Hannah Ford [Ford - Strict (Part One)

C HLOE

I ts my first night in New York City, and Im hiding in the bathroom of a BDSM club called Strict.

FML.

I mean, I shouldnt even be here. Not just here, in New York, where, lets face it, I stick out like a sore thumb -- but here, specifically, in this club. Its the kind of club where bad things happen. The kind of club where women fall to their knees, where they call men sir and do all kinds of other things that shouldnt be talked about in polite society.

I know, because.well, its not important how I know. I just know.

Of course, I didnt know this was a BDSM club. If I had, I obviously never would have come, no matter how much my two new dormmates, Alanna and Poppy, had begged me to. It will be fun, Chloe! they said. You cant just stay in the dorm all night, Chloe! Not on your first night in the city!

It was like high school all over again, instead of what it really was, an MBA internship program where we had to be up early tomorrow to actually start our internships.

I glance at my phone.

Five minutes. Five minutes Ive been in here, trying to waste time, trying to calm my heart, trying to stop myself from having a panic attack. I can probably get away with a few more minutes otherwise, Alanna and Poppy are going to start thinking I have some kind of strange bathroom issues.

I find the favorites button on my phone and dial my best friend, Grace.

How long can you stay in a public bathroom before people start thinking youre weird and/or that you have stomach problems? I ask when she picks up.

Ten minutes, tops, she says immediately.

Damn, thats what I thought.

Why are you hiding in a bathroom? she says. The sound of her voice makes me homesick.

My two new dorm mates insisted I come out with them, I say. And its a BDSM club.

Oh, Chloe. Grace sighs. She knows my history. She knows what happened. She knows why I cant be here. But coming to New York for this internship is supposed to be a fresh start. No one here knows me. No one here knows what happened, and theyre not going to, either.

I know, I say, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, smoothing down the dress Im wearing, a black mini dress that Grace gave me before I left, the only thing I really have that is even remotely club appropriate. I sigh and open the door to the bathroom. I probably should go back to my table. Theyre definitely going to start thinking I have some kind of intestinal problem. Do you think its way too rude to make up an excuse? To get out of being at this stupid oof!

Someone slams into me.

Or rather, I slam into someone.

My phone goes skittering across the floor, and I chase after it as if its some kind of lifeline. Which it is. My lifeline to my friends and family back in Syracuse.

Oh, no, I groan as I pick it up. The screen is a spider web of glass, the entire thing shattered. Even worse, its completely blank, no signs of life, and when I hit the button on the side, nothing happens. Shit.

I turn around, ready to cut into whoever it was that was walking so fast that slamming into me was enough to send my phone flying to its early death.

You know, I say, whirling around. You need to watch where youre going. My phone is

My voice cuts off as my gaze lands on the man who bumped into me.

Holy hell.

The first thing that hits me is his size. At least 64, he towers over me, his shoulders broad under the black t-shirt hes wearing. Its not even that tight of a t-shirt, and yet you can tell hes extremely well built, the fabric clinging to biceps that are cut and defined. Broad shoulders, strong legs encased in dark jeans, and a flat stomach.

With a body like that, he wouldnt have even needed to be walking that fast to knock my phone out of my hand.

My gaze travels up to his face.

A strong jaw covered in a dark dusting of stubble.

A baseball hat tugged down low over his brow.

And under that, hooded eyes the color of dark gold. Eyes that are smoldering and dark and studying me so intently and with such disdain that for a moment I find myself wanting to be the one to apologize to him.

We stand like that for a long moment, and then his amber eyes travel over my body. I resist the urge to tug at the bottom of my dress self-consciously, instead forcing myself to meet his gaze with my own.

You need to watch where youre going, I say.

The whole time hes been staring at me, he hasnt moved except for his eyes, that piercing gaze traveling over me, making a chill start at my tailbone and creep up my spine.

But now the side of his jaw twitches just a tiny bit.

And you need to watch your smart mouth. His voice is just like I would have imagined it to be, low and growly and commanding. It slides over my skin, rough and raw, stirring something deep in my belly.

And then he turns around and heads back out to the club.

Wow.

What an asshole.

I mean, not that its that surprising. This is a BDSM club. The guys obviously got some issues if he wants to spank women and make them beg.

You would not believe what just happened to me, I say, sliding into the round red leather booth where Alanna and Poppy are waiting for me.

What? Alanna says, her blue eyes alight with interest.

Some guy bumped into me, and my phone went flying. The asshole didnt even apologize. I show her the cracked screen, but she seems completely unimpressed.

Oh, she says.

It wont even turn on, I try again, but she still seems completely uninterested.

Poppy, for her part, is sitting on the inside curve of the booth, her fingers flying over her own phone rapidly as she texts someone. I sigh. Of course neither of them care. They showed up at the dorm today with about five suitcases each nice suitcases, the kind that are printed with designer logos and have built-in phone chargers and matching cosmetic bags. Obviously neither one of them thinks that a broken phone is an expense thats worth noting.

That guy is looking at you, Alanna says, giggling and taking a sip of the drink, something some middle-aged man sent over for her as soon as we sat down.

I doubt it, I say, trying to sound nonchalant and like I dont care, when really, Im terrified of drawing attention to myself. Even so, I cant help but glance to the corner of the club, where a man sits alone in a matching curved red booth.

Thats him! I say. Thats the douchebag who just broke my phone! Every other guy in the place is scanning the room, eyes moving back and forth over the crowd, looking for a mark. A few people have even found one. But hes just sitting there, his baseball cap tugged down low over his brow.

He has no drink, no phone, nothing in front of him.

And hes staring at me, not even glancing away when he sees me looking back at him.

Go talk to him, Alanna says, giggling. Hes hot.

Hes a jerk. Did she not just here about the ruined phone? How is it that someone whos about to finish an MBA can be so clueless?

But look at his body, she says.

I turn to Poppy, looking for someone to back me up, but she nods in agreement. Think of the things he could do to you.

Pick you up and slam you against a wall, Alanna says. Spank you until youve been good.

The girls giggle, like this is the kind of thing thats super funny, a story theyll tell their friends back home. But they have no idea. And theres no way Im about to tell them. I left that part of my life back in upstate New York, and Im not carrying it to the city with me.