Control (The Protocol, #1)

by Lasairiona Lewis

Persistent as fuck. If an intelligence agency had a file on me, I’m pretty sure that would be stamped across the cover. “Bitch doesn’t quit” might be on there instead. I know what I want. At least when it comes to men. I’m not subtle about it. And I pursue it with all the determination and ambition of a cat chasing a laser pointer. I will catch that red dot—even if I fall ass-over-tit and embarrass the shit out of myself in the process.

So when I spy the tall drink of man-bun-ed, delicious-assed bartender I met last month at the kink club we took our bestie to for shits and giggles, I lock onto him like he’s the motherfucking dot.

In case it’s unclear, I’m most definitely the cat right now. A really horny cat. And I’m ready to pounce and climb this...

It’s been too long since my Love Box got any action. Tonight’s d...

We had a moment when we met. He was working—making the most delicious virgin cocktails I’ve ever tasted in my entire life—and our gazes connected over the bar at Protocol, the local BDSM club. It wasn’t some Disney fairytale shit. It wasn’t a “’til death do us part” loving gaze with rainbows and singing wildlife surrounding us in a haze of pastel colors. It was an “I wanna f...

So hot, that not even my arsenal of battery powered vagina weapons can cure this ache. Believe me, I’ve tried. Repeatedly. Daily,...

Lady V will not settle for anything less than Thor the Viking’s giant package delivering a screaming O. He has to be well hung, right? God wouldn’t do that to him. Or me. She couldn’t do that to me. Someone who looks like that can’t have an...

I don’t even know if Thor is his real name, but he’s every bit Thor of Asgard, Chris Hemsworth—the most delectable of the Hollywood Chris’s—and then some. Okay, so he’s more like Chris Hemsworth and Jason M...

His dark-wash jeans hug his ass, and I wonder if the designer made them around his body. His bubble butt makes me want to bite into his tender skin and leave my calling card on his perky cheeks. He’s wearing a skin-tight, round-neck black t-shirt that shows the definition in his arms. And he ...

Every time he lifts his glass, his muscles ripple. The very definition of arm porn. Dude works out. Probably multiple times daily, and if he wanted to pick me up and put me down for back to back se...

Am I running a little hot because I got fired from my job today? Sure. Can’t say it was my favorite Friday ever. Fri-yay my ass. Are my dreams of attending Paris Fashion Week circling the drain? Also yes. Do I want to distract myself—from the fact I have no savings, no prospects, and I’ve been block-listed from most of the fashion hou...

“You’re staring.” Paige, one of my two best friends, nudges me. “Scratch that, you’ve undressed him with your eyes, and you’re now screwing him on the bar in your brain.” “He’s easy to stare at.”

“Do you think I could screw him on the bar and get away with it? I’m not averse to trying. For science.” I lick the salt off my lips before dragging my finger round the rim of my glass to collect some more. “You’d have to leave an epic tip for the cleaning crew.”

I haven’t told them I got fired today. Partially because I’m embarrassed. What thirty-two-year-old woman gets fired from the job of her dreams? I wince. Fuck. Not good.

Bristling, I swallow hard. A small voice at the back of my brain tells me I could maybe, possibly call my mother. But I don’t believe she’d help. Not again. And the pain in my face from clenching my teeth says I’d rather spend the rest of my days in a cardboard box on the street than admit to her that I got fired from the job she and Daddy helped me get.

I’m tired of being the screw up in the family. They wouldn’t understand that it wasn’t even my fault because everything's my fault as far as they’re concerned. And I don’t need to hear how I should have just shut up and taken the handsy crap from my boss, in order to keep the job that opened doors for me.

People tell me I have a nice smile. In fact, that’s not quite true. They tell me I have a pretty face. What they generally mean when they say that, is that I have a nice face—for a fat girl. It’s not a term I appreciate, I prefer curvy, or chunky, or I dunno, smart, funny, strong, capable, passionate—something about me that isn’t based on my appearance.

But my smile gets the attention of the bar man, and within seconds he’s making us another round of drinks. Score one for the pretty faced fat girl.

Thor catches my eye, his brow twitches, almost imperceptibly. The closer I get to him, the hotter he looks. He tips his drink at me, and I smile back. He has no clue that he’s...

“Why is it always the wrinkly old dude who gets away with whatever shit they pull? And the woman they damage has to pay the price for the fact they can’t keep it in their pants?” Both of them stop what they’re doing, and pivot to face me. Kenzie’s “What happened?” is almost lost under Paige’s “Who do we need to bury?” Her nostrils flare, her eyes are dark and shining with vengeance, and if she wasn’t on my side, there’d be a puddle of piss at my feet right now. Bitch is terrifying.

“The head of the fashion house made a pass at me. And when I rejected him, twice, he doubled down and assaulted me.”

The horror on my friend’s faces turns my stomach. It only grows when I tell them that I got fired, block-listed, and no one in the industry will take my call. I’m nuclear. I’m not even sure this is a “just hang tight for a while and things will calm down” level DEFCON. I think it might be the DEFCON-IEST of DEFCONS that ever DEFCONNED. Maybe I should have just shut up and taken it.

When I tell them I messed up and signed a lease for an apartment I couldn’t really afford, they cringe. Then I tell them the person I was supposed to be sharing the place with has bailed on me leaving me holding the baby, and the contract, well, let’s just say they’re giving me the look my parents give me when they’re trying not to outwardly call me a screw up.

It takes an entire game of pool before my friends permit me to change the subject and talk about something that isn’t me and my dumpster fire mess of a life. I’ve been waiting for days to corner Kenz and get her to tell us everything about the delicious dominant with the pierced peen she’s been...

I totally called it. Austin, the tall, dark, handsome, hockey playing dominant isn’t being subtle about his long-term intentions for our sweet, southern belle Kenzie. She’s seemingly so clueless that when it comes to flirting, he could walk up to her and smack her with it, and she’d still not see it.

“So you’re thinking about dating?” Mackenzie nods, her face still rosy. “She’s thinking about more than dating. She’s thinking about the bow-chica-wow-wow that comes after the date. Am-I-right?” I don’t need to ask the question, I’m definitely right. I just like the way her face goes a brighter shade of red. “He wants you to keep a journal, with sexy things and not sexy things in it, right?”

“He doesn’t expect to read my journaling, but I let him sometimes. It’s nice to write down my fears and worries, like writing them down takes them away from the noise in my mind, and I can set them aside.”

I’ve never been in a dynamic like that before, but I have kinks, and I’m open minded. And I most definitely love a man with a strong hand. On my ass. Maybe even with a paddle, or a crop, or... something. Mmmm. One of my exes was pretty good at the spanking thing.

“You mean your competitive streak hates how shit you are at this game. He wants her to record shit like edging, plugging, nutrition, that kind of thing. Dude probably saw the graveyard of Big Gulp cups in her office and figured she needed a glass of water from time to time.” Kenzie is about eighty-three percent sweet tea. “Excuse you.” “I’m not wrong.”

“A good dom’s world often revolves around his submissive. Knowing she is properly cared for starts with her caring for herself.”

“If he doesn’t know you’re well hydrated and well nourished, how is he supposed to tie you up and make you hi...

“The dude kissed you in the middle of the grocery store, Kenz. He talked through basic kink with you—and you didn’t run away.” She points her cue at Kenzie. “That means you’re in enough to give it a shot.”

“I figured I’d do the stereotypical guy against your butt helping you aim thing. Skip the mansplaining and go straight to the man-doing.”

My heart skips faster, as he lets his weight settle over me. I was right, Thor’s hammer isn’t a micro-hammer. Thank you God. I knew she wouldn’t let me down.

“Can I say something and you don’t hold it against me that I maybe, possibly, kinda sorta was eavesdropping on your hard-not-to-hear discussion?”

“Okay, well, it sounds like Austin is invested in you as a person, and he’s trying to navigate your…” He’s struggling to find the right word. “Vanillaness,” Paige is quick to provide. “Exactly. It can be tricky for a dom with a vanilla partner. Educate but don’t terrify. Be honest, but not all at once so you don’t scare the bejesus out of them. It’s a fine balance. But ultimately, the power is all yours. You can submit to him as much or as little as you want. Hell, the way the man looked at you at the bar that night, I’d say he’d agree to no kink at all with you if you said so.”

Kenzie holds up a hand. “Austin wasn’t looking at me in the bar.” Thor scrunches his face up. “Oh. He wasn’t? Okay then. Let’s swim in this little space called denial.” He makes swimming motions with his arms.

“Lady, I am an observer of every person in my bar. I see, I listen, I dole out advice… night after night. And that boy was staring. At you. Like it was Christmas morning and you were wrapped in a goddamn bow.”

“So what do I do?” Kenzie gnaws on her lip, her face still pink. “Figure out what you want and go for it.”

In the kink world, many women are sexually empowered, open, and free to express themselves however they choose. It’s kind of the whole point: be who you are, embrace your fantasies, and fuck, as often and wholeheartedly as you like. With as many partners as you want—as long as it’s consensual of course.

Long, wavy auburn hair, green eyes that sometimes appear gray in different light—but only if you’re paying attention—a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. She has tits I want to bury my face—and other body parts—between, and a plush ass I’d love to leave a handprint or two on. She’s captivating. If I had the honor, I’d worship her like the queen she very clearly is.

The whimper that escapes her as my tongue caresses hers makes me painfully hard. She softens in my arms. Instead of the confrontational kiss I expected from the spunky redhead, she lets me lead, submitting to me through her kiss. It’s heady, and addictive, and I want more. No, I need more.

It’s taking all I have not to bend her over this pool table and fuck her senseless. While exhibitionism is my jam, I have no idea what makes her blood burn and her clit pulse so rapidly she’d come on demand for me. At least not yet. I’d like to, though. Fuck. I’d really like to.

“This isn’t over.” I damn near growl in her ear. Glancing at the graveyard of margarita glasses on their table, I hedge my bets. “But if you want a good fucking tonight, Addison. I suggest you slow down on the tequila.”

“Can it be? There’s one woman in the great state of Minnesota you haven’t banged yet?” Their shoulders shake with laughter, causing their long, straight, brightly colored hair to fall forward. “Is that longing I see on your face, Thor?” Maybe. “They almost always fall in your lap.” Precisely how I like it, especially if their mouths are open.

In truth, the fact she hasn’t abandoned her friends and downed a gallon of water, ready to kneel at my feet only makes me want her more. I like the chase.

“Has the hunter finally become the prey?” Nyx laughs. I tip my beer their direction. “I haven’t slept with you.” “That’s because I know you too well.” Ouch. They wipe down the bar with a cloth. “We both know I’m not a one-night-stand kind of ...

“I could be a Disney prince.” They snort. “Sure. Like, a start-of-the-movie Disney prince. Aladdin before he meets Jasmine, Flynn Rider—” They open their mouth to add another name to the list but I hold up my hand. “Don’t. If you say I’m like Gaston, I’ll c...

So I like women, and women like me. Big deal. As long as I’m up front with what I want from a sexual encounter, ...

“No judgment. Enjoying sex is healthy, and to my knowledge you haven’t left a trail of broken hearts in your wake. Safe, sane, and consensual, right?” I nod, but their words slither under my skin, prickling at something deep inside that I don’t want to give a name to. Mom always wants me to “find a nice girl and settle down.” It’s hard to tell her that I had one once, and that didn’t go quite to plan, so I just grit my teeth, nod and smile, and wither a little inside.