SEDUCED BY THE STRANGER (Dirty Little Secrets, #1) Read Free Page A

girl?
    Out on the dance floor, I spot her, and it’s as if I can’t look away. I eat her up, inch by incredible mind-blistering, dick hardening inch. What’s not to like? Not a damn thing—except that she’s not my usual dish—she’s a shade of innocence someone like me should never touch.
    Blond hair, long legs, hips swaying. Her nipples dart the sheer shiny material, stretching over her incredible tits. She’s braless, free of being encumbered, and has got the type of tits I could suck and slide my dick between for hours. Some quality about that girl screams a secret verse that only my cock seems to hear. That fucker is harder than granite, getting harder the more I stare.
    Shit. This captivation has got to stop.
    Shifting my gaze, I feign interest in the conversation between Noah, Jax, and Ethan, my congressional associates from the Capitol—they’re engaged in another argument on foreign policy after the war, but for the hundredth time, I find myself gazing at a woman who dances as if she’s in a dream. Mine.
    “Ben,” Jax says. “You in for a shot?”
    I return my focus to our table. “To wish your sorry ass happy birthday, hell yeah!”
    The server smiles and places a bottle of bourbon and shot glasses on the table. We all do a shot and then another, and I glance back at the dance floor just as the girl opens her incredible eyes and our gazes connect. My heartbeat races—it’s an adrenaline rush to my senses. I lift my drink and study her. Every last thing about the girl reaches inside me and demands that I get hold of her. Soon!
    I’m sitting here with the Honorable Jackson Carter. Aka Speaker of the House.
    Jax, the man in command at the Clubhouse or the other ‘House,’ a private club far removed from the Capitol.
    Aka...the guy who’ll give me a rash of shit for getting a hard-on for a sliver of innocence we both know is nothing more than a prick tease to men like us who command and control the women we fuck. He along with the other guys at this table...we’re all hardcore Doms. Together with years under our collective belts, we maintain control in every aspect of our lives. Our public image and our dungeons never intersect. Ever. We’re brutal, stone-cold control freaks, so much that three years ago we put our rules in writing when we opened our own elite club, and that includes no meeting chicks in random places. Prescribed private online sub hookups or at the House . That’s it.
    But tonight I’m not thinking with my head. Well, not the one above my shoulders. Watching this young woman, I quickly assess what I can do and how fast. There’s a private hallway off the dance floor that is used to access the club owner’s secret dungeon onsite. I know the owner; he’s the representative of the 14 th District, and wants to be the newest House member when we open our semi-annual acceptance of a few select applications. One member will be admitted. This is our surprise visit to check out his place of business, and he’s not allowed to be onsite. He left twenty minutes after we arrived. When we spoke earlier, he divulged that’s where he houses his dirty little secret. A locked room that he uses and invited us to watch him in action this coming weekend.
    Not my thing, but now I’m wondering if I can get the keys. I know I can’t. It’s against our House rules, which means I’ve got to either stop this fantasy of what I’m devising, or keep this insane idea of tasting that girl under wraps. I imagine spreading her legs, binding her ankles, and having my complete way with her for one night. The things I’d like to do to her—fill my head. I haven’t felt this keyed up in fucking forever.
    Nothing might come of this, I remind myself. The girl could be here with a boyfriend or husband, but why is she dancing like that... alone? Doesn’t look like the kind of girl that’s tied down, but fuck she needs to be.
    My muscles constrict. Decision made. My hunger to make contact with her