Cuff Master

Cuff Master

Frances Stockton

Detective Ethan Maddox and psychic
Morgan Everhart are on the cusp of a relationship, if she can forgive him for
doubting her abilities when they first met. A Master with a fetish for
handcuffs, he recognizes Morgan is a submissive who needs a patient man to
guide her safely into the D/s lifestyle. He is determined to claim her.

Inviting her for a moonlit walk,
Ethan kisses Morgan and her seduction begins, until a teenaged ghost
interrupts. Ethan is skeptical of the supernatural, but if he doesn’t open his
mind he may never collar the woman he loves.

As they work together to solve a
cold case, Ethan introduces Morgan to the very dark, seductive world of sex,
submission, bondage and dungeons. All the while, danger is growing. If Ethan
doesn’t find a young girl’s killer soon, all could be lost.

Cuff Master

Frances Stockton

Dedication

To SWD, a dear friend since we were babies and always will
be. You are the model of kindness, friendship and strength. Thank you for the
laughter and hugs for the tears.

Acknowledgements

I cannot forget to thank Doc Jess for her patience when
answering my often-bizarre questions. She may never know how invaluable her
friendship and advice have been.

I’d also like to extend my sincere gratitude to the police
officers, detectives, soldiers and firemen who routinely put themselves in
harm’s way for the safety of others.

While the Missing Persons and Cold Case Homicide Division of
the Boston Police is entirely a work of fiction and imagination, research was
required regarding warrants, autopsies, evidence, ballistics, facial blindness,
medical emergencies and arson. Any mistakes made are entirely my own.

Likewise, special thanks to author Marley Gibson and her
husband, former TruTV paranormal investigator Patrick Burns, and the members of
New England Paranormal Research for teaching me all about investigating the
paranormal.

Author Note

Morgan and Ethan’s story is erotic and romantic fantasy, but
their decision to engage in bondage and a D/s relationship is one they do not
make without thorough research, understanding and discussion. I highly
recommend the same for anyone who wishes to engage in any aspect of BDSM or an
alternative lifestyle. There are books, Internet sites and support groups
throughout the United States and around the globe.

Chapter One

Druid Creek Castle—Early October—Danvers,
Massachusetts

“Is there any woman more beautiful than Morgan Everhart?”
Ethan Maddox asked his older brother in a hushed voice.

Not that there was a need to whisper. Music playing overhead
covered the conversation perfectly and the entire restaurant of Druid Creek
Castle Bed and Breakfast had been turned into a ballroom for Phalen and Cassie’s
wedding reception.

“Frankly, I think my wife is the most beautiful woman I
know,” Phalen answered. “But Morgan’s a knockout. Why not get off your ass and
ask her to dance, bro?”

Ethan would rather take Morgan somewhere private and
appreciate the way she looked in her dark-green halter-style velvet gown that
hugged her tall willowy form perfectly. The narrow side-slit running from her
ankle to her upper thigh gave an occasional glimpse of svelte legs that could
surely wrap around a man’s waist for hours.

Her bare shoulders and long slender neck made him want to
nip and lick all that exposed creamy soft skin, especially the gentle V of her
cleavage, which accented perky breasts that weren’t overly large, but perfectly
proportioned for her tall slender frame.

At a guess, he’d say she was a B-cup. He was good with that,
already imagining all the ways to suckle on her perky nipples.

Her dark-auburn hair tended to look brown when it was down
and in her face. Tonight it was pulled into some kind of fancy up-do. Pretty
ringlets cascaded down to showcase a face that could have graced any
high-fashion magazine. A guy could get lost in hair that when left long fell to
her ass.

Currently, his new sister-in-law and the maid of honor were
drawing people onto the dance floor, including football players and Cassie’s
family. As Ethan was Phalen’s best man, it seemed unfair that he had to stand
back and watch Morgan make some kind of
dance with me
gesture to a guy
with long black and red-streaked hair.

It didn’t help that Morgan, who was normally shy around
strangers, was perfectly at ease with the other man or that he looked vaguely
familiar.

“Still with me, Ethan?” Phalen asked, nudging him back to
the present. “Go ask Morgan to dance.”

“She’ll just say no. She’s still pissed at me for what
happened six fucking months ago.” He had noticed the occasional glance in his
direction. Each time he looked back, she’d scowl and turn away.

“You’ll never know if you stand here doing nothing. As it
is, she might dance with that black-haired dude. You want that?”

“Who is that guy? If I’m going to punch him in the nose for
touching what’s mine, I might as well know.”

“Name’s Remington Sinclair, goes by Remy,” Phalen answered.
“He’s a friend of Morgan’s from that ghost hunting reality TV show that’s taken
New England by storm recently. They’re all here. Cassie invited them on
Morgan’s behalf.”

“Sinclair’s a local celebrity,” Ethan complained.

“Yep, but if you hit him, he’ll hit back, and then there’s
going to be a fight that I can’t avoid. Think my wife wants to deal with that
on our wedding night?”

“No, I’ll avoid trouble, don’t worry. Except…if I dance with
her, I won’t let go. Know what I mean?”

“If you want her, claim her. Just don’t hold too tightly or
flip out when she does her psychic thing. You do, she’ll bolt.”

“She’s been doing that since I fucked up that night she
passed out in Cassie’s diner. She’s blocked me from texting her and she doesn’t
return my calls.”

“Cassie told me that Morgan can’t read you and it’s
something she’s never known with another man. That scares her. Maybe there’s a
reason for it.”

“What kind of reason? As if I’m her soul mate or something?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“That belongs in one of those vampire novels Morgan likes to
read,” Ethan said.

Phalen clapped his big hand on Ethan’s shoulder. At
six-five, he was the same height as his older brother. A lot of people thought
he was shorter because Phalen was a tad more muscular and slightly broader at
the shoulders.

“How do you know what she likes to read?” Phalen asked,
squeezing his hand to bring Ethan back to the conversation.

“I don’t know. I just know it as strongly as I know she also
reads books on history, antiques and archaeology. She does so to follow up on
impressions she gets on objects.”

“Then maybe you do believe in her gift after all?”

“Sam Riley and I listened to a psychic once. It led to a
botched case and eight dead girls, including the one we were supposed to save!”

“A lot of psychics are full of shit. Morgan’s the real deal.
Go talk to her. She wants you to. She keeps looking over here.”

Phalen gave Ethan a none-too-gentle shove toward the dance
floor. With that, he was across the floor, sent off Remy Sinclair with a glare
and the music switched to something slow and subtle.

Approaching her seemed as natural as breathing. “May I have
this next dance, Morgan?” he asked, offering his hand to her and hoping to God
she accepted it. Every dominant male instinct he possessed screamed for him to
grab her up off the dance floor and head for the nearest room upstairs

“Your obligation as the best man ended with the toast,” she
said, her gorgeous chocolate-brown eyes luminous from the glow of twinkling
white lights strewn about the room.

“My obligation as your man began when I kissed you awake
months ago,” he countered the moment Morgan placed her hand in his.

Tightening his hold ever so slightly, he drew her to the
middle of the dance floor and gently brought her closer. She flowed forward,
her gracefulness evident regardless of the fashionable narrow heels she wore on
her feet.

Even though she was five-ten and her shoes gave her two
inches more height, he was taller, altogether bigger and he felt as powerful as
a Celtic god with her slighter, subtle curves pressed up against his hard
muscular body.

She was soft. He was hard. She was sweet. He was enthralled.

“For the record, I’m not an obligation, Ethan Maddox,”
Morgan stated, even as she settled in closer.

Jesus, she smelled like jasmine, all spicy and exotic and
tempting. Her lips, painted with just the right amount of rosy lipstick, were
perfectly plump and bow-shaped. It was all he could do not to kiss her right
then and there.

“Denial will only work for so long,” he said. “Feel how
right it is for us to be this close? Tell me you don’t want to be in my arms
and I’ll let you go.”

Morgan stared up at him. His more dominant personality
wanted to challenge her to see exactly how long she’d stare back and who’d
break first. It wasn’t going to be him.

He recognized a submissive when he saw one. When she wasn’t
aware of it, he’d heard Cassie and Morgan confiding in each other as only best
friends could. He spied the longing in her eyes whenever Phalen took Cassie to
the basement of Ink Masters.

Ethan knew in his gut that Morgan was meant to be
his
submissive and that scared her just as much as her inability to read him. If
she consented to enter a dungeon, it would be with him as her Master.

“I don’t want you to let me go,” Morgan finally admitted,
breaking eye contact to look beyond his shoulder as a submissive flush stole
over her high cheekbones. Her exotic chocolate eyes, flawless skin, kissable
lips and hairstyle reminded him of a mystical elf straight out of a Tolkien
novel.

Ask him later what song was playing, he’d have no idea. All
he cared about was having Morgan nestled up nice and close. Her breath was as
sweet as spearmint and the green crystal pendant she wore between the swell of
her breasts tagged him in the sternum from time to time.

The pendant got warm from their combined body heat. The
warmer he felt, the hotter his groin was, the heavier his erection became. If
he wasn’t careful, Morgan would unman him without even breaking a sweat.

“Put your arms around me,” Ethan urged, realizing she’d been
waiting for his permission to touch him back. She may not have been aware of
it, but she’d just passed a test that made him want her even more.

Blushing prettily, Morgan lifted her hands and placed them
on his shoulders. “Like this, Detective?”

“Yeah, that’s nice,” Ethan said.

“I’m better at fast dancing than slow dancing,” she admitted
quietly.

“Thread your fingers behind my neck.” Her hands left his
shoulders and cupped the back of his neck exactly as he’d asked. “That’s it,
like that.”

His heart skipped a few beats when she smiled earnestly. She
was so damn pretty, he was smitten. No other word seemed right, smitten was it.

“Surely you know how to dance with me, Morgan. You danced
with a bunch of football players at Grace and Dallas McKay’s wedding and most
of the guests here tonight. You move very well.”

“I didn’t slow dance with any of them,” she murmured shyly,
casting her eyes right to the floor.

“What’s that? Look at me and say it so I can hear you
properly.”

Obediently, she lifted her chin, her eyes connecting with
his. Nervously, she nibbled on her lower lip and he swore she’d just kicked him
in the nuts.

“I didn’t slow dance with any of those men. I’ve never slow
danced,” Morgan admitted.

Hell, his hard-on was pressing against his zipper just to
get closer to the warm nest of soft auburn curls covering her mound. How Ethan
knew Morgan’s mound was unshaven, he couldn’t say.

What he knew was that no other man had had the privilege of
dancing face-to-face, hip to hip, chest to breasts with her. He wanted to cheer
and pound his fists against his chest just to show Remy that not even a
celebrity had danced with Morgan.

“Really?” he whispered.

“I’m not very experienced with men like you, Ethan. Most
guys think I’m weird. I get it. I know.”

“Whoever you dated before me should be hung, drawn and
quartered for making you think that.”

She stiffened and frowned. Ethan wanted to kick his own ass.
What had he said?

“Like I said, I’m weird,” she remarked, wrinkling her nose
in a way that was undeniably cute.

“You’re beautiful. Kindly don’t put yourself down around me.
It’ll piss me off. That’s one thing you really don’t want to do.”

“You’d never hurt me,” she challenged.

“Not in any way that would harm you, no. But if you keep
flirting with Remy Sinclair, I’m going to make sure you don’t sit right for a
week.”

Morgan shook her head as if she couldn’t believe he’d just
promised her a spanking if she flirted with Remy again. And she could be sure
he would honor that promise.

“Even though he’s tall, dark and hot, he’s a friend, Ethan,
nothing more. He wants my expertise for his show.”

Jealousy lanced through Ethan’s heart and aimed right for
his balls, gripping so tight he had to grit his teeth to keep from finding the
nearest chair so he could teach Morgan a lesson she’d never forget.

For a virgin to the lifestyle, she instinctively knew how to
test her Dom. “Honey, that man wants you in his bed. I don’t need to be psychic
to know that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Detective. He knows my stance on
that subject and hasn’t once stepped over the line. He’s a good guy. You should
get to know him.”

“Why? So you can get my permission to date him? Not going to
happen.”

“You’re being intentionally difficult. I’m done with this
dance,” she decided, making an attempt to free herself.

Ethan tightened his arms about her trim waist and kept her
nestled right up against him. “Stay with me. I haven’t said you could go
anywhere. You want to run away because you’re scared of how you feel around me.
Admit it.”

“Anyone tell you that you’re as arrogant as Phalen and as
much of a pain in the ass as Taran?” She lifted her chin defiantly. Her
shoulders were straight and spine set. If she radiated any more tension, Ethan
feared she might snap.

“The three of us are alike in many ways, I’ll grant you
that. But I’m my own man. Admit how you feel about me.”

“And feed your ego? Not.” She tossed her head, the intricate
topknot of long auburn hair barely even budging. Morgan could be a saucy little
thing when she wanted to be and always sexy as hell.

“It’s the magic of hairspray and a lot of carefully placed
bobby pins,” she said after he’d stared at her hair for a minute to see how the
style survived that display of attitude. “No magic or supernatural energy was
spent on the outcome of this hairstyle.”

“It looks real pretty. I like it. But I prefer when you wear
it long. Can’t wait to bury my hands and face in it.”

“Try that tonight and you’ll end up scratching your eyes out
or cutting yourself. As it is, it’ll take some heavy-duty shampooing to get it
back to normal.”

“Any chance I can help with that? I’ve excellent hands.
Besides, I wouldn’t want you to suffer an injury if you attempt to unravel that
topknot alone.”

Morgan did something she rarely did with him these days. She
smiled. Along with the healthy flush warming her pretty face, her even white
teeth were perfect and made him think of places on his body she was more than
welcome to nibble at will.

“My goodness, Maddox charm didn’t skip a generation at all
with you. Don’t worry, Detective, I’m twenty-eight, I can handle showering all
on my own,” she answered, seeming unaware that even as she refused his help in
the shower, she’d nodded yes.

“Say my name, Morgan.”

“I’ve said it before.”

“Do it anyway. I like the sound of it coming from your
lips.” Unfortunately, his attempt to charm fell flat. Not because he wasn’t
making progress, but because the couples on the dance floor started gyrating to
LMFAO’s “Party Rock Anthem”.

“Slow song’s ended, Ethan. You can let go now.”

“Song may have ended, but I’m not letting go anytime soon.
Come with me.”