Free Exclusive by Eden Bradley Page A

rang the bell. It was time.
She opened the door. God, he looked too good in his leather trench coat. She took a deep breath, took in the earthy scent of the leather along with the warm, woodsy scent of Shaye himself. “Are you ready, Devin?”
He held out a hand to her and she took it. His fingers curled around hers possessively and immediately her sex went warm and liquid. She couldn't speak. She nodded her head. How was it possible that she felt as though her mind was sinking into that dark, warm place already? Into subspace, Shaye had told her it was called. But she gave herself over to it. To him, as he pulled her through the door, took care to lock it behind them before they rode the old elevator down. The moldy scent of the Paris catacombs smelled like sex to her tonight. Or maybe it was Shaye standing next to her, a protective arm around her waist.
He put her carefully into his car, that shining little BMW that felt like pure luxury inside. But even sexier than his sleek car was his profile as he drove. His dark goatee made him look like the devil himself tonight.
They were silent as the car glided over the rough San Francisco streets, up onto Nob Hill, one of the most exclusive sections in the city. The quaint Victorians gave way there to mansions done in every architectural style, each one more grand than the next. Shaye downshifted and turned onto a narrow side street. She watched the way his hand caressed the gear shift, remembered with a shiver of desire how that hand had felt on her skin, between her legs . . . “We're here, Devin. Are you ready? Do you remember everything I told you?”
She looked up to see high, wrought-iron gates sliding back soundlessly in front of the car. So enormous. So stately. Her throat went dry. But when Shaye reached over and smoothed his fingers over the back of her hand she calmed.
“Okay?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Yes. I'm okay. I'm ready.”
He took his hand back, gunned the engine and drove through the gates. The house, if one could even call it that, was beautiful. Four stories of brick, with graceful white columns. A wide staircase that led to an imposing pair of doors flanked by uniformed attendants. Magnificent. The place reminded her of the antebellum mansions in the South. But there was something more Gothic about it, more New Orleans Garden District.
Shaye stopped the car in front and a valet opened Devin's door for her, helped her out and handed her to Shaye. She was shaking all over. With fear of what lay ahead, but just as much with excited anticipation. He laid a hand on the back of her neck, leaned in and said quietly, “Here we go, Devin.”
He led her up the stairs, her heels clicking on the steps. Marble, she thought, glancing down.
One of the doormen greeted Shaye. “Good evening, Mr. Vincent.” He swung open the heavy front door and they stepped into a foyer. Two naked and collared women stood in front of them. They approached Devin and immediately began to undress her. Panic flooded her.
“Shaye?”
“Shh. It's okay. You're to be naked tonight, remember? And you must be silent.” He smoothed a hand over her hair, tilted her chin and brushed a quick, hot kiss over her lips. “Be good, Devin. There is no room for error here, in this place. You must follow the rules. Do as I say. Tell me you understand, and do it right.”
Yes, don't speak.
She nodded her head, somehow comforted by knowing she'd done it correctly. By having rules to follow in this strange place. Rules to fall into. It made it easier somehow. The two girls had stripped her bare, removed her shoes, and Shaye's hand was on the back of her neck again, squeezing. “Head down, yes, that's good. And clasp your hands behind your back. Come.”
She followed him, feeling more naked than she ever had in her life, with her clasped hands making her back arch, her breasts thrusting forward. The idea of what she was doing in this place was overwhelming, yet again she was comforted by knowing what