The Trainer
Auteur
Kylie Wynter
Lezers
956K
Hoofdstukken
32
Sylvia is known for chasing stories no one else dares to touch. When she goes undercover at an exclusive BDSM club, she’s supposed to stay focused on the mission: expose the dark secrets behind Cloud 9. But then she meets Dante. Mysterious. Magnetic. Intense. As the club’s top trainer, he’s both a challenge and a temptation—and Sylvia’s starting to blur the lines between undercover and under his spell. The deeper she goes into this secretive world, the more she begins to question everything, including what she really wants. Is she still on assignment—or has she just discovered a part of herself she never knew existed?
Chapter 1
No matter how hard I try, I can’t tear my eyes away from the blindfolded woman whose hands are bound by a leather strap to a bar above her head.
Most of her body is clad in leather with the exception of her breasts, thighs, and ass. There’s a chain that runs between clamps fastened to her nipples, and I can’t help but notice a zipper running the length of her crotch. It feels like I should look away, but I physically can’t.
A man circles around her like a shark deciding when to attack his prey. His body is pristine, all hard angles and corded muscle easily visible through his tight, black clothing, but it’s the woman I can’t stop watching. Her breathing is rapid, her breasts rising and falling as she waits with fevered anticipation.
Something squirms in my belly, a slippery discomfort mixed with exhilaration, as the man grazes her skin with a leather crop and watches the woman writhe.
The man’s arm jerks so fast I almost miss it. He strikes the woman’s flesh with the crop. She moans into her gag as if it’s the most pleasurable thing she’s ever experienced.
I can’t imagine it would be—who would enjoy being in pain? The concept feels so foreign, yet I can’t stop watching as she’s struck again, her rapture manifesting and glistening on her inner thighs.
With every flick and connection of the crop on her red, welted skin, I can’t help but notice the heat rising in my own body, my nipples hardening in the revealing black dress I’m wearing.
“Good evening.”
A slippery yet sharp voice finally breaks through my captivation, and I turn to see a tall, broad man with dark hair, a goatee, and a white smile.
“Oh, hello,” I say, trying not to appear so hot and bothered. “How are you this evening?”
“Much better now. My name is Elijah, and you are?”
“Anastasia,” I say, allowing the fake name to slide past my lips easily. I slip back into my investigative journalist persona, reminding myself that I’m here to help uncover the reason behind the recent murders within the BDSM club.
Elijah takes my hand and kisses it. “Are you new here? It seems odd that I wouldn’t have noticed you before,” he says.
“Actually, this is my first time,” I say. “Are you a regular here?”
“Oh, yes, it’s one of my favorite clubs. May I show you around?” Elijah offers me his arm. I smile sweetly as I take it so he can guide me around the room. “I’ve been a member here for a few years now; they host some of the best events in town.”
“What is the membership process like?” I ask, hoping I sound genuinely curious.
“It’s a tedious process but well worth it. Members enjoy a true VIP experience,” he replies. “It’s quite expensive, and they don’t allow just anyone in.”
“Oh, wow. It sounds exclusive. Are there a lot of members?” I ask, keeping my voice light.
“I’m not sure, at least one hundred,” he says as he leads me toward another performance.
The next scene we approach is a man being made to lick the shiny leather boots of a woman who holds a leash that’s fastened around his neck. She’s in a tight leather dress and a mask, but her blonde locks and sinister smile are evident.
I hadn’t expected to see a woman in a position of power, and it feels like a new possibility unlocks in my brain, one I’m unsure I want to explore further.
“You seem intrigued, Anastasia. Are you a Dom or a sub?” Elijah asks.
I pull my eyes from the performers to meet his gaze.
“Oh, um, a sub,” I say quickly, remembering the role I’m meant to play. The same role the women who recently turned up dead were: submissives.
“Mmm, excellent,” he coos. “Let me show you the private rooms. They’re for members only, you know.”
His words send an uncomfortable shiver down my spine. Something about his tone, how desperate he is to get me alone, immediately makes me recoil.
Elijah starts to guide me toward a black curtain at the back of the room. I immediately feel my stomach bottom out. I’ve done a lot of things for a scoop, but I am not about to go into a room alone with this creep.
“Oh, no, I don’t think—”
“Nonsense. We’ll just take a peek and see if something is of interest to you.”
Elijah places a hand on my lower back and another on my arm as he pushes me closer to the imposing black curtain, as if it’s ready to hide whatever dreadful experience waits for me.
I look around for someone, anyone who might be a safe person to reach out to. Unfortunately, I don’t see a single pair of eyes looking in our direction. Everyone is focused on the scenes around them and won’t notice if I’m swept behind the curtain.
“No, I really don’t want to,” I insist as my anxiety ramps up.
His grip tightens on my back, his arm curving around my hip as if he enjoys my resistance. “Just relax. Once we get started, you’ll see how much you like it,” he says.
My internal alarms are blaring as it’s clear he won’t take a simple no for an answer. Finally, my panic bursts free.
“Stop! I said no.”
Elijah’s jaw hardens, as if my insistence is a pebble in his shoe, a minor inconvenience he needs to push past.
“Elijah.”
The voice behind us is low and smooth, like a commanding hum.
Goosebumps fly up on my skin as we turn to see one of the most gorgeous faces I’ve ever encountered. He has a head of styled sandy blond hair and light stubble dotting his sharp jawline. His eyes are a sparkly blue that sweep over me with concern.
I immediately feel weaker under his gaze, as if he can see right through my fake name and persona.
His focus turns back to Elijah and hardens immediately.
“Do we need to revisit our policy on consent? You are aware of the penalty for breaking the rules, are you not?”
Elijah drops his hands from my body and folds them in front of him like a choirboy.
“Certainly not. I was simply showing Miss Anastasia around. It’s her first time here,” he says quickly with a sheepish smile.
The man turns to look at me, seemingly appraising my stiff body language.
“What a gentleman you are, Elijah,” the man says, his tone making it clear that he’s not the least bit convinced. He takes a step closer. “Perhaps it is time for you to retire for the evening?”
It comes out as a question, but neither Elijah nor I take it as such.
Elijah swallows hard. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave the club, but he also seems genuinely terrified of this man.
“Perhaps you are right. I am feeling a bit tired tonight.” Elijah turns to me and offers a small bow. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia. I hope to see you again in the future.”
Elijah doesn’t wait for me to respond as he turns on his heel and swiftly walks toward the entrance. He reaches the exit of the room before I find my voice again.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer.
The man turns his gaze back to me, and his features soften slightly, which does little to curb his intimidation. His suit is all black, but his broad shoulders and hard chest are easily apparent through the layers of fabric.
He looks down at me, as if his dominating aura now has a new focus. “For what?”
“I…I didn’t mean to get him kicked out. I just—”
“You gave a clear answer. Elijah should have heeded it immediately. Consent is a protocol at Bliss.”
I immediately recall the research I found on BDSM practices. Due to the shifting power dynamics and the intimate nature of the lifestyle, consent is heavily valued. Relief gently settles over my body as I hear that Bliss values consent.
“I’m Dante,” he says, extending his arm toward me.
I take his hand, which is strong and warm as it wraps around mine.
“Anastasia,” I say.
Just like the exhibition with the bound woman and the dominating man, Dante makes me feel a strange mixture of dread and desire.
As my body relaxes, my adrenaline waning, I feel Dante’s imposing gaze sweep over me again, exposing and cataloging every movement of my body, every tell that I am desperately trying to hide.
I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be on the stage with him. To be under his control as he unveiled all my wants, all my thirsts, exposing them to a crowd for them to see but for him to keep.
