NOTE FROM THE DOM, JASON DELANEY: I know I’m sexy. It’s why they come to me, hunt me down, beg so sweetly. Be my pirate. Be my daddy. Be my prince. For some reason, she doesn’t beg, even though she kinda sorta wants to—Shayna, that self-righteous, prissy little saint with ballerina grace. After I tend to the sorority girl when she’s mugged at the BDSM club where I’m a House Dom, she agrees to dance in my jazz-rock video in exchange for me teaching her the ins and outs of Dominance and submission that she’s oh-so curious about. Oh, I’ll teach her all right. But I wanna tick her off first. Her fury’s just as sexy as her splits. She fights me, goes toe-to-toe, gets hot, but she lets the angel on her shoulder govern her every move and keep her from knowing erotic bliss. I just know a naughty devil’s in there. And I’m gonna free hers, then tie it up and spank it and drive it wild with savage lust so it has the drive to duke it out with the haloed thrill-robber who’s held the victor’s belt for way too long. My money’s on the bad girl. Will I go to Hell for corrupting a saint? Don’t know. But after she dove into her panties and showed me those glossy fingers upon command when she should’ve slapped me instead, I’d gladly take on any inferno to find out just how naughty and subalicious she truly is. And I will, provided we don’t kill each other first with our verbal daggers or gropey hands.