Innocence Defied (New York) (24 page)

Dominance. Submission. Murder. And that’s just before lunch.

Damaged Goods

© 2012 Lainey Reese

New York, Book 2

Homicide detective Brice Marshall’s current case has him stymied and frustrated. A serial killer is slaughtering young women. After a long, fruitless day poring over the most gruesome evidence he’s ever seen, he needs a break.

Stepping into his cousin’s BDSM club is a reminder that there is another part of himself. A part that has been left empty in a life ruled by work. The fact is, he’s a Dom in search of a sub. When he bumps into Terryn, a slender redhead who’s new to the scene, her wide-eyed eagerness even in the face of her nerves attracts him like gravity.

Terryn is the sub of his dreams, with the power to ease his soul. Without warning the murder case reaches ugly tentacles into the most private part of his world—the woman he wants to claim as his own. The woman whose stubborn search for the delicate balance between sub life and independence could put her directly in the path of the killer.
 

Warning: This book contains BDSM play, M/F/M ménage, graphic language and a drool-worthy Dom on the hunt for a sub
and
a killer.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Damaged Goods:

The check-in area looked a lot like a coat check you’d find in most any high-end restaurant. In a way, it was. Subs and Doms alike turned in all personal items there to be picked up when they left. What was different about this coat check was when you traded in your belongings you got either a collar or an armband instead of a ticket stub. Doms got armbands, subs got a collar.

Brice relaxed and leaned against the doorframe while he waited as the slender redhead traded in her sparkling gold bag. He couldn’t have been more thrilled when the young woman behind the counter handed back a collar.

“Why is this one yellow?” he heard her ask.

“Because you’re not a first timer anymore,” Brice answered from where he stood. She jumped and turned to him, and Brice got a look at her from the front for the first time.

She had eyes that seemed to swallow up her heart-shaped face. They were as green as spring grass, and Brice took a moment to admire their beauty before he went on. Her features were delicate, with a small nose, high cheekbones and a slight dimple in her slightly rounded chin. She had a luscious mouth that was painted a glossy peach, and he wanted nothing more than to take a bite. He’d already noticed that she was taller than average and slender, and now he saw that although slim, she was not lacking in curves.

“The red collar is only for a sub’s first three visits. I take it this is your fourth visit?” He didn’t need her nod or the, “Yes it is, Master Brice” from Candy, the check-in girl, to let him know he was right. It was all there in her expression.

He kept his eyes on her as he stepped forward and walked behind the counter. A quick look at the collar clutched in her hands assured him she wasn’t already taken. A claimed sub had cuffs attached to her collar, or at least a chain. This one had neither. With a nod to Candy conveying she should keep an eye on the sub for him, he went to stow his things and get his band.

He wasn’t gone for a minute, but he was still impressed that she hadn’t moved at all while waiting. It boded well for what he had in mind. Her eyes fixated on the black band he now had on his bicep as he rounded the counter and approached her.

“Eyes down, sub,” he said as he took the collar from her fingers and clasped it on her slender neck. When she instinctively tried to step back and didn’t lower her eyes, he gathered the hair at her nape and held tight. He applied stronger and stronger pressure until she gave a small gasp and arched into his grip. “I know you are new, but even with only three nights here, you would have been taught the basics.” He watched her for signs of reluctance or discomfort as she struggled to obey him.

What he saw was a strong, independent young woman who was having trouble coming to terms with the submissive side of her nature. Her pupils were dilated, there was a flush in her cheeks and her lips were parted and moist. All signs that she was aroused by what was happening. She also had her fists clenched and her eyebrows wrinkled in a frown. That showed him that she was not quite comfortable with the knowledge that this was exciting her.

It was just the combination of emotions that a Dom found irresistible. At least a Dom like him. Here was a woman who had a whole world of discovery ahead of her. The thought of all the firsts that she had yet to experience was a heady rush.

“You know,” he said in a mild voice, “there are Doms out there who like subs already trained and broken in. Subs who know the rules and will bend and yield to their Will readily and easily.” He smiled and tightened his grip on her hair. “I am not that kind of Dom.”

Terryn gulped and tried not to squeak. This guy was seriously hot. He had to be over six feet, with dark hair, chocolate-brown eyes and a great face. It was classic, she thought, and so beautifully male it made her think of men like Cary Grant and Rock Hudson, back when tall, dark and handsome was really tall and dark and handsome.

Here he was, movie-star perfect, and he was a Master. A Master who had her by the hair. Terryn wondered if maybe she was home in bed, because this had to be a dream.

“Um.” Terryn wasn’t sure if she was allowed to speak or not, but she risked it. “I have had some training.” He quirked an eyebrow at her in an expression that spoke volumes, and she finally lowered her eyes and added, “Sir. Um, Master?” Something in her chest warmed when he chuckled and released her hair.

“Come with me, little sub, and you can tell me just what kind of training you’ve had so far.” He turned and walked toward the lounge area.

She risked a quick look at Candy, who’d been very helpful and nice on her previous visits. Candy gave her a smile and thumbs-up that Terryn decided was approval of the Dom. Then she hurried after him, with eyes down. She only lowered them as far as it took to watch the way the muscles in his rear moved and flexed as he walked. The man had one fine rearview.

“Sub.” Terryn jumped in surprise when he spoke over his shoulder, “Eyes on the floor.”

With a guilty blush that she felt staining her cheeks, she peeked up to see him watching her through one of the mirrors on the wall. “Oops,” she said, and this time lowered her eyes all the way and followed him to a deep burgundy chair.

The chair was plush and inviting and looked big enough to hold a family of four…until he sat in it. All of a sudden, there wasn’t enough room for her. He was solidly built, and he sat sprawled in the middle of the chair with his legs stretched out. The position left only inches on either side of him to spare.

Terryn took a deep breath. This is what she wanted. This is what she was looking for. She’d been reading about the D/s lifestyle for months, and now it was happening. She took a deep breath, wrestled her inner feminist to the ground and knelt at his feet.

A Dom double-teamed by two submissives? He doesn’t stand a chance.

Chains and Canes

© 2013 Katie Porter

Club Devant, Book 2

Wealthy businessman Daniel Baker doesn’t have a creative bone in his body, but he knows art and craves beauty. Contemporary dancer Naya Ortiz, his fiancée of three years, embodies both. His protective commitment to her happiness extends to hiring Dominas to satisfy the sexual masochism she craves.

The balance of their relationship is tipped when Naya dances with reckless Cajun choreographer Remy Lomand. His magnetism as a Dom carries over to a backstage encounter that leaves Naya breathless—and Daniel unable to look away.

Remy knows the deal. The fancy people want to play with a disposable boy toy. He’s fine with that…but not with letting Daniel remain a bystander. As their sessions intensify, Remy guides Daniel’s awakening as a sexual submissive. Their no-strings threesome reveals the physical connection Daniel and Naya have lacked—and the emotional depth Remy fears.

When Remy and Naya tirelessly work to found a professional dance company, Daniel is left on the outside looking in. And although he and Naya are ready to submit to Remy for the rest of their lives, the man they call
Sir
may not want their love at all.

Warning: A sexy-as-hell Cajun choreographer plays slap, tickle, chains and canes with a caliente Puerto Rican dancer and her repressed businessman fiancé. What could possibly go wrong?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Chains and Canes:

“Naya’s safe word is red.”

“My, oh my. Safe words and everything.” Remy rubbed a thumb over the edge of the belt wrapped around his hand. Even that small twitch made his carved biceps shift all the way up to the shoulder decorated by a circular black tattoo. He lowered his arrogant chin, his expression filled with mirth. “Did you two learn that from a naughty book? Maybe one with a black-and-white cover?”

Daniel chuckled. He hadn’t expected to like Remy’s dry sense of humor. It should’ve been enough to see the liquid way he moved, as if he were the personification of dance, even off the stage. Just like Naya. The bonus was a whipcord-fast mind and bitingly incisive observations.

“No,” Daniel said. “We’ve been at this a while. You’ll see.”

If he were a different man, he would’ve jerked Naya’s thick hair and forced her to her knees in a deliberate echo of Remy’s backstage behavior. The problem was that he
wasn’t
that man. The right moves occurred to him, knowing intimately what Naya craved…but it wasn’t in him to bring her down.

Remy didn’t have that problem. At all. “On your knees, hands behind your neck. Present your pretty self to me.”

Daniel’s stomach flipped with a surge of excitement. Naya dropped. Her knees spread to shoulder width apart, toes together behind her ass. She lifted her elbows, which dragged the T-shirt up to display her flat stomach. She buried her hands beneath the glossy fall of her hair.

Unable to help himself, Daniel stepped back. He wasn’t supposed to be in that tableau, not when Remy loomed over Naya. The Cajun was a sinuous curve of muscle and tendon. His dark hair skimmed the back of his neck and stood up straight on top, as if he’d run his fingers through it before getting off the elevator.

Naya’s gaze dropped to the renewable wood floors. The bamboo had been polished to such a shine that she’d be able to see them both watching her. She’d feed off that. Submissive and showoff together. The worst punishment a Domina had ever inflicted was ordering Naya to put her nose in the corner. The blonde had left her there for over twenty minutes.

That unpleasant memory returned Daniel to the topic of rules. They’d learned so much as a couple, despite the fact Daniel had never lifted a hand to do her harm. “No blood play. No needles or permanent marks. Humiliation does nothing for her.”

“There’s a difference between humiliation and being presented such a lovely gift.” Remy’s gaze roamed over her beautiful pose. Then he looked up and pinned Daniel with his magnetism. A simple silver bar pierced his right eyebrow, accentuating his eyes.
Look at me,
it said.
Pay attention here. I’ll teach you things.

“Permission to speak?” Naya asked in a soft voice. Her tone was different now. She wasn’t the firebrand who could drill a phrase of steps into two dozen dancers in just a few minutes. She’d already hit that headspace, which Daniel desired almost as much as she did.

His chest clenched on a greedy jolt. This was the good stuff, his angel reaching her full potential and happiness.

He lifted his eyebrows at Remy. “Well?”

The grin that shaped Remy’s finely carved features was…slinky. Knowledgeable. “Am I in charge yet? No other rules? You’re leaving me a lot of room to play. I like that.”

There were other things Daniel could say. Warnings that Naya wouldn’t fuck Remy, that the sexual aspect was something only Daniel shared with her. After she came down, safe and cared for, she always turned to him.

Except for the first time, he didn’t want to say that. He didn’t want to…close it off.

“If Naya says red, it’s all off. No matter what.”

“Of course. A gentleman always respects a lady’s wishes. I decided awful young I didn’t want to be a man who didn’t.”

He dipped his head, which made Daniel wonder once again what secrets he hid. Some of them, at least, were unhappy.

Only Remy didn’t look unhappy now. “Permission granted, sweetling.”

He’d made her wait all that time, assured that she
would
wait. That it was his
right
to make her wait. Daniel could’ve achieved the same display of authority around a boardroom table. Easily. That would have involved strategy and power and defeating lesser opponents. None of that applied to the woman he loved.

Her lashes fluttered. The face-down pose didn’t permit a hint of her thoughts, but Daniel read how her shoulders remained curved and loose, even with the hands behind her neck still perfectly poised. With her dancer’s physique, holding the position was nothing too strenuous. Instead it was the meaning of it, kneeling at the feet of two men.

She cleared her throat, as if asking permission again. “I don’t know what to call you.”