/21/17):
12 Masters. Infinite fantasies. Welcome to Blasphemy…
He wants to dominate her senses—and her heart…
Quinton Ross has always been a thrill-seeker—so it’s no surprise that he’s drawn to extremes in the bedroom and at his BDSM club, Blasphemy, where he creates sensedepriving scenarios that blow submissives’ minds. Now if he could just find one who needs the rush as much as him…
When an accident leaves Cassia Locke with a paralyzing fear of the dark, she’ll try anything to get help. Ready to fight, she knows just who to ask for help—the hard-bodied, funny-as-hell Dom she’d always crushed on—and once stood up.
Quinton is shocked and a little leery to see Cassia, but he can’t pass up the chance to dominate the alluring little sub this time. Introducing her to sensory deprivation becomes his new favorite obsession, and watching her fight fear is its own thrill. But when doubt threatens to send her running again, Quinton must find a way to master her senses—and her heart.
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Dear Readers,
I’m having so much fun writing in the sexy, sensual world of Blasphemy that I couldn’t wait until release day to share a chapter from my next story in this series, Mastering Her Senses. Quinton is funny and sexy and smart as hell, but he also has that intense, dominant side that I just can’t get enough of! The Blasphemy series are stand-alone erotic romances all set in an exclusive play club located in the ruins of an abandoned church in downtown Baltimore. That means you can read them in any order and enjoy them all! Now, read on to meet the next Master of Blasphemy! And don’t forget to preorder – now available everywhere! Thanks for reading!
Laura Kaye
MASTERING HER SENSES (A BLASPHEMY BOOK)
BY LAURA KAYE
CHAPTER ONE
Quinton Ross was in his happy place.
Standing behind the bar at Blasphemy, the club he co-owned with eleven of
the coolest assholes he’d ever known, he surveyed the roomful of wonderfully kinky people wearing a
whole lotta nothing. Totally his jam.
And the fact that he’d get to play with one of them later?
Seriously, a man’s life didn’t get any better.
Well, having a submissive of his own…that could be better.
Theoretically.
Except the one and only time he’d attempted that, the woman had screwed
him over so royally he’d almost needed lube. Heh.
But, whatever. Quinton tried really frickin’ hard to let things roll off his
shoulders. People had much worse shit in their lives than him. Most of the time, he considered himself
lucky and just focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Besides, he never lacked for company or
partners around the club, and no submissive ever left him anything but fully satisfied. He made damn
sure of it.
“Hi, Master Quinton,” came a feminine voice from further down the
counter.
He turned to find a blond-haired woman with a sleek, silver prosthetic arm
leaning against the marble of the ornate bar. Kenna Sloane. And right behind her stood her big
mountain of a Dom and one of Quinton’s best friends, Griffin Hudson. “Aren’t you looking lovely tonight,
Kenna,” Quinton said with a smile as he made his way to where Griffin was sliding into a seat and pulling
Kenna’s slim hips between his legs. “And am I wrong or is this some snazzy new hardware?” He nodded
at her arm. She’d lost everything below her right elbow while serving with the Marines in Afghanistan. If
she and Griffin hadn’t been fuckin’ fated, Kenna might’ve been Quinton’s kind of woman.
Adventurous. Brave. Willing to push life to the extremes.
But they were fated, something the diamond on her finger and
the platinum collar with its unique interwoven knot sitting at the hollow of her throat both indicated.
Loud and clear.
Kenna smiled, so much more comfortable here at the club—and seemingly in
her own skin—than she’d been when she and Griffin had first reconnected a few months back. “I have a
couple different sockets. And a girl has to coordinate,” she said, holding it up to the almost sheer
sparkling silver halter top she wore.
Chuckling, Quinton nodded and clasped hands with Kenna’s Dom. “Master
Griffin, how the hell are ya?” Their wrists bore matching leather cuffs with embroidered Gothic M’s.
Every Blasphemy Master—the experienced Dominants who owned the club and took turns running and
monitoring it—wore one like it.
“Never better, my friend. Never better.” The skin crinkled around Griffin’s
dark eyes as he spoke, his smile coming a million times easier than it ever had before. Quinton guessed
that was what happened when you were not only able to correct one of the biggest mistakes of your
life, but find a submissive who was also your soul mate in the process.
Lucky fucker.
“I know that’s true,” Quinton said, winking at Kenna. She ducked her chin but
was smiling bright enough to light up the whole room. And that was saying something given the size of
Blasphemy. Located in the renovated remains of an old abandoned church, the massive rectangular
nave formed the central part of the club. Filled with lots of seating and play areas, it had a soaring
ceiling, massive stained-glass windows all around, and a performance and demonstration stage where
the altar had once been. Themed rooms and other private spaces stretched off from the main floor. In
addition to the very private and exclusive Blasphemy, the public front of their business—Club Diablo, a
three-story dance club in a renovated warehouse—stood across a courtyard.
And Quinton provided hands-on management over it all.
He’d been with the clubs from the beginning, and had used his savings and
the money he’d made selling a small but successful bar of his own to purchase his ownership stake in
Blasphemy, a deal that got even sweeter when his partners had offered him the job of managing the
bars and all the food service at both clubs. Food, drink, and sex all tantalized the senses and therefore
were equally high up on the list of things he loved, and always had been. Given his prior experience, he
pretty much had full control of the operation. Just like he liked.
Griffin placed an order for him and Kenna, then asked, “You have a scene set
up tonight?”
Quinton got busy making their drinks and shook his head. “No,” he said with
a grin. “But I’m looking forward to the thrill of the hunt.”
Griffin chuckled. “Good luck with that.”
The quip on Quinton’s tongue died when a flashing red light under the bar’s
edge caught his eye. An emergency in one of the rooms. He glanced at the tag over the light to
determine which one, then slammed the drinks down in front of his friends harder than he’d intended.
“Shit, G, sorry. Emergency in the dark room. Get someone to cover?” he said, moving without waiting
for an answer. He knew Griffin would have his back.
Quinton moved as fast as he could without calling undue attention. Their
members knew that the Masters and a team of other Doms who worked as monitors responded to all
sorts of problems around the club, some as mundane as an equipment malfunction and others more
delicate situations involving disputes between players in a scene. Hell, a few months ago, Quinton had
responded when Kenna broke down during a bondage scene, and Griffin had called for help extricating
her from his intricate ropework. Sex at the extremes was bound to run into a few issues, which was why
consent and safety were hallmarks of BDSM and Blasphemy itself. But none of that meant any of them
wished to distract players from their pleasures with worry or curiosity, either.
Off the main floor, Quinton picked up his pace as he moved down the long
hallway off of which most of the themed play rooms were located. The dark room was at the far end.
Master Wolf came up beside him. “Hey, man,” he said.
Quinton gave him a nod. “Didn’t know you were on tonight, Wolf. Good to
see you.”
A little taller than Quinton, the guy had dark blond hair, the brightest green
eyes you’d ever seen, and a chiseled Scandinavian face that turned heads all over the club. “Running the
security control room. Relieving Isaac because the baby’s sick,” he said, referring to Isaac Marten, their
head of security operations, who had a two-month-old son.
“Damn. Sorry to hear that,” Quinton said as they closed in on their
destination. The dark room was actually a series of three interconnected rooms. In the center was a
pitch-black bedroom, accessed only through two changing/waiting rooms on either side of it—one of
which let out into this hallway, and the other of which let out into a different hallway so that the players
couldn’t run into each other before or after the anonymous scene. The dark room was very popular, and
given Quinton’s interest in sensory deprivation, it was one he’d used many times.
He heard someone in distress before they even got inside.
Quinton and Wolf burst through the door to find one of the monitors trying
to calm a woman curled on the floor, gasping like she couldn’t breathe. She wore a slinky bronze dress
that bared most of her legs.
“What happened?” Quinton asked, grabbing a blanket from a shelf and going
to his knees beside her. He tucked the soft fleece around her.
“I don’t know,” the monitor said. I sounded the alarm but she told me not to
call an ambulance when I asked.
“She just freaked out. I swear. Nothing hardly happened between us,” a
shirtless man said from the doorway to the dark bedroom.
Quinton hadn’t even noticed him there, but Wolf was already questioning
him. He nodded to the monitor, a Dom in his forties, and then peered up at Master Wolf. “You all clear
out. Debrief him and get his information.”
“You got it, Q,” Wolf said, motioning the other men out into the hall. “Call if
you need help.”
As they left, Quinton brushed the woman’s shoulder-length hair back off her
splotchy face. “We need to get your breathing under control or I have to call an ambulance.”
“No…no…I…it’s…” Clenching her eyes, she shook her head and growled as if
in frustration.
Damnit, he needed to do something for her. The part of him that needed to
care and soothe decided, and he scooped her off the floor and carried her to the couch. Everywhere
they touched, her pulse hammered against her skin. If this was a panic attack, it was one of the worst
he’d ever seen.
He sat with her in his lap, the blanket still wrapped around her, and cradled
her so that they were facing each other. “Breathe with me, little one. Do you hear me? Look at me and
breathe with me.” Striking hazel eyes with flecks of gold cut to his. Almost familiar…
Focusing, he exaggerated one breath, than another, and another, until she
struggled to match her rhythm to his.
Griffin appeared in the doorway, questions clear on his face. Quinton spared
him the smallest of glances and gave a single shake of his head. Griffin nodded and closed the door.
Quinton had this. The others would be there in a heartbeat if he was wrong, but he didn’t think he
was.
Because the woman’s body was calming. Her breathing was evening out. Her
pulse was slowing. Her muscles were losing their tension.
“That’s it. That’s good. Just watch me and breathe with me. Don’t stop. We’ll
kick this thing, don’t you worry.” He stroked his hand over her hair, wanting to soothe her. The color
was so rich it almost matched the bronze of her dress. Her hair was beautiful and soft. As was the rest of
her, all golden skin and pretty curves. Her weight felt good in his arms. She turned her face into his
hand, just the littlest bit, and he stroked her hair again. A jagged scar ran along her forehead and into
her hairline over one eye.
The scar triggered the oddest thought: That wasn’t there
before.
His gaze cut back to those eyes. Hazel with the gold. And he suddenly knew
he’d seen them before. Years ago. Right here at Blasphemy. A name clicked into place.
“Cassia?” he asked. Cassia. As in Cassia Locke, a submissive he’d flirted with
quite a few times and was once supposed to play with…but she’d stood him up the night of their
scene.
“Y-yes, Sir,” she whispered. “H-hi, Mas-ter Q-quinton.”
So she recognized him, too. Did she remember that night? He shook off the
thought. Their history wasn’t something to deal with just then.
“Hi yourself, kid.” He gently scratched his fingertips against her scalp and
concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths that she mimicked. Studying her, Quinton noticed another
scar on her right shoulder. Her hair was also much longer than the almost boyish style she used to wear.
Finally, Cassia went limp in his lap, and her ease unleashed a satisfaction in his blood. “Feeling
better?”
She gave a long sigh, the sound exhausted and defeated. “As better as I can
feel after utterly humiliating myself. Sir.”
He shook his head. “No such thing happened. Not as far as I’m
concerned.”
Her gaze skittered away.
“Did I tell you to stop looking at me?”
Cassia’s eyes snapped back to meet his. “No, Sir.”
Her obedience unleashed even more of that satisfaction. The attraction of
BDSM, to him, was as much about the psychology of it as the physicality of the acts. Her reaction—that
obedience—represented an ingrained instinct, a need to serve, a desire to surrender. And that fucking
heated his blood. He arched a brow and nodded. “Good girl.”
She shifted in his lap, but kept her eyes on his. The movement reminded his
body that he’d been planning to find a partner, but he locked that shit down tight. First, because she’d
been through something tonight he didn’t entirely understand. And second, because given that she’d
stood him up and never bothered to follow up to explain, he wasn’t sure what to make of her anyway.
And trust was kind of a thing, for him. Well, for most Doms, really. Which meant he needed to
know.
“Now, tell me what happened,” he said, nailing her with a stare. “And tell me
the truth.”
Books in Series:
Hard to Serve #.5
Bound to Submit #1
Mastering Her Senses #2 – 2/21/17
Eyes on You #3 – 7/11/17
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