The Gifts of the Masters Read online

  Eva Gill lives in South Africa with her husband and her pet bunnies, tarantulas and dogs. She writes full time when she isn’t tying up beautiful little submissives whilst listening to classical music, preferably Mozart. Her friends and family mean the world to her, as does the support of her local BDSM community.

  The subject matter in her novels is very much a part of her life, where BDSM and normality blur into happy harmony. She loves tattoos, on herself as well as on others. The Gifts of the Masters is her third full-length novel, and there are many more to come.

  Follow her on Instagram @authorevagill to keep up with her sexy escapades!

  Eva Gill

  Chimera

  CHIMERA E-book

  © Copyright 2018

  Eva Gill

  The right of Eva Gill to be identified as author of

  this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All Rights Reserved

  No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication

  may be made without written permission.

  No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced,

  copied or transmitted save with the written permission or in accordance with the provisions

  of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to

  this publication may be liable to criminal

  prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is

  available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978 1 903136 60 7 (paperback)

  Chimera is an imprint of

  Pegasus Elliot MacKenzie Publishers Ltd.

  www.pegasuspublishers.com

  First Published in 2018

  Chimera

  Sheraton House Castle Park

  Cambridge England

  Acknowledgments

  I have many people to thank for their never ending support in this work. My husband, thank you for holding my hand and telling me I am not crap, because writers need those words… (I think we are all needy like that). To Samantha, you rock, you radiate so much love into the world, and I would go mad if I couldn’t see you or talk to you (and your bunnies). I love you! My family, the Gills, I love you. Thank you for supporting me, even though at times you must think I am completely bonkers. To Ginger, yes, I am calling you that here! Thanks for some serious character inspiration, late night chats when I couldn’t sleep, and some seriously dodgy conversation about seriously dodgy topics. Dude, you are the brother I need, love you! Oh, and the proofreaders, thank you for reading first drafts without complaints.

  Thank you to Pegasus Elliot Mackenzie Publishers; you have been amazing and a team beyond comparison.

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Jonah MacPherson walked from his office to the coffee cart on the sidewalk, rubbing his temples in exhaustion. He ordered his standard decaf cappuccino, exactly as he did every evening when he left the office. It was five-thirty on a Friday afternoon and he was quietly dreading the weekend. He had plans to meet Kevin, a high school friend who happened to be in town, for a beer and dinner at his local bar, the BistroRX, perhaps with a few other friends. Then, an early evening at home.

  He hopped on the tram, enjoying the scenery on the way to his apartment in Patterson Park. It was a fairly new district in Baltimore and the hub of the younger, and more hip, business crowd. The block he owned an apartment in gleamed, shiny with glass and chrome, the perfect bachelor’s pad. Most of the tenants were forty or under and childless; it suited him.

  Jonah dropped his laptop bag on the light-wood chair at his door and walked straight to the bathroom. He stripped off and stood under the steamy spray of the shower, lathering shampoo through his short black hair, and scrubbed his body down with the fresh-scented body wash. He felt the stiffness in his shoulders from the gym the day before, and stretched his arms overhead. He always got sore after he was paired with Blaine in their Mixed Martial Arts classes.

  After he towelled off with one of the dark grey towels he pulled from the shelf, he slid open the mirrored door and stood staring into his closet. He chose a simple pair of black chinos and a button-down black shirt, rolling the sleeves back to just below his elbows and leaving the top button undone. The dark colours always worked well.

  Barely thirty minutes later, he walked into the BistroRX two blocks away. Jonah could feel gazes shift toward him as Kevin called his name from a table near the back: “Jonah! Hey, come join me.”

  With his hands in his pockets, he strolled through the tables and past the press of bodies at the bar, almost stopped in his tracks by a particularly intense look directed at him by a young brunette. She turned when he bumped her lightly in the throng of people.

  “I’m sorry, excuse me,” he said, politely placing a hand on her arm. The electric shock through his fingers, from the contact with her skin, startled him, and clearly startled her, too. Jonah jerked his hand away. He stared for a while longer but the moment was gone. She returned to her conversation, and he walked on toward Kevin.

  Kevin gripped his hand in a firm shake, passed him a beer and they sat back to catch up on the week’s happenings, relaxing on the leather couches. Nobody else out of their group of five or so friends had pitched up, making excuses like ‘family, tired after a long week,’ etc. The vibe in BistroRX became more upbeat as the evening wore on, and an hour later two girls approached them, sashaying along, hips moving seductively.

  Jonah’s gaze met a pair of startling sea green eyes framed by long dark lashes, held in a face showing a sexy, yet somehow innocent, smile.

  “Hey, would you guys care to buy two girls a drink?” she purred, her voice husky and sensual as she brushed her long glossy hair over her shoulder.

  Jonah stood, speechless. It was the girl from the bar, and there was something about her that left him spellbound and incapable of forming words.

  “I, uh, um,” he stuttered, frustrated, because this never happened.

  Kevin came to his rescue, leaning forward. He put on a mock-aristocratic air as he spoke. “Please excuse my friend here, he tends to lose his voice around pretty girls. We would gladly do so, should the ladies in question care to divulge their names?” His eyebrow raised, his usual cocky attitude in place.

  Dark-hair shook her head, making that lovely hair swish behind her, over her shoulder. She smiled. “I am Anya and this is my friend Laila.” She gestured to the statuesque blonde at her side.

  Jonah reached out to shake their hands, and again the electricity between his hand and Anya’s was there. She met his gaze, and her smile disappeared. “You felt that, right, it’s not just me?” she whispered, so that only he could hear.

  He swallowed and nodded. They separated and he greeted Laila similarly, but she kept her eyes down and her demeanour was shy and reserved. The girls joined them in their corner, and three of them chatted genially, making the requisite small talk about jobs and hobbies, while Laila sat shyly at Anya’s side. At eleven, Anya looked down at her watch, and she and Laila exchanged a loaded glance, one that was not missed by the men.

  Anya stood and pulled Jonah aside. “We must go, but I would very much like to see you again, soon.” Her breath felt surprisingly cool in his neck, and she leaned close so that Kevin could not hear her speak. “I do not trust your friend, but if you are brave and wish to follow the chemistry between us, and you want your life to change, come to this address after midnight tonight. I will make sure the doorman is expecting you.”

  Jonah felt her press a card into his hand.

  With a deep breath, he nodded. “I’ll come. I just need to shake him
off. I don’t think that will be a problem, though.”

  Laila had moved to wait by the door, and Kevin was already making his move toward a redhead at the bar.

  Anya vanished and Jonah exhaled loudly, questioning his own sanity. He never did things impulsively. He caught Kevin’s attention and tapped his watch, gesturing toward the door. The other man waved and pointed at the redhead, a crude leer on his face. Jonah frowned, shaking his head, and walked out. Only once he was through the door did he look at the business card.

  It was exquisite, cream linen paper and had an address on West Arlington Street written on it, below the image of a chalice. He frowned; that was not the best part of town to be heading to, especially at this time of night. He had to do it though, so he pulled out his mobile and dialled a yellow cab service. How would a stranger know anything about his life? Why would she think he’d want to change it?

  ***

  The cab driver looked a little concerned when Jonah read off the address.

  “You sure about that, Mr?” he asked, glancing up and down at Jonah’s attire.

  “Yeah I am sure.” The words were confident but the tone certainly didn’t convey the sentiment. Jonah stepped out of the cab at the given street number. It was nothing but a derelict mansion on the corner.

  He slowly walked closer, completely on guard. When the front door opened smoothly and dim light shone through the crack, a man in a black suit approached Jonah.

  He stopped two steps away. “Good evening sir, are you the guest of the slave Anya?”

  Jonah nodded carefully, and the man led him through the door by the elbow.

  “Come inside please, sir, we do not like to be seen at this entrance, someone may notice.”

  Jonah stood in a small foyer and frowned as the man took his coat from him. In the chilly air outside he had donned his favourite, heavy black Melton coat, bought at Zara on a past trip to London. He couldn’t help but think the man reminded him of the elegant older butlers you sometimes saw in movies.

  The item of clothing was tenderly hung on a hanger and placed on a rail against the wall; it was uncanny to see such respect paid to a piece of material. Jonah frowned. Why would he notice how his jacket was being treated in the midst of such mystery? He chuckled. It was nerves. He paid attention to random details when he got nervous. The man had called Anya a slave, but why? Who did she serve? And ‘slave’ in this day and age, really? What had he just walked into?

  He stared at the décor, in complete contrast to the outside of the ramshackle and abandoned-looking building. It was merely an entrance room, the gateway to something bigger. The walls seemed alive with the black, damask velvet detailed papering, or paint, he could not tell which it was. The light fittings were ornate medieval brass artworks fitted into sconces just above head-height, on each of the four walls. He ran his shoe over the plush carpeting, a purple so dark it might have been blue, perhaps even black.

  Jonah could hear music beyond a carved and intricately detailed dark wood double-door, set with an arched top. His heart raced when the black-suited man walked toward those doors.

  He turned briefly to face Jonah. “Please wait here sir, I will call the slave Anya to come and fetch you. An uninitiated one is not permitted beyond this door unaccompanied.”

  Without bothering to explain any of the terms he had just used, he disappeared through the door.

  The ‘slave’. Jonah mused again at the word. ‘Uninitiated’… what did it all mean? His questions would be answered when he saw Anya, he knew this, but he felt very confused. What was this place?

  ***

  After ten minutes, when he was still alone, he took a seat on a deep purple couch. The velvety fabric resembled the colour of bruised eggplant, he thought, frowning. He was still stroking the soft material absentmindedly when the inner door opened and the suited man walked through, followed by Anya. Except that it wasn’t the same Anya. Everything about this woman was different.

  Jonah almost didn’t recognise her, as she was stark naked under a sheer, deep purple, chiffon garment. She wore an intricate gold collar around her neck, and similar cuffs at her wrists, and left nothing to his imagination. Her hair was gathered in a high ponytail on top of her head, revealing amazing bone structure and almond-shaped, slightly slanted, emerald green eyes. Yes, he had been mistaken about their colour earlier, they were definitely emerald green and not sea green. All traces of makeup had been cleaned from her face and her skin glowed, healthy and clear.

  “Hello Jonah. I am glad you came,” she said, her voice soft. She bowed low, revealing a small padlock at the rear of the collar as she lowered her head and stretched her arms out, the garment forming gossamer wings. She raised her eyes to him demurely, from her gracefully bent position. “Follow me.”

  Jonah started speaking and reached for her, but she quickly stepped out of his reach.

  “Don’t touch me!” she hissed, and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Not here. Come inside with me and I will explain the rules and answer any questions you may have, that I am allowed to.”

  Anya turned from him, pushed open the double doors and walked through.

  The sight before him was unlike any scene Jonah had ever imagined. He followed Anya to a table. When she beckoned him to sit, he fell into an armchair automatically.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Anya’s voice was soft, at ear level.

  “Single-malt scotch, please,” Jonah murmured, his eyes fixed on a young woman tied to a cross in a central, sunken floor space below. A tall man dressed in long, dark, hooded robes stood over her with a multi-stranded instrument that looked like a whip of some sort. At present, he was running his hand down her flanks, and Jonah saw her head fall back against the man’s shoulder, her eyes closed.

  At the girl’s neck and wrists sat the same gold collar and cuffs that Anya wore, and her glossy, pale white hair was in the same ponytail. Jonah frowned when the big man stepped away from her. It was Laila, the other girl from the club. For a moment he swore the man was Blaine, his MMA training partner. He brushed the notion aside, although as he watched the man move he was more and more convinced. The hood hid his face, though.

  When the whip flew through the air and made contact with pale skin, Jonah had to stifle his scream and shove his fist into his mouth. He could not believe what he was seeing. The woman jerked on her restraints, her hands visibly tightening on the cuffs at her wrists, but her moan was not one of pain. She breathed harder as the blows fell. He watched her ribcage rise and fall, and when the blows ended, Jonah could see her shoulders heaving. The robed man placed his whip on a counter and moved to stand behind her. The robe concealed most of his movements, but Jonah saw the woman lean her lower body toward him, and moments later, the man’s head was at her neck, his arm around the front of her body. Jonah heard her cries as she came, even over the music. The sound of pleasure was so distinct, so unmistakeable that it aroused him, and he shifted in his seat, adjusting his pants to accommodate the swell of his erection.

  Jonah was mesmerized by what he was watching. The woman was being gently untied when Anya knelt to place his drink next to him. She also handed him a white cloak.

  “Are you serious? I have to wear this?” He stared at her, amused.

  Her face was serious as she nodded. “Yes, it shows that you are uninitiated. People are not to approach you without being aware of this.” She smiled at his clothes. “Not that they wouldn’t know, but trust me, you want it, even if you are just sitting here.”

  Jonah thought it best to take her advice on this, and stood to swing the cloak around his shoulders.

  When he sat back down, she had sunk back into her graceful kneeling position on the floor, and was looking earnestly up at him.

  “You must have questions? I’m so sorry. I could not tell you more without showing you.”

  Jonah picked up his scotch. “I have so many. It might take you getting the ball rolling though, because I don’t even know what I am looking at.”


  Anya giggled quietly, “A true vanilla then.” and they both looked up as a couple walked past, a girl clad similarly to Anya, on a leash, following a cloaked man. When Jonah looked at Anya’s face, her expression was one of total respect and reverence.

  Jonah raised an eyebrow, and out of the pure absurdity of the situation, chuckled. “Okay, naked one, tell me what you’ve walked me into.”

  Anya spoke softly. “I brought you here because I saw something in your eyes tonight, in the single instant our eyes met. I saw all the boredom, disillusionment, and your feelings of being trapped in the mundane. I saw a little of me, of how I felt when I came to this life many years ago. Tell me I’m wrong?”

  He looked down at her in total disbelief. “Carry on,” he murmured.

  “This place, Jonah, I cannot even tell you its name. You cannot enter and would never have found it without an invite from one who belongs, like me. I found my way here through another, who saw similar attributes in me many years ago. I have never been happier, or more fulfilled.”

  Jonah stopped her. “So what exactly is this place you can’t tell me the name of? Pardon me if I’m sceptical…”

  She smiled mysteriously. “It is a very exclusive BDSM club, where people come to learn and enjoy their private desires and taboo fantasies. They either find their inner devoted slave, such as myself, or they learn how to become a Master or Mistress to a slave or submissive. They are introduced to such a mate, and there’s more, but that I cannot share. A Master has to condone the sharing of the sacred knowledge.”

  Jonah’s eyes widened. “Oh God, it’s a sex club.”

  Anya rolled her eyes, and a fire flared in her. “You ignorant fool. BDSM is not all about sex, and that is one of the first things people who come here learn. The Forgotten Realm has a set of rules, and a ritual-based system that everything works by. It’s called ‘protocol’ here. Slaves and submissives respect the Masters and Mistresses. They own us while we are on this property, by our consent, and respect our individual owners’ rights to us. I am not going to tell you more tonight, do some research about the basics, Google is a wonderful tool…”