“You’re not mistaken, sir,” Cal assured him. “Cap definitely doesn’t bat for our team.”
“And how would you know?” Alex narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “Been flirting?”
“With the Captain?” He recoiled in mock horror. “God, no. He scares me. He looks like Captain Picard’s bigger, meaner brother.”
“You are such a nerd, Cal.”
“Hey, my mom’s a fan. She raised me on reruns of Next Gen.”
“Your mom,” Alex drawled, pumping skepticism into her voice. “Riiiiiiight. Tell it to somebody who doesn’t know you and fellow fanboys. I’ve heard y’all argue Kirk versus Picard on the Captain Coolness scale too many times.”
“I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again—Kirk is much cooler. Take how—”
“I’m serious, Alex,” Ted interrupted. “This Frank guy makes Gary look like the ‘before’ fatty in a Bowflex ad.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll be careful.”
“None of your lip.” He glowered at her. “Don’t think I won’t whip your little ass as hard as the subbie’s.”
“Better watch out, PoPo,” Cal put in, using the slang term for police he’d made her nickname. “He means it.”
“Yeah, okay, I hear you.” Her gaze slid back toward Frank again.
Ted turned to his submissive. “I just wasted my breath, didn’t I?”
“Might as well try to blow out a forest fire like a candle on a cake. She’s completely under his evil spell.” Cal’s voice turned dreamy. “His muscular, towering, evil, evil spell.”
“I am definitely whupping your ass.”
Cal merely grinned, looking distinctly smug at the prospect.
* * *
The redhead was driving Frank Murphy crazy. Alex—they’d exchanged e-mails, but she hadn’t revealed her last name yet—wore the proverbial little black dress that hugged some luscious curves. Throw in lace-stocking-clad legs in stiletto heels, and it was no wonder he was tripping over his tongue. Which was unacceptable, especially when he was providing aftercare to somebody he’d just whipped into subspace.
Focus on Tara, dammit. He’d told Roy he’d take care of his wife, and he’d do it if it killed him.
Be easier if he could throw a burqa over Alex, though. Those legs . . . God, the Leg Fairy had been good to the girl. Endless as a Fallujah patrol, with long, lean muscle in thigh and calf that flexed every time she twitched a do-me heel. He’d bet his Budweiser she ran every fucking day. He’d love to have her wrap his ass in those legs while he ground in nice and deep . . .
No wonder he had a hard-on up to his navel.
Tara, dammit. Get your mind back on Tara. Discipline usually wasn’t this big a problem. Between Iraq, Afghanistan, and his mother—and all their respective IEDs, whether literal or not—Frank knew how to gut through almost anything.
Roy looked up at him over Tara’s blond head. “I can take it from here. Go talk to Alex.”
He stiffened. Was his distraction that damned obvious?
“You done good, Frank,” the Dom reassured him. “It’s going to take me three hours to pull Tara down out of orbit . . . assuming she stays awake that long. I only know about Alex because Cap’s been planning to set you two up for months.”
“Ah. All right. Look, thanks for trusting me to scene with your wife.” Smiling, he shook Roy’s hand as he rose to his feet. “You’re a lucky man.”
“Don’t I know it.” The blond Dom gave his wife a tender smile as she leaned against his shoulder. Tara sent him a slow, dazed blink in return. “See you later, Frank.”
“Later.” Starting off through the crowd, Frank scanned for his host, wanting the introduction Cap had promised him.
“Nice scene, son,” a voice rumbled from behind him. “You flew that girl like the space shuttle.”
He turned with a smile. “Not as high as you’d have sent her.”
“Now you’re just flattering an old man’s ego.” Captain Kyle Miller was a tall man, wiry and tough, with a fringe of gray hair around an otherwise bald head. That blue-eyed stare of his could make even Frank want to drop his gaze. His black slacks and navy golf shirt covered a build that was still respectable, though his SEAL tours in ’Nam were forty years in the past.
“Let’s go get you properly introduced,” Cap said, and turned to lead the way through the basement. Classic rock pounded in the background as people in latex, lace, and leather gathered around assorted bondage gear, preparing for their own kinky scenes now that Frank’s bullwhip demo was over. “Y’all made contact yet?”
Frank shrugged, sidestepping a naked girl walking on a leash behind a short Domme in a green leather catsuit. “Exchanged a few e-mails, a photo or two, chatted on the phone a couple of times. Enough to know both of us have tested negative for STDs recently. I’ve been so busy getting all the requirements done for the new job—not to mention stuff with my mom—that we haven’t managed an actual date yet.” He frowned. “Alex hasn’t told me much, beyond that she’s not married.”
Cap shrugged. “I’m not surprised. She’s pretty deep in the closet, as far as the Scene goes. Most everybody at the party tonight is.”
“Including me.” Being known as kinky could get you fired or ostracized. People had even lost their kids over BDSM.
Which was why, as in the movie Fight Club, many kinksters never publicly discussed what they’d done, where they’d done it, or who they’d done it with. The price of running your mouth could be entirely too high.
As his attention focused on Alex, Frank put out a hand to stop his friend. “Who’s the guy? The glaring blond fireplug with Alex and the black kid. I thought she wasn’t involved with anybody.” The man wore the leather pants and black T-shirt that was a popular uniform for Dominants. The kid—he looked to be in his mid-twenties—was dressed in an artistic arrangement of straps, the male submissive’s answer to lingerie.
“That’s Ted. He and the kid are a couple.”
“So what’s with the glare? They in a ménage with Alex?” Frank was the last man to poach. Not after Sherry.
“That’d be damned near incest, the way Ted is about that girl. You’d think he was her daddy, he’s so protective.” Cap grimaced, as if at an unpleasant memory. “The glare is probably because Ted absolutely hated her last Dom. Not that you could blame him. That one was such a prick, he should have worn a condom over his head as a warning to the rest of us.” Correctly interpreting Frank’s wary expression, he added, “Don’t worry about Ted, I’ll deal with him. You concentrate on Alex.”
“Okaaaay,” Frank said, dubious. He wasn’t sure he needed any more drama in his life.
Alex turned toward him, pivoting on those incredible legs, gleaming red hair curling around her shoulders, her little black dress hugging bra-challenged breasts and curvy hips. When she saw him, a smile lit her face like a sunrise.
On the other hand, what’s life without a little drama?
* * *
Good God, he’s huge, Alex thought, staring up at Frank Murphy as Cap performed the introductions. She wasn’t used to being towered over, especially not in heels that had her scraping 6 feet 1. If he got drunk and disorderly on me on the street, I’d have to shoot him. Otherwise he’d kick my ass.
Of course, if she did shoot him, the rest of the female population would rise up en masse and lynch her. The man was even more mouthwatering up close than he’d appeared from across the room. His chest alone seemed to take up her entire field of vision. And she definitely approved of the view.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Alex,” Frank said, engulfing her hand in a big, callused palm and long, strong fingers.
“I can definitely say the same.” His eyes were deep and dark gray, staring into hers in the kind of hypnotic Dom stare that made her want to give him anything he wanted. Especially if what he wanted was her. She suspected her smile looked besotted. Her nipples had hardened into tiny erections. His eyes flicked down to the tight silk bodice of her dress
, then flicked up again, darkening hungrily. She swallowed. “Impressive flogging demo.”
“You do seem to know your way around a whip,” Ted said. The words were complimentary. The tone was dubious.
“I’ve sacrificed many pillows to the bondage gods.” Dominants were often told to practice their whip skills on pillows until they could throw a lash precisely where they wanted it. It was a hell of a lot harder than it looked. “Damned near lost an eye once, too. You can bet I never forgot those safety glasses again.”
“Good for you. Got any references?”
“Yes, and I already checked them,” Alex told Ted, losing patience. He was deliberately trying to yank Frank’s chain.
Cap moved up behind her friend and clapped a hand on the shorter man’s beefy shoulder. “Come on, Ted, I’ll get you a beer.”
“I don’t drink when I’m sceneing,” the cop growled, glaring at Frank like a protective father trying to warn off a Hells Angel.
“Then I’ll get you a Coke.” The ex-SEAL dragged him away. Cal rolled his eyes, gave Alex a wink, and followed them.
One dark brow lifted, Frank watched them head for the refreshment table set up beyond the bondage equipment. “Protective, isn’t he?”
Alex sent a fond smile after her friends. “Can’t seem to break him of the habit.”
A woman yowled as her Dom barked a command over the classic rock booming from the sound system. At the moment, Jim Morrison badly wanted someone to light his fire. Alex had to raise her voice to be heard. “Want to step into the other room? We can’t exactly talk in here.”
“That depends. Will Ted feel driven to defend your honor?”
“I’ll protect you.”
He grinned at her, gray eyes crinkling over wolfish white teeth. “Got a deal. Want something to drink? I’m dry from that flogging.”
“Sure.” She followed him over to a cooler and took one of the canned soft drinks he handed her. Neither of them reached for a beer. Ted was right; only an idiot drank when he scened. BDSM was dangerous enough stone sober. Besides, the whole point of kinky games was the pursuit of a different kind of high.
Someone yelped as his Domme swatted his ass with her riding crop. Morrison was getting insistent about his fire.
Rising to her tiptoes, Alex called into Frank’s ear, “Want to head somewhere quieter? There are a couple of private scene rooms across the hall.”
“Yeah!” Frank called back. “I can’t even hear myself think in here. It’s for damn sure we can’t negotiate.”
Together, they wound their way through the crowd and out of the main dungeon into a hallway. Three smaller rooms and a powder room lay opposite, with the stairs leading to the rest of the house at the other end of the hall.
Two of the rooms were occupied, judging by the lusty sounds coming through their closed doors. Fortunately for Alex’s frustration level, the door to the third room stood open. She threw Frank a questioning look. He shrugged. “Why not?”
Leading the way in, he flipped on the light to reveal a home gym instead of the pocket dungeon they were expecting. A treadmill, a small wall-hung flat screen, and a set of free weights shared space with a stack of padded mats that probably did duty during yoga or self-defense practice. Or knowing the Millers, sex.
“What do you think?” Alex asked.
Frank shrugged. “At least we can hear what we’re agreeing to.”
She closed the door, muting Morrison’s wail. Frank was right—nobody scened without negotiating. There was a BDSM saying: once trussed like a turkey, you didn’t want to discover your plans differed from those of the guy with the whip.
The skirt of her Little Black Dress was just loose enough to let Alex lower herself down on the stacked mats. Frank sat next to her, stretching his long legs out and crossing his booted feet at the ankles.
“Nice job getting Tara into subspace, by the way.” She popped the top on the Coke and took a sip. “Not that I’m surprised. Both your references had good things to say about you.” She might be an adrenaline junkie, but Alex wasn’t stupid; she’d called his former subs. BDSM attracted its share of abusive assholes, as Gary had painfully demonstrated. “They said you play responsibly and have a chivalrous streak that’s surprisingly wide for a guy who likes riding crops. And judging by the way Cap sings your praises, you may be his favorite person on the planet. Except for Mrs. Cap, of course.”
“Cap’s a hell of a guy. He taught me the ropes when I was just starting out on the scene.” Frank eyed her over his Mountain Dew. “He thinks a lot of you, too.”
“Really? Cool.” She leaned back on her elbows, enjoying the way his gaze skimmed the length of her legs. “What’d you think of my limits list?” The question didn’t sound quite as casual as she would have liked, though she hoped her tension didn’t show.
He grinned, flashing white teeth. “I’m shocked—shocked, I say—by your wanton depravity. And I’m wanton to fuck your brains out.”
She grinned back. “Smartass.”
“You do know I’m going to have to punish you for that?” He delivered the threat in a velvet purr that made her want to squirm.
“Feel free.”
“Mmmm.” Frank gave her a slow, wicked smile. “Our tastes do seem to align pretty well.”
Alex had thought the same thing when she’d read his list of hard limits—things he absolutely wouldn’t do—soft limits—things he’d consider doing—and fantasies. It had read a lot like the one she’d written about her own tastes.
On the other hand, she’d thought she was a good match with Gary, too.
Sobering, Frank studied her, as if sensing the battle between her doubts and her desire. “Why don’t we see how this evening goes?”
Alex blew out a breath. “That might be wise.”
He started to lean toward her, only to stop. “May I kiss you?” A polite Dominant never touched a sub without permission.
Her heart began to pound. “Yes.” She swallowed, cleared her throat. “I’d like that.”
Hot approval flared in his eyes, and he lowered his head toward hers.
His lips felt just as soft as they looked, tasting of Mountain Dew and masculinity. One big hand came up to cup her cheek, his fingers long and strong and warm. His broad body curled around hers, making her feel sheltered and protected. It wasn’t a sensation she was used to. She was surprised at how seductive it was.
She reached for him, feeling the hot flesh of his ribs under her palm.
And sighed, melting into him.
CHAPTER TWO
God, she tastes exquisite, Frank thought, his mouth moving gently, carefully, on hers. His tongue traced over the soft curves of her lips until they parted in a low moan of passion. He entered slowly, drinking in the sex and sin of her mouth.
Alex moaned, her body lithe against his, hands pleasantly cool on his bare chest. Her nipples felt hard as cherry stones beneath the snug bodice of her dress. His cock, already hard from the sight of those prima ballerina legs, jerked at the sensual promise in her kiss.
Before today’s flogging demo, it had been a year and a half since he’d even spanked a sub. Between training for his new job and taking care of his mother, he hadn’t had time to search for a lover. After what had happened with Sherry, he hadn’t been in a hurry to look. At least not until Cap had started singing Alex’s praises.
No wonder I’m losing it. I’m deprived. His lips twitched. Or maybe depraved might be closer to it.
She eased back a fraction and opened her eyes, vividly green, a little dazed. He reached up, unable to resist stroking a hand through her blazing curls. Her hair felt like cool, raw silk and smelled of pomegranate shampoo. “What do you want in a Dominant? What drew you to the scene?”
Swallowing, Alex licked her lips. He almost bent to take her mouth again. “I like . . .” She paused to consider. “Testing myself. Being tied up, helpless, while a Dom does whatever the hell he wants. The risk, the heat . . . It’s sexy. Seeing how much I can take when
he tests me, tries to drive me past my limits with pain or need.”
He traced a forefinger across her lips, was gratified when her little pink tongue darted out to taste him. “And what do you want in a Dom?”
She lifted her gaze, met his eyes steadily. “If my Dom wants me on my knees, I want him strong enough to put me there.”
He gave her a slow smile. Resisted the urge to flex. “I think I can manage.”
Her answering smile was a wicked scarlet curve. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” The smile faded into seriousness. “If you’re looking for a twenty-four/seven sub to kiss your boots, I’m not your girl.” Her gaze flicked down his legs. “Though they are really nice boots.”
“You a brat?” He’d never liked brats.
“No, I’m an adult. I don’t need somebody to spank me for being a bad girl. I’ve already got one daddy—two, if you count Ted. I don’t need another.”
“Then what do you need?” His voice sounded a trifle hoarse.
“A demonstration.” She paused as if at a sudden thought. Her brilliant green eyes widened, and she grinned in delight.
Alex wasted no time acting on whatever idea she’d just had. Despite her heels and snug skirt, she rose in a smooth surge and skimmed the dress off over her head, revealing a long, strong, sweetly curved body clad in a lacy garter belt and stockings. Her breasts were lush as mounds of cream, topped by taut pink nipples. Her narrow waist flared into a gorgeous ass, then sleeked down into those dancer’s legs.
As Frank stared in stunned hunger, she balanced on first one foot, then the other to slip off the fuck-me heels. “I want you to prove you can master me. Two out of three falls.”
It wasn’t that unusual for a sub to undress at a BDSM party; half the women here weren’t wearing a stitch. But Frank hadn’t expected Alex to strip before they’d even finished negotiating.
He watched hungrily as she rolled the stockings down the sleek muscle of thigh and calf. However he’d thought their first scene would go, this wasn’t it. “Two out of three falls? Are you suggesting some kind of fight?” He didn’t fight women. Not if he could help it anyway; sometimes the women had other ideas.
Without Restraint Page 2