Praise for Angela Knight and her novels
“If you like alpha heroes, wild rides, and pages that sizzle in your hand, you’re going to love [Angela Knight]!”
—J. R. Ward, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Chills, thrills, and a super hero and heroine will have readers racing through this sexy tale . . . The future belongs to Knight!”
—Emma Holly, USA Today bestselling author
“The sex scenes were explosive and should have come with a warning for the reader to have a fire extinguisher handy during reading.”
—Euro-Reviews
“Delicious . . . Angela Knight brings such life to her characters . . .”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Romance, humor, and mind-blowing sex.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Sexy and unique.”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“The character chemistry is gorgeous; the sex is searing hot.”
—Errant Dreams Reviews
“What an awesome, scintillating, and sexy book!”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick)
“Solid writing . . . sexy love scenes, and likable characters. I look forward to [Knight’s] next book.”
—All About Romance
Titles by Angela Knight
Mageverse Series
MASTER OF THE NIGHT
MASTER OF THE MOON
MASTER OF WOLVES
MASTER OF SWORDS
MASTER OF DRAGONS
MASTER OF FIRE
MASTER OF SMOKE
MASTER OF SHADOWS
MASTER OF DARKNESS
The Time Hunters Series
JANE’S WARLORD
WARRIOR
GUARDIAN
Southern Shields Series
WITHOUT RESTRAINT
Specials
MOON DANCE
Anthologies
HOT BLOODED
(with Christine Feehan, Maggie Shayne, and Emma Holly)
BITE
(with Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, MaryJanice Davidson, and Vickie Taylor)
KICK ASS
(with Maggie Shayne, MaryJanice Davidson, and Jacey Ford)
MERCENARIES
CAPTIVE DREAMS
(with Diane Whiteside)
OVER THE MOON
(with MaryJanice Davidson, Virginia Kantra, and Sunny)
BEYOND THE DARK
(with Emma Holly, Lora Leigh, and Diane Whiteside)
SHIFTER
(with Lora Leigh, Alyssa Day, and Virginia Kantra)
HOT FOR THE HOLIDAYS
(with Lora Leigh, Anya Bast, and Allyson James)
BURNING UP
(with Nalini Singh, Virginia Kantra, and Meljean Brook)
WICKED GAMES
LOVE BITES
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
WITHOUT RESTRAINT
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2015 by Angela Knight.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY SENSATION® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
For more information, visit penguin.com.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62467-8
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / August 2015
Cover art by Don Sipley.
Cover design by George Long.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
For Michael, my real-life cop hero.
I’ve lost track of the number of times
you’ve saved my life, my soul, and my heart
over the past thirty years.
None of it would mean a damn thing without you.
And for America’s law enforcement community,
who risk their lives to help others
for very little in the way of pay or respect.
They make the world a better place every single day,
whether the rest of us know it or not.
A lot of people made this book possible. First I’d like to thank Dr. James Hunter, Oncologist, whose swift action and skill helped me survive ovarian cancer while writing this book. Dr. Hunter, along with Dr. Sarah Tillman, and his office staff registered nurse Lynette Kemp, Sara Camp, and Tiffany Shelton, were endlessly kind and patient with my questions and fears. I could not have been in better hands.
As always, I would like to thank my beta readers and critique partners, Joey W. Hill, Shelby Morgen, Kate Douglas, Diane Whiteside, Camille Anthony, Marteeka Karland, and Virginia Ettel, aka Bookdragon . They have always been willing to read my work, often at the last minute, flagging typos, errors in logic, and at times utter stupidity. They’re dear friends and wonderful writers.
And I would like to thank my editor of more than a decade, Cindy Hwang. She has always been patient, but I was never more desperately in need of her understanding than during this book, when I struggled with first a broken leg, then cancer, then surgical complications. Thanks also to my agent, Jessica Faust of Bookends, who dealt with my drama without turning a hair.
And thanks to personal trainer Cory Matheson of Gold’s Gym, who has helped me gain new physical strength after this year’s adventures. I wouldn’t have bounced back from cancer so quickly without his help.
CONTENTS
Praise for Angela Knight and her novels
Titles by Angela Knight
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER ONE
October 10
Bruce Greer had always had a talent for breaking and entering. Of course, it had been years since he’d done it—he’d been walking the straight and narrow for almost a decade now. But after what he’d done six weeks ago, that was over and done.
Besides, he was really pissed.
The lock was a good one, but he’d learned to break into houses at his daddy’s knee. Steve Greer’s interests had been too expensive to fund on a mechanic’s salary, so they’d had to find other sources of income. Daddy was so good, the cops never caught them. Otherwise Bruce wouldn’t have his current job.
He used the picks with delicate skill, ignoring the sweat cooling on his face in the October air as he sought the familiar click and give of the lock’s pins. I’ve got plenty of time. The bastard won’t be back from the gym for another hour.
Good thing his target was such a creature of habit. He’d had the man under surveilla
nce for weeks since he’d learned what they’d done to him. How they’d lied to him.
Especially Alex.
The thought of her betrayal sent a hot knife of anger slicing into his heart. He’d loved her since they were kids, and she’d done nothing but lie. Only pretended they could become lovers again.
All a lie. She’d been laughing at him the whole time.
Nobody laughed at a Greer.
There had to be an accounting. By the time he was done, they’d all bleed. Her. Her family. Her friends.
They all owed him blood.
The lock clicked open beneath the delicate manipulation of his picks. He lifted his bag, opened the door, and walked into the house.
October 20
Alexis Rogers had never been this turned on in her life. Especially not from watching somebody else have sex.
And how the hell did Frank turn swinging a bullwhip into a sex act? Not just a kink act—something that aroused you if you had a little twist in that direction. Which admittedly, Alex did.
The big man used the lash with sensuality, as if he were eating out the blonde lying across the spanking bench. Plump, pretty, and naked, Tara merely groaned in woozy pleasure.
The overhead spotlight caught the wet glisten of her rosy vaginal lips. She lay with wrists and ankles cuffed to the bench’s legs, the wedge-shaped custom padding raising her hips higher than her head.
Forty people surrounded Frank and the girl in the house’s sprawling basement dungeon, watching the scene with rapt interest. One of them was Tara’s husband, who leaned a shoulder against the nearest oak support column. Roy was a wiry Dominant with thinning blond hair and a long bony face. His hazel eyes were fixed on his wife with protective intensity. Though he loved bondage and emotional domination, Roy often said he couldn’t bring himself to hurt his masochistic submissive. Rather than deprive her of what she needed, he liked to arrange for someone else to provide the impact play Tara craved.
Apparently, Frank had volunteered to provide the foreplay this time. And foreplay was all he’d be getting out of it; Tara and Roy never had penetrative sex with anyone but each other.
Alex intended to make it up to Frank—and God, she couldn’t wait. Captain Kyle Miller, host of tonight’s party, had been singing the big Dominant’s praises for years. She gathered they’d served in the Navy together before Cap retired and returned to Atlanta with his wife, Joanne.
Now Frank and his bullwhip had moved to the area, too. Alex looked forward to sampling his skills. If Cap was to be believed, Frank was the Dom of her dreams. Alex believed him, since the Millers took their kink seriously.
Just look at their basement dungeon.
Running the whole length of the huge brick colonial, it was a suitably menacing space with cement block walls painted flat black, recessed lighting, and square oak support beams, also painted black. Home dungeon or not, it was as well furnished as any upscale New York sex club, with spanking benches, St. Andrew’s Crosses, stocks, cages, manacles, and just about anything else horny kinksters could use in pursuit of an orgasm. Cap had built the majority of the equipment himself; he was, according to his wife, good with his hands. She usually leered cheerfully when she said it.
At the moment, several pieces of that gear had been shoved aside to give Frank room to swing his whip. Tara lay at one end of that space, spread wide and chained down in all her glorious submissive nudity.
CRACK! The popper—the fringe at the very tip of the bullwhip—struck her reddening ass. The lash ought to sting like a bitch, but Tara seemed to feel no pain. Just the reverse, judging by her pleasure-drunk moans.
He’d built the intensity slowly, starting with a spanking, then progressing through two different floggers—the first deerskin, the second with thinner tresses that left thin red lines against her creamy skin. The blows he’d given her were just hard enough to make her squirm, pant, and occasionally yelp. Only when he judged her properly warmed up had he brought out the bullwhip.
A single tail could cut like a meat cleaver if you didn’t know what you were doing—or inflict nothing more than a sharp sting if you did.
Frank knew what he was doing, and he was careful about doing it. He had to be. He was a Dominant, a practitioner of BDSM—a blended acronym for Bondage and Discipline, Dominance and Submission, and Sadomasochism. It was too easy to hurt somebody badly if you were careless playing BDSM’s edgy sexual games. No orgasm was worth that.
Still, for people like Alex and Frank, sex was an extreme sport: at its most exhilarating when spiced with danger.
Between clusters of strikes, the big Dom caressed Tara’s pussy and reddening ass. The combination of pain and pleasure had sent her flying into what the community called “subspace,” a high caused by a combination of endorphins and adrenaline. Pursuit of the floating euphoria drove subs to seek out Dominants like Frank. Skilled, a little sadistic, with a keen understanding of a submissive’s sexual needs.
The whip cracked into another hissing arc. Frank watched Tara as if savoring every twitch of her lush ass and flex of her fingers, every heartfelt plea and whimper. As he moved, he swung the whip with a bullfighter’s elegant grace.
Alex figured him at 6 feet 5 or 6 inches, maybe two hundred and forty deliciously muscled pounds. Frank’s shirtless torso was brawny enough to make Michelangelo’s David grit his marble teeth in envy. Adding to his erotic appeal, his long legs were clad in faded jeans tucked into polished leather riding boots. God, she’d always had a thing for riding boots.
He had the perfect Dom’s face, handsome but intimidating. His nose was just short of hawkish, while his broad jaw had a strong cleft chin. He wore his black hair in a military cut that emphasized the angularity of his features.
As if to belie the stark male aggression of the rest of his face, he had a dreamer’s mouth. Lower lip plump, upper with a pronounced bow, it looked soft, deliciously kissable.
Alex couldn’t wait to kiss that mouth—and work her way down the rest of Frank’s glorious body to the erection bulging behind his fly. Sweet Jesus, it looked like he’d stuffed a rolling pin in there.
Patience, Alex. Captain Kyle, their kinkster matchmaker, had promised to introduce them after the scene.
CRACK!
Powerful muscle rippled along Frank’s right arm as he popped the whip against Tara’s ass. The sub caught her breath, then let it out in a long, erotic groan.
“Rate it,” he ordered. His smoky voice seemed to curl around Alex’s aroused body like sandalwood incense.
Tara moaned something that definitely didn’t sound like pain. He strode around the spanking bench, wrapped a huge fist in her cascade of curls, and jerked her head back with a Dominant’s showy snarl. “When I ask you a question, you damned well answer. Talk to me!”
“Uh . . .” The girl panted. “I don’t . . .” Yeah, she was definitely flying, as stoned on endorphins as a Woodstock hippie on a joint the size of a redwood.
Frank glanced toward Roy. Tara’s husband nodded and picked up the blanket and bottle of water he’d had waiting for this moment. The physical aftereffects of subspace could include a drop in body temperature and blood sugar; a responsible Top came prepared.
Crouching by Tara’s head, Frank began talking to her in a low voice as her husband joined them.
“I’ve always thought you can tell the most about a Dom by what he does after he puts down the whip,” Calvin Stephens commented from Alex’s right. He was a tall young man with the build of a marathon runner, flamboyantly displayed by a submissive’s leather harness and snug black shorts. “An asshole would walk away and let Roy handle the aftercare. Frank’s doing his part, which says something about his sense of responsibility.”
Cal turned to the man next to him with a wicked grin on his narrow, clever face. His white teeth appeared to glow against his dark skin. “You give great aftercare, too, sir.”
Ted Arlington snorted and folded his arms. His black tee revealed impressive biceps. He had a broad, intense
ly masculine face with a wide mouth, a round bulb of a nose, and a thick blond mustache. Though a head shorter than his lover, he was all muscle and power. Anybody who tried to target Ted in a game of “beat the cop” soon regretted it. “You’re just saying that because I always give you cock as part of the package.”
Cal grinned wickedly, dipping his dark gaze to the zipper of his Dominant’s black leathers. “And what a nice package it is, sir.”
“Suck-up.”
“But you like it when I suck.”
“You’re pushing it, subbie.”
“Every chance I get, sir. More fun that way.”
As her friends flirted, Alex’s gaze slid across the basement in search of Frank.
He’d helped Roy unbuckle Tara from the spanking bench so the two men could wrap her in the blanket. Roy half-carried her to one of the couches that stood against the walls. Pulling what was probably an energy bar from his pocket, Frank sank down beside the couple to unwrap it for her. Meanwhile, Roy helped her with the bottle of water she was too buzzed to manage on her own.
“Cal’s right, Frank does look like a good Dom,” Alex said, with a nod toward the trio. “I’m impressed.”
Ted eyed her, a blond brow lifting. “That’s not saying much. Hell, Gary impressed you.”
Alex forced a smile to hide her flinch. “Well, Gary was very pretty.”
“So’s a coral snake. I still wouldn’t fuck one.”
“Sir,” Cal put in, “you do know gay men are supposed to be sensitive, right?”
“Sass me one more time, subbie, and you’ll be sensitive for the next week.”
Cal sighed under the weight of world-weary skepticism. “All I get are promises. Sad, empty promises.”
“You do know your ass is getting more stripes than a zebra’s?”
“God, I hope so.”
Ignoring that, Ted turned to her. “As for you, I want to talk to this Frank before you traipse off to scene with him. You ain’t getting hurt by another Danger Dom on my watch.”
“Ted, Cap wouldn’t fix me up with somebody like that.”
“I somehow doubt the Captain has ever slept with Frank, much less subbed for him.”
Without Restraint Page 1