Mistress's Master: Men in Blue, Book 3

by Jayne Rylon

  Nothing can bring her to her knees—except a dose of her own medicine.

  Men in Blue, Book 3

  Mistress Lily, proprietress of the elite Black Lily club, battles something more frightening than the dark forces of her own desire. SexOffender, a potent aphrodisiac designer drug with terrifying side effects, is ripping through the BDSM community.

  Determined to protect her charges, Lily plays a dangerous game, cozying up to the drug’s creator while secretly smuggling victims to safety. It’s a war she’s losing…until the night she spots an undercover cop at what is supposed to be a private bash.

  Blind luck scored Jeremy Radisson the break he needed to get close to Morselli. Gaining the kingpin’s trust, though, means revealing parts of his past as a legendary Dom. And teaming up with a woman who doesn’t have a submissive bone in her body, yet dominates his every fantasy.

  When Morselli unexpectedly changes the rules, Lily and Jeremy find themselves pitted against each other in a wicked game of who’s-on-top. Lily’s forced to make a desperate choice to prove her loyalty. Jeremy relies on every ounce of his power to keep her safe without blowing their cover while praying they survive long enough to find out if she’ll kneel for him…forever.

  Warning: Buckle up! This book is a one-way ticket to Dir-tay Town. Stops along the way include Massive Ménage Village, Sex Machine Square and Fisting City. What else would you expect from an experienced Mistress and the Master who tames her?

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  Mistress’s Master

  Copyright © 2011 by Jayne Rylon

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-522-7

  Edited by Bethany Morgan

  Cover by Angela Waters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2011

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Mistress’s Master

  Jayne Rylon

  Dedication

  For the special fans I’ve gotten to know including Zina, Drea, Gigi, Kitty Kelly, Ive, Dawn, Suz C and all the rest I can’t begin to name. Also to all of you I haven’t met yet online or in person. Thank you for reading!

  Chapter One

  The crack of the whip rent the air. Strips of oiled leather painted bright crimson streaks across pale skin. Shock waves originated from the impact site then radiated through the rapt audience. Jeremy wouldn’t have been surprised if the wooden bleachers they sat on tipped over since nearly all the members in attendance leaned forward in their seats. Relaxed, he reclined, slowly spinning the stem of his wineglass between his fingers.

  He closed his eyes.

  Not to avoid the scene before him. Rather to savor the crisp whistle of the expertly wielded tool. It sounded again and again. Pregnant anticipation overflowed the instant before the braided cat-o’-nine connected with its target—a fit male slave’s taut buttocks. Even Jeremy could appreciate the man’s form, as if he were a marble statue in the Smithsonian.

  Except this art lived. It breathed, groaned and…screamed.

  The slave on the receiving end of Mistress Lily’s strike jerked in the wide leather cuffs shackling him, spread eagle, facing the dungeon wall. His fists clenched, and his toes curled where they hung six inches or so off the concrete floor. The man tolerated pain well. He responded beautifully, evidence of the quality of his training.

  Another precisely placed contact blasted the audience with reverberations of the energy sparking between the slave and his Mistress. The woman—so tiny, so elegant, so gorgeous and so damn strong—could deliver extreme punishment and still seem like an avenging angel or a violent fairy. She overwhelmed Jeremy with admiration. And lust.

  The only thing better than observing her work would be to have her at his mercy.

  He placed his drink on a silver tray beside his premium seat, which she had reserved at his last-minute request. Suddenly, he feared he’d grip the delicate crystal goblet too tightly and crush the dazzling vessel. A true Master understood his strength and protected the things he valued at all times. At all costs. Even if it meant denying himself something he’d like—no, needed—to have.

  With his free hand, he adjusted his rock-hard cock. One thought of Lily ruined his ironclad control. Yet another reason he should leave her the hell alone.

  Three months had passed since he’d cornered the manager of Black Lily, an underground bondage club. He chuckled to himself. The fetish label seemed frivolous, fun and light compared to all that had gone on there. Jeremy recalled trapping Lily in her office to probe for information on his last—current, really—case.

  He’d stolen a taste of her succulent lips while they’d wrestled for dominance.

  Witnesses to her skills would have laughed him out of the dungeon if he expressed his suspicions, but he swore he’d sensed a hairline crack in her armor. That miniscule hint of surrender had driven his imagination mad every night since. He’d replayed the encounter in his mind so many times he might have worn out those brain cells.

  Tonight he didn’t have to rely on the vivid memory. Despite explicit orders from his boss—the head of the DEA task force tracking The Scientist and his designer drug—to avoid Lily’s domain, he hadn’t been able to comply with the directive. He’d sat on his hands long enough. Twelve fucking weeks worth of idleness had compelled him to take a risk when he’d caught wind of tonight’s extravaganza in Lily’s honor.

  He wouldn’t miss her going away party.

  Where the fuck did she plan to run to anyway? When would she come home?

  Something was happening. He could sense it in every fiber of his being. So why hadn’t she reached out? She wouldn’t disappear without warning. Wouldn’t abandon the legitimate submissives who begged for her mastery and relied on her to provide a safe outlet for their desires. Would she?

  All attempts to contact her had failed. She’d obviously received his veiled messages and saved him a spot. Still, she hadn’t had the guts to pick up his call or accost him in one of the shadowy recesses he’d lurked in before the show began. Son of a bitch. Had she lingered nearby, had the roles been reversed, he couldn’t have prevented himself from initiating contact.

  Damn her.

  Despite his frustration, he appraised the star of his fantasies. Her waist-length braid would make a great tether, wrapped around his wrist. Thick and shiny, it snaked down her vinyl-coated spine. The rope tapered off near the swell of her pert ass, which made his palm itch to smack it. He’d give his last month’s pay to observe it jiggle and flush red. Spanking her—inspiring a sting across his skin even as he shared the burn—ranked high on his bucket list.

  High-gloss, obsidian fabric might as well have been painted onto her skin. It couldn’t get more form fitting. Every curve of her toned calves and thighs along with her lush hips and breasts tantalized him—visible yet hidden. Catwoman couldn’t hold a flame to her.

  His obsession released her prey temporarily, enlisting the help of two additional slaves to reposition the focus of her attention. Her
devotees scrambled to obey. If they behaved, exceeding her lofty expectations, they might be next. This could be their last chance to suffer for her. To shine for her. The beauty of the voluntary power exchange playing out before him stole his breath.

  It’d been so fucking long.

  The glorious oblation of her admirers underscored the horror wrought by those who would pervert the sacred relationship, forcing others to submit. As had happened here so recently. Hell, maybe still did in the unmonitored corners of the dungeon.

  Had Lily decided to abandon her haven because evil continued to infiltrate the club?

  Why wouldn’t his superiors turn him loose? Let him help.

  Maybe they figured he’d be recognized. After all, he had assisted Lily in freeing the victims of her psychotic, drug-addicted father and the chemical for which the asshole had sacrificed his life.

  Jeremy doubted he would ever enter this place without remembering the day he’d stood by Lily’s side as she personally apologized to each woman she’d unshackled and escorted to safety. He’d tried to comfort her silent anguish and convince her the victims’ misery hadn’t been her fault.

  Yet, the Dom in him understood the burden of her suffering. The injury, or worse, of a submissive entrusted to your care and protection left a soul-deep scar that never healed.

  He carried one of his own.

  Jeremy resisted the urge to scratch the new growth prickling his jaw and cheeks when a sheen of perspiration developed on his skin. The neat beard suited him surprisingly well, considering he’d never worn one before. It rocketed him from geeky computer detective to badass Master. Then again, his leather pants, shiny black boots and bare, ripped chest—which revealed the barbells in his nipples and the string of tattoos low on his abdomen—didn’t hurt either.

  For once, his appearance matched his soul. None of the potential enemies in attendance would suspect his affiliation with law enforcement or worry about him infiltrating their inner sanctum. At least he had to believe so. Otherwise, his presence might jeopardize Lily.

  Unacceptable.

  Jeremy licked his lips as his mole circled her oh-so-willing charge.

  The man whimpered when she ran her delicate fingers through his damp hair, combing it off his brow. He arched his neck and strained toward her touch. She hardly had to stoop to reach his head despite his position—kneeling on all fours over a black metal contraption—even considering the mile-high platform stiletto boots gracing her dainty feet.

  The David-and-Goliath-factor added to the mesmerizing show unfolding before the mixed audience. The majority of the attendees had no ulterior motives. They enjoyed the scene with their partners for a night of extreme pleasure or came solo in the hopes of meeting someone who shared their kinks. Others…

  “Too eager.” One of the bastards who didn’t comprehend the gift of surrender grumbled from Jeremy’s right in the VIP section. Strict background checks and membership controls must have ensured the man’s comfort in running his mouth to a stranger. Fool. “She needs fresh meat—a toy who hasn’t had all the fight beaten out of him yet. I’ve heard there’s a new batch about to hit the market.”

  The asshole peeked in Jeremy’s direction.

  If he expected a grin, or any other affirmation of his blatant disregard of the fundamental tenants of humanity, which Jeremy upheld, he’d be sorely disappointed.

  Trouble was Jeremy and his squad had filtered the same message about an impending auction. God damn it.

  They’d thought they had eliminated the source of the human trafficking in their city when they freed the pool of women who’d been test subjects for The Scientist and the new sex drug he’d synthesized. Although the men in blue had squashed The Scientist’s large-scale production facility, the monster had escaped with an optimized formula. They weren’t foolish enough to hope he wouldn’t try again, although they hadn’t heard a peep about it yet. However, even if he had already constructed another lab, no further studies would be needed.

  So why were there more slaves to auction?

  The DEA task force Jeremy had been assigned to, along with fellow officers Matt Ludwig and Clint Griggs, had picked up rumblings. Hints sprinkled through the noise that’d shrouded this case from the start. Still, Agent Sterns had refused to allow them to pursue the rumors through regular channels.

  Time to bring cash and play big. He’d gone rogue, undercover without authorization, unleashing more than they could have understood into this dark world of dangerous games. If he sought answers, he’d have to dig deep and immerse himself in a culture he’d forsaken.

  Jeremy swallowed his disgust, indignation and fury. He smirked at the pompous loser to his right, who tainted a sacred bond. The guy pretended to be something Jeremy simply was. Suddenly, he wouldn’t change his nature if he could. His innate aptitude for mind fucking was about to come in handy.

  “Didn’t expect you to know about the good stuff.” Jeremy raised a disdainful eyebrow at the slightly overweight man. Nothing worked better than insults to force an arrogant player to show his hand.

  “Excuse me?” The man tightened his fist on the collar of the broken woman kneeling at his feet, wringing a choke from her bowed neck. Her dull eyes lacked the sparkle of devotion illuminating the men onstage. Poor girl hadn’t gifted this trash with her obedience. “I’m Tony Morselli. Perhaps you’ve fucking heard of me?”

  Of course Jeremy recognized the bastard from his files. Lily must have selected his seat accordingly. He forced himself to stay relaxed instead of teaching the dirtbag a lesson, introducing him to a fraction of the pain he’d inflicted on his unwilling pet.

  “Ah, Morselli…” He antagonized the creep. “Sounds familiar. The West Coast network is so much more robust than your local operation. Sometimes we catch small news from out here.”

  “And who the hell are you?”

  “Master Jeremy Radisson.” He extended his hand. Tony contaminated Jeremy’s skin with the malevolence clinging to him like a slime coating. As though his touch weren’t distasteful enough, Tony gripped Jeremy’s fingers with excessive force.

  Jeremy obliged the petty power play by returning the scum’s crushing clutch with interest. His lip curved up in a half-smile-half-snarl when Morselli’s knuckles ground between his thumb and forefinger.

  Tony relented in record time.

  Jeremy didn’t worry for one instant about revealing his identity to the suspected criminal. His legendary hacking skills guaranteed he’d wiped all traces of the cop and left for discovery only those deep, dark secrets that would promote his cause. Who’d have thought ancient history could someday prove useful? Previously, he’d buried those facts and highlighted others—more wholesome and dignified—along with a smattering of falsehoods.

  Suddenly, the reverse proved useful. His entire life turned inside out.

  “It’s quality not quantity that counts. Here.” Tony threw Jeremy the leather loop at the end of his prisoner’s leash. “Enjoy the show. Hell, why don’t you keep her? Welcome.”

  “Ah, a lovely gift… Friend.” Good thing Tony couldn’t read the sarcasm in Jeremy’s heart. At least his smile was genuine. If he could make it through the rest of the evening without blowing his cover, he could grant this woman freedom from a nightmare.

  “She’s not worth much. I planned to eliminate her anyway. She fought like a mustang at first. Now, nothing. A waste of time. Not worth the price I paid.”

  The slack features of the slave broke Jeremy’s heart. She crawled toward him without question, coming to rest on her haunches between his spread knees. No telling how many other men she’d had to service to preserve her life. To persist in such circumstances, she had to be brave, worthy of his respect. He couldn’t stop himself from brushing his thumb over her chapped and cracked mouth. When she flinched at even the softest of touches, he resigned himself to what he’d have to do to ensure her safety.

  No, what he’d have to let her do to him.

  Jeremy reached for his wine
and drained all but a few sips. Then he held the glass toward the abused woman. She licked her lips, staring at him from lowered lids as though wondering if it were a trick. He wrapped his fingers gently around the nape of her neck then tilted the glass until she had no choice other than to swallow or wear the burgundy liquid on her bruised, naked skin.

  She gulped the remaining alcohol. Considering the outline of her ribs, which fluttered beneath the force of her rapid, shallow respiration, he figured it wouldn’t take much to numb her.

  Hang on. You’re tough. You’ve lasted so long. Just a little more. I promise.

  Jeremy prayed she could read a smidge of his encouragement in his gaze.

  He tried to place her from the mile-long list of women who’d gone missing in the past six months. The task force suspected hundreds, if not more, had been destroyed by The Scientist, his drug and the slavery ring flushing the operation’s human byproducts.

  Jeremy’s gut cramped.

  The woman shuffled closer on her knees, resting her head on his thigh with a sigh. Her fingers squeezed his left ankle, out of sight of the man who’d stolen her pride.

  “Son of a bitch.” Tony growled when he noticed her compliance. “I suppose my hard work finally paid off. Six months of delicious rebellion then utter disinterest and now she decides to behave.”

  “Too late.” Jeremy would tear the place apart to keep her from returning to Tony’s clutches. “She belongs to me.”

  The ominous tone of his warning did the trick. Tony flushed. Jeremy couldn’t say if it was because of the heat building in the dungeon, fury over losing in general or embarrassment for underestimating the true worth of his toy.

  “Plenty more where that one came from.” Tony swiped his finger over the screen of his smartphone, jabbing more harshly than required to communicate. In less than thirty seconds, a burly man delivered a new slave to take the first’s place.