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  The Dom’s Secret

  ~A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance~

  © 2018

  By Cassandra Dee and Katie Ford

  Please note that this book was originally published as Hot Sugar. It has been expanded and revised with BDSM themes for your reading pleasure.

  Want to hear about our newest illicit romance? Addicted to virgins and alpha males? Join our mailing lists at www.subscribepage.com/alphamalesontop and get a FREE book just for joining!

  © 2018 Cassandra Dee and Katie Ford

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over.

  Kindle Edition

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  ALSO BY THE AUTHORS

  Standalones

  His Captive

  Buck Me Cowboy

  Beg Me: Sold To My Dad’s Boss

  Daddy’s Pretty Baby

  Loving the Babysitter

  Reverse Harem

  Seven Brothers of Sin

  Six Ways to Sin

  The Billionaires Club

  Sold at the Auction

  Virgin for Sale

  Serving Him

  Buy Me

  Anonymous Encounters

  MFMM Ménage Romance

  All the Best Men

  MMF Bisexual Romance

  Double Dare

  Double Exposure

  Their Secret

  The Falling Series

  Falling for My Dad’s Best Friend

  Falling for My Boyfriend’s Dad

  Falling for My Son’s Best Friend

  The Virgin Series

  Delivering the Virgin

  The Princes Series

  Double Princes

  Triple Princes

  Box Sets

  Taking the CEO Home

  Love Unbound

  DEDICATION

  To all the girls who like their fun a certain way.

  This one’s for you!

  NOTE FROM CASSIE AND KATIE

  Hi! Thanks so much for reading The Dom’s Secret: A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance. I hope you enjoy the steam between Carrie and Mason!

  We have a special bonus short for you called My Co-worker’s Toy in this volume. You’ll love it, we promise!

  Plus, be sure to join our Facebook group Alpha Males on Top to hear about new releases, discounts, and freebies!

  Love,

  Cassie and Katie

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  THE DOM’S SECRET: A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance

  BAD GIRL NEEDED. INQUIRE WITHIN.

  The want ad beckoned.

  Bad girl.

  What does that mean?

  Hands shaking, I responded because we needed the money. My little sister was going hungry, and I’d do anything to help her.

  But Lordy, the man who answered blew me away.

  Because Mr. Channing is everything I’ve always dreamed of.

  Tall, handsome … and a Dom.

  That’s right, the billionaire’s got a room full of toys. The kind that make you gasp and scream.

  I should be scared.

  But I’m not.

  There are chains hanging from the ceiling.

  Manacles mounted on the wall.

  And a big wooden cross in the middle of the room.

  No, not the kind of cross with an angel up top.

  It’s the wicked type that makes you scream.

  But I’m not scared because Master is my religion now.

  His words are my command.

  His breath on my cheek.

  His hand on my shoulder.

  And whatever Master wants, be it pain or pleasure …

  I only have one word.

  YES.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  The Dom’s Secret

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE

  Deleted Scene 1

  Deleted Scene 2

  Deleted Scene 3

  Deleted Scene 4

  Deleted Scene 5

  Deleted Scene 6

  Deleted Scene 7

  Deleted Scene 8

  My Co-worker’s Toy

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  Trailer Park Virgin

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  The Dirty Virgin

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  Beg Me

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  A Baby for the Billionaire

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY
-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  A SNEAK PEEK

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MORE BY CASSANDRA DEE

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Carrie

  “Can I have ten dollars?” Nicole asks hopefully, her big blue eyes pleading. Nicole is my little sister, and she’s fourteen but acts about two sometimes.

  “What for?” I ask sternly, hands on my hips. “Why do you need ten bucks?”

  Her lip trembles, jutting a bit.

  “I want to get some white-out,” she says slowly. “You know, to fix my homework.”

  I blink. White-out? Really? Who still uses that stuff? I thought it was toxic, killing brain cells right and left.

  But Nicole nods again.

  “It’s for my book report, Carrie,” she pleads. “You know I wanted to borrow your laptop but you were using it all the time. So I had to write it by hand, and now I need white-out to fix my mistakes.”

  Inside I feel myself caving. Because it’s true. We only have one computer in the household, and that’s mine. And I have been using it a lot for my creative writing class, so Nicole didn’t get a chance to hop on.

  Slowly, I reach into my pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills.

  “Here,” I say gently. “Take this.”

  Nicole smiles brightly now, gripping the bills.

  “Thanks Car!” she chirps. “You’re the best,” are her happy words, before skipping off. I sigh again. Because Nicole’s my little sister, but sometimes she’s more like my child. I know I should tell her the truth but it seems too brutal for someone so young.

  Because actually, I don’t have any money to spare, not even a few bucks. Just yesterday, I saw my mom hiding the yellow sheet of paper they nailed to our door. The one with the big red letters in front in all caps. I couldn’t quite see what it said, but it was most likely an eviction notice.

  And it’s not like Mom has any way to pay our rent. Rhonda and Jim have been gone for a few days now, which is nothing new. Probably off on another bender, getting lit and doing nothing about our housing situation. So yeah, things are bad, much worse than a few bucks for school supplies.

  But I don’t want my little sister to worry. Nicole has dyslexia as well as mild anxiety, and growing up in this household hasn’t been easy. I don’t want her to get worse, she’s frail already. So I take another deep breath before seating myself at the kitchen table. Bills, bills, bills, piling up everywhere. Stacks and stacks, falling off onto the floor, pushed behind the refrigerator even.

  But right now isn’t the time. I need to work on my paper right now.

  Because I’m a first-year student at our local community college. And I’m lucky to be there. I want to be someone and to make something of myself. I don’t want to be like my parents, constantly flitting from one job to another, living hand to mouth, never knowing when the next paycheck is coming. I want to hold my head up high, and not be afraid to walk into a nice restaurant. I want to be safe and secure, without worrying that I was gonna lose the roof over my head.

  Right. The roof. The would-be eviction notice.

  But I couldn’t think about it now.

  So instead, I stare at the screen blankly, my computer humming. This creative writing class was driving me nuts. They were discussing something about a clef a romans and macrocosm / microcosm. What did those terms mean again?

  Because the truth is, I’ve been struggling to get a sentence down on paper all evening. Writing is my thing usually. Words are what makes me happy, but recently, with all the trouble from my family, it’s been tough to concentrate.

  But I have to. A degree is important. Investing in myself is important, especially for education.

  Despairingly, I stare straight ahead. Nothing comes, my mind like a blank slate. And devilishly, my fingers began to move on their own.

  But not to type, oh no.

  Instead, I begin to surf the web.

  The world wide web has been my downfall for a long time. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve lost to endlessly reading random sites. Not even educational sites like the news or following the stock market. But really random things like BuzzFeed and Bored Panda, mind candy that sucks you in, only to spit you out three hours later, dazed and confused. I should find some blocking software to prevent my bad habits. That would help my procrastination, for sure.

  But my fingers are devilish once more. Because there’s a pop up in the corner that catches my eye, the fluorescent pink lettering impossible to miss.

  MAKE CA$H! it screams. EA$Y MONEY!

  I snort. Yeah, right. Just another get-rich-quick scheme where they pump you full of hope, only to rob you dry. But would it hurt to look? Would it be so terrible? And before I know it, my fingers click on the ad.

  A new site pops up immediately.

  There are no pictures. But the lettering sings a tune like a siren calling to drowning sailors. I can’t help but stare, my breath coming fast.

  $$$ Cute, Innocent Girls Wanted. Be a $ub Today! $$$

  My face flushes.

  Is this …?

  Could it be …?

  It has to be. I’m inexperienced when it comes to dating and relationships, but not dumb. I know what a sub is. Sub is for submissive right? You date a guy for money, and he gets to control you.

  But what does “dating” mean?

  What kind of control?

  And how much money?

  It’s the last question that firms my resolve. Because if there’s anything my family needs right now, it’s money. We need cold hard cash to put food on the table so that my little sister doesn’t go hungry. It’s not just about movies and popcorn, white-out and school supplies. It’s about the real deal. The stuff that makes the world turn.

  So lips pressed into a line, I click. The screen flashes with a site called Sugar Babiez, a sexy-looking woman smiling while sitting on a couch. Oh god, oh god, is this really happening?

  But it is.

  This is the only way out right now. I could try and get a job tutoring, or maybe working as a barista somewhere. But what would it pay? Probably somewhere around minimum wage. That’s nowhere near enough, not when our circumstances are so dire.

  Maybe I could make more as a sub.

  A lot more.

  Maybe even four figures.

  Hope makes my heart pound. We need it so badly, even a thousand dollars would make a huge difference. I could pay some of the overdue bills, especially the electricity and gas ones marked “final notice.” I could go to the grocery and buy some nuts and real cheese, not the government-issued cheese product we usually eat.

  So maybe this is a possibility.

  The rush to my head is overwhelming, my vision literally going blurry for an instant. But first things first. If I want to explore, then I have to create a profile.

  What should my user name be?

  A bunch of things jump into my head.

  Honeybunz.

  Jewelz.

  SweetThing314, for my birthday March 14.

  But those sound idiotic, like I’m a teen who spends all her time on the phone. So instead, I enter my real name, Carrie, and the site accepts it alarmingly fast. No “User Name Taken.” No suggestions of “Carrie314” or “Carrie12345.” Just Carrie.

  Oh god, oh god.

  Maybe I’ve screwed up already.

  Am I being dumb?

  Am I being hopelessly naïve?

  Oh god.

  But there’s no way I’ll actually meet someone on here, I tell myself. This is just to see who’s on the site. So taking another deep breath, I fill out the basics on myself. Five
five. Curly brown hair. Brown eyes. Average build. Well, that’s not actually true. Because I’m a curvy girl, with a big butt and huge, soft tits, along with hips that swing like a pendulum. So slowly, my finger unclicks “average” and instead presses down on “A little to spare.” “A lot to spare” would be more accurate, but that’s not a choice.

  Oh god.

  Moving on.

  But it gets worse because the next screen prompts me to upload a pic of myself. What? I don’t have anything!

  But it makes sense. Pictures tell a thousand words right?

  So I surf around my laptop hard drive, trying to find something suitable. Definitely not my school ID, I have huge glasses and my hair’s a mess, it’d been windy that day. Definitely not a shot from my recent trip to Six Flags with Nicole, I look about fifteen years old with a giant ball of cotton candy and a silly smile.

  But there’s nothing else. There really isn’t. I don’t have any suitable pictures, not something that I could upload here.

  For a moment, I consider using someone else’s pic off the web. It’d be so easy, and no one would ever know. I’m not going to really “join” this site, anyways.

  Or am I?

  Because what if something okay comes along?

  Or more realistically, what if we need the cash so bad that this is the only way?

  That’s the real answer for sure.

  So trembling, I get up and grab my cell. Making my way to our tiny shared bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Huge, round eyes with masses of curly brown hair. A chin that’s shaking somewhat, but at least they won’t be able to see that in a photo.

  And holding my cell towards the mirror, I snap a pic. It’s terrible. Really, really bad. The flash obscures my face, making my head look like an exploding lightbulb. All you can see is my scoopneck tee with big boobies pressing forwards.

  So I take another one, turning off the flash this time. This version’s better, at least you can see my face. But the expression is all wrong. I look like a haunted deer, eyes wide and staring, poised and ready to run.