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dcbbw · 2 years ago

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Dawn’s Early Light

My Dearest @tessa-liam:

Surprise … I’m your #choicessecretpal22!

Before we get into unwrapping your present (which comes with a gift receipt for returns if you don’t like it), I’d like to take a few moments to say THANK YOU for being such a supportive member of the fandom, whether you are creating content (linking your Masterlist for those who don’t know) or enthusiastically supporting others who do via reblogs and insightful commentary.

When I got your wish list, I was sorely tempted to go with the obvious choice given we are both King Liam stans, but I considered: You get Liam content (from me, at least) all year round. You know what isn’t as prevalent? Desire & Decorum content.

So, I gift you my rewrite of the iconic duel between Ernest Sinclaire and Duke Richards. I sincerely hope you (and any who read this story) enjoy it. FYI, I used the default name, Clara Mills.

Thank you so much @choicesfandomappreciation for hosting such a wonderful event!

Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. I proofed it really well, but it’s me, and I am not the best at wrapping gifts. MS Editor rates the story as 99% error-free.

Rating is M for Mature

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Song inspo: A Bitter Song, Butterfly Boucher

Word count: 3,356

Content warning: gun violence, slightly nsfw

Dawn, The Castle Ruin

The early morning held a chill; it dusted the cracked earth with a light frost and turned breath into puffs of white. A man and woman emerged from the shadows of the abandoned castle ruin, hands tightly clasped together as they walked across the desolate field. The quiet was broken by their shoes crunching over sparse, white-tipped blades of grass, and her hitching breath as she held back tears.

The man’s gait slowed, and she peered up at him through tear-tangled lashes. His bluish-gray eyes smiled down at her, though his expression remained somber.

“Clara, my love …whatever happens today … I am in completely and utterly in love with you. For eternity.”

His palm cupped her cheek before his fingers combed through her thick dark tresses that flowed from beneath her bonnet. A bittersweet smile curved his mouth before slowly fading; he worried his lower lip before letting out a deep sigh.

“My will … everything goes to you. Ledford Park, assets, heirlooms, all of it. Mr. Harper has the official document in the event things do not go as planned.”

Clara pulled him closer, deeply inhaling his scent as her cheek lay upon his chest. “Ernest, don’t speak like that!” She pulled away, staring into his eyes beseechingly. “I can’t live in a world that doesn’t have you in it,” she sobbed.

Ernest Sinclaire pulled his lover closer to his body, his strong arms embracing her tightly. “I pray to the Lord above you won’t have to.”

The pair stayed that way for a few moments, pulling away only when they heard the thundering of horse hooves draw closer.

“Why is there such a goofy smile on your face, Mr. Sinclaire?” Clara Mills teased as she made herself as comfortable as possible upon a large boulder just outside the ruined castle.

Ernest Sinclaire sat on the ground with his long legs stretched out before him, staring dreamily into Clara’s face. A bemused grin split his lips. “’Mr. Sinclaire?’ Why so formal, m’lady? And if it isn’t apparent, I am in love with you. Foolishly so, it seems.”

Clara laughed, the peals almost musical. “It’s quite apparent. Hopefully my feelings for you are as transparent.”

Before Ernest could reply, a gravelly voice interrupted their conversation.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this lovely?” Duke Richards sneered, a scowl marring his facial features. “I come searching for my fiancée, and she’s both enthralled and entangled with another!”

Clara’s eyes were mere slits and her mouth a thin line against her now hardened expression. “I am NOT your fiancée! I am HIS! I had already accepted Mr. Sinclaire’ s proposal before this farce you insist upon parading before the public!”

“Your own grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Edgewater, arranged this union between us,” Duke Richards snarled as sunlight glinted the silver threading his dark brown hair. “It is official, and there is nothing you can do to break it, you ungrateful harlot!”

Clara fell silent. While she had been finding love, Lady Grandmother had been seeking advantageous unions for her only granddaughter. Despite her numerous connections, the best Dominique Foredale could do was Duke Richards, the worst of the lot.

Ernest Sinclaire leapt to his feet. “THAT is quite enough, Your Grace,” he bellowed. “You shan’t tarnish the reputation of the Lady of Edgewater in such a manner!”

The Duke looked at Mr. Sinclaire in amused surprise. “Her reputation is already sullied! I am doing her a favor even agreeing to marry and lift her station in life. I am two generations removed from royalty! You are merely gentry, and she? She is a commoner wench who stumbled into some form of nobility!”

His Grace’s gaze fell upon Clara. “Get UP and come along, fiancée! Don’t make me ask again!” he snapped peevishly.

Ernest stepped protectively in front of Clara, his arms hanging at his sides; his hands curled into fists. “Let us settle this once and for all, Your Grace. I challenge you to a duel. Pistols at dawn for the honor and hand of Lady Clara. The winner has her for as long the Lord allows the union to last. The first to fall walks away with no more connection or communication with her.”

“ERNEST!” Clara screamed at hearing the words.

Duke Richards’ eyes darted between the two, a shrewd expression on his face while his index finger stroked his chin. “And you’ll walk away, out of her life. Forever?”

Ernest’s eyes hardened. “The loser will.”

The Duke shrugged. “Same difference.” He looked around. “Where do you propose we have this … duel?”

“Here. At dawn,” Mr. Sinclaire replied.

“I’ll see you at dawn.” The Duke tugged at his waistcoat, preparing to take his leave. His eyes fell upon Clara. “I’ll see you at dinner. Don’t be late,” he warned.

As the noble stalked off into the woods that led back to Edgewater, Ernest Sinclaire’ s face paled as he fell to the ground, lightly thumping his forehead against the rock his beloved sat on.

“I’ve just challenged the Duke to a duel,” he murmured disbelievingly.

“And it won’t be a fair fight,” Clara muttered as her fingers combed through his chestnut-colored hair.

The gathering met in the clearing, divided into two groups: Duke Tristan Richards and his second, Sir Gideon Payne on one side; Ernest, Clara, and their friends on the other.

The Duke and Sir Gideon whispered amongst themselves, the second occasionally patting his jacket pocket. Despite the nip in the air, neither man wore an outer coat.

Miss Annabelle Parsons huddled with Clara, hugging the younger woman close to her side. The Lady of Hazelvale’s expression was stoic as her eyes flitted about, observing everyone.

Briar Daly, Clara’s best friend and lady’s maid, wrapped a woolen shawl about Clara’s shoulders as she strained to hear what the Duke and Sir Gideon were discussing. The constant plumes of white emitting from their lips suggested it was urgent; the lowness of their voices confirmed it was clandestine.

Prince Hamid, the ambassador for the Ottoman Empire, glared at the Duke, not bothering to hide his disdain for the noble.

Luke Harper, Ernest’s second, was in conversation with the country squire, uncertainty washing over his features as he examined the pistol cradled in his palm.

“The Duke shall be dead in the morning!” Briar Daly declared in a decidedly cheerful voice which was at odds with her words.

The friends were seated in the study at Ledford Park, discussing the impending duel. After minutes of thunderstruck silence upon hearing of Mr. Sinclaire’s challenge, the visitors had erupted in bouts of jesting and laughter and mocking His Grace, Clara included.

Ernest Sinclaire looked at them, the pit of his stomach turning sour as his anger and frustration mounted. But his tone was measured when he spoke.

“I’m certain that this joviality is an effort to relieve the … heaviness we must all be feeling at what awaits me in the morning, but we mustn’t lose sight of who we’re dealing with. This is a man who rapes unsuspecting women and demands thank-yous from them for sharing his noble seed with them. A man whose wealth was built upon unscrupulous deals. A man whose very word cannot ever be trusted.”

His friends watched Ernest Sinclaire with somber eyes and sober expressions, the merriment of a few moments ago now gone. He met their gazes and gave a rueful shake of his head.

“This is without doubt the most foolish thing I have ever done, but now I know what true love is and I refuse to let it slip away. Or be taken away.”

Clara rose from the settee, quickly making her way to Ernest’s side. She rose on tiptoes to place a sweet, lingering kiss on his cheek. “I’m not worth a duel.”

“You’re worth everything,” Ernest replied.

“Well, what do we need to do?” Miss Parsons asked briskly as her palms smoothed the skirt of her dress.

“I need a second. Mr. Harper, I would be honored to have you by my side.”

“Are you quite sure of that, Mr. Sinclaire?” Prince Hamid asked. “The rules state that your second must be your societal equal.” The Prince looked quickly at Luke Harper. “No offense, Mr. Harper.”

Luke nodded. “None taken, Your Highness. I thank you … all of you … for seeing me as a person, not a colored person.”

Ernest had risen from his chair and was using a key to open a glass cupboard that lined the back wall. “I see you as a man, Mr. Harper. As for societal equals, I’m Mr. Sinclaire, he’s Mr. Harper. We have the same title.”

“I am humbled by your invitation, Mr. Sinclaire, but I served in the Navy, not the militia.”

“A pistol is a pistol, Luke.” Ernest removed a firearm from the cabinet’s shelves. “Just aim and fire. Let’s practice, shall we?”

“Come along, come along,” Duke Richards grumbled as he infiltrated the band of comrades. “I’m ready to have breakfast with my fiancée.”

“Pride cometh before a fall, Your Grace,” Briar snapped as she stepped in front of Clara.

The Duke unceremoniously pushed the maid out of his way. “This isn’t my first time taking a woman from Sinclaire. Although I’ve never had to get up so early to do so. And one.more.word, and you will be unemployed.”

Briar bit her tongue at the noble’s words. She knew the Duke was referring to Roselyn Sinclair, Mr. Sinclair’s former wife.

Mrs. Ernest Sinclaire was a social climbing gold digger who had never loved her husband, marrying the young squire for access to his small fortune; for reasons known only to her, she indulged in a year-long affair with Duke Richards.

Roselyn became pregnant with the Duke’s child and Mr. Sinclaire threw her out into the street; she soon returned when the nobleman refused to even acknowledge her existence. The Sinclaires continued to live together in Ledford Park but led separate lives.

Mr. Sinclaire never told his wife’s family or friends of her indiscretion to spare her reputation, the only thing she had left.

Roselyn died in childbirth, and her son given to her brother to raise.

Duke Richards’ eyes lingered over Clara’s countenance, studying her as one would a storefront display. His gray eyes were the color of storm clouds as he took in her hair flowing freely about her shoulders instead of modestly pulled back and braided.

His lips thinned when he noticed the intimate bruises along the column of her throat. His hands tightened into fists when Clara defiantly turned her head to the side, giving the Duke a glimpse of the markings against her neck.

The Lady gave him a haughty look before speaking so low, only the Duke could hear. “Regardless the outcome, you will NEVER have me in any way! I belong to Mr. Sinclaire and he, to me.”

Duke Richards thrust his face into hers; there was less than an inch of space between them. He bared yellow-stained teeth in a wolfish grin. When he spoke, his breath was foul. Clara’s nose wrinkled at the stench.

“You rutting bitch, I couldn’t care less what the hell your commoner ass does with that noble wanna-be once I get hold of Edgewater,” he taunted.

“You will CERTAINLY NOT ever be in possession of Edgewater!” Clara seethed.

“The Dowager Countess has practically promised it to me and has agreed to draw up papers to that effect. Don’t believe me? Ask her yourself after I win this duel.”

Clara’s blood ran even colder. Ernest MUST win!

He pulled back, straightening the lapels of his red jacket. “I suggest you learn now how to treat me with the respect my position warrants. It could save a life and make yours more … pleasant.”

Duke Richards turned at feeling a hand cup his elbow; it was Sir Gideon. “Your Grace, it’s time.”

Ernest Sinclaire made his way to Clara’s side, his brow furrowed in concern and ire. “Are you in distress, my darling? My attempts to reach you were …thwarted.” His eyes slid to Gideon Payne who was now in discussion with Luke Harper.

Clara’s eyes began to water as they searched Ernest’s face, committing his every feature to memory. “Ernest …”

Mr. Sinclaire’s head bent, and his lips pressed against hers, quickly and fiercely. “I’ll never forget last night,” he vowed as his eyes held hers. “I’ll never forget you.”

Clara pressed her palm to his cheek, relishing in the warmth of his flesh despite the temperature. “Godspeed, my love.”

Thin fingers of moonlight slithered through the cracks in the castle roof; Clara focused her gaze on the silvery-white light sparkling against the broken stained-glass window as Ernest’s full lips kissed a searing trail from her throat to her breasts.

His tongue wetly licked the puckered pink of one of her nipples, while his fingertips pulled and gently pinched the other. His skin, tanned in the daylight, was pale in the shadowy darkness.

But warm. So warm.

The pair had left Ledford Park just before sunset to clear their heads as best they could. It was unspoken that they would return to the ruin; it had become a sanctuary for them. A space where there were no worries, no problems.

Just them and their love.

Tonight, their sanctuary was becoming hallowed ground.

Ernest was at her center now; his large palms pressed against the silk of her thighs, pushing them apart. There was a low moan as his lips wrapped around her clitoris, and he suckled eagerly. Clara’s eyes closed as she felt a slickness cover her folds; the scent of arousal filled her nostrils. She didn’t know if it was hers or his.

Or both.

His name fell from her lips as his tongue slid in and out of her entry; her hands fell into his hair when his fingers walked along her wet walls. She groaned when his manhood entered her tightness. His movements were slow and deliberate at first, but quickly sped up as she accommodated his length and girth.

“Open your eyes, darling,” he commanded.

Clara obeyed, keeping her gaze trained on his.

They screamed their orgasms to the heavens above.

Afterwards, when the silence was broken by Ernest’s snores and the sound of his heartbeat in her ear, Clara prayed that she and Ernest would have forever together.

However that may come about.

The two men faced each other with very different expressions. Duke Richards’ was smug, Ernest Sinclaire’s was stone-faced.

“Are you ready, gentlemen?” Luke Harper asked.

The Duke and Squire nodded in unison.

“Sir Gideon shall count up to 10; for each tally, you will both take a pace in opposite directions. At the final count, you will face each other and draw weapons. Do you understand?”

The men nodded again.

For the first time since their arrival, the group was silent.

Briar bent her head in prayer.

Clara clutched Miss Parson’s hand tightly, her eyes glued to Ernest Sinclaire’s form.

Prince Hamid stood next to Luke Harper, hands behind his back, his dark blue eyes inscrutable as he watched the exchange.

The seconds handed the principals their weapons. Ernest frowned slightly as he hefted the pistol; it didn’t feel … right. A frisson of fear licked at the inside of his belly, but he shrugged it off.

His weapon of choice was a sword, not a gun.

“ONE!” Sir Gideon shouted.

The sky began to streak with orange and yellow; the first of the sunrise rose over the abandoned castle as the count continued. Ernest felt his heart rate increase with every measured step. He had to win. It wasn’t that he minded death; he didn’t. It was all the circle of life. But to leave Clara at the mercy of the jackal mere steps behind him?

Unacceptable.

“TEN!” Sir Gideon announced.

Ernest spun on his heel, weapon drawn. Ten paces away, Duke Richards mimicked his stance. His index finger curled around the trigger, but nothing happened. He pulled again but the firing pin was jammed.

What the hell?

The shot that rang out across the clearing was a thunderclap upon the still air.

Every movement following seemed to happen in slow motion:

The looks of surprise and pain that washed over the Squire’s face.

The gun falling from his hand, landing in a patch of damp grass three feet away.

The bloom of blood against his white shirt as he fell backwards.

The flopping of his thick brown hair against his forehead as he landed heavily against the earth.

Clara, Luke, and Annabelle Parsons rushed to Mr. Sinclaire’s side, determining the placement of the wound. Without thought, Clara hooked her hands together, frantically pressing her palms against the flow of blood. It was warm and pulsing against her skin; her hands were soon coated with it.

Dear God, there’s so much blood!

Duke Richard’s sauntered over, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “Well, that was quicker than even I anticipated.” His eyes were slate stones when his gaze settled on Clara. “Let’s go, darling,” he ordered.

Clara paid him no attention, her eyes focused on Ernest’s face. His skin was as white as a sheet, and perspiration dotted his forehead and upper lip. All while his blood ran thin rivers over brown dirt.

Hallowed ground.

“Not so fast, Your Grace!” Luke interrupted as he rose. “You still have to face me!”

Duke Richards looked confused. “Why? You want to join him?”

“The rules require it, Your Grace!” Annabelle Parsons shouted in anger and fear.

Prince Hamid walked slowly towards Luke, examining the fallen pistol in his hand. “Mr. Harper, this isn’t Mr. Sinclaire’s gun.”

The Duke and his second snapped their eyes to the Prince.

“You LIAR!” the noble snarled.

Luke snatched the gun, giving it a cursory once-over. “And YOU are a cheater, Duke Richards! There is no inscription on this weapon; Mr. Sinclaire’s gun had an inscription on the barrel.” Luke continued his examination. “There are no bullets in the chamber, and the firing pin is missing.”

His eyes settled on Sir Gideon. “This is NOT the gun I exchanged with you during the inspection.”

The Duke’s face flushed red. “Oh, come now! Mr. Sinclaire and I had a gentlemen’s agreement! Of COURSE that’s the gun you gave Gideon! HOW could he have switched weapons with you RIGHT THERE?”

Snatches of the conversation reached Clara’s ears, but she was too busy trying to staunch the flow of blood. If only she had a cloth …

She was roused from her mission by Prince Hamid. He knelt beside her, his cape folded in his hands. “Here, let me, Lady Clara,” he offered in a gentle voice.

She nodded quickly, changing positions so Ernest’s head could lay in her lap. She smiled tearfully into his face. “Stay with us, love. Please stay.”

Ernest Sinclaire’s face was distorted with pain and slick with sweat. “Clara … I’m so sorry.” His eyelids fluttered as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

Luke Harper and Prince Hamid were still arguing with the Duke and Sir Gideon. “YOU HAVE TO FACE ME!” Mr. Harper shouted.

“For what? With what? You don’t even have a pistol!” Sir Gideon replied snidely.

Duke Richards stepped away, making a beeline to Clara. Gideon could handle Luke Harper. “You have two minutes to say goodbye!”

“I’m not going ANYWHERE with YOU!”

The Duke ignored her, his gaze now on Ernest Sinclaire. Even the nobleman had to admit the Squire was in dire shape. Ernest’s eyes opened; upon seeing his nemesis, he croaked out, “Go to hell.”

“Seems you’ll beat me there. Do save me a seat, won’t you?”

Clara’s attention was caught by the figure headed their way, pistol in hand. Her eyes widened in fright. “Ernest,” she whimpered.

Mr. Sinclaire’s gaze shifted, and his eyes widened slightly.

The Duke turned, irritated at the interruption.

A shadow fell over the trio as a second shot rang out.

As the sun rose majestically against a cloudless blue sky, Ernest Sinclaire’s eyes closed.

Clara screamed as blood from the gunshot slowly spread across the white shirt.

Tagging: @jared2612 @ao719 @marietrinmimi @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @liamrhysstalker2020 @neotericthemis @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @phoenixrising0308 @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @foreverethereal123 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @lady-calypso @emkay512 @jovialyouthmusic @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @queenrileyrose @alj4890 @yourfavaquarius111 @motorcitymademadame @queenmiarys @choicesficwriterscreations @burnsoslow

#dcbbw writes #desire and decorum #ernest sinclaire x clara mills #choicessecretpal22 #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr

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asexual-hugger · 2 years ago

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When Allison McQueen rides over to Ledford Park Detective Agency on Friday morning, she leans her bike against the side of the house and rings the doorbell as usual.

Silence, and then footsteps from inside. The door flies open, and Detective Ernest Sinclaire stands in the doorway, wearing his glasses and what looks like loungewear: a white T-shirt and sweatpants.

“Oh, good! You’re here!” he remarks.

Does he look...nervous?

“I should hope I’m here,” Allison answers, a bit unsure. “I do have work today. Can I put my bike in the back?”

“Yes, of course!” Sinclaire digs around absentmindedly in the pockets of his sweats, before he glances at her apologetically. “I’m so sorry. I seem to have left my key ring in my office. Would you like to come in?”

“I can wait,” Allison replies. “I don’t like leaving my bike unattended.”

Sinclaire leaves the door open as he heads in to get his keys, and then he comes back quickly, leading her outside to the locked gate. “I’ll have to make you a copy of the gate key soon so you can just unlock it yourself,” he tells her. “You still have the key to the front, right?”

Allison lifts her lanyard. “Your front door key is still attached to the pepper spray,” she informs.

“Good.” Sinclaire seems satisfied. “In the future, just let yourself in. I might not always be available to answer the door. Just let me know that it’s you when you come in.”

Allison walks her bike into the yard and leans it against the large tree in the corner, and then he locks the gate again after she re-emerges.

“Ready?” he asks.

“I’m ready,” she answers.

They walk into the long hallway, and Allison opens the door to her small office off the side of the hall.

“You seem nervous,” she remarks, looking at his clothing. “And you don’t seem very dressed up for work.”

“Am I that obvious?” He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes tightly.

“I’m working on becoming a crime scene investigator,” she reminds him. “I can read people, but probably not as good as you can.”

“Come into my office for a bit.” He gestures to the door at the end of the hall, and judging by his tone, it’s a command.

She follows him into the large space, and he walks around to stand behind his desk. “You asked if I was nervous,” he says. “In fact, I am. It’s the latest case I just got wind of. A club owner asked me to look into some criminal activity at his venue, and I got a bit unsure because I was thinking about how you would react to something like this.”

Allison is puzzled. “How I would react? Why?”

“Because it’s an undercover mission, and I could use your help.” Sinclaire puts his glasses back on and gazes at her with seriousness. “The only way I can get to the bottom of this case is if I play the part. You know the demands of my job.”

“Yes,” Allison answers. “Don’t let anyone know you’re a private investigator if criminal activity is suspected. You already know I’m willing to go undercover with you if you need me. What do I have to do this time?”

“That’s what I’m wary about,” Sinclaire confesses. “After learning about your views towards certain, er, PERSONAL matters, I’d understand if you’d want to sit this one out. It would just make things easier and more believable to the crowds if you were there with me.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Miss McQueen...have you ever heard of kink before?”

“What, like BDSM?” Allison somehow knows where this is going, but she stays composed and professional.

“Yes. BDSM. Exactly,” Sinclaire answers. “Do you know what it is?”

“Bondage, Dominance, Submission, and something-masochism, Sir,” Allison responds. “Although I have to say I’ve never tried it. Is that what you want me to do? Because I can definitely learn...Sir.”

She drops down in an almost-perfect submissive pose, knees spread apart with one hand resting on each. “Does this please you, Sir?”

“It does,” Sinclaire replies. “It could use some work, but you almost have it. Did you research this beforehand?” He looks impressed with her effort.

“I may have read some books about it...Sir,” she replies.

“All right, first things first.” Sinclaire walks back and forth behind his desk, still looking slightly wary. “Ease up with calling me ‘Sir.’ We’re not exactly role playing here. I haven’t even explained the mission to you yet. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Right now I’m not really in the mood to be called ‘Sir.’ Just ‘Detective’ would do nicely. Please stand.”

Allison comes out of her submissive pose and stands, wiping off her jeans. “Sorry, Detective. I thought that practicing getting into character would be good for the case. I thought you were implying that I was going undercover as a BDSM sub.”

“You are,” Sinclaire answers. “That’s why I asked if you’d heard of it. It’s kinky roleplay. And I mean VERY kinky. You’re practically naked. Are you all right with that?”

“If I’m requested to do it, then that’s what I’ll do, Sir,” Allison replies. “Er, Detective.”

“I’m amazed that you’re so calm about this.” Sinclaire looks tense. “When I got the call, the first thing that went through my head was ‘oh, god, what is Miss McQueen going to think about this?’ I know you have negative thoughts towards anything related to sexual intimacy and whatnot, so I was very very nervous about telling you this. Again, I’d understand if you just said forget it. You are incredible, Miss McQueen. Agreeing to do this so easily? What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know, Sir,” Allison answers. “Probably wear yourself out.” She glances around the office. “So if I’m the sub, that would make you the Dom, right? I suppose you have outfits prepared for this?”

“You know me so well.” Sinclaire walks over to the jacket rack standing next to his file cabinet and holds up a very skimpy black leather getup, the fabric barely covering the front and back and practically screaming ‘sex appeal.’ “I had to really hunt for this one. All the others looked way too plain. This one hugs your body in all the right places, in more ways than one.”

“Wow.” Allison stares at the outfit with wide eyes. “You think I can even fit into that thing? Guess it’s good that I wore my new sexy black lingerie under my work clothes.”

Desire flashes in Sinclaire’s blue eyes, and his cheeks flush. “Good God, Miss McQueen! Are you trying to torture me?”

“Maybe, if you let me, Sir.” Allison looks smug. “I only hope that YOU are dressing appropriately. A good Dom never lets his sub outshine him in the apparel department.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Sinclaire assures her. “I’m going to be an extra good Dom. I have the black leather pants all set out, and while I’m at it...” He lifts something off the hanger bearing the kink attire. “Everyone in that club needs a reminder that you are mine tonight, just in case we have complications.” He hands the item to Allison.

It’s a small strap made of black leather to match her outfit, and in the center is a gold letter S inside a circle bordered by diamonds. Despite never trying BDSM, she knows exactly what it is. It’s the symbol of ownership by a Dominant towards his submissive.

“A collar?” She holds it up. He nods. “Let me guess. The ‘S’ stands for Sinclaire.”

“I’m thrilled that we’re on the same page,” Sinclaire states. “Yes, that collar is a sign that you are my submissive and no one else’s. The second the other Doms in that club see you wearing it, they will know immediately that you have been claimed. I’d be more than honored if you’d wear it around your neck tonight. Even though our act isn’t real, it will be more than convincing to anyone who sees. Besides, it would look amazing on you and go perfectly with your outfit. I made sure you and I would match. Will you be my official submissive tonight, Miss McQueen?”

“Are you crazy? You don’t even need to ask!” Allison insists. “I’d be equally honored to wear the outfit you found for me, AND your collar. If I’m to play a part properly and ‘belong’ to ANY Dom out there, I’d rather it be you than anyone else. Give that here.” Sinclaire hands her the hanger with the outfit, his expression looking less worried. “I’m turning up the kink tonight. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’m all yours.”

She takes the outfit into her office to change into it, and the feel of the leather against her skin is strange. However, Sinclaire’s words about her being ‘practically naked’ were definitely right on the money. The kinky clothes are so revealing that she can see her lacy black lingerie through the thin crossed straps on the front and on all sides. There is barely any clothing and a high percentage of skin. She only hopes that tonight isn’t going to be cold.

“And now, the finishing touch,” she says out loud, lifting the collar. She wraps the front of it around her neck and fumbles with the fastener in the back. “Hmm. Guess Sinclaire will have to help me with this part.” She lowers it and folds it in her hand, walking back into her boss’s office. “Detective, can you help me with my collar?” she calls out.

“Of course.” Sinclaire is sitting at his computer and looks up abruptly when she appears. He removes his glasses and stands up out of his chair quickly. “Holy hot damn, Miss McQueen! You make basically ANYTHING look good!” he remarks. “I didn’t believe kink was your thing, but seeing you in THAT, wearing MY collar...I’m about to have second thoughts!” He comes over to the front of the desk and gently fastens the collar around her neck. His soft touch sends tingles through her body, and it’s all she can do to stay still. “There. You’re ready to take on the case by storm.”

“So I’m guessing this ‘club’ is some all-exclusive BDSM joint with an underground dungeon,” Allison observes. “Perfect for some hidden criminal activity waiting to happen. It would definitely make sense. The question is: how would the owner know what was going on?”

“That’s why we’re going undercover,” Sinclaire replies. “We’re going in to bust whoever it is while keeping our act up at the same time. Look, Miss McQueen. Are you SURE you’ve never tried BDSM before? You seem to have an awful lot of knowledge about it.”

“As I said, that knowledge comes from books,” Allison answers. “I know the basics of BDSM. I just need to follow someone’s lead, preferably yours. I’m assuming YOU’VE done research on it. I know that pretty much every BDSM club has some sort of underground dungeon where the Dominants take their submissives for ‘playtime.’ Hopefully I won’t be too much of a bad girl; otherwise you’ll have to spank me.” She winks seductively at him, and she’s sure she can see another hint of desire flash across his face. He was loving her enthusiasm.

“You’re definitely right about the dungeon,” he says, his blue eyes dark. “I was studying the floor plan before you walked in. The place is a BDSM playground. I hope you’re ready to turn up the heat to the maximum, Miss McQueen, because we’re going to get down and dirty. Emphasis on dirty.”

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