Sanctum Black (#1)
A Razor’s Edge Enemies to Lovers BDSM Erotica Short
BDSM Erotica
Date Published: February 27, 2026
Publisher: Changeling Press
Power made them enemies. Desire makes them reckless. One surrender
changes everything.
Mira: Elias Hartmann is a billionaire power player and my biggest professional
obstacle. Six months of brutal negotiations turned into six months of tension
I refuse to name. Every meeting is a battle. Every look feels like a challenge
I shouldn’t want to accept. Then I receive an invitation to Sanctum
Black. A private sex club where power, and desire collide. When Elias appears,
I should leave. Instead, I let him show me exactly how thin the line is
between control and surrender. Outside, we’re enemies fighting for the
upper hand. Inside, I give him everything I pretend I don’t crave.
Elias: Mira Calder doesn’t bend. She dismantles. Brilliant, relentless,
and impossible to ignore. I wanted her from the first meeting. Not romance.
Not dates. I wanted to break her composure and earn her surrender. Sanctum
Black gives us rules, boundaries, and privacy with no consequences. Just heat,
power, and obsession in a safe, anonymous environment. She’s my equal in
the boardroom. In the dark, she’s mine to challenge and claim. Enemies
to lovers. High-stakes power play. One mistake neither of us can afford to
walk away from untouched.
Excerpt
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Wanda Violet O.
Mira
The moment I crossed the threshold of my apartment, I kicked off my heels, not
caring where they landed. My feet throbbed with the special kind of pain
reserved for women who spent twelve hours in Italian leather torture devices,
all for the sake of standing eye-to-eye with men who confused height with
authority. The negotiation with Elias Hartmann had dragged on until sunset,
both of us refusing to yield on key points until our respective teams were
practically falling asleep at the table. I’d won this round, but victory
felt hollow when measured against the ache behind my eyes.
“Fuck it,” I muttered to no one, dropping my briefcase on the
entryway bench. My apartment greeted me with familiar silence, the kind I
usually found comforting after days filled with strategic verbal combat.
Tonight, though, it felt like just another empty space.
I shrugged off my blazer and hung it with more care than I’d shown my
shoes. Six hundred dollars of tailored wool deserved better, even if I
couldn’t muster the energy to pick up my heels, which were now scattered
across my polished hardwood floor. My blouse came next, the top three buttons
already undone during the elevator ride up. Freedom, in small increments.
The wine rack in my kitchen called to me like a beacon. I selected a Cabernet
I’d been saving, though I couldn’t remember why. Some mythical
special occasion that never materialized. The cork came free with a satisfying
pop that echoed in my silent kitchen.
I didn’t bother with a glass at first, taking a generous swig straight
from the bottle. Only after that initial hit did I pour properly, the dark
liquid swirling as I carried it to my living room. The tension in my neck had
transformed into something solid, a concrete weight pressing down on my spine.
I rolled my head, feeling vertebrae pop in protest.
Elias fucking Hartmann. The man was infuriating. Brilliant, undoubtedly, but
maddening in a way that made me want to either slap him or…
I cut that thought off, unwilling to follow where it led. Six months of
negotiations over this acquisition, and the progress we’d made could be
measured in millimeters. Every concession was a battle, every clause
scrutinized with microscopic closeness.
I raised my wine glass to take a healthy pull. I couldn’t deny the
grudging respect I’d developed for my opponent. He had a mind like a
steel trap and eyes that missed nothing. Including, I suspected, the way my
breath sometimes caught when he leaned too close across the conference table.
I massaged my temples, pressing hard enough to make little starbursts appear
behind my closed eyelids. Professional attraction was a complication I
didn’t need. Especially not with someone whose corporate ambitions
directly opposed my client’s interests.
Something caught my eye as I passed entryway table. A black envelope, sleek
and heavy, with a minimalist gold emblem stamped in the corner. I froze, wine
glass halfway to my lips. It definitely hadn’t been there this morning.
Setting down my glass, I approached the envelope cautiously, as though it
might bite. My building had excellent security, a key consideration when
I’d purchased the apartment. Someone placing this here meant either my
security had been compromised, or…
I picked it up, feeling the substantial weight of the cardstock. Expensive.
The gold emblem caught the light, an ornate “SB” intertwined in a
design that managed to suggest both elegance and something darker. No postage,
no address. Just my name in metallic ink that gleamed under my fingertips.
I slid my finger under the flap, breaking the wax seal that I hadn’t
initially noticed. Inside was a single card of the same heavyweight black
stock, text printed in the same gold ink.
To: Ms. Mira Calder
You are cordially invited to Sanctum Black, where discretion meets pleasure
without judgment. Your reputation for excellence has been noted by our
selection committee. Should you choose to accept, present this invitation at
1158 Blackwood Avenue at 10 PM this evening.
Boundaries respected. Desires fulfilled.
Sanctum Black
Your privacy is our sacred covenant
HW George
Concierge
I turned the card over, looking for more information, but found only the same
emblem from the envelope. Sanctum Black. I’d heard whispers about it in
certain circles. Sanctum Black was an exclusive club where the elite could
shed their public personas. Not exactly a sex club, but definitely not a
simple social club either. The kind of place where people went when they
wanted experiences they couldn’t get elsewhere, with the absolute
certainty that what happened there would never leave its walls.
My analytical mind immediately began dissecting how my name had reached their
“selection committee.” Who had recommended me? What did they know
about me that made them think I’d be interested? And more importantly,
who else might I encounter there?
About the Author
Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a
variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in
extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look
for yourself!
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