Sacred Secrets

Discover what all the Romance Reviewer's are raving about!

In hopes of discovering the truth behind the private doors of Lewd Larry’s, San Francisco’s world-famous Sex Club, reporter Celia Brentwood has allowed herself to be sold as a slave. For thirty days, she has given up her every want, need, and desire to club owner Garrett Lawrence, but she can never give up her darkest secret.

Garrett Lawrence has a dangerous secret of his own. His former lover’s killer has been stalking him for the past five years, and he’s set his eyes on Garrett’s newest slave. Now everything Garrett has built, everything he knows, is at risk. And it’s only going to get worse once Celia’s secret is revealed.

As Celia lets herself become Garrett’s Kitten—pampered, pleasured, protected—she realizes that thirty days will never be long enough. But thirty days may be all she has.

Content: explicit M/F BDSM themes

I feel eyes burning into me long before I glance up to see it is the announcer, Garrett Lawrence. His gaze grabs mine as he reads, “Seventy-three.”

My number.

I start to walk forward but I am unsteady, perhaps standing too long, most likely Jell-O legs. I’m a wreck. My brain trips over itself, shouting silently, “Ohmygod, ohmygod, what have I agreed to?” But that smaller, quieter voice gentles and soothes, whispering, “Everything is going to be okay.” And in that calm I have to admit to myself, to God, that I am so excited I can barely stand it.

Not a man to waste time, Doug drags me along behind him, pulling my collar too tight. I feel I am suffocating as he drags me to the very edge of the stage and my fingers go to my collar’s edge to pull the leather bite away from my skin. We discussed that he would treat me as if I was his slave for real; I didn’t realize that cruelty was part of the bargain. If my boss treats me so harshly, how is a professional sadist going to treat me once we are alone? The cliché phrase “whips and chains” explodes in my mind as something very real indeed. I search Doug’s eyes, seeking comfort, but find hooded glare, his acting skills better than I’d imagined. I look again. Rage. No, surely, I am mistaken. I try vainly to seek assurance in his eyes again, but he twirls me away from him, and my skirt lifts in the breeze, exposing me, much to the amusement of the crowd.

I am the last slave to be auctioned and the excitement level has reached a chaotic frenzy. I catch myself chewing my bottom lip and force myself to stop. In a self-conscious effort, I rub my tongue over my top teeth, hoping to erase the clinging tracks of red. I rub my lips together furiously to redistribute the remaining color.
Doug turns me to face him and, for a second, I think that perhaps he will kiss me as all the previous owners have done with their slaves; but instead he grips the low bodice of my dress and rips—pulling the dress completely off me. Wide-eyed, I am both shocked and horrified but I can’t move. I feel every eye on my naked flesh and I want to die. The heat of the blush begins at my toes and travels upward, until even my cheeks flame.

For the most part, the crowd has been relatively well behaved throughout the auction. Now, they are wild. I am suddenly very aware of the wire mesh, floor-to-ceiling security fence that separates the stage from the crowd. Several people try to climb the fence during the frenzied moment. Security swarms.

“Walk the stage, bitch, or do I drag you?” Doug’s spit sprays over my face with his shout. He jerks hard on the leash. Leather bites my neck.

The cheers from the crowd are deafening.
This is what they came for—red-hot drama.

Garrett Lawrence steps forward and forces the leash from Doug’s hand. For a moment, Doug struggles to hang on, but is quickly overwhelmed by Security and removed from the stage. I watch the waves of fury cross his face as he is led out of the building through a side fire exit. The crowd is ignited.

Strutting across the stage, Garrett Lawrence takes full advantage of the female factor, hoots and hollers following his every move. His tight leather pants are the main attraction, leaving nothing to imagination. Not only is he well endowed, but very muscular, and the supple black leather seems to mold to the cut lines of his muscled thighs and tight ass. His full, white, silk poets’ shirt is open to his navel, baring a thickly furred chest; but it is his broad smile and easygoing nature that act like a magnet drawing the crowd to him, male and female alike screaming, “Lewd Larry, Lewd Larry, Lewd Larry!”

The security fence bulges with their weight and, out of the corner of my eye, I see multiple five-man security teams pushing them back. They make a rainbow with the word Security on their backs emblazoned in different colors, each five-man team a different color.

“Do you wish to be auctioned off of your own free will, number seventy-three?” Garrett Lawrence asks me with grand flourish over the microphone, startling me, making me aware once more of my purpose on this stage. I take a deep breath and look into his pale eyes. Blue. Mesmerizing.

The crowd’s roar disappears and I can hear my own heartbeat exploding in my ears. I can’t speak, so I nod. With great care, he removes the heavy collar from my neck and his fingertips rub lightly across a tender spot on my collarbone. The chafing leather marked me, his earlier warning to Doug suddenly echoing through my mind; however, I think the leather burn on my neck is nothing compared to the raised welt on my hip left by the chain, leaving grounds for disqualification, should he choose to do so.

“Can you walk the stage by yourself?” he asks softly and I realize that this part is not being broadcast. I am captivated by his deep voice. Again, I nod and he steps away from me.

The crowd blurs into faceless waves of gray as I make the semi-circle march, trying not to think about being completely naked in front of a crowd numbering in the hundreds. I really try not to think about the giant screen behind me. Straightening my back, lifting my chin, I focus on the stage, not daring to focus on anyone or anything. A flashing strobe light startles me and I am once again center stage. Reality returns in quick real time and I realize the bidding is not over.
A bid is shouted over the rest, “One hundred thousand.”

I lock my knees, unable to control their shaking, but as I try to see who has made such an outlandish bid, I am blinded again by strobes of light. More bids are shouted out, each one increasing by ten thousand dollars. I am frozen center stage.
“One hundred and fifty thousand.”

I am sure, at this point, the bids will cease. They don’t…a hailstorm of bids follow.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars!” A voice booms behind me, over me, around me. The room hushes, total silence in reaction to the bid. The floor beneath my feet seems to sway as a wave of black flashes before my eyes followed by tiny pinpricks of blinding white. I am not sure how I remain standing. After what seems like an eternity, the auctioneer repeats back the bid and in an errant whoosh, my vision is restored.

The audience remains still, silent.

Shaky legs hold me upright. Armpits wet, mouth dry, I quickly scan the audience, searching for what fate lies ahead. No one comes forward.
“Well, Sir, it would seem you have bought a slave,” the auctioneer announces with undisguised sarcasm.

Strong arms reach around me, wrapping a heavy black velvet cloak over my shoulders. The lavish length of fabric slides around my ankles with a hiss. Turning my head to see what hand fate has dealt me, I face Garrett Lawrence’s easy smile. Gently, he lifts the cloak’s soft, engulfing hood to cover my head. My eyes must have been questioning, because as he hooks the clasp closed at my neck, he whispers gently, “I think the audience has seen enough of my slave for one night.”

“You?” I gasp, my mind screaming out for a life vest. I am drowning; this can’t be happening. Ohmygod. I came here with the intention of a story…just a little what makes ’em scream, is this auction for real story. A story to tease the inner-voyeur in our readers but what has just been handed to me on a sliver platter is the story. San Francisco’s most eligible bachelor, reported as having assets in the very high double-digit millions, gay, reclusive, swathed in scandal Garrett Lawrence is my new Master? Shit, shit, shit! This is the opportunity tabloid reporters’ dream of and I landed in it! Yes!

His eyes glint with unexpected mischief and his mouth curls up at the corners. “Are you glad?”

My inner voice screams, “Remain calm!” Remain very, very calm!
“Should I be?” I try to feign bored indifference.

“I think so. Consider your options.” A playful grin and a nod toward the clamoring, over-zealous crowd currently trying to bring down the security fence illustrates his point. Lowering my eyes to hide my blush, I answer him softly, “Then I am glad.”

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